Canary (2 page)

He spoke loud enough that anyone who didn't know probably knew now.

“Enough.” Dad slammed a fist on the table.

I grabbed my glass as some pop splashed out.

“I get it,” Brett continued. “This is about you. You and your position at your great big important private school. I may not be smart enough to score as high as the other kids on those fancy exams you have to take to get into Beacon, but I get it. I get it completely.”

“Brett,” Dad said, demanding a respect he had lost from Brett a long time before.

“You know,” Brett said, “if Mom were still alive, she'd never expect me to do something like this.” Brett marched away, winding through the obstacle course of happy families, and shoved open the door so hard it banged against the side of the building.

I turned to Dad to tell him how I felt about leaving Olmstead High to go to Beacon. “I know Brett's being his usual pain in the ass, but I really—”

“Not right now. The two of you really need to stop for a minute and think about what a great opportunity this is for you.” Dad dug into a pocket, then pulled money out of his wallet and threw it on the table. “Can you take care of the bill? We'll talk about this later.”

“Sure, whatever.” I watched him leave through the same door Brett had stormed out of seconds before. This was so typical of Dad. He really hadn't listened to me, and I felt stupid for thinking maybe he would.

Transferring schools made sense, though. My old school was where Mom got sick and I sat worrying about her test results instead of my own tests and homework. The halls of Olmstead High held friends who stopped acting normal around me, as if I were the sick one; classmates who stared at me, as if I were a freak for losing my mom; and teachers who would put a hand on my shoulder and tell me I could talk to them anytime about anything.

Brett might have been fighting to stay at Olmstead High, but I was ready to run from it. Dad didn't need to convince me. Starting my sophomore year at Beacon was one of the first things in a long time that actually felt right.

www.allmytruths.com

Today's Truth:

You can't count on anyone but yourself.

Michigan Central News Sports Page 1

Beacon Preparatory School Names New

Basketball Coach

by Robyn Moffat

Last year, Beacon basketball had a momentous season. The team brought the school its seventh state title and had five graduating seniors accepted to NCAA top-ranked schools, and legendary Coach Bud Simeon retired. While the school celebrated the first two events, the retirement of Bud Simeon was an upset to all in the Beacon family and raised the question of who would fill Simeon's shoes.

In a press conference last night, Beacon stopped the endless discussions of possible replacements by announcing Robert Franklin as the new head coach for Beacon. Even though Beacon held a nationwide search, they did not have to look far to hire Franklin. Franklin, the now former coach of Olmstead High, a Division 2 school, is rumored to have first been considered when his team beat Beacon in a pregame scrimmage last year. “We knew Franklin was the ideal candidate after witnessing the upset of Beacon by his team. We have been following his coaching for years, and we are confident he will continue to lead Beacon to more state victories,” Beacon Athletic Director William Bennett commented when asked about what led to their decision to hire Franklin.

Franklin has an impressive record as a high school basketball coach at Olmstead High. The team made it to the state championship five out of the seven years he was coach and finished last year's regular season undefeated. His players have won scholarships and gained acceptance to numerous colleges to play basketball, and he works with Middleburg College's basketball team in their summer conditioning program. He has been coaching for sixteen years and when questioned about his thoughts on coaching a team that has won the state title seven years in a row, he stated, “I can't wait to make it number eight.”

All we can say is, “Go, Beacon!”

Posted By: Your Present Self

[Monday, August 12, 9:14 PM]

Dad's car was gone when I got home from Garland's pizza, and a Post-it sat on the counter with a simple message: 
“You both start at Beacon next Monday. I ordered uniforms from the school bookstore. I'll pick them up later this week.”

I changed into my bathing suit and dived into our pool. I couldn't stop thinking about Beacon and what it might mean to go there. I'd be able to leave behind everything that happened at Olmstead High and start fresh. I could be a different person. I moved through the water and imagined my new life.

I'd swum twenty-three laps when the lights lining the pool wall flashed, illuminated like round moons. They lit up four times, my brother's signal.

Dad was used to me swimming late at night before I went to bed. It was my version of a bubble bath or mug of warm milk. It calmed me. Brett, on the other hand, thought I was crazy to swim in the dark, and he always made me promise to knock on his door when I got out so he knew I hadn't drowned. I made fun of him for being so sensitive, but I always checked in with him after my swims.

When I surfaced, Brett sat at the side of the pool, untying his shoes and socks. “You could take a night off, you know.”

“I do. October through May.” I held onto the side of the pool, keeping my body under the water so I wouldn't get cold from the night air. “What are you doing out here?”

“Checking up on you.” Brett put his bare feet into the pool and pulled them out immediately. “Damn it, that's freezing. How do you stand swimming in here when it's all cold and dark?”

“I can think of worse things than a cold pool at nighttime.” I knew he understood what I was talking about. Mom had died more than a year before, but the pain was still strong. We had become good at moving through life avoiding conversations about her.

He turned away, not meeting my stare. “Me too, like the time you practiced cooking the breakfast casserole for class and Dad and I had to try it.”

“My casserole was delicious.”

“Sure, if you like runny, undercooked eggs.”

I splashed him. “If you want scary, let me remind you of the time Mrs. Reynolds babysat us and asked me for a back rub. Now that's scary.”

“Oh, shit, that would suck. She was gross with all the cat fur stuck to her and white spit hanging out the corners of her mouth.”

“Exactly. My eggs were nothing compared to Mrs. Reynolds.”

We laughed softly, the sound fading until all you could hear was crickets and the water lapping against the pool walls.

“But now,” I said slowly, “those things don't seem scary at all.”

“I know.”

