Box Out (7 page)

By the time the bus gets back from Tintah, it's 11:30. Mom might still be up, and Liam doesn't want to talk to her about what happened with Coach, so he drives past Seth's house. The lights are off and Seth doesn't answer his phone. Because of his morning weight lifting, he's an early-to-bed guy lately. Liam winds down the back road to the gravel pit.

He gets out and looks at the stars. No moon tonight and no lights nearby, so the waves of the Milky Way are visible. Mr. Quist, Liam's seventh-grade science teacher, once said that there were more stars than individual grains of sand on all the beaches in the world. That seemed like such a far-out idea, but looking up now, it might be possible.

Liam spots the Big Dipper and follows it to the North Star. Always there, always in the north, always true north. He searches for the Little Dipper coming off the North Star. Those stars are tougher to identify with everything else so bright, but he looks closely and finds them.

Coach Kloss is hard to figure out. He told Liam to come down and talk anytime, but then he didn't seem very willing to listen or explain things. At least he said he'd check it out.

Liam walks past empty vodka bottles in a fire pit where kids have been partying. He ducks in among the tamarack trees, but the cold penetrates everything. He's not dressed warmly enough to be out here and his feet are tingling. He scrambles back down to the car, where the clock says 12:07. He drives out the shortcut, but the road is washed away. He has to back up and go out the other way.

“Where have you been?” Mom's stretched out on the couch in her flannel robe with Dizzy curled up on top of her.

“Why are you still up?” Liam takes off his coat.

“I couldn't sleep.” Mom marks her spot and closes her book. She sniffs, rubs her nose, and sneezes. Dizzy flies off her like she's been blasted out of a missile launcher.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.” Mom takes a tissue from her pocket. “Why are you so late?”

“After we got back from Tintah, I wasn't ready to come home. I needed some time to think.” Liam kicks off his dress shoes.

“You can't think here?”

“I needed some space, some time to myself.”

“Did you talk to Coach Kloss today?” Mom pats the couch and Dizzy warily climbs back up.

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“That praying in the locker room is fine.” Liam grabs grape juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass.

“It's not.” Mom shakes her head.

“Coach said he'd check it out.”

“With whom?”

“I don't know.” Liam wipes grape juice from his lips.

“You didn't ask?”

“Coach said he'd take care of it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know, Mom.” Liam looks at the clock on the microwave: 12:41. “Maybe it was a mistake to talk to him.”

“It wasn't a mistake, Liam.”

“We'll see.” He climbs the stairs and unbuttons his shirt. She doesn't realize how hard it was for him to talk to Coach. She doesn't realize what he's risking. He only played four minutes tonight. She didn't even ask him about the game.

The next morning, Liam turns on the computer to see if he has mail from Mackenzie. Finally. He clicks her name.

From: Mackenzie Kost

To: Liam Bergstrom

Date: February 2

Subject: intense

sweet liam,

so intense around here. sunday some friends took me over to montpellier. walked around awhile before we found a cozy little café. ate cerveau. afterward they told me what it was. calf brains! yuck. :-p the french eat all kinds of gross stuff! stayed late talking and drinking wine. btw my french is better when i drink! everyone says so. got up
early to get back to school in time. jeanbaptiste drove like a crazy man. jk he's really a good driver. everyone here drives like a maniac. took a nap as soon as I got back from school. went shopping today by myself and bought a sexy black dress. ;-> tres paris. can't wait for you to see it.

whats up with u? how's the team?

pix of my house and school and friends.

<3

lyl

x o x o kenz

He clicks open the pictures. An ancient-looking two-story house with no yard. The school's old, too—a brown building with huge trees in front. Her friends are three guys and two girls crowded onto a couch with five wine bottles on a table in front of them. The girls are thin and gorgeous and are smoking cigarettes. They're sitting in the guys' laps. The guys are good-looking, too. They look older, like they're in their twenties.

One of the guys has curly hair and a goatee. That must be Jean-Baptiste. It's pretty easy to figure out. He doesn't have a girl sitting in his lap.

That must be Mackenzie's spot.

When Liam gets home from practice, Mom's jamming papers into her bag. “I've got some lobbying to do at the meeting tonight, and I'm late. Dad and I already ate. There's food in the fridge. Just heat it up.” She grabs her coat. “And give Dizzy some clean water.”

