Stepping Up to the Plate

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Lamar didn’t like the idea of Stacy going back to school, no surprise there. The fact that Stacy didn’t tell him about it until a week before registration didn’t help much, either. To be honest he didn’t want to tell him at all—the only person who knew right from the start was Ange. At work Stacy read him the brochure that had accompanied the enrollment letter, the two of them leaning beneath the open hood of a battered Jeep under the pretense of fixing a busted radiator. “So what do you think?” Stacy asked, folding up the brochure.

He was already enrolled in the program and classes started the last week of May which seemed a lifetime away, but he knew the days between now and then would speed past. Summer vacation always seemed to fly by when he didn’t want to go back to school. And he didn’t want to go back, he wasn’t looking forward to this stupid program in the least, but his mom already paid for it, and shoving his GED in Cal Jones’s face would be worth a few months’ time spent in a classroom all over again.

To Ange he said, “It’s sort of like summer school, I guess. Can’t be all that bad, you know?” Ange stared at the paper in Stacy’s hands and didn’t answer. Lowering his voice, Stacy admitted, “Lamar won’t like it though.”

“f**k Lamar,” Ange spat. In the light from the caged emergency lamp that swung above their heads, his eyes flickered with rainbows like spilled oil.

Stacy glanced behind them to make sure their friend wasn’t nearby, listening in. “So you think I should go?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Stacy frowned at the brochure and silently disagreed. “And it sure as hell doesn’t matter what Lamar thinks. The question here is what do you think? Do you want to do it?”

“Honestly?” Stacy countered blithely. “No.”

For a second disappointment flickered in Ange’s eyes, sharp and keen like the glint of light off the blade of a knife. But before Stacy could say he was kidding, he wanted to go, he did, the look was gone. Ange turned back to the radiator with a shrug. “Then don’t go.”

Neither of them moved, but a distance seemed to open up between them, a gulf that widened the longer Stacy kept quiet. He wanted to ask if Ange was mad at him but he suspected he knew the answer to that. It was in the set of his friend’s shoulders, the studious way Ange didn’t look at him. He could almost hear Ange’s soft drawl echo inside his mind, This could be your chance, Stace. A chance to shake yourself out of this place, break free, move on. But you don’t want to take it, you don’t even want to try. And you know what? That’s Lamar talking, not you. I thought you were more intelligent than that.

“I don’t think…” Stacy spoke so low that Ange probably couldn’t hear him. His friend was wrestling with a stubborn bolt, the conversation over as far as he was concerned. Clearing his throat, Stacy tried again, a little louder this time. “I hated school and you know it. The only thing I went for was baseball.” Ange didn’t reply. “I don’t see how they’re going to cram the two years I missed into what, three months?”

Still no answer. Talk to me, dammit! “My mom wants me to go.” C’mon, Ange. Don’t do this to me. Don’t ignore me like this, I’m begging you. Stacy forced a laugh. “Cal thinks I won’t do it. He thinks I can’t. Look Ange,” he sighed, exasperated, “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean I don’t want to learn or nothing. I just don’t want to go back to school. Like physically, you know? Don’t they have a correspondence course or something? I only need my GED, right? I don’t need to learn f*****g job skills, too.”

The bolt gave way suddenly, clattering to the concrete floor with a tiny sound, and Ange stumbled forward, his arm punching into the engine cavity before he could catch himself. “You need something, amigo,” he muttered as he stood. A long red welt was rising on the inside of his arm where it had scraped against something sharp under the hood. Grease like skid marks cut across the angry flesh. With the back of his hand, Ange wiped sweat from his cheek and left an oily scar behind. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Stace, but I’m beginning to think you ain’t cut out for working on cars.”

Stacy laughed, relieved. That was Ange’s way of saying things were cool between them again. With a devilish grin his friend said, “I’m serious. Whatever one of those trade subjects you decide on, make sure it’s not mechanics, because you suck hard.”

“Aw man,” Stacy replied, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a complement.”