The Hand You're Dealt Page 5

  “You take all those pretty red and white chips, Hucky boy,” Tony said with a grin, throwing away his cards. “Huck owns the river, huh? I gotta remember that one.”

  My eyes found Abbott, and no matter how I piled up the chips in front of me, my stack was always smaller than his. Then I saw Abbott go over to where his wife was sitting. He handed her a wad of bills he’d just won, and she shoved the money down her blouse, grinning from ear to ear as she slapped Abbott on the behind.

  Mr. Nobody still wasn’t talking. But he must have had allergies kicking in, and he made plenty of noise going through a whole pack of tissues. Then all at once he let out a supersneeze—the kind you could knock somebody flat with.

  Rooster and Zucchini covered up their cards like his germs might infect them.

  “Bless you,” Mrs. Emerson said, setting a kind of polite trap.

  Everybody was waiting for him to say, “Thank you.” But Mr. Nobody just nodded his head to her and went back to playing his hand.

  “Hey, there’s your twin brother,” Tony told him, pointing to Jaws, who’d come back inside with his lips taped shut as a joke.

  But those two weren’t one bit alike. And I started to think Mr. Nobody was the most honest player in the tournament, because he wasn’t trying to put up a front and didn’t care what anybody thought of him. It was just about his cards and nothing else.

  The Knockout was mad there weren’t any tuna sandwiches left.

  “I don’t like meat,” she said.

  “No, don’t tell me that.” Sammy smiled sly. “You need the meat. Maybe you’re not getting the right kind.”

  “I just like fish,” she shot back.

  “Fish?” the Great Zucchini piped in, eyeing her up and down. “How ’bout zucchini? You eat that?”

  “Just fish,” she said with a straight face.

  Then that whole merry-go-round went around one more time till Rooster nearly fell off his seat laughing, and Mrs. Emerson yelled at them all to grow up.

  “I think Huck’s the most mature one here!” she scolded them.

  And I liked hearing that a lot.

  Over the next few hours, Tony and the Knockout went on a bad run, and Rooster busted them both. Sammy from Miami even took the Knockout’s picture before she left, but Tony wouldn’t let him take his.

  “Here, why don’t you take this instead?” growled Tony, raising his middle finger.

  “I know,” answered Sammy, still smiling. “I learn being rude is an art form in this country.”

  Then Zucchini broke Mr. Nobody on a hand he got ass-lucky to win.

  Mr. Nobody took the hit and left the table without ever opening his mouth. I wanted to know what his voice sounded like, and what his real name was. But no one said a word to him, not even good-bye, so I didn’t either.

  There were only five people at our table now, and more than half the poker players who’d started the tournament had gone bust.

  “Final hand of the night!” announced a tournament director.

  That’s when I heard the guy without arms give himself a cheer.

  “All right! All right!” he hollered, flipping one of his remaining three chips into the pot with his foot to ante. “I live to fight at least one more day! That’s all I can ask!”

  Then he pushed his hole cards aside, walking off with those last two chips tucked under his chin, like they were his ticket to someplace special.

  Mrs. Emerson had just a few chips in front of her, and after the flop she shoved them all in. I matched her bet, trying to bust her. But I needed to do more than that. I had a reputation to pump up.

  She turned her cards over, and had an ace in the hole to match the one on the table. I was way behind. I needed to catch a nine on the turn or the river to fill out my straight and beat her.

  The dealer dropped a meaningless deuce, and Mrs. Emerson took a deep breath.

  “You a good swimmer, Huck?” asked Rooster.

  “Rough waters ahead, my friend,” cracked Sammy.

  But I shot to my feet, screaming for the whole gym to hear, “Huck owns the river! Nobody else! It belongs to me!”

  Everybody was looking, even Jaws and Abbott.

  And just as the dealer peeled off a black nine, I slammed my fist down on the table so hard that every chip jumped an inch into the air.

  “I told you! I told you Huck lives on the river!” I screamed, celebrating.

