LaRose(96)

Snow and Josette walked Maggie out the gym door. Braelyn passed but they stink-eyed her and she strode to her parents’ pickup.

How come she’s got it out for you?

She’s from my old school. I gave her brother Buggy the ball kick.

How come? asked Josette.

Maggie looked down at her feet and hunched her shoulders.

Oh, said Josette.

Guess they’re still mad, said Maggie.

No shit. She was gunning for you, said Snow.

They watched the pickup, with Braelyn in it, roar from the parking lot.

Oh my god! Holeee!

Diamond caught up with them.

You know your dad punched out Braelyn’s dad? Your mom spit on her mom?

You got a badass family, Diamond said.

Maggie jumped into her car’s backseat.

Mom? Dad?

Maggie?

Nice game, said Peter.



FATHER TRAVIS TURNED Emmaline’s words over.

Unfair. Not playing by the rules. Was that what she’d said when he’d talked to her after the tae kwon do class? He kept imagining that she’d replied with the same words as his, and stayed . . . But Emmaline had shoved his handkerchief back and left with LaRose. Her face, remarkably, had been neither red nor swollen, betraying no emotion, no sign that she had spoken wildly. Nor had she answered his declaration.

What did I do? Why did I say that I am in love with her?

Every time Father Travis asked himself this question shortly after their meeting, he was still too exhilarated to answer it. But as week after week passed and she didn’t show up at class, sent one of the older sisters or brothers with LaRose, he began to regret his words. He began to wonder if he’d even said them, or if she’d understood, or perhaps was crying for some other reason.

One night when Snow walked into the class with LaRose, Father Travis stepped down too hard. His foot pressed into the floor as if a support beneath the wood had given. His knee buckled. He went down in surprise, but righted himself and taught the class with complete concentration. That was what he liked about tae kwon do in the first place—there was no room for any thought but what came next.

After everyone had clapped for one another and he’d dismissed the class, LaRose approached him. He liked the boy, his fearless and confiding way, and his hard work. Though he had no talent, LaRose plonked his way through the forms and eventually memorized the drills. His kicks and punches rarely possessed conviction; they were just motions he made in the air.

LaRose stood before his teacher, at attention.

Sir.

Yes?

I had a fight, and I lost.

I’m not teaching you to fight, you know that. I’m teaching you to defend yourself.

Well, sir, I was doing that.

So someone was hurting someone weaker, and you tried to defend that person getting hurt?

Someone did something to someone else, so I went there to fight the bad guys.

This bad thing someone did? Was it right then?

No. A few years back, I guess.

That’s not defending, then. That’s revenge.

That’s what revenge looks like, she said that.

Who?

LaRose didn’t answer.

Okay. I can guess.

These guys did bad things to her. I went to their garage. I punched one guy, but then another guy knocked me down and almost stopped my breath.

Father Travis walked LaRose to a corner of the gym, where they sat down together on a pile of floor mats.

How old were these guys?

LaRose said they were in high school now, and that Brad, oops, one of the guys, had driven him home afterward and told him that he should go out for football.

Brad, huh? Morrissey. I know those guys. So you went to beat them up. This is just what I tell your class never to do. You’ve broken the discipline. I should take your belt.

LaRose hung his head. His shaggy hair flopped forward.

They hurt her very much, LaRose whispered.

Father Travis took a deep breath and held it until he could control his voice.

You told the truth, so you earned back your belt, he said, and now you must tell me everything.

I don’t know exactly, said LaRose, except she took so many showers, after, to get clean. They made her feel like a broken animal.

Father Travis tried to keep his hands from tightening by putting two fingers to one temple and closing his eyes. The infection of fury rose in him.

Father Travis?

I’ll have a word with them, said Father Travis, opening his eyes. A word or two. Not a fight, you understand?

Waylon, Hollis, and Coochy decided to drive over to Hoopdance for a hamburger at the truck stop. In case they saw Buggy or any of his friends, they brought tube socks and rocks. The rocks were in the glove compartment and the tube socks stuffed in the cup holder. If things got bad, they’d put the rocks in the socks and come out swinging. But in the truck stop most booths were filled with elderly farm people talking loudly, sinking their upper plates carefully into the day’s special. The boys ignored the steam table and the tiny salad bar. They sat in a back booth. They had helped Bap and Ottie clean out their garage, and they had money in their pockets. Halfway through their hamburgers, Buggy entered, alone. He didn’t notice them. He paced around a bit, finally sat down at the counter, then jumped up again right after he’d ordered. The boys stuffed down the rest of their food, signaled to the waitress, put money on the table, and got out the door. Buggy was talking to the short-order cook. They sat in Hollis’s car waiting for him to come out.