Crossing Lines Read online

  “He’s not worth it,” Toby whispered to him. “Don’t get kicked off the team over that mistake of nature.”

  Marshall had five inches and maybe seventy pounds of pure muscle on Alan.

  It would have been like a horned rhino charging a feathered peacock if they’d fought. But Alan never flinched. He looked steady as anything, like nothing Marshall had said could shake him. And I couldn’t tell if he was brave or just plain clueless.

  Finally, Marshall came to his senses and sat back down, leaving Alan standing up alone.

  “I won’t tolerate this kind of aggressive behavior,” said D’Antoni, who seemed as annoyed at Alan as he was at Marshall. “I’ll see you both after class.”

  When we got back to working in our groups, Alan said, “Thank you for calming down your friend, Adonis. I appreciate what you did.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, trying to brush him off. “Just don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

  Maxine changed the subject, asking Alan, “So you lived in Omaha?”

  “Two years ago, for almost a full semester,” he said. “That was right after my grandmother died, and I started living with my father. He works for the military, traveling from base to base. So I’ve gone to high school in, let’s see, Spokane, Houston, Indianapolis, Omaha, and oh, yes, here. Go Wildcats!”

  “It must be hard to pick up and move like that all the time,” said Wendy.

  “I really have felt like Peter Pan flying all over the place, living in Neverland. Only my Captain Hook’s an army colonel, and every morning it’s ‘Yes, sir,’” said Alan, snapping off a mock salute from beneath his blond bangs. “But he’s got a stable job in recruiting now, so I should finish out my senior year in one place. Anyway, the military’s what gave me my love of fashion. Those dress blue uniforms, button-down navy peacoats, and the leather bomber jackets with the fur collars—that’s style.”

  “You must miss your grandmother a lot,” said Maxine.

  “I do. She was everything to me,” said Alan. “She was a tough lady who taught me how to take care of myself. She’d say, ‘Alan, you can walk away, step aside, or fight if you have to. But never stoop down lower than the troublemaker in front of you.’ I hear those words of hers in my mind every day.”

  “That’s your father’s mom?” Maxine asked.

  “Yes. She raised five of her own daughters, my father, and me,” answered Alan. “And the only one of them who didn’t learn to communicate happens to be my superior officer.”

  “What about your mother?” asked Wendy. “Where’s she?”

  “She’s not around anymore. I don’t talk much about her,” he answered.

  “I respect that,” said Wendy, with Maxine nodding her head in agreement.

  Right then, I wished I could have pulled out the world’s smallest violin to play behind them.

  “By the way, Adonis,” Alan said, “I almost forgot—Cincinnati was the first city in America to have a full-time fire department. Your father’s a fireman, isn’t he?”

  “Yup,”

  “Did you ever live anywhere else?” he asked me.

  “Nope. One house. Two schools.”

  “Must be why you’re so straightforward,” he said. “It’s a good quality to always say what you’re thinking.”

  I just shrugged my shoulders, hoping to put an end to that one-way conversation.

  Maxine said, “I’m thinking our team should be a gymnastics squad.”

  “But that doesn’t draw big crowds,” said Wendy. “How about this—it’s cold in Cincinnati in the winter, and they don’t have a hockey team.”

  I reached over and grabbed the sheet of notes from Alan’s desk. At the bottom of it I wrote FOOTBALL in capital letters.

  “That’s what excites a city,” I said, tapping the paper with my pen. “Football. Hard hitting, smash-mouth football. Not balance beams and Zambonis.”

  “Zam-what?” asked Alan with his question getting Toby’s attention from the next group over.

  But I wouldn’t answer. I didn’t want the guys getting the wrong idea, seeing me talking so much to Alan.

  “Zamboni. It smoothes out the ice,” Maxine said. “I know that from figure skating.”

  In the end, we hadn’t settled on a sport yet, but we came up with four possible names—the Steamers, for the steamboats; the Revs, for the Revolutionary War soldiers; the Monarchs, for Cincinnati being called the Queen City; and the Blaze, for having the first fire department.

