Two Cool for School (8 page)

“Tommy and I were just talking about the game coming up this Friday,” said Coach.

“Shocking, I know,” added Tommy with a wry grin.

“You guys ready?” asked Ava.

Coach grunted.

“I need to know, because every other person I see asks me if my dad's team is going to beat Mainville,” said Ava.

Tommy shrugged. “It depends on how focused PJ is that day,” he said. “He's kind of all over the place mentally. Is that fair, Coach?”

Coach nodded. “He's got some growing up to do. He's a great athlete, but he's cocky.”

“Well, I hope he's ready,” said Tommy, “because Dion's hurting. Dee won't let on, but I think his leg is bothering him. I saw him limping pretty heavily after practice yesterday when he thought no one was around to see him.”

Coach pressed his lips together. “I think you might be right, Tom,” he said. “But PJ has been looking good. It's his head we've got to contend with.”

“Maybe Tommy can be QB,” said Ava playfully.

“Oh, yeah, right,” said Tommy. “Like that'll ever happen.”

“Tom,” said Coach, and he had on his serious face. “You're just a sophomore. You're still growing, getting stronger. You have a lot of potential to become a very good QB—more than very good. You've got speed, quickness, agility, and a rock-solid arm. And Dion is showing real promise as our go-to kicker.”

Silence descended. Ava watched Tommy slather peanut butter onto a pancake. He rolled it up and ate it in three bites.

“Morning, everyone!” Alex bounced into the kitchen, annoyingly chipper as usual. She looked from Tommy to Coach to Ava and pursed her lips. “You were talking about football, weren't you?”

“Of course, darlin'. But we'll stop. Here's a pancake with your name on it,” said Coach, handing her a steaming plate.

Tommy scraped his chair away from the table and brought his plate to the sink. “I'm going over to the church to practice,” he said. “The service ended at nine, and the next one doesn't start until noon, so I have a nice chunk of practice time.”

After he'd left, Coach took a long sip of coffee and stared into space, deep in thought.

Ava and Alex looked at each other.

“Do you really think Tommy can be a starting quarterback someday?” asked Ava.

Coach set his mug down gently on the table. “He could. Depends on what he wants. I wish he spent as much time thinking about football as he does about piano.”

The girls were quiet for a few minutes. Then Alex spoke. “I think we're all set for Thursday, Daddy.”

Coach looked up, baffled. “Thursday? The game's Friday.”

Alex closed her eyes and sighed. “Your. Anniversary. Dinner.”

He jumped as though he'd been poked from behind. “Of course! Right! I knew that!”

Alex leaned forward and whispered into Ava's ear. “Tommy found a violinist for the dinner.”

Mrs. Sackett and Moxy bustled into the kitchen from their walk. Even at this early hour, Mrs. Sackett's face was flushed and her hair was escaping from her ponytail. Moxy went straight to her dish and began lapping water noisily, showering everything nearby with droplets.

“Hot already out there, Mom?” asked Alex.

Mrs. Sackett filled a glass of water and gulped
it all down. “Yes,” she gasped, setting the glass down.

Coach stood up and enveloped his wife in a bear hug. “Have I ever mentioned how lucky I am?” he crooned into her hair.

Mrs. Sackett looked at the girls over his shoulder, a slightly startled expression on her face. “Um, not recently.” She smiled and hugged him back. “It's nice to hear.”

Alex laughed when she looked over at her sister and saw a slightly revolted look on her face.

“I think they're cute!” she said.

Monday afternoon Ava staggered out of after-school study, her mind whirling. Why did she have so much trouble concentrating? It wasn't like she could blame the distracting noises around her, because after-school study was quiet. But somehow a quiet setting made it worse. As she'd sat at her desk, staring down at her social studies textbook, her thoughts had spun out into other thoughts. The page of reading in front of her had grown dim, the letters dancing on the paper. She'd tried switching to English, but after slogging through two pages of
White Fang,
she'd realized she had no idea what she'd just read and had to begin all over again.

After the late bus dropped her off, she stopped at the little park near her house, wishing she had a basketball with her. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing she didn't—she was still pretty sore from riding on Saturday.

It was nearly five, and the day had finally cooled off. The park was deserted—the kids who usually played there had probably gone home for dinner. She had the little play area to herself, and she sat on a swing, pondering.

It wasn't just that she was feeling more distracted and having trouble concentrating. It was organization, too. Not that that had ever been a strength of hers, but she found moving from class to class so much harder than staying in one classroom all day. She was constantly leaving the book she needed in her locker, or forgetting her homework at home, or losing the assignment sheet. What was wrong with her? Alex seemed to have no trouble adjusting.

After a few minutes, she came to a decision. She would tell her mom and dad about the failed quizzes. She knew they both had a lot on their minds, and her struggles in school were probably the last thing her parents needed right now. But maybe they'd be able to help her switch to
some other teacher, one who didn't have such high expectations. Ms. Palmer wasn't mean, but she kept looking at Ava with such pained disappointment. It wasn't exactly helping Ava feel more confident. She stood up, squared her shoulders, and marched home.

When Ava walked into the kitchen, her dad and Tommy were emptying the dishwasher, engaged in a heated discussion.

“Dad, I told you. I'll just be five minutes late, twice a week,” said Tommy. His cheeks had two pink spots on them.

Coach's mouth was set in a grim line, and he clanked the plates louder than was necessary.

