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Trick Play 2
MAGNOLIA
Nacho cheese, dirty feet, and stale beers fill my nostrils as I approach the two lanes that accompany my dad and his bowling buddies who do this every Tuesday and Thursday. On Fridays, they hit the bar. Mondays, they play Bridge. And Wednesdays, they sit at the park and make fun of the kids in the new skate recreational area that’s in the middle of it.
They’re all going to Hell.
“Magnolia!” I wave at Dad’s friend, Billy, while he’s in the middle of stuffing his mouth with a hot dog. “How you doin’, girl?”
I swipe up a napkin off the center table and hand it over to him. “Doing good. You know you’re supposed to chew those things, right?”
“He’s an animal,” Frank replies, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and giving me a side hug. He’s my dad’s best friend from high school. They literally made a plan to stay in Northview for the rest of their lives, have children, and do things like this when they retire. “How’s school? You still graduating Valedictorian?”
“So far, so good. I’m still in the running.”
“How about that Natalie Bergstein girl? Wasn’t she creepin’ up on you?”
I eye Billy with a narrowed look for even mentioning my arch enemy only academically in my presence. “She doesn’t stand a shot.”
Both men chuckle at the confidence that I get from Dad.
Frank releases me from his hold and plucks up his blue bowling ball from the pinsetter. “How’s tutorin’ our star quarterback.”
“Ohhh, it’s… going.” And I don’t want to talk about it. “He doesn’t need it.”
They all laugh again, like I’m kidding.
“He talks about how he’s gonna place next game?” Billy presses, grabbing another hot dog from the table. “He gonna maybe pull a few trick plays or go heavy offense?”
I shake my head—clearly, not something we’ve spoken about—and shrug. “No clue.”
“How about the Camden game?” chimes in Gene, who’s been our neighbor across the street since I was born. “Is he confident on—”
“Boys,” Dad lightly chides, busting through the little swarm they’ve made around me. “My little girl has probably been sworn to secrecy about what he plans on doing. More than likely had to sign an NDA.”
“A what?” Billy asks, brows knitted in confusion.
Dad jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re up, buddy. Legal jargon.”
Billy glances up at the two TV screens displaying the players of the game and notices it’s his turn. “Oh shit.”
The men ease off, allowing me back my air while I take a seat in one of the faded yellow chairs made of plastic and germs.
Dad joins me and releases a sigh. “So, how is it really going?”
“Horribly,” I huff, crossing my arms along my chest, still irritated that he told me the truth about why he’s wasting my precious time after class. I could be using it to paint or not be made out with in the middle of the library.
“Why?”
“He purposely failed, Dad. He doesn’t need it.”
“What do you mean purposely failed?”
“Like he did it intentionally. He only did it so I’d…” I stop because that means involving him in an awkwardly weird conversation about boys and crushes and long-standing dodges whenever Asher was within a football field of my existence.
Dad kicks an ankle over his knee and begins to bounce one red and blue bowling shoe. “You know, Magnolia, there’s a time in any man’s life where they begin to see things more clearly, and—”
“Mhm, no.” I begin rocking my head back and forth. “No, Dad, we’re not about to have a talk about that or anything near defending this guy. Nor are you going to speak to me about men in general and how they suddenly get hit with maturity. Asher Clark is a no for me.”
