I wanted to ask Jodi about Luke again, if he could possibly be the father of her child. Instead, I said, "Look, Jodi...if the baby's mine—"
Her chin shot up; she gave me a hateful look. "What do you mean if?"
Chapter Nine
Leaving the motor running, the heater on, I parked the car where we could look out over a city park. Huge oaks stood with their gnarled limbs stretching against the dull sky, a few brown leaves twisting in the wind. Frames and poles for swings, tetherballs, and teeter-totters stood empty. The wind whipped the snow across the little league diamonds.
"What's going on with you?" I asked.
"Are you really interested?"
"Why do you think I'm here?"
"I'm not sure."
"I'm skipping the first part of football practice today so I can talk to you and find out what's happening."
She stared straight ahead. Snow hitting the windshield melted on the warm glass and trickled down in rivulets.
"A week ago," I said, "I talked to you on the phone. You sounded okay."
"I was."
"You said you'd call me before you got here."
"Did I?"
"Yesterday I'm surprised as hell when I see you at school. I try to talk to you, and you brush me off. And now you tell me nothing's wrong. I don't get it."
"You could've called," she said.
"You said you would call."
She didn't answer.
"Is this what this is all about? Who was supposed to call?"
She continued to stare straight ahead, her lips a hard line.
"Look," I said, "I'm sorry about your cross-country season and about your having to switch schools. I—" I halted. Suddenly I realized how stupid my apology was. How meaningless. I mean, nothing was going to change for Jodi. She was still pregnant, living away from home and attending a strange school. Her scholarship chances were shot. Still, I said it again: "I am sorry, I really am. I wish—"
She cut me off. "If you really cared you'd have called two or three times. Maybe every night. You'd have called and said your homecoming dance is this weekend. I could've gotten a dress ready—I'm not showing. Much. That's what you would've done if you really cared."
"I didn't know when you'd be here—I'm not going to homecoming. I don't even want to go."
"Fine! Don't!"
Snow started gathering on my driver's side window, and I felt cold. I turned up the heater a notch. I wanted to ask Jodi about Luke again, if he could possibly be the father of her child. Instead, I said, "Look, Jodi...if the baby's mine—"
Her chin shot up; she gave me a hateful look. "What do you mean if?"
"I'll never miss a child-support payment. I'll see that he goes to college. My dad left me a trust fund. For college. For emergencies. I'll do my best."
She pounced on me like a tiger. "Is that what you think, I want? Money?"
"I didn't say that! You're not listening to me!"
She turned to grab her backpack in the seat behind her. "Take me to my grandparents' house."
"Jodi, listen—"
"Home!"
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Now!" she shouted.
God! Gladly! "Where do they live?"
She told me.
We didn't talk all the way there.
She huffed out of the car, didn't look at me, slammed the door, and ran for her grandparents' front door. I couldn't believe I'd once liked her. I mean, really, I'd tried to be nice to her. I'd tried to give her a break, just as Mom had said.
To hell with Jodi Jackson.
I was forty-five minutes late for practice. Coach Flynn threw a scowl my way when I reported to take my place in the backfield for passing drills, but he didn't say anything until after I dropped my third pass in a row. Then he yanked me aside. "What's wrong?" The side of his mouth twitched.
The wind and snow stung my face. Coach Flynn wore a hooded red sweatshirt, the hood down. Snowflakes melted the instant they landed on the top of his bald head.
"Um...nothing," I said. "The ball's cold. Hard. My hands and fingers haven't adjusted yet."
"Keep your head together, Panther. You've had a marvelous season, but we've got just a few more games to win before we're state champs. Everyone's counting on you."
"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not thinking about anything except football. And that's the truth."
Coming Monday—Chapter 10: Football glory for Michael.
