Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,43

I need to clean up. Like, I one hundred percent don’t want to do this but I’d still like to make a good impression.”

“Good luck,” I told her. “Call me later if you want.”

I started down Oak Center Drive toward home. I’d gone about a block when a car horn honked not far behind me. I started to raise my middle finger like I always did at catcallers (even if I sometimes secretly tallied how many complete strangers told me I had a nice ass) when I saw that the car that pulled up next to me was a Datsun.

Bobby’s Datsun.

I turned halfway toward him, trying to pose in a way that was both casual and devastating. I smoothed my hair and a dried leaf came out in my hand.

He stopped and got out on his side, looking over the top of the roof at me. “I thought you usually went home with Tina,” he said. “Do you need a ride?”

Did I want a ride home? From Bobby?

“That would be great,” I said.

“What’s your address?” he asked as I hopped into the car.

I told him and he thought for a second. “You know, one thing, do you mind if I make a quick stop on the way? I’m trying to conserve gas.”

“Of course,” I said, wishing I had something intelligent to say about whoever was responsible for gas being so expensive this year—maybe something insightful and political would make me seem older. But how could I remember what OPEC stood for when I was in Bobby McMann’s car?

“Good practice today, huh?” he asked, pulling onto the street. “I think we’ll be ready once we get a game.”

“Me too,” I said, unable to find a comfortable way to sit in his passenger seat. If I leaned back too much, my thigh would touch his hand on the gearshift. You couldn’t throw your thigh at a person who’d never touched it before, right? “I’ve been practicing a little on weekends, actually.” Okay, so I’d only practiced one extra time, but he didn’t have to know that.

We were at a stoplight and Bobby looked over at me. “Wow,” he said with an approving nod. “That’s real commitment.” I was waiting—or hoping—for him to add, “That extra work really shows,” or “I should have known—you’re my best player,” or to at least look longingly at me. He didn’t, and the light changed.

I’d finally settled on folding my hands in my lap when Bobby pulled to a stop in front of Happy Seeds, a health food store.

“Come on in,” he said as he hopped out of the car and waited at the curb for me. I had the thrilling idea that someone might see me with him. Is that Susan Klintock with Coach McMann? the person would think, and I’d have to fend off inquiries at school the next day.

I’d been in Happy Seeds once or twice with Mom, who every now and then would go in search of a new vitamin. The sharp mineral smell of the place hit you right away, like dusty pepper. Bobby grabbed a small basket and we made our way to the bread aisle. An older black man with gray hair and muscular arms greeted Bobby with a back slap. “Hey, Coach, what’s happening?”

“Hey, Earl. Picking up some supplies.” Bobby gestured to me. “This is Susan Klintock, one of my star players.”

“Star, huh? Coach doesn’t say that kind of thing lightly. Nice to meet you, Susan.” Earl wiped his hand on his apron and stuck it out for me to shake.

I shook his hand and he told me he was excited to see us play a game, then excused himself to get back to work as Bobby surveyed the breads. They were laid out on a table, and all of them were brown or coated in seeds. They looked like harder work to eat than running fifty suicides.

Another employee waved and smiled at Bobby, a woman about my height with pale skin that could have really been helped by a little lipstick under the grim lighting in here. I doubted the grim lighting was doing me any favors, either, and thought better of trying to catch my reflection.

“Hi, Bobby,” she said. He was Bobby to her and not Coach like he was to Earl. I bristled.

“Charlene, hi,” he said. Once again he gestured to me and made introductions, and this time I reached out first to shake Charlene’s hand, which felt limp in my grip. No way could she