  After the bell rang and I’d packed up, I stopped at the door with Toby.

  I looked back at Marshall and Alan standing on either side of D’Antoni’s desk, getting read the riot act.

  I’d always admired Marshall because he wouldn’t back down from anybody, no matter how big or tough, on the football field or anywhere else. I guess Alan had just done the same thing in challenging Marshall. But I wouldn’t think of giving him one-tenth of that respect.

  I wasn’t ready to cross that kind of line.

  4

  That night was my date with Melody, our third official one. And after football practice, when the guys were talking about their plans for the weekend, I found a way to let it slip that this time she’d asked me out. Of course, I didn’t mention it had anything to do with the way Melody thought I’d handled that remark about Alan’s perfume.

  “I’m taking her to that retro drive-in movie theater, over in Park Heights,” I told them. “That’ll give us some built-in privacy. Sit in the car, tune the radio in to the movie soundtrack, a little chill in the night, huddle together for some warmth—I think I got the right play called on this one.”

  “Third date, her idea—better bring some protection,” said Bishop. “How big’s the backseat of your mother’s car?”

  “Don’t even sound right. Being with a female in the backseat of your mother’s car,” said Godfrey. “What about your pop’s Firebird, the hot Trans Am?”

  “Tell ’em, Adonis,” said Ethan. “Tell ’em why your pop won’t let you borrow his classic wheels anymore.”

  I was just happy that Ethan was moving off of me as the punch line to any kind of joke, even if it did jab at Dad.

  “Because he got an emergency call from his job one time while I was out driving it,” I said. “My mom was out with her car, too, so he had to wait for a cab.”

  “Now, tell ’em where the fire was,” said Ethan, cracking himself up.

  “In his own firehouse,” I said, fighting back a grin. “And in English that week, we’d been studying irony. So I used it as an example on the exam—part of the firehouse burned down because the firemen weren’t there. I aced it and hung the paper up on our fridge. He walked past it every day for a week saying, ‘My son the genius.’ Then one day he actually read it and freaked out on me.”

  Guys who hadn’t heard that story before loved it, and I walked off with them laughing their asses off.

  “Tell those dudes over in Park Heights we’re going to score all over them in the game next week,” Bishop called after me. “Let them know you came up there to score with your girl first, to get in the mood.”

  I wasn’t sure about all of that. But I’d planned on carrying a condom inside my wallet anyway.

  Melody dated a lot, mostly preppy-intellectual types. I had no clue how far she’d gone with anybody else. I just knew we weren’t exclusive or anything, and she really wasn’t mine. And I figured good-looking guys with hot sports cars were probably hitting on her every day, especially after seeing she’d go out with half-a-pudge like me.

  Later on, at home, I stepped out of a long, hot shower and wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror. I tightened my abs as much as I could. Then I lifted my arms and flexed my biceps a few times.

  I almost liked what I saw.

  All that extra weight lifting was starting to pay off, and I could see some more muscle definition. But I was still too soft in lots of places.

  I lathered up my face, and when I finished with the razor, I splas
hed on some of Dad’s aftershave. Then I winced, as I fought off the sting to my open pores.

  “You smell nice,” Mom said after I’d dressed and gone downstairs.

  She was sitting in the living room with Jeannie, watching the end of some sappy chick-flick on cable they’d probably seen a dozen times. They both had bowls in their laps and were having soup for supper.

  Dad was working that night, so we didn’t stick to our six thirty family-dinner rule.

  “Is that Dad’s aftershave?” Jeannie asked. “Because I was thinking how that’s the same as perfume.”

  “It’s made for men, like cologne,” I said. “Nice try.”

  “Just has a different name,” said Jeannie between spoonfuls of soup. “For marketing purposes.”

  “I think everyone has a masculine and feminine side,” Mom said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Are you sure? You used to play with dolls all the time,” said Jeannie.

