Who is Mackie Spence? (16 page)

The week flies by. Monday, seated next to Mackie at lunch, I think about my now serene world. I had to look that word up for one of our literature assignments. Serene: peaceful, calm, untroubled. That's how I feel sitting next to her. Okay, when I first see her, my heart thunders like it's next to my ears, but I've become used to that.

Wednesday night, Mackie and I study French together at her house. Noelle looks bored, so we must be doing something right.

Friday after school, Soltrice High hosts a triangular meet with Seattle Prep and O'Dea. Before the meet, at lunch, Mackie invites me to have dinner with her. She has to stay home with Noelle because her parents are taking a late afternoon ferry to have dinner in Seattle and attend some play with friends.

At the meet, my time isn't as fast as at Riley City Park, but it's decent. Brody has continued to ignore me during the week's practices, and our truce holds during the race.

When I walk into the Spences' house, Noelle announces with swirling hand flourishes, “Jeremy, you're in for an extreme dining experience because I have taken the time to customize our pizza.”

I throw Mackie a puzzled look. “Customize?”

“Don't get her started, please!” Mackie says, but it's too late.

Noelle begins, in full, Suffering Southern Belle performance style, to describe an addition made to the extra-large frozen pizza.

“Firstly, my dear sister and I disagree on how a pizza pie should taste. But then, my sister has tastes that are quite ordinary.”

Mackie raises her eyebrows, folds her arms across her chest, and cocks her head at Noelle. In animal language, this would mean, “Caution. I don't like what I'm hearing.”

Noelle continues. “And so, sir, I have taken it upon myself to make this a far more rarified and tasty offering. I've added chewy pieces of succulent baby toes. This is going to be one fabulous pizza. It's going to be the best ever,” she says, clapping her hands together and looking at me with glee.

Turning to Mackie, I ask, “So what kind of pizza are we having?”

“Pepperoni with extra cheese,” she responds, shaking Noelle by both arms and laughing. “My ‘dear sister' hasn't touched this pie.”

I sigh in relief. The idea of damaging a perfectly good pizza sends shivers through me.

Noelle tosses her head, turns dramatically, and sits down. “Well I never!” She likes to have the last word.

While the pizza bakes, Mackie pulls us away from Noelle for a private conversation.

“How did it go today?” she asks.

“Good. We took the meet. Coach seemed happy.”

“That's very good. What about Brody? Is he still being a jerk?”

“We don't talk. Is he still bothering you?”

“Not as much as usual. Maybe he's moved on with Jilly. It's been a relief to not have him lurking around. But he still sends me messages. You know, he acts like he's a great guy, but he can be really rude.” Mackie wrinkles her nose.

I'm not sure what she's referring to, but asking would mean more time spent on Brody. It's enough for me to know that she is finished with him. Still, what has he been writing to her that is ‘rude?'

Mackie's phone music jingles, interrupting us.

“Hi, Jen. What's up, cookie? Hey, Jeremy's with me. Okay if I put us on speaker?”

Mackie taps her phone so I, too, can hear Jennifer's excited voice. “Kyle Davenport's having a par-taaaay!” Jen sings. “And he said it was okay for me to invite everyone.”

“What's the occasion?” I ask. On the island there are parties and there are
parties
.

“One of his parents' jumpers won a big title this week. They're having a celebration tonight, and Kyle and his brother are asking their friends, too.”

“This isn't a dinner, is it?” Mom says I have a way of looking a gift horse in the mouth, meaning that instead of saying “thank you” I ask more about the offer or gift. I am really on it tonight. I glance at Mackie. She doesn't seem offended.

“Not dinner. We'll hang out in the practice barn. Kyle's uncles play in a band and Wes says they're really good. He'll be there.”

I keep looking at Mackie, who seems much calmer than Jen about going to this party.

“What do you think?” Mackie mouths.

“How about we get back with you in a few minutes?” I ask Jen.

“Okay, but you guys have to come. It's going to be lots of fun,” she says.

After Mackie hangs up, Noelle gives us a big smile. “You two go ahead. I can take care of myself.”

