Tomorrow is Saturday, and Harry has a nine a.m. game. I know Luc’s going to be there because I heard Emmett asking him after school yesterday. Maybe I can find a minute to explain. And, of course, that won’t be weird at all.
You see Luc, there’s this family curse…
I’m sorry, but I can’t kiss you because I’ll get pregnant...
I have to keep a vow of chastity for the next ten years…
Then again, maybe I can just buy him some popcorn and pretend like nothing happened.
* * *
“Can I get a Coke?”Emmett asks as we walk toward the bleachers. He’s leading the way, carrying a blanket. Mattie’s got a second blanket and an insulated cooler. I’m holding yet another blanket and our three bleacher chairs. It’s cold and we’re going to be here a while.
“Buddy, it isn’t even lunch time. And I brought hot cocoa.”
In front of me, I watch his whole posture sag as if he’s a marionette. “But I had a Cha Cha Moo Moo at breakfast.”
Harry had to be here at eight-thirty, and since an ideal hot breakfast was not going to happen at our house, we were all at Hub City Diner at seven this morning. A Cha Cha Moo Moo is just chocolate milk, but Emmett loves sayingCha Cha Moo Moo.
He said it at least thirty times at breakfast, chanting it as a cheer before Harry threatened to give him a murphy lock. I thought this was a wrestling move, like a half-nelson or a head lock. It turns out I was wrong.
Harry informed the table that it is an irreversible wedgie. Emmett stopped chanting.
“I told you when you ordered we were bringing hot cocoa to the game. Drinking chocolate milk at breakfast was your choice,” I say, trying to use reason with an eight-year-old.
“It’s not called chocolate milk. It’s a Cha Cha Moo Moo,” he argues back over his shoulder, reminding me why using reason with an eight-year-old has its drawbacks.
“Whatever it’s called, it was your choice to order it despite my advice. No Coke.”
Emmett gives a wordless whine as we approach the stands. The game won’t start for another half-hour, so there are only a few bundled figures in the bleachers. My eyes fall on the broad-shouldered one sitting alone on the third row. Even with the hood on his sweatshirt up, I know it’s Luc. I don’t think he’s seen us yet. It’s only a matter of time, there are so few people here, but if we can climb to the top of the bleachers without him looking this way, then maybe I can avoid an awkward encounter for the time being.
Maybe by half time, I’ll have found the courage to talk to him.
But Emmett has other plans.“Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo,”he chants, exacting revenge for my Coca-Cola denial.
“Make him stop,” Mattie groans beside me.
“I don’t think I can,” I confess, wondering if this hill is worth dying on. I certainly can’t give him a murphy lock.
Emmett reaches the aluminum steps that join the bleachers, and he starts marching, stamping his feet in rhythm. “Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo.”He pitches his chant louder to be heard over the clanging of each step, and of course, everyone in the bleachers, including Luc Valencia, turns to look.
Great.
“Hey, Luc!” Emmett stops hisCha-Cha-Moo-Mooing, his hand shooting up in a wave. He looks back at me excited. “Luc’s here. Let’s sit with him.”
I freeze, horrified. “Buddy, maybe we shouldn’t. It’s his day off. He might—”
“But he’s by himself!” Emmett’s voice probably carries all the way to the visitor stands, and he takes off running toward Luc’s spot.
“At least it got him to stop that stupid chant,” Mattie says, passing me up before climbing the steps.
I stand there for a second before I make myself look at Luc. His eyes meet mine for just an instant, and then he’s focusing on Emmett. He puts on a smile, but there’s no dimple in sight.
Oh God.The last thing he wants is to sit with us. Sit withme.I need to put us out of our misery.
Emmett runs right up to Luc and plops down beside him. I open my mouth. I have to do something.
“Hey, buddy, Luc might be saving seats for his family.” I point to the top of the bleachers. “Let’s go sit up there.”
