Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,86

I was the shark in Jaws.

“So what’s your point?” Ken asked.

“If you’ve got a problem with us, why don’t we settle it on the field?” I felt fierce, saying it. Maybe girls would never feel comfortable designating a bathroom stall as unofficially conducive to masturbating, and maybe we’d never brazenly spit on the ground or grab our crotches, but it was thrilling to assert ourselves, to say loud and clear that we were competitors. It was a relief to suspend the parts of us that wanted to be liked for a while and the parts of us that apologized when we worried we wouldn’t be.

“Susan,” Tina hissed.

“No,” Wendy grumbled.

I cocked my head back at them and, sticking out my chin, said, “What? We can play.”

“She’s right,” Dawn said.

Marie took a step forward so she was lined up with me. “Yeah, let’s play.” The whole team gathered next to and behind me, all of us staring down Ken. Mousy Franchesa, uptight Dana, surly Dawn, sexpot Marie, ambitious Tina, flaky Arlene, bitchy Wendy . . . everyone, all standing with me . . . average me. We were different from each other, even in ways that might clash, but maybe that’s what made us a team.

That, and the agreement that right now, we were united in one mission against this redheaded asshole, and we weren’t going to be intimidated.

The boys behind Ken murmured in disbelief, a chorus of “What the fuck?” and “She’s crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said, trying to look like maybe I was. I felt crazy. I was barreling over some unspoken rule of how I was supposed to act and how angry I could get. Flipping Ken off was one thing, but challenging him to a game without fear or apology was another. “What do you say, fuckwads?”

Ken laughed again, but it sounded a little forced this time. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll play you. I just hope you can handle it. I think our balls are bigger than you’re used to.”

“When?” I said, ignoring his comment.

“A week from tomorrow. Our field. Nine a.m.”

It was the day of the wedding, but the game would be done in time. And asking to reschedule might make him think I was afraid. “You’re on,” I said.

“You’ll be sorry,” Ken said.

“No, we won’t be,” I said.

None of us moved until the boys dispersed. I put my arms down so the rest of the party wouldn’t see that I’d sweat through my shirt, then turned around and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

No one protested, and we made our way toward the door like we’d stolen something. A few girls we didn’t know spoke to us as we passed.

“Good for you!”

“He’s such a dick.”

“I hope you kick their asses.”

When we finally emerged onto the front steps, surrounded now by smokers and drunk people oblivious to what had just happened, my teammates huddled around me.

“Holy shit,” Wendy said. “You’re out of your mind.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, not feeling fine at all. “We’ll make a plan.”

“A plan that will get us ready to play those meatheads next week?” Joanie said.

“All we have to do is show them we’re not scared,” Tina said.

We were halfway down the front path when Joe burst out the front door. “Susan,” he called.

I spun around and took the few steps to meet him on the walk. In a hushed tone, so my teammates couldn’t hear, he said, “What are you, crazy? Challenging those guys to a game?”

I glared at him. “What, you think we can’t play them?”

He put his hands up. “Hold on, Pelé, I never said that.”

“Okay then,” I said. “But honestly . . . yeah, I think I might be crazy.”

Joe threw his head back and laughed appreciatively, loud enough for my teammates to hear. They were 100 percent all watching us but pretending not to. When he met my eyes again, he said, “Mostly, I think I’m bummed because I have to go to Rachel’s dance recital that day. I’ll miss the game. But what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Do you want to practice?”

“I can’t—I’m helping my dad in the morning and then I’ve got band practice,” he said. “But are you busy at night? There’s an all-ages Tutu and the Pirates show at O’Banion’s. In the city. Do you want to go?”

He was being so typically Joe that I had no way of knowing if he was asking me for a date or this was just hanging out.

“What about whatsherface? Jeannette?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.