  I was hyped to my bones and could feel the blood pulsing through every part of me. I turned up my headphones, bopping my head to the music. But deep down I felt ashamed for disrespecting Mrs. Emerson like that, especially after she said how mature I was.

  Mrs. Emerson split open the fortune cookie she’d used as a card protector. She read the message inside, then shoved the slip of paper at me and ripped, “Here! Maybe this was supposed to be yours!”

  That fortune read: “Better to live one day as a lion than a thousand years as a lamb.”

  chapter six

  I SHOWED UP TO math class on Monday morning with my shades riding high on top of my head. Abbott had his back to me, writing a bunch of review problems up on the board, and I stood there looking straight through him, like I owned the bastard.

  The tournament was on a four-day break and didn’t start up again till Friday night, while most of the people went back to their regular lives. There were just 127 poker players left from the four hundred plus who’d started. Abbott was the chip leader, turning his hundred-and-fifty-dollar tournament stack into almost twelve hundred dollars. He’d probably pocketed that much real money too, from side bets. I was running in the middle of the pack with less than half that amount, and most of the noise I’d made in the tournament so far had come out of my own mouth.

  I shot Audra a smile, and her face lit up. Then I made sure to look away first, while her eyes were still on me.

  Cassidy was busy copying the work off the board. I’d already seen him out front, parking the used car he got as a pregraduation present, and had to listen to all his crap.

  “Maybe it’s half a wreck, but it gets more respect than your two feet,” he’d said, revving the engine for me. “I took my girl up to Sands Point Saturday night for some private time. That’s what a set of wheels will get ya.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I came back, sharp.

  But Cassidy didn’t invite me to go for a ride anytime soon. Meanwhile, my driver’s license was burning a hole in my pocket.

  Mom couldn’t afford to fix our car the last time it broke down. So now she caught a ride back and forth from the diner every day, and that left me stranded.

  “Gas, repairs, and you’re a high-risk driver ’cause of your age, so the insurance price gets even steeper adding you on,” Mom explained. “It just makes more sense for now to go without a car. I know that’s not what you wanna hear. But there isn’t enough money coming in to pay bills, and our savings keep shrinking. And ’less I find a way to solve it soon, you’ll probably be ridin’ the bus back and forth your first year at college.”

  Part of me wanted to know how much of a hit our savings took over those years Dad was gambling at poker. Only deep down I didn’t want to hear about any mistakes he’d made, or blame him for giving away that extra sixteen grand in Vegas winnings to the town. But it kept me thinking about how Abbott screwed Caldwell, and how some of his winnings should have ended up in Mom’s hand.

  Maybe I was jealous of the cash that bastard won that weekend, too.

  The way I’d played, I could have built up a real bankroll off the ninety-five dollars I had to start the tournament. I could have been up close to three hundred dollars by now, and on my way to buying my own car. There was even an old emerald green Honda parked outside Rooster’s service station with a FOR SALE sign on it for just a couple of hundred more. All it would have took was a few black chips—and breaking my word to Father Dineros. And just because gambling hurt Dad’s poker game, that didn’t mean it would do the same to mine.

  Our math final was
at the end of the week. I’d been studying Abbott so close that everything he taught in class had sunk into my brain without putting in any extra study time, and it was my other tests I had to stress over.

  Abbott set up a chair next to his desk, and kids called it the “hot seat.” If you didn’t know how to do one of the review problems and asked for help, Abbott would make you sit up front next to him. Then he’d explain it to you like you were a complete dunce, with everybody listening. And after the way Abbott made one girl cry before the midterm, nobody was willing to put their ass on the line.

  He had that chair set up the same way on parent-teacher night, back in the middle of March.

  “I don’t even want to look at him,” Mom said before we got to school that night. “You’re passin’ his class. That’s enough. There’s five other teachers I need to see, so forget him.”

  But our first time past Abbott’s door, she slammed on the brakes, turned around, and marched straight inside without saying a word to me.

  Mom sat down and signed her name in big letters: Mrs. Julius Porter.