Liam picks up Dizzy's bowl. Bits of soggy food skim the surface. He dumps it in the sink, rinses it out, and runs fresh water.

Dad comes in from the garage holding a blue bottle. “Liam, do you need washer fluid in the Toyota?”

“I don't know.”

“Let's check.” Dad turns on the outside light.

“Can't we do it later?”

“No. When you have a car, you need to take care of it. Let's go.”

Liam grabs his coat and slips on his Timberlands. Dad's
wearing a sweater. The cold doesn't seem to bother him. Maybe you develop immunity if you grow up with it.

He clicks the release and Dad lifts the hood. “Here, you do it.” Dad gives him the bottle. “Check the level in that plastic tank. Does it need more?”

Liam bends down to look. “Yeah, it's way below the line.”

“You won't believe it, but when I was a kid we had a car that didn't even have washer fluid.”

“What did you do?” Liam pours the blue liquid carefully.

“You looked through the grime of the windshield the best you could. When it got so bad you couldn't see, you'd pull over, grab some snow, and rub it around on the windshield.”

Liam snaps on the cap and gives the bottle back to Dad.

“Keep it,” Dad says. “Put it in your trunk so you have it when you need it.”

“Thanks.” He wedges the bottle between the blanket, snow shovel, and emergency kit that Dad makes him keep in the car in the winter.

“I saw your grandma this morning,” Dad says. “That was nice of you to visit.”

“How was she doing?”

“Pretty good today. You're the only one of her grandchildren whom she sees regularly. It means more to her than you can imagine.”

Liam jams his cold hands in his pockets. This is Dad's way of reminding him he should get over there more often.

“How about a quick game of H-O-R-S-E?” Dad goes to the hoop on the side of the driveway and pretends to shoot a layup.

“In the cold?”

“Come on, Liam. When I was your age we played outside. And it used to be a lot colder.”

“My fingers are already numb. How about P-I-G?”

“H-O-R-S-E,” Dad says. “Go get the ball.”

Liam shuffles to the garage and picks up the ball. “My shot.” He knocks down a jumper from the side. Dad matches that and then kills Liam with a couple of sky hooks.

Liam's hook shot falls short. “I never learned that shot.”

“You should.” Dad demonstrates the motion. “Nobody can block it.”

Liam gets Dad to H-O-R on three corner jumpers, but then Dad switches to left-handed hooks to put Liam at H-O-R-S.

“One shot to finish it off.” Dad stands with his back to the basket. “Watch this.” He slams the ball into the ground and the ball hits the board and banks in. “No looking at the hoop. Make that.”

“Pure luck.” Liam lines up and tries to figure out how hard to bounce the cold ball. He blows on his right hand for warmth. He bounces the ball a few times and then slams it down like Dad did. He turns and sees that it's not nearly enough force. The ball lands in the snow.

“You still can't beat me.” Dad raises his arms and does a goofy little dance.

Inside, Liam goes to the fridge and unwraps the plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. “Dad, I had a talk with Coach Kloss yesterday.” He presses the button on the microwave.

“Your mom mentioned that.” Dad digs into a piece of pecan pie.

“What do
you
think?”

“It's fine that you talked with him. He shouldn't be leading prayers at school, but things are different here. You have to be patient. Things take time in Horizon.”

“What if Coach says there isn't anything wrong with what he's doing?”

Dad takes another bite of pie. “Cross that bridge when you come to it.”

Liam gazes at the empty white box on his computer screen. He's written three e-mails to Mackenzie and deleted each one. Talking on the phone is so much easier than writing. With writing, everything that's wrong stares right back at you.

He wants to sound cool, like the picture of her friends doesn't bother him. It does, though, and that seeps into his words like blood into a bandage.

From: Liam Bergstrom

To: Mackenzie Kost

Date: February 2

Subject: The Same

Kenz,

Finally an email from you. I couldn't figure out what happened. Everything here is the same. School's the same. Boring. Looks like you're having more fun there.
The team is up and down. Tomorrow we play at Delavan. I know you can't use your host family's phone, but what if you got a calling card. Then you could call me. I miss talking with you.

