Rock Bottom Girl(99)

“That was really nice of you, by the way,” I told her. “You didn’t have to help her after all the shit—ha—she’s pulled with you.” Something about the fact that this woman just went out of her way to show kindness to a mortal enemy made her even more attractive to me. What the hell was happening to me? I fall in love and instantly turn into a teddy bear of mush? Love made men pathetic, I decided.

She tried to shrug off the compliment, but I pulled her into me and wrapped her in a one-armed hug. I used my other arm to elbow Bertha away from Marley’s already mangled hood.

“I’m serious, pretty girl. You’re a good person.”

“I’m probably going to laugh really hard about it later tonight,” she confessed.

“You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. It was fucking hilarious. Now, are you prepared to have your ass—man, I’m hilarious tonight—handed to you?”

She laughed appreciatively. Another point in her favor. The woman had the good taste to find me amusing. I loved her. Completely and without question, and I had no fucking clue what to do about it.

“On a scale of one to Peeing Your Pants in School, how humiliating is this going to be?” she asked, wincing as the crowd in the gymnasium broke into enthusiastic applause.

“Baby, you didn’t just fall ass-first into donkey shit. You’ll be just fine. Have fun with it.”

“Where’s your helmet?” she asked, eyeing my bare head.

I grinned and picked up my motorcycle helmet from the floor.

She rolled her eyes. “Always a rebel.”

I gave her a quick kiss for luck on the cheek and went off to huddle with my team. The rules were simple. There were five to a team. Four players from each team took to the court at a time. You could run alongside your donkey leading him or her down the court, but in order to shoot the ball, you had to be astride.

Our donkeys were fat, happy pets from several local farms that rented out their specially trained herds for one fundraiser a year and nativity plays at Christmas. They arrived in a train of Cadillac-like trailers and received pets, hugs, and treats from VIP donors prior to the game. Bertha here lived in an actual house. Ezekiel, the short brownish donkey, was a certified therapy animal allowed to visit the senior citizens at the nursing home.

Riders were given a crash course in donkey handling which boiled down to, “Don’t make your donkey do anything he or she doesn’t want to do.” That added to the hilarity of the event. Last year, I’d been saddled—ha—with a donkey that felt like walking off the court and into the hallway every five minutes.

I hoped Marley ended up with a lazy ass. I mean, I loved the girl and all, but I was competitive. I wanted to win. Besides, learning to laugh at herself would be good for her.

We took to the court, awkwardly leading our four-legged partners to the center where the Media Club announced the riders and steeds. I waved like a star athlete when it was my turn and scanned the stands. My uncles were in attendance somewhere. I spotted the Ciceros holding a calligraphy Marley Cicero is Our Daughter sign in the front row looking excited. They waved to me, and I waved back. For in-laws, a guy could do a lot worse.

Holy fucking shit. Where the hell had that come from?

“Yo, Weston,” Haruko called. “Let’s huddle up.”

I would freak out later, I decided.

“Okay, Team Ass-tonishing All-Stars,” the official donkey handler said. “Remember, our primary goal is gentle donkey management. Don’t pull. Don’t push. Don’t kick. The donkeys are the stars, and you are their personal assistants. If poop happens, there are buckets and shovels at the end of each court. You are responsible for your donkey’s poop.”

Heh, Bertha had already unleashed her bowels, so I was covered for the duration of the game.

“We’ll be breaking for water, treats, and rest halfway through.”

The game lasted thirty minutes, which was about as long as the crowd could laugh without pissing their pants. And it kept the donkeys within their allotted cardio conditioning for the day.

We stood for the National Anthem, and then it was game time. I gave Marley a sassy wink.





Marley was a surprisingly good donkey rider. Or her damn donkey had a crush on her. While Bill Beerman proceeded to fall off for the third time—the guy had zero balance—and Floyd chased after his escaped donkey, Marley trotted down the court clutching the ball. She missed the basket. But Principal Eccles rebounded it and swished it for two points. The two women high-fived from the backs of their respective donkeys as the crowd cheered.

Bertha was a heat-seeking missile on course to return to half-court when she got distracted by something. The entire girls soccer team. They were lined up on the first bleacher unbagging apple slices and carrot sticks.

I heard Marley’s laugh and flipped up the visor of my helmet to give her a stern glare. Of course she’d cheat. I was mad I hadn’t thought of it myself.

Three of my team’s four donkeys trotted over to graze happily out of the girls’ hands while Haruko faced the Ass-tute Achievers alone. The crowd was eating it up. I waved the ref over and demanded he call a foul. Marley rode over, and we went toe-to-hoof in a good-natured shouting match.

“She’s cheating, ref!”

“He’s just jealous he didn’t think of it first!”