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“Ashley, shut up.”

  “Why are you always such a pain, Clarice? I just asked Ruby a question.”

  Clarice hit the breaks. Ruby Jane looked over her shoulder. Ashley had her arms folded across her chest in the tight space behind the seat. Ruby Jane couldn’t remember Ashley ever standing up to Clarice. She smiled. Moira caught the look and her lips retracted from her teeth.

  “Ruby’s mother said she did something to her dad.”

  Quick as a snake, Clarice turned on Ruby Jane. “What does that mean?”

  “My mother is nuts.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Moira keyed on Clarice’s sudden interest. “But your mother said, ‘Do your little friends know what you did to your father?’” Her voice gained half an octave.

  “Your mother calls us your little friends?”

  “Can we go?”

  “Not until you tell us what your mother meant.”

  “My mother’s a drunk. You can’t believe anything she says.”

  “Maybe you’re the one we can’t believe.”

  “Clarice, shut up.”

  “Did you tell me to shut up?”

  “What? You forgot to clean Hardy Berman’s cum out of your ears?”

  The idling engine ticked, and vinyl squeaked as Ashley shifted in her seat. Clarice worked her jaw from side to side. Ruby Jane could almost hear the judge, prosecutor and jury hard at work behind Clarice’s cold eyes.

  “Get out of the car.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Clarice—”

  “Get out!”

  Ruby Jane looked at Ashley for support, but she’d crossed Clarice as much as she ever would. “It’s her car, Ruby.” She sounded like a cartoon mouse. Moira was more emphatic. “You took my seat, bitch.”

  Ruby Jane grabbed her backpack. Clarice had the car in gear before Ruby Jane got clear of the door. She jumped back as Clarice tore away.

  She checked her watch. First period in half an hour, three miles from school. An easy pace under other circumstances, but she didn’t normally run with twenty pounds of books bouncing against her spine. All she could do was walk and take a tardy. Coach didn’t like tardies or absences by his girls—a fact which no doubt played into Clarice’s sentence.

  Twenty minutes later, not even to the grain elevators at the west end of Farmersville, a car slowed beside her. She heard it before she saw it, guessed it was Clarice returning. Pretending to be magnanimous. Or maybe she’d gotten hold of some cigarettes and wanted to make sure Ruby Jane got dragged into her miscreance. She gazed into the ditch beside the road as though fascinated by empty pop cans and broken beer bottles in the trickling water.

  “Hey, Ruby.”

  She turned. Finn Nielson leaned across the passenger seat of his car.

  “What are you doing here?” He lived in Germantown, in the opposite direction from school.

  “My dad’s car’s in the shop. I had to drive him to the dealer in Eaton.”

  “Oh.”

  “Out for a stroll?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “How long does it take to say, ‘Clarice was being a bitch again’?”

  “Clarice was being a bitch again.”

  “You want a ride?”

  “Obviously.” She climbed in next to him, crossed her hands on her lap. “Thanks, Huck.”

  “No problem.” He drove through town, turned down Farmersville Pike. “You hear from James?”

  “I haven’t talked to him.”

  “You got a date for homecoming?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “No.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself.”

  “On some matters, yes.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s all you got? Wow?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Try harder.”

  “Would it matter?”

  “No.” But then she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Used to be, all it took was an icy Jimmie stare to get Huck to stuff the blue back into his balls. But Jimmie was gone now. When he called—rarely—it was only to hang quiet on the phone, breathe through his nose, and finally insist she put Bella on. That’s the way he said it. “Put Bella on.” He never asked Ruby Jane the question which had to be chewing him up inside.

  “What have you heard?”

  Nothing, Jimmie.

  Later, she’d ask Bella what he called about. “He’s sad. He got a bad grade in math. Who the hell knows?” She complained, but she took Jimmie’s calls.

  “So you really haven’t heard anything?”

  “Nothing, Jimmie.”

  “What?” Huck was pulling in to the school.

  “Nothing from Jimmie, I mean.” She felt her face go hot, but then she fixed her gaze on Clarice, Moira and Ashley crossing the parking lot. “Please tell me Clarice is still fucking Hardy Berman.”

  Huck raised an eyebrow. “He seems to think she is.”

  A few minutes before the bell, Ruby Jane passed Clarice at her locker. Their eyes locked, but neither spoke. Clarice was too busy offering Ashley a cost-benefit analysis of sucking Junus Malo’s cock.

  - 20 -

  Pre-Season, September 1988

  Coach called them together at center court. The girls gathered in a clump on the dark blue Spartan emblem. Ruby Jane held back, waiting to see how everyone sorted themselves. Clarice Moody stood a head higher than the others, her long face and shiny black hair a gravitational draw. Gabi remained in the back too. She gave Ruby Jane a tentative smile when their eyes met.

  “Welcome, girls. As of now, all twenty of you are in the mix. Ten will make the varsity squad. The rest will move to JV. But as of this moment, you’re all equal. You all have the same chance.”

  Ruby Jane pursed her lips. Clarice could coast through fall workouts and still start. Moira would be Ruby Jane’s most direct competition, but Coach would carry five or six forwards. She wasn’t worried. No one else shot better from the outside.