  “Now let’s see. Porter. Porter,” Abbott said, as his finger went down the names in his grade book like he’d just met the two of us.

  “Do I look familiar to you, Mr. Abbott?” asked Mom, sarcastic.

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me,” Abbott answered low. “I was so sorry to hear about your husband.”

  “So you know, then,” Mom said, gripping the edge of his desk till her knuckles turned pure white.

  “I know life can be cruel,” said Abbott, exhaling a quick breath. “For example, I never even knew my father.”

  “And just look how you turned out!” snapped Mom. “Tell me, is that the reason you only put out one chair for parent-teacher night?”

  If Abbott was playing her, he didn’t know who he was up against. Mom wasn’t about to fold to anybody, especially that rat.

  “Honestly, I don’t see what that has to do with…,” Abbott said, shifting his arms as the watch slipped out from under his suit jacket sleeve.

  “Tell me, Mr. Abbott. Exactly what time is it?” she asked, standing up fast from her chair.

  But Abbott wouldn’t look at the watch in front of her, and before he could answer, Mom said, “Because I have other classrooms to visit tonight, and I’m running really late.”

  That’s when Mom grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the door.

  “I see from my book that your son is passing my class right now,” Abbott called after us. “It’s probably just a matter of what grade I’ll give.”

  I turned back around and never saw Abbott look so beaten, with the color rushing from his face.

  “Yes-we’ll-see-how-he-mea-sures-up-to-your-standards!” Mom hollered from the hall, with the sound of her heels slamming each syllable and her nails digging into my skin.

  That Wednesday before our math final, the senior class had a picnic lunch on the lawn, with burgers sizzling on a barbecue grill and everything. Audra was sitting with a group of girls at a table, so I grabbed a plate and camped out under a tree maybe fifteen feet away. That’s when Cassidy and some of the guys on the varsity baseball squad came bouncing through.

  “Porter!” one of them barked, snapping his fingers. “Why you sittin’ on your ass? Ain’t you takin’ orders here, like at White Castle?”

  I jumped to my feet and started toward the guy. I could see in his eyes how he thought I might be ready to fight. But halfway there, I opened one palm flat like a pad, using a finger for a pen. After that, his whole body relaxed.

  “Before I take your order, let me teach you the rhyme we kick around in the kitchen,” I said, smiling.

  “Need to fart?

  Let ’em rip

  White Castle burgers will do the trick

  Short on money, don’t worry

  Get a sack of twenty—just $10.42

  It’s the perfect meal for an asshole like—”

  I pulled up short on the last word, pointing to his teammates and letting my finger stop at Cassidy.

  “Like almost any of these clowns, right?” I asked him.

  “Shit! Porter played you all!” howled the guy who’d started up with me.

  But they all started ripping on him, saying he was the one who got suckered. Then I gave Cassidy a wink, just to prove I still had some gas to my game, and left most of them arguing over who got played and who didn’t.

  “I’m sure the manager wants you doing that rhyme for all the customers,” said Audra, following me back to my spot beneath the tree. “You made most of those guys look as dumb as they really are.”

  “Don’t know why I ever cut ’em any slack,” I told her. “Too many people round here get the idea they’re over you. Maybe I need to set a few more of ’em straight.”

  That’s when Audra started talking about the senior dance Father Dineros had set up at the rec center for Saturday night, and how she was on the committee to decorate the gym for it. I knew the tournament would go on most of Friday night till it got down to fifty players or so. Then, for Saturday night, they’d move the card tables upstairs to the third-floor meeting hall, and kids could use the gym again.

  “We’re gonna be frantic all Saturday morning tryin’ to make that place look decent,” Audra said. “I’m almost glad I don’t have a date that night. I’ll probably be too tired anyway.”

  I was already on a real good streak, and the cards couldn’t have been laid out any better in front of me. So I pulled up every ounce of courage I had and asked Audra to the dance. Only I didn’t wait for an answer. Instead I played my ace and told her, “Besides, I need to be seen with more model types. I’ll pick you up Saturday night.”