“Why are you making things harder than they already are, Brett? Fighting with Dad only makes it worse.”

He sighed and stared into the trees bordering our yard. “How can you believe what Dad is doing is right? He's using us to make himself look good.”

“Come on. He's not like that,” I said, but we both knew I was lying.

“He's changed.”

I wanted to tell him I agreed, that Dad had changed and nothing in our house seemed right now that Mom was gone. But I couldn't because a bigger part of me wanted to go to Beacon. If I said something, it might ruin it.

I pushed off the wall and swam to the deep end and back, holding my breath to see how far I could go without air.

“He won't even listen to us,” Brett said when I surfaced.

I grabbed the wall near him. “I know.”

“Each day goes by, and it's as if he forgets about us more and more. We're not his family. His team is. He cares more about those guys than he does about us.”

“That's not true.” But lately it did seem possible.

“It is, and he's screwing us over in the process.”

I ducked under the water so I didn't have to decide if Brett was right.

www.allmytruths.com

Today's Truth:

If you're not in, you're out.

Beacon Is Excellence

This declaration written in gold letters on a large maroon board greets you from the bottom of the
winding drive into Beacon's campus. It's there before you head up the hill lined with large black lights, before you make it to the ancient iron fence arching high over the entrance of the school, and long before you enter the manicured lawn covered in trees and brick buildings.

Beacon wants everyone to know they are entering excellence.

The sign doesn't state that Beacon is a school, the year it was founded, or show a picture of the mascot. Instead, it issues a simple yet firm declarative: 
Beacon Is Excellence.
 The statement seems to leave no room for anything else.

Beacon produces excellent athletes. The basketball team wins championships year after year, girls in field hockey go on to win college scholarships, and swimmers compete and break records in nationals.

Beacon produces excellent 
students. Dozens
 go 
to Ivy League schools and become
 doctors, lawyers, and stuffy managers. They continue their presence on campus by donating large sums of money as alumni.

Beacon also produces excellent musicians: students who join city youth symphonies, singers who open baseball games with the national anthem, and jazz bands who perform for senators.

Beacon announces its excellence to all who enter the school and continues to remind its students every day.

The sign stares you down as you arrive.

Beacon is excellence, and if you aren't, then why are you at Beacon?

Posted By: Your Present Self

[Monday, August 19, 6:08 AM]

Slipping into Beacon was easy for me.

The kids at my old school guarded the entrance to their groups, never letting in anyone new. I thought it would be just as hard to break in to Beacon's world, but I found friendships were flimsy and easily stretched to fit in a new person if her dad was the school's basketball coach.

Brett may have hated the team, but there was no way I shared those feelings. They were hot, and I would've been lying if I didn't say I was hoping to see some of the boys as soon as I walked through the main doors. I kept my eyes open but didn't spot them until PE when I arrived at the competition gym, their primal watering hole.

Construction paper stars covered in glitter lined the walls outside, each a message of encouragement to an individual player. A banner filled with signatures wished the team good luck in the upcoming season. Framed pictures of past teams holding trophies lined the walls. It was impossible to forget that Beacon was where champions played.

I pushed open one of the double doors and was welcomed with the smell of sweat, the screeching of shoes against the slick floor of the court, and the unintelligible yells from a group of boys playing basketball. I recognized the players from Dad's team. I'd met most of them briefly two days before at the faculty and alumni welcome-back picnic. Dad, as the new coach, had been one of the guests of honor, and I learned it was tradition for the basketball team to serve the staff and alumni. However, it seemed as if most of the men on the faculty had taken over the barbequing and the boys hung out in big clumps joking loudly and looking hot, hot, hot.

Brett refused to go, claiming he'd already made plans to go hiking. When Dad tried to argue, Brett stressed how important it was to see the friends he wouldn't be spending time with anymore because he was being forced to go to Beacon. Brett disappeared an hour before we were supposed to leave, so Dad, not wanting to be late, settled for just me. Together we'd create the image of at least half a happy family.

I stood next to Dad for most of the night, and he kept his arm around me, something he hadn't done in years. I was introduced to the team players: tall, lanky boys who grunted hellos and then turned their attention toward Dad, more interested in impressing him than me. I met their families, the other coaches, and the faculty. Names were thrown at me all night so that by the time people started coming over to say good-bye, it was all a blur.

Well, most of it was a blur. There was one face and name I kept thinking about.

Jack Blane.

I'd met him in the parking lot. I'd run to Dad's car for a sweatshirt, and his mom was dropping him off.

“Now remember. Coach Franklin doesn't know a lot about you.”

I paused when I heard her mention Dad's name.

“You're a guest at this picnic. That means you take one serving. You may eat me out of house and home, but you don't do that here.”

He threw his hands up. “Give me a break. I know how to act. Besides, I ate two peanut butter sandwiches at home.”

“I'm sure you did. Just make sure Coach doesn't think you've been raised by a pack of wolves.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior. Cross my heart.” He made the gesture over his chest with his fingers. He headed toward the crowd and then turned back to her.

“Well, that is if they don't serve chocolate cake for dessert,” the guy said. “If they do, I can't make any promises.”

“Get out of here,” his mom said.

I laughed out loud. I covered my mouth, but he heard me.

“Oh, man, I didn't think anyone was around.”

“I was grabbing a sweatshirt, but I had to stop when I realized how dangerous you were.”

“Dangerous?” He ran his fingers through his blond hair, making it all messy and sexy.

“Your killer appetite.”

“Oh yeah, you're right. That has been known to get me in trouble before.”

A couple of guys slammed car doors nearby.

He waved at them.

“I'm Kate,” I said, seizing my chance before it was too late.