“I don't think so. You know we'll both be in trouble if I leave you alone,” Mackie says. “But the party sounds like fun and the Davenports have amazing horses. I'll call Mom.” Mackie taps her phone. Her face brightens.
Mrs. Spence must still be having dinner.

“Mom. Everything's okay. Jen called. One of the Davenports' horses won a blue ribbon this week, and Kyle's family is celebrating. Yeah, it's wonderful. Jeremy and I are invited, too.” She is quiet for a bit. “Yes, I know. Jeremy's with me, and I think Wes can pick us up. Jen sounds like she's inviting everyone. I'll be back by eleven. Okay?”

Another pause.

“Noelle. Mom wants to talk with you,” Mackie says, looking happy and handing her phone to her sister.

“Hi Mom,” Noelle says, in what I've come to recognize is her ‘I'm a responsible, young-adult-now' voice. “I could call Mia and see what she's doing. Uh-huh, right, I know. Right away.”

While Noelle phones her friend, I call my mom. “Mom. Mackie and I are invited to the Davenports' house tonight. One of their horses won some prize. Is it okay to go?”

“You're sure that there will be adults there? Kyle's parents know about this right?” Mom replies.

“Yeah, it's their party, and there will be lots of adults, like Kyle's uncles and other people.”

“Who's driving? You need to be home by eleven.”

“I'll see if Wes can pick us up. Mackie has to be home by eleven, too, so I don't think that will be a problem.”

“All right. Be safe.”

Meanwhile, Noelle is back on the phone with her mother. Mission accomplished. We will all go out this evening, Mackie and I to Kyle's, and Noelle to Mia's house.

“Do you want me to find Wes?” Mackie asks.

“No, I'm on it,” I reply, grinning. “Good thing Wes likes to drive.” I type:

Wes' reply is immediate:

Mackie and Noelle have moved into the kitchen to cut the pizza, which smells fantastic, into pieces. With relief, I see that it looks like a normal pie. No customizing. I've just finished wolfing down a third slice when we hear Wes' trademark downshift and sliding stop.

“The last time Wes was here, my dad asked him if he was being scouted by NASCAR,” Mackie says, as we start out of the kitchen. I grin and nod.

“Yeah, my dad said something about that, too.” I'd like to have a car and slide to a stop like Wes.

Mackie looks at Noelle. “When Mia's mom picks you up, don't forget to lock the front door,” she says.

Noelle rolls her eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

Mackie pulls a dark blue jacket off a clothes tree in the foyer, and we head out into the night air, ready for action.

“Jeremy! Mackie!” Wes sings. “We're picking Angela up. Ty just got home, so he'll be late. Maybe Wendy's coming, too. I don't know. Jen called everyone. This should be big. Have you guys been to the Double D?”

“I have,” Mackie says. “We go to their harvest dinners at the end of October. The horses are beautiful, but I like the lambs. They're really cuddly. Noelle tried to put one in our car once and my mom was ready to kill her. Noelle, not the lamb.”

“Our end-of-season soccer team parties have been there. It's a cool place.” I add.

When we pull up to her house, Angela waits on her front porch. Her dad comes out of the house and walks with her to our car, looks us over, and speaks to Wes. “There won't be any drinking or drugging at this party, right?”

“No, sir. It's Kyle's parents' party. So there'll be lots of adults around,” Wes says.

“Okay, eleven o'clock young lady,” Angela's dad stands in the drive, watching us leave with his hands on his hips.

“My dad,” Angela murmurs.

Sitting in front with Wes, I turn to him while the girls talk.

“Does Spooner's party still have your parents upset? My mom asks me all the time now about drugs and drinking,” I say.

“Yeah. Well, there's a lot of stuff out there. But, I mean, it would be stupid, anyway. Hey, did you hear that Shawn was pulled over this week?”

“What for?”

“He was driving home after football practice; a cop tailed him halfway to his house. He wasn't doing anything wrong. The cop stopped him and he had to show his license. But he didn't get a ticket.”

“So, he's just driving, and he gets pulled over?”

“He didn't get busted because there was nothing. I mean, it's Shawn. The guy's so clean he's like soap,” Wes says.