  She said, “Sure. I’ll go with you.”

  It didn’t matter that the tournament would still be going on. This was Audra. And right then, I felt so cool I was convinced I’d find a way to make it all happen.

  “Do you want me to drive us to the dance?” Audra asked, knowing I didn’t have any wheels.

  That shook my confidence, and Audra must have noticed because she blurted out, “I just mean use my car. You can drive it.”

  “No. No. Don’t worry ’bout that. I got it covered,” I said, getting back on my game quick.

  Now that was one more thing I had to make happen.

  Then Audra’s eyes darted past my head, and I turned around to see what it was.

  “The teachers can be the worst bullies in the school,” she said. “Somebody needs to play them for idiots.”

  Abbott and Ms. Harnish were alone at a table, with a big bowl of cherries and a pile of pits between them. Then Abbott pulled his pointer finger behind his thumb. When he thought nobody was watching, he shot a pit at some slow kid sitting on the grass with his back to him.

  Abbott popped him right in the neck.

  The kid’s hand went slapping in the air behind him like he was swatting at horseflies. And Ms. Harnish hid her face in her hands, cringing and laughing at the same time.

  “What if I told you I had a real shot at rockin’ Abbott’s world through that poker tournament?” I asked Audra. “Would you be all right with that, even if it cost us time together at the dance?”

  “I’d pay to see him eat the same crap he dishes out,” she answered. “Do you know what he told me one time? He said, ‘Oh, pretty girls don’t usually do well at higher math. You’re an exception to the rule.’”

  Then Audra marched over and stood in front of that kid, facing them. I could see Audra was inviting the kid to come sit with us. But I didn’t need Abbott focusing on me right now, or any part of my new image getting chipped away by babysitting some special ed kid with a bull’s-eye on his back.

  So I waved to Audra, pointing toward the school with short hard jabs, like I had something important to do.

  After classes, Cassidy pulled his car over with a couple of guys from the team inside, asking if I wanted to cruise.

  I was surprised but stayed as cool as I could.

  “Why not
?” I said, fixing my shades.

  We took a few laps around town, slowing down to buzz some good-looking girl on a corner. Then we wound up on the baseball diamond at the park, and Cassidy let me use his glove in the field while he batted.

  There was a pitcher, a left fielder, and me standing at shortstop.

  We’d done that during freshman and sophomore year lots of times, with ten or twelve kids riding their bikes there. But now it was Cassidy’s game. He had the baseball scholarship and the wheels, and I was just tagging along.

  Cassidy hit for close to twenty minutes, and just before his turn was up, he connected on a pitch that was gone the second he nailed it. I never even looked up to watch it sail out of sight.

  “That’s the only ball. If the rest of you slugs wanna bat, somebody’s gonna have to hop the fence for it,” Cassidy said, serious.

  Maybe a week before I would have been the first one to jump. But now I just kicked at the dirt in front of me, playing out my hand.

  “Nah, I’ve had enough. I got finals to study for,” I said, tossing Cassidy his mitt.

  He just grinned, nodding his head. He probably didn’t want to play the field anyway. Then he called out to the others, “Don’t anybody blame me! Porter says we’re done.”

  On the ride back, Cassidy made everybody chip in for gas.

  Rooster was at the service station on the pumps, so I turned my face away.

  “Ten dollars, regular,” Cassidy told him, counting out singles.

  And while Rooster was busy with another car, Stani stepped out of the garage with his greasy hair and rumpled clothes, looking like he worked there. He snuck over and collected our money, squeezing it tight inside his fist till it almost disappeared. Then Stani slipped the nozzle out of the tank and hung it back on the pump.

  Rooster turned around at the sound of Cassidy starting the engine, and freaked out on his friend.

  “I told you once already today—DON’T DO THAT!” Rooster snapped, prying the bills from Stani’s hand. “You don’t work here! Understand? Somehow I’m short forty-six dollars today!”

  “And that’s on me?” cried Stani, pointing to himself.