enough for us to hear. He was with one of the cheerleaders with the big boobs.
“Get a life,” I said, pulling Rainey closer. Sometimes, if you get happy enough, even total butt-wipes don’t bug you.
“He is the worst kind of person,” Rainey whispered to me. “Dumb and with muscles.”
“Don’t forget evil,” I said. She laughed, felt looser in my arms. I loved everything about this girl—her teeth, her heavy lashes that gave her a sleepy, dreamy look, her hair …
“How come we didn’t go to your house for pictures?” she asked. Apparently for Riverfest, the whole tradition was to go to everyone’s houses and manufacture Kodak Moments in four different living rooms. We only did three.
My excuse was going to be that O-Ma and Abogee were both working at the store, which they probably were. But somehow the words wouldn’t come out.
“Do you not want your parents to meet me?”
I sighed. It’s not always convenient to date intelligent, perceptive girls.
“Uh.” I rifled through a list of other possible coverups. Then I gave up. Lying can be a lot of trouble.
“Only two things might bother them. You’re not Korean, and you’re a girl.”
“Oh,” she said.
“My parents don’t want me to date until I get to college, and then it’s got to be a Korean girl.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
“You’ll meet them someday,” I told her, pulling her a little closer, even though a fast song had begun. “We just don’t always see eye to eye on stuff, especially me and my dad. All I can do is ask you to be patient, I guess.”
“I understand,” she said.
We ended up dancing more and more into the shadows away from the center of the dance floor. I pushed my head toward hers in the dark. She was exactly the right height. I heard the sea in my ears.
It’s strange how life moves in fits and starts. During the first day at school, minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Now, as we kissed, time was a bullet train hurtling through the black of a tunnel.
twenty-four
The coaches had decided to start watching our weekly game tapes at ALL-PRO’S house. Before, we’d watched them in the cold and damp of the gym, crammed in front of the grainy screen provided by the AV department. The Ripanens’ basement was a big improvement, fully carpeted with a complete home-entertainment center and a billion comfy seats.
There is something excruciating about watching yourself on video. The first time I saw myself on film, it was like, who’s
that?
What I saw onscreen was some doofus galoomping gracelessly up to the ball and hacking at it. It couldn’t have been me—except he was wearing my number, 22. Later, I saw the same guy fumble a ball, in a manner worthy of
America’s Funniest Home Videos.
To put it mildly, it was torture being forced to sit through endless slo-mos. About the only good thing was that the guys didn’t rag on you, because soon enough the coaches would point to something theydid wrong. The video eye sees everything.
We settled comfortably in front of a wide-screen TV. Next to it someone had made a bookshelf. I admired the woodwork, definitely A+ shopwork. In the other corner was a home gym, situated so that you could watch TV or listen to music while you worked out. No wonder ALL-PRO was all-pro.
Kearny popped in the tape of our last game with Moose Creek and yelled at us for a while. Then the homemade tape footage fuzzed out, giving way to real TV sports. Channel Five, state tournament. Moose Creek versus Elko Center. Coach Kearny fast-forwarded through the commercials and pregame show.
The players collided on the screen. They bashed into each other like angry rams. They tackled, blocked, punched, gouged, and scored. We began to push and shove each other off the couches.
This showing was more than a strategy session, I was realizing. If we managed to beat Moose Creek, that would be us down there at the Humphrey Dome, on TV. Talk about motivation.
Then the coaches left. Rom dug
“Get a life,” I said, pulling Rainey closer. Sometimes, if you get happy enough, even total butt-wipes don’t bug you.
“He is the worst kind of person,” Rainey whispered to me. “Dumb and with muscles.”
“Don’t forget evil,” I said. She laughed, felt looser in my arms. I loved everything about this girl—her teeth, her heavy lashes that gave her a sleepy, dreamy look, her hair …
“How come we didn’t go to your house for pictures?” she asked. Apparently for Riverfest, the whole tradition was to go to everyone’s houses and manufacture Kodak Moments in four different living rooms. We only did three.
My excuse was going to be that O-Ma and Abogee were both working at the store, which they probably were. But somehow the words wouldn’t come out.
“Do you not want your parents to meet me?”
I sighed. It’s not always convenient to date intelligent, perceptive girls.
“Uh.” I rifled through a list of other possible coverups. Then I gave up. Lying can be a lot of trouble.
“Only two things might bother them. You’re not Korean, and you’re a girl.”
“Oh,” she said.
“My parents don’t want me to date until I get to college, and then it’s got to be a Korean girl.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
“You’ll meet them someday,” I told her, pulling her a little closer, even though a fast song had begun. “We just don’t always see eye to eye on stuff, especially me and my dad. All I can do is ask you to be patient, I guess.”
“I understand,” she said.
We ended up dancing more and more into the shadows away from the center of the dance floor. I pushed my head toward hers in the dark. She was exactly the right height. I heard the sea in my ears.
It’s strange how life moves in fits and starts. During the first day at school, minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Now, as we kissed, time was a bullet train hurtling through the black of a tunnel.
twenty-four
The coaches had decided to start watching our weekly game tapes at ALL-PRO’S house. Before, we’d watched them in the cold and damp of the gym, crammed in front of the grainy screen provided by the AV department. The Ripanens’ basement was a big improvement, fully carpeted with a complete home-entertainment center and a billion comfy seats.
There is something excruciating about watching yourself on video. The first time I saw myself on film, it was like, who’s
that?
What I saw onscreen was some doofus galoomping gracelessly up to the ball and hacking at it. It couldn’t have been me—except he was wearing my number, 22. Later, I saw the same guy fumble a ball, in a manner worthy of
America’s Funniest Home Videos.
To put it mildly, it was torture being forced to sit through endless slo-mos. About the only good thing was that the guys didn’t rag on you, because soon enough the coaches would point to something theydid wrong. The video eye sees everything.
We settled comfortably in front of a wide-screen TV. Next to it someone had made a bookshelf. I admired the woodwork, definitely A+ shopwork. In the other corner was a home gym, situated so that you could watch TV or listen to music while you worked out. No wonder ALL-PRO was all-pro.
Kearny popped in the tape of our last game with Moose Creek and yelled at us for a while. Then the homemade tape footage fuzzed out, giving way to real TV sports. Channel Five, state tournament. Moose Creek versus Elko Center. Coach Kearny fast-forwarded through the commercials and pregame show.
The players collided on the screen. They bashed into each other like angry rams. They tackled, blocked, punched, gouged, and scored. We began to push and shove each other off the couches.
This showing was more than a strategy session, I was realizing. If we managed to beat Moose Creek, that would be us down there at the Humphrey Dome, on TV. Talk about motivation.
Then the coaches left. Rom dug
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