Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,32
you back. Keep showing up and I promise it will be worth it.” We all managed not to giggle at the many ways we could interpret that. But I also took it to mean he’d noticed Candace hadn’t returned, and also that we’d lost Sharon Henderson and two of the three Lisas, Lisa J. and Lisa K. (which probably at least made things less confusing for both Bobby and Lisa Orlawski). I also noticed that he hadn’t told the entire team he saw potential in them. That he’d chosen that word specially for me made me even happier I’d decided not to quit.
I kept turning the whole conversation in Bobby’s office over and over in my mind. When Tina dropped me off at home, I saw a pine cone on the sidewalk and tapped it from my left foot to my right, then dribbled it back and forth as I headed to my front steps. I felt competent, even if it was a pine cone and not a soccer ball, and I’d only dribbled it about twenty feet.
Though the sun was starting to set, I went inside, washed my face, and went back out, walking the few blocks to Ninety-Fifth Street and crossing to Sportmart, where I’d bought my soccer shorts. I had babysitting money in my pocket. It was a perfect time to buy cleats.
“Can I help you with something?” A guy with a lot of chin acne whose name tag read “Greg” came up to me. “Shopping for your boyfriend?”
I play soccer, asshole, I was tempted to say. But in all honesty, I’d never really played soccer. I’d run across a field a bunch of times, and kicked a ball around, and tried to get my coach to look at my tits and ass for a week. But I hadn’t actually played. Not yet.
“No. I need soccer cleats. For me,” I said.
“Oh. Girls’ cleats. They don’t make those,” Greg said, and just stood there, like I’d led him to a dead end and he didn’t know where to go.
“Well, where are the men’s cleats? I’m sure there are some small sizes.”
“We don’t have a lot of soccer stuff. Soccer cleats are down aisle fourteen. Assorted gear and clearance.” Greg pointed toward the back of the store.
The aisle had several racks of raglan-sleeved baseball shirts that were on sale for the end of the summer, and some really random stuff, like Greg had promised: Ping-Pong paddles, a few marked-down beach towels, a pair of flippers, and several shelves of cleats. There was dust on top of most of the boxes. I knew Powell Park Sporting Goods would have a better selection, because they sold jackets and jerseys to all the high schools, including the Catholic schools with soccer teams. But everyone said Powell Park Sporting Goods was really overpriced.
I was holding up one of my Keds to a cleat in a men’s size six when a voice behind me said, “Hey, killer. I knew I’d see you around.”
I dropped the shoe onto the shelf and turned around to see Joe, the spiky-haired kid from Dan’s party. His mouth was turned up at the side, like he had a joke he could tell me but was trying to decide if I’d get it.
“Hi,” I said, turning back to the shoes. I’d been buzzed the night of the party but now that I was sober, I had a strong feeling that what I’d thought might have been flirting was just his personality.
“Whatcha buying?” He stuck his nose between me and the aisle and reached for one of the shoes I’d put back for being too expensive.
“Cleats, in, I guess, a men’s size six,” I said. I reached past him for the cheapest pair in my size and sat down on an empty shelf to try them on. When my mom took me to Carson’s for new shoes, someone fetched them out of the stockroom. I was kind of relieved that I could do it myself here.
“For soccer,” Joe said. “You must be good.”
I shrugged. “Not really.” He didn’t need to know about my amazing potential.
“Hmm,” he said, and went about pulling an armful of baseball T-shirts from the shelf a few feet away.
I started to slip on the shoes and lace them up. “You play baseball? You don’t seem the type.”
“Not very open-minded for someone trying on men’s cleats,” Joe said, but he smiled. “But you’re right, I don’t play baseball. I’m going to make these into band T-shirts. I hate