First & Then(30)

“So that isn’t the case?”

His eyes darkened. “No, that isn’t the case.”

“So why did you come here?”

“That’s nobody’s business.”

“But if it’s not some … agenda … then why can’t you say?”

“I can say, I just don’t want to.”

Sheesh. “Okay.”

There was a pause.

“Sorry.” Ezra made a face. “I don’t … I guess I’m not very good at talking about myself. Or just … talking in general…”

I didn’t know what to say to that, either, so I just made a sound of assent and then looked out at the field. Foster was absently kicking the ball around, trying to punt it and catch it. At this moment, he backed up to catch a rogue ball, which hit him on the head.

I thought for a moment about how young he was and, even more, how young he acted. “I still can’t believe he got bumped up,” I said without thinking, and, surprisingly, Ezra followed this non sequitur.

“He’s good.”

“I know he made it through the first game okay, but I’m kind of afraid someone’s going to crush him out there.”

“I’ll look after him.”

I glanced over at Ezra. “You’ll be busy making touchdowns.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep an eye on him. And Jordan’s the best defender on the team, and one of the only people who can stand me, so Foster’ll have him, too.”

I felt awkward. “People can stand you.”

“General opinion is that I’m a giant *.”

My face flushed. “Well … you’re nice to Foster.”

He didn’t speak.

I thought about what Foster had said at dinner about him and Ezra: We have a secret. “Why are you nice to Foster?”

“Is this part of the interview?”

I colored. “No … I think I got all I need for Rachel,” I said a little too heartily, getting to my feet. “Thanks.”

“You hardly asked anything. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I don’t mind answering questions. I’ll try to give better answers.”

I looked down at Rachel’s sheet.

“Yeah, well, it’s mostly … I mean, these questions are kind of idiotic, I’m not going to lie.”

“Like what?”

I read him number seven, about the ethics of statistics mongering.

“Statistics mongering?”

“I know. Like fish mongering, only for your athletic future.”

Ezra smiled a little. A slight upturn of the lips.

“Maybe I can just send them to you or something, and you can, like, answer them on paper. No talking necessary.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Cool. Well … see you.” With that, I went down to the field to retrieve Foster.





14


When I went to pick up Foster from practice the next day, I found him on the front steps of the school with none other than Marabelle Finch.

“Hi.” He ducked his head through the window. “Can we give Marabelle a ride?”

No, I would really deny the pregnant girl a ride. “Sure.”

“Great.” The grin that took his face was electric. He went over to Marabelle and helped her up.

“So where do you live?” I asked when Marabelle was strapped into the back and Foster had taken his place in the passenger seat.

“Oh, I’m not going home. I’m helping out somewhere.”

I followed Marabelle’s directions. “Somewhere” turned out to be a powder pink building with an enormous, sparkly sign out front that read MISS VICTORIA’S SCHOOL FOR LITTLE BEAUTIES.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” It flew from my mouth before I could stop it.

“Of course.” Marabelle was already angling out of her seat belt.

“Well … have a good day,” I said.

“Oh, please, come in,” Marabelle said. “The girls love visitors.”

“Um…” I looked over at Foster, who nodded eagerly. “Okay. Sure.”

Marabelle headed into the building as fast as she could, and Foster and I lingered for a moment after parking the car and looked up at the giant sign. It showed a sparkly crown, a scepter, and a pair of ballet shoes.

“Little beauties?”

Foster shrugged and headed after Marabelle.

It was as if someone had spewed pink all over the interior of Miss Victoria’s School for Little Beauties and all over Miss Victoria herself, who clasped my hand and smiled with bright pink lips, exposing ungodly bright white teeth. She was probably midfifties and had masses of bleached blond hair teased into an updo.

“I’m Miss Victoria, but you can call me Miss Vicky,” she gushed, and then turned to Foster. “And what is your name, handsome?”

“Foster.”

“Foster, what an interesting name.”

“It’s my mom’s maiden name,” he said, and I couldn’t help but stare. This was the first time I had ever heard him mention her.

“Well, come on in, welcome to the School for Little Beauties.” Miss Vicky led us down a little hallway that opened into a large (pink) dance studio.