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“Hey. Lynnie.”
Conan shakes me gently. I open my eyes to see him leaning into the car on the passenger side. He smells of soap. There is a band-aid over his left eyebrow and his eye is swollen, but he’s wearing a very happy smile.
“Sorry it took me so long. Were you sleeping?”
“I guess,” I say, rubbing my eyes as I get out of the car and slide into the front seat.
Larry comes rushing up to Conan.
“Hey! My man! You kicked butt!”
High five. Ten step handshake. Laughing. Larry glances at me, pauses for a nanosecond, high fives again.
“Really, man. They was watchin’ you.”
Conan laughs. “Yeah. Stanford and Ohio State.”
“Keep it up! You got it made!”
Larry glances at me again.
“Hey. Gotta go. Great game,” he says.
The parking lot is nearly empty now—just the coaches and a few players are left. Well, and security. I’m glad Larry decided to ignore me. Maybe when Conan’s around I don’t seem like such a danger to the campus.
Conan gets in the car, leans over, and gives me a big, long kiss. “Love you,” he says.
“Love you, too,” I say—a sense of well-being creeping back into my discouraged soul.
“Big recruiters here tonight,” he says, beaming. “My interception and touchdown run—they liked it. And clearing the way for Brian’s two touchdowns—they liked that, too. Two major recruiters out watching me and Brian. My dad’s jazzed.”
“Sounds like you’re jazzed, too,” I say, smiling.
“I am! Aren’t you? Aren’t you jazzed for me?”
“I love you so much. If you’re jazzed, I want to be jazzed.”
Conan’s beaming smile fades.
“But?”
“But. . . I don’t want you to move far away. And I thought, you know, you might not want to be totally involved in football. Like you want a real education. Remember?”
“Yeah. I know what I said. But I’m good at football. Really good. Better than anything else I know of. And these recruiters . . . this is the top! You saw me, you know how good I am.”
“I didn’t actually see you out there tonight. At least not the second half.”
“You didn’t see the interception and touchdown?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?”
I catch him up on the continuing saga of my life as an enemy of Hamilton High, including being escorted from the bleachers and off school property.
“That sucks. How can you be suspended when you didn’t do anything wrong?”
“It’s like—there was this thing that happened, and someone had to be suspended, and it couldn’t be football players because of this big deal game. That’s what I think.”
Conan shakes his head, frowning.
“Well. . . at least you got to see the first half of the game,” he says, as if that’s the main thing.
He starts the engine.
“Victory party at Robert’s,” he says.
“I suppose Brian and Justin and Anthony will be there.”
“Well, yeah. It’s a VICTORY celebration. The whole team’ll be there.”
“I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“After what those guys did to Kit today? You think I’d go hang out with them, like nothing happened?”
“Come on. There’ll be so many people there you probably won’t even see those guys. Holly’ll be there, and probably Nicole. All of our friends will be there.”
“Sure. Kit, and Star, and Frankie. How about Nora and Caitlin?”
Conan sighs. “I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry. But this was probably the best game of my whole life. I want to celebrate it with the team.”
I’m remembering the ugly plastic penis, the ugly words, the crude gestures . . .
“This party’s important to me, Lynn.”
. . . the crude chants.
“I go places you want to go sometimes, even if I don’t want to,” Conan says.
“This is different! I don’t ask you to go with me to a KKK meeting!”
“It’s not like that! They weren’t lynching anyone! They meant it as a joke!”
“Joke!”
“I know. It was stupid, but they were just trying to be funny.”
“Conan . . .”
I don’t know what else to say. It’s like I’m talking to a stranger. I can’t believe Conan thinks any of that locker business was just a joke.
––––––––
Cars line both sides of the street near Robert’s house. Robert and some other guys are standing in the driveway, drinking sodas, or beers, I’m not sure which. Conan pulls over to the curb.
“I’m not going in,” I tell him. “I can’t.”
“Have it your way,” he says, all quiet and calm.
He pulls away from the curb and drives me home. He leaves the engine running while I get out of the car, then backs down the driveway. Wilma comes running to greet me. Only the lamp by the front window is lit, meaning no one is home. I’m relieved.
I try again to read the Alice Walker book. I skip around in it, trying to find something of interest. So far, all that holds my attention is the title, The Way Forward Is with a Broken Heart. Am I on the verge of a broken heart? Conan and I have never before raised our voices to one another. I never once, until tonight, felt as if we were on opposite sides. How could he pretend such nasty harassment of Kit was only a joke? And there’s a nagging thought in the back of my mind—like why was his family so cold to me. Maybe they’ve never even heard of me. Maybe he doesn’t care enough to bother telling his parents about me. Maybe I don’t know Conan as well as I thought I did.
––––––––
I call Kit. Check e-mail. Nothing. I’m channel surfing, mindless, when the phone rings. I jump for it, hoping it’s Conan.
“Lynn?”
The warm, deep voice I hoped to hear isn’t there. Instead it’s the light, whispery voice of Frankie.
“Oh, hi Frankie,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed.
“Is Kit there?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s not with Star.”
