Neither Marian nor I went to school on Monday. I didn't want to go on Tuesday either, but Dad wasn't having any of that. "I pay big bucks for Shorelake," he said, still smiling too much. "You get yourself dressed, Shane. I'll drive you. You too, Marian."
As he drove us to school, Dad listened to a seventies station and sang along with the songs. The more he sang, the sicker I felt. When I stepped out of the car, it was all I could do to stand. "Bye, Dad!" Marian called back to him. She was better at play-acting than me.
There's a long set of stairs that leads up to the Shorelake campus. My legs kept wanting to give out from under me. Marian was silent. At the first pathway, she broke off from me and headed toward the lower campus. "See ya, Shane," she said, her voice small.
"Yeah. See ya."
I hadn't even reached the flagpole when Greg came rushing over. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Sure," I said, my throat tight. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I was worried about you. We all were. You know, with what happened to your dad, and you not being here yesterday."
I shrugged. "That? That was just some police screwup. They don't know what they're doing. My dad drove me to school this morning. Everything's fine."
Greg nodded. "My mom and dad told me to tell you that if you need anything, or if your mom does, you should call us. My dad's a trial lawyer, you know."
The blood rushed to my face. I could hear them talking about us at dinner. "I just told you it was a screwup, Greg. We don't need a lawyer."
"If you do, though, later on. My dad said—"
"We won't, Greg. Okay? How many times do I have to say it?"
He stepped back. "Sorry. I was just trying to help."
"Look," I said, "I've got to go to the library to look some stuff up. I'll see you around."
Before I'd gone twenty feet, he called out. "Shane, you're going to be at practice, aren't you?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
He waved me off. "No reason. I was just checking."
In the hundred-year history of Shorelake, my dad was probably the first parent who'd ever been arrested. In every class that day the kids were polite to me, the teachers kind. It was as if I had some horrible skin disease, but they were going to show their good manners by pretending not to notice.
During lunchtime, I stayed behind in Mrs. Goure's biology class and ate there. I couldn't bear going to the cafeteria and facing a roomful of sympathetic faces. When school ended, I headed off to practice without waiting for Greg and Cody by the fountain as usual. I dressed in a corner of the locker room and then headed to the field.
Crossing from the outfield grass to the infield dirt, I saw Scott Parino and Terry Clarke, our two starting pitchers, standing together at the mound, whispering behind their gloves, grinning away.
"What's so funny?" I said.
"What?" Parino said, looking at me as if he didn't know who I was.
"You heard me, Parino. I want to know what you're laughing at."
"None of your business, Hunter," Parino answered.
I took a step toward him, squaring up with him. He was a little bigger than me, but not much. Besides, there was a softness to his face, to his belly, and I felt like cold steel inside. "It is my business," I said.
Clarke stepped between us. "He told you it was none of your business, so get yourself away from here and leave us alone."
"I'm not leaving him alone and I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me what you were laughing at."
Clarke's face hardened. "It wasn't your jailbird father, if that's what you're thinking."
In an instant I'd charged him, knocking him to the ground. A second later I was on top of him, smacking him in the face. Left and right and left and right. If he hadn't had his arms up, and if Parino weren't grabbing at me to pull me off, I would have broken his nose and blackened both eyes. Still, I hit him hard enough to make his nose bleed, but he didn't hit me at all. Then I felt another pair of hands grab hold of me.
It was Coach Levine. He yanked me to my feet and held me by the shoulders to keep me from going after Clarke and Parino. "What's this all about?" he demanded.
"He started it," Clarke said, wiping the blood from his nose and pointing at me. "The guy's crazy. We were just telling jokes over there, and he comes sticking his nose in, thinking we're making fun of his old man, all ready to fight."
"Were you making fun of his father?" Levine asked.
"Hell, no," Clarke said. "What do I care about his father?"
Levine looked to Parino. "We weren't, Coach. We were talking about something that happened in history class. Mickey West had his..."
I don't know what he said after that. Some stupid story. All I know is that it was obvious he was telling the truth, just as it was obvious I'd made a fool of myself. My body went limp. Levine felt me relax and let me go.
"All right," he said. "Enough of this. Let's get to practice."
"That's it?" Clarke said, wiping his nose. "The little jerk hits me and you're not going to suspend him from the team?"
"You trying to tell me how to run the team?"
Clarke stared at Levine for a second, then turned and headed to the mound.
Levine walked me to the outfield. His voice was low, so low I could barely hear it. "You had it in you, Shane. To hit somebody, I mean. Now you've done it, and it's over. Any more fights and I will suspend you, from the team and from school. You understand?"
I nodded.
"All right then. Get out there and stretch."
I found an empty spot in center field. I could feel the eyes of every player on the team watching me. Again. I made a vow to myself. I'd cracked once, but I wasn't going to crack again. From that moment on, everything was going to stay inside.