Sweethearts Ball is in two weeks. :-< Too sad without you.

<3

Liam

x o x o x o x o

He types Xs and Os at the bottom for hugs and kisses, because Mackenzie likes that kind of stuff, and rereads the message. It's lame, but he's sick of trying to get the words right. He hits
SEND
and the message zips around the world.

He Googles Arles and up pops a series of pictures of Mackenzie's town. An old man rides a bike while carrying a baguette. Tourists line up outside a Roman coliseum. Couples stroll arm in arm on a path along the Rhône River. Liam examines each picture closely as if he might spot Mackenzie with Jean-Baptiste. What is he doing? Pathetic.

He goes to NBA.com and watches highlights of last night's games. The pros make going to the hoop look so easy. It's as if they walk on air, as if they're not bound by gravity.

Liam's phone rings and he grabs it.

“What are you doing?” Seth asks.

“Watching some videos on NBA.com.”

“Yeah, I'm sure that's what you're watching.” Seth laughs. “What have you been up to? I've hardly seen you this week.”

“Stuff.” Liam scratches his head. “I talked with Coach Kloss yesterday about those prayers.”

“Why?”

“I don't like being pressured to be a champion of Jesus.”

“So what. It's not that big a deal,” Seth says. “You're on varsity as a sophomore. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for that?”

“Yeah. I'm talking to one of them.”

“Are you coming to our JV game on Friday?”

“Yeah. I'll be there.”

“What about HAF tomorrow?”

“I don't know.”

“What are you? An idiot?” Seth shouts and Liam holds the phone away from his ear. “You have to do these things to be on varsity. Quit making things difficult.”

Liam snaps his phone shut. He doesn't need a lecture from Seth. Downstairs, he hears Mom coming in from the garage. He's still hungry, so he goes down to see what else he can find.

“James Buckner from the college gave a superb presentation that wowed the whole committee. Nine to zero. I thought we might have a fight, but it went through unanimously. For the first time ever, we're going to feature a high school student in the spring exhibition.”

“Congratulations, Kate.” Dad sets down a pack of lightbulbs and gives her a kiss.

“Who's the student?” Liam cuts a brownie from the pan and sits at the table.

“Leah Braverman. Professor Buckner says her work deserves the honor. He says age is an artificial barrier in the face of such talent.”

“Is that Darius's dad?” Liam takes a huge bite.

“Yes. I told him I was angry at how Darius had been treated on the basketball team.” She fills the kettle and turns on the burner. “Who wants a cup of tea?”

“I do,” Dad says. “But first I have to change the light in the bathroom.” He pulls a bulb out of the pack.

“Liam, do you want anything hot?” Mom unwraps two apple-cinnamon tea bags.

“No thanks.” He cuts another brownie.

Mom turns to him. “How about you? What's happening with Coach Kloss?”

“I'm waiting to see what he says.” Liam licks chocolate off his fingers.

“Listen, I've got a lawyer on my board, Kendra Gronquist. I could talk to her about filing a complaint with the superintendent.” The kettle whistles and Mom grabs it.

“Mom, I'm not filing a complaint. Let me handle this. You don't go to practice. You don't have to worry about playing time or getting along with Coach.”

She pours hot water into the mugs. “Well, it's simply my
opinion, but I don't think he's going to change without pressure.”

“Let me take care of it.”

“I was only making a suggestion.” She sets the kettle back on the stove.

“I don't want any suggestions. You're always making suggestions. ‘Read this. Study that. Prepare for the PSAT. Get into a good college.'” His throat tightens.

Dad comes in and takes his mug.

“Let me be.” Liam stands up.

“Listen, Liam.” Mom turns to face him. “The reason I push you is because you've got gifts. You're bright. You're compassionate. You have ability.”

Liam walks away from her. Dad's standing right there. Why doesn't he say something?

“And with gifts come responsibility.” Mom raises her voice. “You have a responsibility to stand up for what's right.”

“You're not listening, Mom. I need to do this my way, not your way.” He slides on his boots and pulls his coat from the closet.

“Where are you going, Liam?”

He grabs his keys.

“What are you doing?”

He opens the door and the cold air rushes in.

“Don't leave like that,” Mom shouts.

“Let him go, Kate,” Dad says. “Let him go.”