  “We’ve got some promising girls hoping to make a move from JV to varsity this year, plus a transfer from Bay Village. Schilling?”

  Gabi looked up. “Yes, sir?”

  “Front and center, please.”

  The girl moved to the front of the group. Ruby Jane took a good look at her for the first time. She was shorter than anyone else. Her bobbed, ginger hair swung along her jaw line as she ducked her head.

  “You played—?”

  “Guard, sir. Point and shooting in rotation.”

  “Starter, or off the bench?”

  “Both. I averaged fourteen minutes a game last year.”

  “You’re a senior, right?”

  “A junior.”

  Coach nodded, his long face thoughtful. “In the past we ran a three-guard offense, perhaps similar to what you’re used to. But last year we had the chance to build our offense around Moody at center. Two forwards, two guards. I may suit up only three guards on varsity this season.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re going to need a bigger voice than that if you hope to run my offense.”

  “Yes, sir!” Ruby Jane saw Clarice smirk and whisper something to Moira. Coach glared at her, then turned his gaze to Ruby Jane.

  “Whittaker.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  “You found your shot last year on JV.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Forty-two percent from three point territory.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Impressive. But this year, expect to pass. You’ll need more assists than points.”

  “I shot fifty-five percent overall, Coach.”

  Ruby Jane wanted to add her field goal percentage was better from eighteen feet than Clarice’s from eight. But though Coach had a rep for taking what he was given, he’d need to see her on the floor.

  “It’s a different game against the big
girls.”

  “Have you seen my brother wrestle, sir?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “I taught him everything he knows.”

  Coach tilted his head, and a faint smile played across his lips. “This team will win if we play as a team. You ready to do that?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Expect to pass.” He nodded her back to the group. “All right then.” Coach stepped back and looked them all over. After a moment, he launched into his boilerplate. Shoot-arounds at lunch until formal practice started. Nutrition and conditioning tips, and reminders to those who hadn’t done so yet to get their athletic physicals before the start of practice. Gabi looked worried, so when practice broke up, Ruby Jane approached her. “Go see Doctor Hart in Farmersville. She does everyone’s physicals.”

  “My grandparents may want me to go to their doctor.”

  “Hart knows what the school requires, and she’ll fit you in right away. Just so you know.”

  “Thanks.” Gabi hesitated. “You decided to play after all.”

  “I don’t have anything else to do.”

  “The coach—”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’ll give you a fair shot.”

  Across the gym, Ruby Jane spied Finn Nielson. He was dressed in sweats, looking her way. She supposed he was going to work out in the weight room and had stopped by the gym to ogle the cheerleaders practicing at the other end. Ruby Jane turned to Gabi.

  “You’re taking Con Law as a junior too, same as me.”

  “At Bay, I did some classes in summer school. My folks wanted to keep me busy. So I guess I’m a year ahead.”

  “You want to be my project partner?”

  Gabi blushed, cheeks flaring to compete with her red hair. “If you want.”

  “We’re sitting next to each other already, I figured …”

  “Sure.” Gabi’s gaze moved past Ruby Jane’s left shoulder.

  “Whittaker, what was all that about?”

  Clarice. Ruby Jane smiled fiercely at Gabi.

  “I asked you a question.”

  She turned to face Clarice. “I’m supposed to be impressed?”

  “I’m captain of this team.”

  “Not yet, you’re not.”

  “Are you going to challenge me? They won’t vote for you.”

  “You overrated bitch, you might be surprised by who people won’t vote for.”

  Clarice thrust two rigid fingers at Ruby Jane’s sternum, lips tight against her teeth, mouth partway open. Her breath smelled of licorice and a hint of lunchtime smoke. Ruby Jane stood her ground, arms at her side, weight centered over the balls of her feet.

  “What’s going on here?” Coach pushed his way into the circle. Neither Ruby Jane nor Clarice moved. “Whittaker, Moody, is there a problem?”

  Moira spoke first. “Ruby called Clarice a bitch.”

  “Is that true, Whittaker?”

  Ruby Jane refused to break eye contact with Clarice. “The truth hurts, Coach.”

  “That’s enough. Back off, both of you.”

  Ruby Jane waited. After a moment, Clarice folded her arms and let her air out. The gym was quiet around them. Coach drew himself up.

  “If we’re going to be successful, we have to work together. I won’t have my players at each other’s throats.”

  “She—”

  “I’m not done.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Whittaker, I won’t tolerate name calling or profanity. Two hours detention.”

  Clarice grinned, but Coach turned on her.

  “I hope you don’t think this is funny.”

  Ruby Jane could feel the heat radiating off of Clarice. The grin collapsed.

  “Starting tomorrow and for one full week, you two will go to Barker Stadium. Each day, you’ll run five laps around the field, including up and down each set of stairs on both bleachers. You’ll run them together, and neither can leave until the other is finished. I don’t care how long it takes.”

  Ruby Jane closed her eyes.

  “Any questions?”

