Chapter Fifteen

Wednesday I planned to discuss my college plans and desperate scholarship search with JohnScott, but when I nudged the teachers’ lounge door open at noon, I saw my cousin huddled at the back table with Dodd and the ag teacher. Right where he’d been every day this week. JohnScott caught my eye and beckoned me to join them, and Dodd looked between the two of us with that curious expression he seemed to reserve just for me.

I waved my fingers and stationed myself at the front table instead. A radio rested on the counter, and I tuned in a Lubbock station to drown out their conversation. I didn’t care what the men were talking about, but as I tapped my foot, I considered the possibilities. On Monday I had speculated they were discussing football—JohnScott’s number-one topic of conversation at any given time—but on Tuesday I ruled it out. If they’d focused solely on sports, the ag teacher would have bailed already. Now that Wednesday had rolled around, several other options ran through my mind. Politics, education, women.

As I picked at my bologna sandwich, Maria Fuentes came through the door balancing a cafeteria tray. The Family and Consumer Science teacher hovered near the corner of my table and evaluated the three men, but when none of them noticed her, she turned and settled into a chair across from me with her back to that side of the room. Bless her heart. Of all the female teachers who had come to spy on Dodd that first day, she was the only one who hadn’t returned to her usual routine. I took a sip of Sprite. “Hey, Maria.”

“What’s up, Ruthie?” Her tone screamed, No offense, but I’d rather be sitting with the men.

“Thinking about the pile of work I have to do this afternoon.”

“Not enough hours in the day, that’s what I say.” She picked up a small paper cup of ketchup, squeezed its contents into a bowl of gravy, and stirred the mixture with a chicken strip. “They don’t pay us enough for all we’re expected to do.”

I hummed in agreement as I monitored the back table. JohnScott leaned on both elbows listening to Dodd, while the ag teacher shook his head. The preacher had finally gotten a haircut that made him look less citified, and his new coaching pants made him look more athletic. The changes didn’t necessarily suit him, because he was losing his mysterious executive air.

Maria glanced over her shoulder. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

“Football,” I lied.

“They’re not.”

Tearing off a corner of my sandwich, I asked, “What makes you so sure?”

“Their hand gestures.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She dipped three french fries in her pink gravy before stuffing them in her mouth and speaking around them. “They can’t be talking about football because their gestures are all wrong.” She swallowed the mouthful of food like it was a horse vitamin. “First you throw the ball across to the receiver.” She held her arms apart and motioned like she was throwing a ball. “Then the receiver runs down the field.” She hunched with one arm curled against her stomach. “Then he gets tackled by the huge line-whatever, and they do it all again.” She circled one finger in the air, tornado-style.

Apparently Dodd noticed her dramatic attempt to gain his attention, and his gaze slid into mine as his lips curved up. Was it my imagination, or did he roll his eyes ever so slightly?

I pretended I didn’t notice.

“You’re right. They’re only waving their palms back and forth.” I looked her in the eye. “Health-care reform?”

“Yeah, maybe. Or terrorism.” She bit half a chicken strip. “So, Ruthie, is your cousin dating anybody?”

 

JohnScott continued to sit with Dodd and the ag teacher, and by Friday morning I had come to expect it. A sensation burned in my gut, which I first labeled as jealousy but soon recognized as fear—the unfathomable fear of losing my cousin. JohnScott acted normal, more or less, so I attempted the same as he and I monitored the students in the gymnasium before the morning bell. “How are the ribs?” I asked.

“Sore as the dickens. I hope they’re healed by Halloween. By the way, are you wearing a costume to the carnival?”

“Of course not.”

“I have to dress as a chick, you know.”

“So what? I do that every day.” I shifted where I leaned against the wall, and my shoulder ground against the cinder blocks.

“You could wear a costume out of loyalty to Trapp High School.”

“They don’t pay me enough.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

Dodd came through the double doors and headed toward Grady on the other side of the gym. Once again he diverted his gaze from JohnScott and me. Why does he do that?

JohnScott called with a thick accent, “¿Donde está el baño, mi amigo?”

“Right next to the little girls’ room, my friend.” Dodd chuckled as he hurried by.

I frowned. “Why did you ask him where the bathroom is? In Spanish?”

“It’s a joke. He visited his parents in Mexico, and Where’s the bathroom? was the first phrase he learned, but he said it never came in handy.”

I massaged my temples.

“You know, Ruthie, we’ve been talking, Dodd and me.”

I nodded. “The Debate Club.”

“The what?”

“The two of you and the ag teacher, hunched over your deep-fried burritos in the teachers’ lounge. Talking, talking, talking. Maria Fuentes and I christened you the Debate Club because you look like you’re solving a complex mystery.”

“You’re not too far off, I suppose.” A weak smile played on his lips. “Dodd’s been telling us Bible stuff. It makes me think about how I treat people.”

Something like fear wrapped around my neck, forcing a small puff of air through my teeth. “For crying out loud, JohnScott. You don’t have to listen to that junk.”

“Aw, I don’t mind.” He pulled at his ear. “It’s pretty cool. He said Jesus forgave—”

I raised my hand to silence him, and his expression changed to guarded impatience.

“But later, Ruthie? Will you let me tell you later?”

I squinted into his eyes, one of which still had a yellowed shadow of a bruise.

He read my mind and answered softly, “I know, little cousin, but I trust him.”