Wrestling Sturbridge Read Online Free PDF Page B

anything my mother or anybody else might have said could have triggered that response.
    “Won’t you join us, Benjy?” Mom says.
    “I don’t think so,” I say. “The movie’s at eight. I think I’ll shave.”
    I’m taking Kim to the movies over in Weston. I asked her yesterday afternoon before practice, and she didn’t hesitate or anything.
    “You’re going to a movie on a school night?” Grandma asks, as if it’s any of her business.
    “It’s a date, Grandma,” I say. I turn to my mother. “Dad going?”
    “He hasn’t come in yet,” she says, “so I doubt it. They’re very busy at work for some reason. Let me get you some of this,” she says as she lifts the stuff out of the oven.
    “Nah. I’m gonna stop at McDonald’s with Kim.”
    “Kim what?” Grandma wants to know.
    “Chavez,” I say very clearly, knowing it will spoil her week.
    “Sounds Catholic,” she says matter-of-factly.
    “Sounds even worse than that, doesn’t it?”
    Grandma doesn’t mind the few black people in the area, but if you’re Catholic and/or Puerto Rican, you’d better keep out of her way. I guess she figures that as long as her God is patient and wise and forgiving, she doesn’t have to be.
    “Watch it, Ben,” Mom says, but she isn’t much more tolerant of Grandma than I am. Mom’s tough; she’s a nurse part-time at the hospital, and she stays in shape with jogging and cycling and stuff. She used to work at Hatcher’s dad’s office, but she walked out on him last summer. I never did figure out why.
    “I’ll drive you down,” I say. It’s only a few blocks, but she’s got the dinner to carry and it’s pretty cold out.
    I back out the driveway, and Dad’s walking up the hill so I stop for a minute. Mom rolls down her window and he comes over and kisses her.
    “We’ll be back about eight,” she says. “There’s food in the oven.”
    “I’m just dropping them off,” I say to him. “I’ll be right back.”
    When I get back, he’s at the kitchen table in his undershirt with a beer and the plate from the oven. He’s picking at his teeth with his index finger. “What’s with you?” he says.
    I shrug. “Got a date tonight.”
    He nods approvingly. “Somebody I know?”
    “I dunno. Kim Chavez. She’s a junior.”
    “Oh.… How’d practice go?”
    “Not bad.” It wasn’t. “I’m gettin’ there.” I am. I’m not sure where I’m getting to, but I’m holding my own, even with Al at times. “You guys are busy, huh?”
    “Yeah. Some big deal went through.” He takes a swig of the beer, finishing it. He needs a shave a heck of a lot more than I do, even though it’s only been twelve hours. Last time I shaved was Saturday.
    “Where you going?”
    “Movies.”
    I open the refrigerator and get a glass of milk, and hand him another bottle of Schaefer. He was out last night, doing one of his jobs, I think. “We got a scrimmage on Saturday,” I say.
    “I know. I’ll be there.”
    McDonald’s is crowded, and we get on the line nearest the door. There’s a skinny old lady in a violet kerchief and a big heavy coat standing to the side, looking flustered. “Speak
up
, Harold,” she says to a guy, her husband, who’s at the counter trying to get somebody’s attention; needing ketchup or something else they forgot. “He just stands there,” she says to me, shaking her head. “He stands there and they ignore him.… Speak
up
, Harold.”
    Kim meets my eyes with a smile. She’s got on a white-and-pink striped button-down shirt, with designer jeans and running shoes. The silver chain’s there, too. We’re third on line, and I catch Chrissy Lane’s eye behind the counter and wave with two fingers. I motion towardHarold with my head, and Chrissy looks over at him attentively. She smiles and reaches under the counter for McNugget sauce, and he thanks her and moves away.
    We get our food and head for a booth. A little kid in a purple YMCA SOCCER T-shirt comes racing around the