The Song of David(25)

Henry stopped suddenly, and I laid a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking so hard he was vibrating. He pointed toward a girl standing alone next to a row of red lockers.

“Is that her?” I asked.

Henry nodded, still staring. I choked, swallowing my laughter. She wasn’t huge at all. But she was Japanese.

She was short and softly rounded, maybe a little bit chubby, but most of her weight was in her chest, which told me a lot about where Henry’s attention had been. Henry continued toward her and then stopped next to her, his eyes darting between the lockers beside her head and my face. He looked desperate.

The Japanese girl stared at me and raised one eyebrow expectantly. She had a row of loops through that eyebrow, a tiny diamond in her nose, and two rings through her bottom lip. Her ears were practically bedazzled.

“I’m Tag Taggert.” I stuck out my hand and gave her a smile of dimpled sincerity. It was my money grin.

“Ayumi Nagahara,” she answered, extending her small hand. I almost laughed. Her voice was impossibly sweet and high.

I gave her hand a brisk shake and released it. Then I folded my arms and got serious. “Henry likes you. He thinks you’re amazing. He’s told me all about you.” Both eyebrows shot up, and I had a feeling it had more to do with Henry confiding in me than the fact that he liked her.

She looked at Henry for a minute, her expression softening, and then looked back at me. Henry leaned his forehead against the lockers as if the whole conversation was making him dizzy.

“He’s sorry, Ayumi. He wasn’t trying to infer that you are like a sumo wrestler. He was trying to tell you he reveres you, the way the Japanese revere their wrestlers.”

Henry started to nod, his head banging against the locker. I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him back just a bit so he wouldn’t knock himself out.

“However, he does think you’re tough. You obviously know how to throw a punch.” I looked pointedly at Henry’s face and Ayumi blushed a deep, ruby red. I figured I didn’t need to say anything more on that subject. I just hoped she’d think before popping poor Henry again. Because girl or not, she couldn’t go around slugging people. Especially people like Henry. “And anytime you want to come and hang out with us at Tag Team, me and Henry, you can. A friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine.”

“Okay,” she squeaked, and I tried to imagine her angry enough to double up her fists and swing. Henry must have really set her off.

The bell rang and Henry jumped. Lockers slammed, and kids started to clear the hall.

“See you at the gym after school Henry, okay?”

Henry nodded, his face relaxing into a smile. His color was returning to normal, and his grip on his back-pack had eased.

I tousled Henry’s hair, giving him a one-armed man hug, and as I walked away, I heard him rattle off my record to his little friend.

“David ‘Tag’ Taggert, light heavyweight contender with a professional record of eighteen wins, two losses, ten knockouts.”





“THERE’S NO WAY you can support Henry on a dancer’s wage,” I said. Even the wage I’d moved her up to. I was walking Millie home again, like I’d done every night she’d worked for the last two weeks. I still hadn’t found a replacement for Morgan, and I was still working too many hours at the bar. But I hadn’t minded it at all, and the reason walked beside me.

“No. There isn’t. But lucky for us my mom planned well. She had a life insurance policy, a good one, and the house was hers, free and clear. It’s been in her family forever. And my dad gave her a chunk of money—maybe you’ve heard of him. Andre Anderson? He played for the San Francisco Giants. He was a first baseman. I don’t know what he’s doing now.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, surprised. “I do remember him.”

Amelie nodded. “We think that’s why Henry became so fixated on sports. He was only five when my dad split. You know how players study game film? Well, Henry does that. My mom had discs made up of all the video, all the recordings of my dad’s games, as much as she could get her hands on. Henry would sit and watch, endlessly. He still does. He can quote entire innings. It’s crazy.”

“So why do you dance?” I hadn’t meant to ask. It just came out, the way most things usually did. If I felt something, it eventually worked its way from my gut to my throat and out my lips.

“Why do you hit people?” she asked. I didn’t bother to defend the sport. I did hit people. That was a big part of it, and it was silly to argue about it.