  “Coach, I didn’t do anything. She’s the one who—”

  “If you want to be captain of this team, Moody, you have to behave like a leader. Leaders don’t bully. They don’t throw their weight around. And they don’t get into spats with their teammates.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “I may not select the team captain, but I do decide who’s eligible to run. And neither one of you will stand for election if you don’t get this nonsense under control. Am I understood?”

  Ruby Jane nodded, and after a moment so did Clarice. Coach left them. Ruby Jane caught Clarice’s eye again, but the fire was out now. Ruby Jane didn’t mind running. She could run all day. Clarice would have to keep up.

  - 21 -

  Interview, April 1989

  Ruby Jane lived in a saltbox on West Walnut, the Brubaker silos rising across the street. Two floors, living and dining rooms, kitchen and mudroom on the first. Three bedrooms and a full bath upstairs. Ruby Jane’s room, a cramped cell barely big enough for her bed, dresser, and a small desk, looked out over the street and driveway. Jimmie’s own airless cube across the hall shared a thin wall with the Studio.

  From the time they’d moved in when she was eight years old, the house had felt small. Dale and Bella filled every room with their voices, loud when happy, louder when not. The issue was always the same: Dale’s failure to rise above his working class roots.

  “I don’t even know why I stay with you.”

  “You and me both, fucklips.”

  Ruby Jane knew why. Habit. Inertia. Shared victimhood. Grandfather Denlinger’s refusal to accept Dale lent strength to the tenuous thread which bound Bella and Dale’s marriage together. Ruby Jane wondered if her grandfather realized the surest way to drive a wedge between his wayward daughter and her blue collar husband was to welcome Dale into the family. If that ever happened, Bella would drop Dale like an empty bourbon bottle.

  Grabel seemed most interested in these details of Ruby Jane’s home and history, trivialities which had no bearing on Clarice and Gabi. He put a tape in the cassette recorder, tested it, and recorded the date, location, the names of those present. Then he propped a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses on the end of his nose and started in on the pointless questions. As he spoke, she kept her head tilted back against the window, eyes fixed on the acoustic ceiling tiles. She listened to the hiss of the recorder, to the soft whoosh of the air conditioning. The fluorescent lights hummed.

  “You have a brother, right? James.”

  “Yes.”

  “He graduated last year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “College.”

  “Where at?”

  She wrinkled her nose at a salty tang rising from her singlet, faintly acrid like her basketball uniform after a loss. She didn’t want to talk about Jimmie. Nash saved her the trouble. “James is up at Bowling Green, I believe.”

  Grabel ignored him. No doubt his folder had a notation of Jimmie’s whereabouts. He turned a page, read for a moment. “I understand your grandmother Whittaker passed last year. Sorry to hear it.”

  “Why? Did you know her?”

  “Never mind. Tell me about your mother’s parents.”

  “I don’t see them much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ask Bella.” She stole a glance at Nash. For a moment, he met her gaze without expression, then he looked down as though he feared what his eyes might give away.

  “You do see them from time to time though, right?”

  Ruby Jane reached up to knead a sudden cramp in her trapezius. She probed with her fingertips, winced as she pressed into the ropy muscle. Grabel looked up.

  “You do see them.”

  She dropped her hand into her lap. “Once a year or so.”

  “They live half an hour away.”

  “Takes longer when you have to hitchhike.”

  �
��How does that make you feel, that your grandparents aren’t a part of your life?”

  “Relieved.”

  “At least you got to see a lot of your grandmother Whittaker before she died.”

  The acrid scent grew stronger. She stared at the ceiling.

  “Ruby?”

  “I didn’t give you permission to call me by my first name.”

  “Christ. Your teachers must love you.”

  She sniffed. Teachers were figures to be tolerated until class ended, then forgotten. Mrs. Parmelee was the only one who treated Ruby Jane like something more than an entry in a grade book.

  “How about your old man’s father? What can you tell me about him?”

  “I never knew him.”

  “How come? Your grandparents split up?”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “What happened then?”

  “He died a long time ago.”

  “How did he die?”

  “How should I know? It was centuries before I was born.”

  “No one ever told you?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “If anyone thought it was my business, they’d have told me.”

  Grabel leafed through the folder. “His name was Norbert Fulton. He ran off when your daddy was a bump in your grandmother’s skirt. They were never married.”

  Ruby Jane shifted uncomfortably. The backs of her legs stuck to the vinyl seat and an itch raced across her thighs.

  “Out of snappy comebacks?”

  “If you already know so much, why ask me?”

  “I want to know what you know.”

  She rolled her neck, stretched her arms down to either side of the chair. “I know you’re a jerk who won’t let me use the bathroom.”

  The dry skin at the corners of Grabel’s mouth and eyes creased into dozens of dendritic lines. His idea of a smile, maybe. “Why don’t we cover territory closer to home. How did your parents meet?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t realize we were going all the way back to the Mayflower landing.”

  “I didn’t realize your parents were that old.”

  Nash cleared his throat, a sound she realized was his attempt to suppress a laugh. She refused to grant Grabel that much.

  “It was some kind of high school sweetheart thing.”

  “Where did they go to school?”