  “When? ”

  “When you were little. Remember the G.I. Joe, Hulk Hogan, and all those wrestler dolls I bought you?” said Mom.

  “You know, the ones with the cute little shorts and all those rippling muscles,” added Jeannie. “They were so gorgeous.”

  “Dolls? Those were action figures. They had guns and grenades, or they beat the crap out of each other.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe,” said Jeannie, smirking.

  “All right, Jeannie. Let’s not do this to your brother as he’s walking out the door on a date. We shouldn’t give him a complex right now.”

  “Poor Melody won’t know who she’s out with—a football stud or a doll collector,” said Jeannie.

  “You’re a million laughs. And what are you doing tonight?”

  “A bunch of us are hanging out together—guys and girls.”

  “Yeah, I just bet one of those guys is really half girl.”

  “Adonis, I told you that’s unacceptable,” chided Mom, rattling a spoon against the side of her soup bowl.

  “At least Alan doesn’t hide his feminine side,” said Jeannie. “Not like a team of butt-slapping, crotchgrabbing football players who shower together.”

  I let that remark go, and then went into the kitchen where I made myself a ham sandwich. I even dropped a slice into Barclay’s dish for him to find later.

  Wolfing that sandwich down, I thought about how Godfrey said a pig was so smart. Only not smart enough to avoid becoming our dinner.

  By ten minutes to seven, I was out the door to pick up Melody.

  Before I drove off, I looked over the backseat of Mom’s Honda.

  I shoved the seat belts and metal buckles down beneath the cushions. Then I stashed the Public Television tote bag and umbrella inside the trunk.

  In the front, I thought hard about taking the plastic statue of Jesus off the dashboard and slipping it into the glove compartment. But I stressed that Melody might have remembered it being there, or I’d forget to put it back for Mom. Then I’d have to come up with a reason for taking it down. So I decided to leave it.

  When I got to Melody’s house, I popped a breath mint and walked up to the front door. She opened it before I ever rang the bell. That’s when I found out that she wanted to change our plans.

  “It turns out my parents are at a party tonight. We’ve got the place to ourselves. Instead of going to a movie, want to hang out here?” she asked with a flirty smile that nearly made my knees buckle.

  “Sure, that’s great,” I said with every bell and whistle going off inside my head, thinking she wanted me bad. “Your parents won’t care that you’ve got a guy in the house?”

  “No, they trust me and my judgment.”

  I never saw Melody look so sexy. She was wearing tight jeans and a silky red blouse with a neckline that plunged low enough to hold my attention there.

  I circled the living room, looking at pictures of Melody and her family. Then I tried to act suave and ran a finger across the keys on their piano—brrrrrrrrrpt.

  Finally, I sat down on the couch. But Melody parked herself on one side of a small table with a chess set on top of it.

  “You know how to play?” she asked.

  I was pretty disappointed. I’d heard of strip poker but never of anybody playing strip chess.

  “A little bit,” I answered, getting up and taking the seat across from her. “Ladies first.”

  “No, the white always goes first. That’s you.”

  I moved one of my pawns up two spaces, like Dad had taught me to open the game. Then Melody did the same with her pawn opposite mine, to block me from advancing any farther.

  “So, do you know what you’re doing for college next year?” she asked.

  “I definitely want to go. But I’m not sure where, or what I’d study. How ’bout you?”

  “I want to study design somewhere, maybe at State. That’s why I joined the Fashion Club, to see the work of different designers, get new perspectives.”

  “You mean it’s more than just the hot clothes for you,” I said with a sly smile, moving another piece forward.

  “Yes, it is,” she said, grinning. “I figured you wanted to study mechanics. You seemed so into cars when I first met you.”

  “Oh, the service station? That was just a job. I mean, I like cars a lot. But I don’t know about mechanics in college.”

  “It’s not a real passion for you, huh?”

  “No, not like football.”

  “Really, what turns you on about it?”

