As word got around that there now was a girls’ soccer team at Powell Park, the news was mostly met with a shrug, but a few girls—like Peggy Darnell—told us we were lucky to have an excuse to see Mr. McMann every day.
She also told us there was going to be a party at Dan O’Keefe’s house Saturday night. I felt conflicted, like I shouldn’t be breaking the terms of Bobby’s contract. I didn’t want to treat him like a joke the way other people were, but I also knew I wasn’t a jock like Cynthia Weaver. He’d said we could have a beer or two, after all.
“Hey, it’s the ball-kicking lesbos.”
Paul was the first person to see us, and he shouted over the noise when we walked into Dan’s house. I had actually been daydreaming about Bobby as Candace and Tina talked about . . . I actually don’t know what, when Paul’s voice rattled me back into the moment. The house was vibrating with music from Savage Hunger, a band headed up by Rick Spellman, a senior who should have graduated two years ago. If his grades matched his band’s abilities, it was no wonder he still hadn’t gotten his diploma.
“Go to hell, Paul,” I said.
“‘Go to hell, Paul,’” he mimicked in a singsong voice that sounded nothing like me. Candace gave him the finger.
We made our way to the keg in the corner of Dan’s basement, where Reggie Stanton was handing out red Solo cups. He was a second-string quarterback with a mustache that he was extremely proud of, and that currently had beer foam clinging to its dark hairs. Over the summer, Candace had decided he was cute, but I thought her interest was entirely based on the fact that he’d wolf-whistled and winked at her on his way out of Wojo’s.
“Oh look, our new lady athletes,” he sneered, making a show of handing us cups.
“Is McMann gonna teach you how to do headers? ’Cause if not, I can show you,” said Keith Barnes as he gyrated his hips while pretending to be holding the back of, I guess, a woman’s head.
“You wish, Keith,” Candace said. But then she put her hand over her mouth and laughed, and her boobs jiggled. Reggie watched. “It’s not like the team is this serious thing. It’s just fun.”
“I think it’s cool,” chimed in George Tomczak, who’d wandered over from a corner of the basement. “Soccer is a really athletic game. You must be in great shape to make the team.” He directed his praise at all of us, but he gave Candace a special look. She covertly turned toward me and Tina and pinched her nose. We called George “Garbage Breath” because his was always foul, like he’d gargled with sour milk and tuna water.
“Thanks, George,” Candace said, but she was looking at Reggie the whole time. Reggie sidled up to whisper something to her and she giggled again. I wanted to pull her away, but I knew Reggie was her bad decision to make.
At least George got the hint. He nodded to Tina and me and said, “Well, good luck, fellow Pirates,” and slipped away before Tina and I could even offer a half-hearted thanks. But it was better not to encourage him.
Tina sighed as we took our first sips of watery beer. “I miss Todd,” she said, and it took me a second to remember who Todd even was: her boyfriend, in Milwaukee. They met in seventh grade and still saw each other when Tina visited her dad. Tina says she loves him, but their relationship seems like so much work, not only with being long distance but also because it’s a secret. Tina’s afraid to tell her mom about Todd, because he’s kind of artsy and wants to skip college to go save the environment or something, and Tina’s mom had her fill of artistic do-gooders with Tina’s dad, her first husband. But Tina’s totally into Todd, and he does write her letters and gets her clothes from the store where he works. So that’s something.
“Guys like this make me realize how good I have it,” she continued, ignoring how every boy at the party seemed to be staring at her.
“Totally,” I agreed, like I had a clue what having it good with a guy was like. We wove through the crush of people in the humid basement. A few of them were dancing, and on an armchair in the corner, most of Becky Logan’s underwear was visible where her skirt had ridden up as she made out with some guy I didn’t recognize. Two guys got up from a couch, and Tina and I plopped into their empty seats with our drinks.
Dan O’Keefe, our host, who was okay, came up to us. “Having fun, ladies?” He was already drunk, but in a Dan way, which just made him act like someone’s dad. “Help yourself to some chips. My mom went to the Jewel earlier.” He gestured to the table like a woman on The Price Is Right showing off a prize showcase, and I grabbed a handful of chips to show his generosity was appreciated. Dan pointed at me. “Oh, Susan, remember Michael from the summer? He asked about you. I told him he should say hi.”
“Michael?” Tina said, elbowing me. “You mean Michael Webster?”
I’d seen Michael at a few parties of Dan’s in the past. Over the summer, Michael had poured me a beer and we’d made some good eye contact, and I’d been interested enough to ask Dan if Michael had a girlfriend. Dan had told me he’d find out, but then Michael had left with his friends before we even got a chance to talk. I looked past Dan to see Michael standing by a bookcase filled with Dan’s dad’s bowling trophies. Michael Webster was no Bobby McMann, but he was still cute. Cuter than anyone at Powell Park High, at least. He went to St. Mark’s and had light, shaggy hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing his black-and-gold jacket covered in varsity patches and holding a beer.
He looked over and saw Dan, who nodded some kind of signal and walked away. Then Michael came over, all six-foot-two of him.
“Hey,” he said to me, sitting down on the arm of the couch so he kind of loomed over me and Tina. “Good party, right?”
“It’s okay,” Tina and I said at the same time.
“O’Keefe said another keg is coming. It’ll get better.” Michael moved to sit on the couch and I scooted over. His leg was touching mine.
“He’s kind of hot,” Tina whispered to me, pinching me lightly on the arm. I shot her a look.
“You two go to Powell Park?” he said.
“Yeah, we’re juniors.” As I said it, I realized his arm was already around me. It felt heavy, but kind of nice, and his fingertips touched lightly where my sleeve met my skin. I looked into his eyes and he smiled with one side of his mouth. If this had happened in the summer, I might have passed out, but now I could only think that he was Not Bobby. Michael was suddenly as exciting as the teddy bear I practiced kissing in my room, even if he had real boy parts.
“I’m at St. Mark’s,” he said. “I play football. Maybe you should come to a practice.”
I liked the idea of him asking, but I also liked the reality of not being able to say yes. “I just made the soccer team,” I said. “So I can’t.”
He settled his arm deeper into the nook between my shoulder and my neck and gently tugged me closer. “Soccer, huh?” he said, as he brushed his fingertips lightly over my collarbone. “That’s kinda cute. But they don’t make girls practice every day, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he leaned in toward me, his face hovering in front of mine. He had Bobby-ish lips, full and soft. He wanted to kiss me. A real guy, a good-looking one, who might have been a little drunk, was about to kiss me.