The island police don't trust high school students. This is partially understandable, because the cops know kids have easy access to drugs. But over the years they've indiscriminately leaned on everyone, hassling students just off school grounds, stopping them for nothing when they're driving, and busting up perfectly legit gatherings after school on the pretense that they're “too loud.”

Angela interrupts us. “I have a question. Will this mainly be the soccer team?”

“There'll be lots of guys from the team, but Kyle would invite everyone,” Wes says.

I nod at Wes. That's Kyle. He proposed our school start a Student Mediation Board. Students in trouble for minor offenses sit with the student board to figure out how to make things right. Kyle has been like our own United Nations. He can talk with anyone.

Pulling into the Davenports' long driveway, we pass under the tall Double D metal arch, and park with other cars on a sun-dried, grassy field near one of the barns. As we head for the house, I check things out. I've always liked the ranch. The main house is a
two-story, red brick building with a wraparound porch. There are three barns: one for the horses, a second for indoor riding, and a third for the cows, sheep, chickens, and goats. Out of sight, an acre-sized manmade pond sits at the low end of the property.

When we get closer to the porch, I see lots of people I know, including some parents. Kyle is talking with two members of our soccer team, so I lead our group over to say hello.

“Hi, Jer,” Kyle calls out as soon as he sees us.

“Hi, hey this looks great,” I say.

“Kyle, do you know Angela?” Wes asks. Kyle shakes his head. “Kyle, Angela; Angela, Kyle. I hear your uncles might play tonight. Any chance of that happening?”

“There's no way to stop my Uncle Drew. When there's a crowd, he's going to play. And when Uncle Drew plays, so does Uncle Bob. So I hope you're down with gypsy jazz.”

Forget the championship horses. Wes raises his fists over his head and flaps them like
he's
just won the first-place ribbon. Live music is his idea of celebrating.

I put my hand on Mackie's arm, and she giggles. There is a good vibe everywhere. Fiddle music flows from outdoor speakers. I point toward a big tub of soft drinks near a table covered with appetizers. We walk over and pull out cold cans of citrus sparkling water. Then we slip into the crowd.

The air feels mild and I see fleecy cirrus clouds in the south sky with a smattering of stars. Since it's cloudy, it shouldn't get too cold.
Perfect.
Mac and I put an arm around each other's waists and are soon joined by Ty and Wendy.

Jen bounces over, giving us a cheeky smile.

“Hey! Anyone want to go to the barn and see the cute little billy goats?” she asks.

“What? I didn't see any freshmen around,” Ty observes while turning his neck as if trying to locate one.

“Be nice,” Jen warns him, then floats away to greet someone further in the crowd.

Adults sit on chairs on the house porch, sipping from wine glasses and beer mugs. It looks like some of the Davenports' employees are serving. I see one or two people our age eying the drinks set-up on the porch, but no one approaches the tables.

At around nine o'clock, Mr. Davenport swings a bar inside a hanging, metal triangle to get everyone's attention. “Leigh and I are so pleased that all of you could come out tonight to help us celebrate Chester T. Ford's win at Lexington.” He pauses for appreciative applause for Chester T.'s win, grins, and continues. “Help yourselves to food and beverages. My brothers Drew and Bob are favoring us this evening with their special brand of musical entertainment. So let's head over to the practice barn and get them started.”

I stroll with Mackie toward the middle barn. Inside, bales of hay have been scattered for seating around an oval riding ring. A stand of bleachers is at the far end. Along the ring railing, Drew and Bob tune their guitars. I've heard Kyle's uncles play before, at the island's summer parks concert series. They're members of a larger gypsy jazz band named the Snape Shakers. The complete band is made up of a lead guitar, a violin, two rhythm guitars, and a bass.

Suddenly, a man carrying an old upright bass walks through the barn doors. Drew and Bob look at each other in amazement. Their bass player seems to have shown up unexpectedly.

It takes about ten minutes for people to enter and quiet down. Jon and Erica sit on a bale of hay next to Mackie and me. Jen walks in with, to my surprise, Ryan. I've never been around him socially before, only with the cross-country team.
This is new.

Mackie gives me with an amused smile and whispers, “Uh oh. Does Ryan know Jen very well? Does he know what he's in for?”