Mrs. Sackett was on the phone. Alex stood nearby, jumping from one foot to the other, waiting for her mother to get off.

No one acknowledged that Ava was home.

Mrs. Sackett hung up. “That was the
Ashland Times
,” she said. “Again. They're running a huge story on you tomorrow, Michael. And they were asking me some very personal questions about our family life. I told them now wasn't a good time because we're about to eat dinner, and they said they'd call back in fifteen minutes.”

Ava cleared her throat. “Mom? Dad?” she said
in a low voice. “I wanted to tell you about these two quizzes? In my English class?”

“Mom, I'm sorry about the short notice, but I absolutely have to wear something orange tomorrow because it's the first Spirit Week of the year, and I just noticed two missing buttons on my new shirt and—”

“Give me a second, please, Alex, to talk to your father,” said Mrs. Sackett.

“I can't give preferential treatment to my own kid. You know that, Tom,” said Coach, who was now placing the silverware into its drawer with considerable force. “You're going to have to make some tough choices here.”

Ava set down her backpack. Moxy trotted over to be petted. Her wagging tail banged the metallic garbage can and added a repetitive tympanic boom to the conversation in progress.

Ava tried again. “And I thought maybe you guys could talk to—”

Moxy perked up her ears, barked sharply twice, and then bolted into the living room to look at something outside.

“Fifteen minutes, the reporter said. Like that's how long he's giving us to eat dinner,” Mrs. Sackett continued.

“Where am I going to find two orange buttons?” wailed Alex.

“You're my son, Tommy. I have to be harder, not easier, on you,” said Coach.

“Mom,” Tommy said, craning his neck to peek into the living room. “It looks like Moxy threw up on the carpet.”

Ava slipped quietly out of the kitchen.

The next morning Alex got up early to join her mother on her morning walk with Moxy. She loved doing this once in a while—she had always been the earliest riser of the three kids, and she loved the alone time with her mom.

“So is everything going well at school?” Mrs. Sackett asked as they set off down the block. The air was delightfully cool, and the sun had not quite risen in the eastern sky.

“English is pretty boring,” said Alex. “I mean, the work part. I like the kids in my class. Especially—” She stopped. She'd almost said,
Especially Corey
. But maybe she was getting too old to share stuff like this with her mom.

Her mom glanced at her sideways but kept
silent. Moxy spotted a small dog on a leash across the street and strained to get closer to it. “Heel, Moxy,” said Mrs. Sackett, gently tugging the dog back toward the sidewalk.

But Alex wanted to tell her mom about Corey. “Okay, so there's this guy I like,” she blurted out. “His name's Corey.”

And then she shared everything. About how Corey had asked her out. And how she knew there was this other girl who liked him too, and she really wanted to be friends with that other girl, but she thought it would cause problems if she, Alex, went out with Corey. And how she had no clue what to do.

Her mom listened and nodded, looking thoughtful. “I think
you should follow what your heart tells you, hon,” she said when Alex finished. “You're wiser than you might think you are.”

“What if I have no idea what my heart is telling me?” asked Alex. “I really like Corey, but I really want to be part of Lindsey's group. I'm completely torn!”

Mrs. Sackett smiled sympathetically. “I can tell you that in my experience, friends usually last longer than crushes do. If this girl is really someone you value as a potential friend, maybe you should follow your instincts, and hold off on rushing into something with Corey.”

Alex nodded. Her mom was always so comforting. She put her arm through her mom's and gave her a squeeze. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “I think that's what I'll do.”

When they returned from the walk, they found Coach reading the article about himself in the
Ashland Times
with a queasy expression on his face. The article wasn't on the front page of the sports section—it was on the front page of the paper.

“Laur,” he said, looking up at Mrs. Sackett over his half-glasses. “Was it necessary to tell them I like to bake?”

Mrs. Sackett laughed, and then hung Moxy's leash on the hook. “You do like to bake, dear. It seemed like a harmless detail. All the other questions felt too personal. I passed on most.”

Coach read from the article. “ ‘Coach Sackett's pie crust was legendary back at the Three-County Fair in their former Massachusetts town. His cherry pie won honorable mention two years in a row.' ”

“Well, it did!” said Mrs. Sackett. She moved to the sink and filled Moxy's water bowl. “I was flustered,” she said, turning around and smiling sheepishly. “The reporter was asking me so many questions, and I was in the middle of about three things and I think I started rambling. I'm really sorry, hon!”

Coach smiled back at her, but when he flipped through several more pages of the paper to where the article continued, he groaned loudly. “Laur! You sent them this picture of me having a tea party with the girls?”

Alex looked over his shoulder. “It's a really sweet picture, Daddy,” she said, trying to make it okay, even though she knew it wasn't. “We were only four, right? You look so cute, sitting in that tiny chair with your long legs and holding that little teacup in your two fingers.”

Her father glared at her.

She shut her mouth.

“Michael. I know you're trying to come off as a strong, tough leader to the town in the days leading up to your first home game.” Mrs. Sackett plunked Moxy's bowl down, sloshing water onto the floor. When she stood up, Alex could see that her eyes were bright and
she looked honestly upset that she'd messed up. “The reporter seemed to want me to talk about personal stuff, and these things seemed harmless at the time—I just kind of blathered on without thinking. I'm sorry! You see? I don't think I'm cut out for this.” She left the kitchen.