  I couldn’t believe it, but I actually had to think for a few seconds before I could give her an answer.

  “Well, I guess it’s being part of the team, knowing we’re all together and working for the same thing—to win.”

  “I’ve noticed at games you don’t get to run with the ball. How come?”

  “I’m just a blocker, for whoever’s carrying the pigskin. That’s what I do best. I know it’s not glamorous or anything. It’s more like grunt work. But it’s really important. Without good blocking, the ball carrier would get creamed on every play.”

  “Oh, I get it. So that’s why the blockers don’t get treated like heroes, right? Because they’re not scoring the touchdowns. That’s totally unfair.”

  “I figure if I was meant to be a hero I would be,” I said. “I have this dream, though, that Ethan or one of the other guys fumbles. I pick up the ball and dodge tackler after tackler, running it in for a touchdown. I’ve even got this little celebration dance planned out in my head.”

  “Do it for me, the dance.”

  “No, I can’t. It’s too silly.”

  “Please, I want to see it,” she said, coming around to pull out my chair.

  With all that talk about what turns me on and wanting to see me dance, I couldn’t tell if she was making a move on me or not.

  I stood up, self-conscious as anything.

  “All right. Here it is,” I said, deciding to go for it.

  First, I raised my arm and spiked an imaginary football. Then I marched in a small circle, like a drum major leading the band.

  “Go, Adonis!” Melody shouted, cheering me on.

  Hearing that gave me the confidence to put my hands on my knees, shuffling them back and forth, like my legs could pass through each other. I finished by pulling two invisible six-guns from holsters on my hips and shooting them off into the air.

  “That was great,” she said, clapping. “I hope you get to do that dance for real one day, and I’m there to see it.”

  Then Melody gave me a deep, wet kiss, and part of me felt like I really had just crossed the goal line and scored a touchdown.

  When we sat back down, I looked at the chessboard and realized I already had nowhere to move without surrendering my strongest pieces.

  “You know what,” Melody said, getting up. “There’s another game upstairs. One I haven’t played for a long time.”

  My ears perked up at hearing that. I thought
she was asking me to go up to her bedroom with her, and I could feel my heart start to race.

  But then she took off fast up the stairs alone. It didn’t seem like I was supposed to follow her, even though I wanted to. I stood there alone for almost a minute. And I went back and forth in my head a few times, until I decided I needed to make a move.

  But when I got to the stairs, Melody was already on her way back down holding a pair of Rock ’Em Sock’Em Robots.

  “This is my brother’s. I used to play with him all the time, before he left for college,” she said, excited. “I’m guessing you know how?”

  “Bring it on,” I answered, feeling stupid on the inside for thinking she couldn’t resist me.

  We cleared the chess set from the table. Then I took the red robot and she had the blue. Melody was pretty good.

  “I knocked your block off, Adonis!” she shouted, the first time her robot beat mine.

  But my robot won eight of the twelve rounds we fought, and I guess that made up for getting my ass whipped at chess.

  After that, we played darts outside on her patio, and then watched a little TV with our hands clasped together.

  The whole time I was at her house, Melody was as much a friend as she was a date. I didn’t expect that when I walked through the door. But it was all right. And in the end, it took a lot of pressure off me, instead of worrying over when to make my big move.

  By nine thirty, I was driving us over to Johnny Rockets, a local burger place and hangout inside the Tri-County Mall, about a mile from Central High. Rockets is on the first floor, sandwiched between a Gap and Victoria’s Secret. Its rear exit opens up onto the inner concourse, where you can sit on the benches by the indoor trees and water fountains, and where the TC Mall sometimes has free entertainment, like jugglers, magicians, and wannabe pop stars.

  Inside the place, an old-fashioned jukebox was blaring music. I was steering us across the checkered floor, toward an open table, when Melody said, “Hey, there’s your sister, with some people from the Fashion Club. Let’s stop for a second and say hi.”

  I changed direction without saying a word. But it was the last thing I wanted to do.