“I called her house just a few minutes ago. No one’s there. Maybe she went somewhere with her parents,” I say.
“I’m worried about her,” Frankie says.
“Why?”
“I just know how hard it can be, everyone laughing and saying
mean things.”
“Well, maybe she’s at that coffee place in Pasadena,” I say.
“We looked.”
“Who?”
“Me, and Star, and Jerry . . . Can you think of anywhere else she might be?”
“Barb ’n Edie’s?”
Frankie laughs. Well, it’s not exactly a laugh. It’s more like a sarcastic snort.
“I’m sure she wants to hang out with the rah-rah crowd tonight.”
“I don’t know where else . . .”
“If I come get you, will you help me look for her?”
It’s not like I have anything else to do tonight so I agree to go. I give him directions to my house and then change out of my gold sweatshirt. School colors on game night no longer appeal to me.
I’m watching out the window when Frankie pulls up in a VW bug. The old kind. I grab my purse and meet him in the driveway.
“My chariot,” he says, reaching across and opening the passenger door for me. The upholstery’s torn and there is no headliner.
“Some chariot,” I say.
“A diamond in the rough.”
“Whatever . . . I don’t even know why we’re doing this.”
“Because she’s our friend, and we’re worried. At least I am.”
We drive by her house to see if anyone’s there, but it’s dark. We go to the big park, up in the ritzy section. The gates are all locked, but we climb over the lowest one and look around. No sign of Kit, but the shadows of trees reminds me that there’s one place we haven’t looked. We drive back to my house and walk through the gate in my backyard. There she is, sitting cross-legged at the base of the walnut tree.
“Oh, my God!” Frankie says, running across the yard to her. He leans down and grabs her arms, runs his hands across her wrists and inner arms, then sinks down beside her. He rests his head back against the tree, eyes closed. I sit across from them.
“What is with you?” Kit says to Frankie.
“I’ve been worried. Are you okay?” Frankie asks, looking intently at her face.
“Yeah. I’m pissed, but I’m okay.”
“Good,” Frankie says. “Pissed is good. . . When no one knew where you were I started thinking . . . worrying that . . .”
“What?”
“I just thought you could be really depressed, or . . . ”
“Or?”
“Or, you know . . . want to . . . hurt yourself.”
“You don’t need to worry about me getting all stupid and suicidal.”
“It’s not like it doesn’t happen,” Frankie says.
“Yeah, well it’ll take a lot more than those little pricks to make me want to off myself.”
I laugh, glad to hear Kit talking strong again. Kit laughs, too.
“Oh, sure. It’s funny now, in your backyard. But once those guys start in on you, they may not let up. It can get depressing. Just promise me you’ll always talk things through. Even if you feel alone, you’re not alone,” Frankie says. He scoots over next to Kit and gives her a big hug. She leans her head on his shoulder.
“Thanks,” she says. “Thank you, too,” she says to me, as I scoot over next to her on the other side.
––––––––
The three of us sit talking about all that’s happened. Kit says her dad and my mom are going in to see Mr. Maxwell first thing Monday morning. They’re going to demand an apology for us, and a five-day suspension for Brian, Justin and Anthony.
“That’ll mess up next week’s football game,” I tell her.
“So?”
“I’m just saying.”
“I’ve been really hoping we’ll get to the championship playoffs,” Frankie says.
“Like you care about football?” Kit says.
“I care about half-time.”
“I don’t want my dad to make a big deal out of this,” Kit says. “For once I’m on my mom’s side.”
“I’m with your dad. They should be suspended and we should have an apology. It’s so unfair that we got punished and they’re big heroes!”
We talk about tonight’s game, how jazzed those guys were. I tell them about being escorted out of the game, and how I refused to go to the party, and how important the party was to Conan. I don’t tell them about trying to introduce myself to Conan’s family, and how weird that was. I guess I’m hoping Conan can help me make sense of it all.
I wonder what Conan’s doing. Is he still at the party? Is he paying attention to any of those girls that always flirt with him? Will he end up taking someone else home? Maybe he’s called.
It’s cold, which gives me an excuse to go back to my house and get beach blankets for us to wrap up in. Kit and Frankie go into her house to make hot chocolate.
I rush through the door, see the blinking answering machine light, and make a lunge for it. It’s for Mom.
I get the blankets and leave a note telling Mom I’m at Kit’s. Wilma’s all hyper from being alone in the house for so long, so I take her back to Kit’s with me. She drags her frisbee along. Kit’s brought a thermos of hot chocolate and three cups back to the tree. Frankie tosses the frisbee for Wilma. I swear she shows off whenever there’s anyone new around, catching high throws, running circles around the yard with the frisbee in her mouth, then dropping it right at Frankie’s feet. Finally I call her to me, thinking Frankie may be tiring of the game. She lies beside me on the blanket, her head resting on her paws.
We warm our hands on our cups of steaming chocolate. Take little sips. Savor the warmth. Frankie breaks the silence.
“Have you ever thought about it?”
“Thought about what?” Kit says.
“Suicide.”