LaRose(93)

But you love cakes, said Nola.

Mom, I wanted to make you happy. But no cakes.

Maggie had read about obsessive-compulsive behavior in a library magazine and had resolved to keep her mother from embarking on addictive binges—plus she did hate cake because of all the cake making after Dusty was killed, and after LaRose appeared. Cakes brought bad feelings, especially cakes bearing names. She didn’t want cakes in the house.

Let’s watch a vintage movie, like an eighties movie, and eat popcorn?

Because of the sale bin at Cenex, they had several unwatched VHS movies. Soothing ones from the older days, like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club. Maggie talked to Nola about how she still related to these movies as a teenager although they were of this unthinkable time and place where cell phones were only in cars and big as shoe boxes. Yes, they talked. Or rather, a version of Maggie talked as though she were Molly Ringwald finally coming to terms with life’s complexities. And Nola talked to her like a parent slow on the draw but ultimately loving. Peter came home and witnessed them slouched in pillows, one of them out fast asleep and the other smiling thinly into the air.

He sat next to Nola, the smiling one, and quietly asked.

What is going on?

What do you mean?

She just kept smiling, didn’t look at him. Spooky.

What are you watching?

Peter gestured at the movie on the screen.

Nola opened her mouth and shook her head, entranced at some dialogue between two teenagers. She leaned her head on his shoulder and Maggie stirred in the pillows pushed up against her mother so the three were now connected, sitting there like normal people.

Maybe this is it, thought Peter. I feel weird because it’s all so normal. I’m the odd man out, the only one who cannot understand that we are now going to be all right.

What were you saying? asked Nola once the moment of on-screen drama had passed.

Nothing, said Peter. It’s just me.


The Wars

THE PLUTO BOYS were already the Planets, so the Pluto girls were the Lady Planets. Their colors were purple and white. Their mascot was a round planet with legs, arms, a perky face. The reservation team was the Warriors, but the girls weren’t the Lady Warriors, they were just the Warriors, also. Their colors were blue and gold. They didn’t want to have themselves as a mascot, so they had an old-time shield with two eagle feathers. This was printed on their uniform. The volleyball shirts were close-fitting nylon, long-sleeved so that hitting balls on their forearms wouldn’t leave them bruised, though they were often bruised anyway. They wore tight shorts and knee pads. Coach Duke made them wear headbands and ponytails because no matter how disciplined they were, girls still got distracted and touched their hair. The girls had come to idolize Coach Duke and his mingy ponytail. The Warriors had won every game of the season except their first game with the Pluto Planets. The nights turned colder, colder, and suddenly they were 8–1, with a grudge. Tonight they were playing the Pluto team again and ready to win.

I don’t like that they call scores kills, said Nola. Nothing should die.

Peter took her hand.

Nothing dies, said Peter. It’s just a word.

They were crushed into the stands, parent knees in their backs, parent backs against their knees. Nola had packed a small padded cooler with sandwiches. An ice pack slipped into the side kept the sodas stuffed around it cold. She’d even bought green grapes, so expensive this time of year. Peter helped her take her coat off, or lower it anyway. There was no place to put it so she wrapped the puffy sleeves around her waist. The gym was stuffy and there was only one stand, so the parents of the opposing teams had to sit together. They tried to group themselves according to the team they’d come to support, but inadvertently mixed.

The teams warmed up, doing stretches first, then a pepper drill—pass, set, spike, pass, set, spike. Next each player jumped and spiked the ball off the coach’s toss. At last, both teams got court time to practice serves. The Warriors’ strategy was to look weak to the Pluto team. They would even pretend to argue.

Ravich, hissed Josette. You awake?

Invisible wink. Elaborate pout by Maggie. Lots of ball smacking. No smiles at each other. Then the girls lined up.

She’s so small, Nola whispered, always struck by the contrast between Maggie and her teammates.

And the Planets are . . . but Peter caught himself.

He was going to say massive or planetary. They were big, solid, formidable girls. Maggie had told them to watch for Braelyn.

I see her, said Nola loudly. The harsh eyeliner!

Peter put his arm around her and spoke, low, in her ear. Remember? The other parents? He hadn’t seen Braelyn’s parents for a while, but was pretty sure they were behind them.

Oh! Nola pulled an imaginary zipper across her lips.

Landreaux and Emmaline came in, found a place to sit, wedged in with a group of Warrior parents. The Warriors saluted first the parents, then their coach, then passed the opposing team fake-touching hands through the net and saying good luck to every Planet. Good luck, good luck, good luck, you wanted it, said Braelyn to Maggie with a smile pasted on her face. She passed swiftly, looking straight ahead.

Did you hear it?

Snow had been directly behind Maggie.

Hear what?

You wanted it, thought Maggie. Buggy had told his sister. Shake it off. Maggie had a little thing she did, a shimmy to get rid of a bad feeling or a failed hit. It was an almost invisible instantaneous allover shake. Josette knew about it, though. The team made a circle, put their arms around one another. Coach Duke stood holding his clipboard in one hand. His other hand sliced the air with each deliberate sentence. He told them volleyball was just a game except for right now when it was more than a game. He reminded them about relaxed intensity. Focus. Bold acts. Knowing when to take their time setting up a spike. He told them to stay loose, keep focus. They were a family, sisters, warriors who would beat this team, restoring honor. Stop everything except being right here, right now, he said. And use your voice. Call the ball. Slap hands on the floor and stay positive.