Heather made a beeline for Mindy. The Kostis family was in the Winner’s Circle, the top tier of contributors to the Building Fund. Heather hadn’t met or served Mindy and felt suddenly relieved that her name tag didn’t have her last name. Even so, she doubted that Mindy would recognize the name, since Jordan had just made varsity.
Heather reached the table, extended a hand for the empty glass, and smiled pleasantly. “May I get you a refill, Ms. Kostis?” she asked, since it was club rules to address members by name.
“Yes, please. Tanqueray and tonic.” Mindy smiled back, pleasantly enough. She had curly blonde hair, round blue eyes, and a sweet smile. She was dressed in a pink-tweed suit with a patch that read Chanel, and Heather tried not to let her eyes bug out of her head. She had never seen a real Chanel jacket.
“My pleasure,” Heather answered, a scripted reply, also per club rules.
“Do I know you? You look so familiar.” Mindy squinted at Heather’s name tag.
Heather’s mouth went dry. She didn’t know how Mindy knew her. Heather didn’t go to the games because she worked. She was about to answer, My son is on the baseball team with your son, but she stopped herself. “No, I don’t believe so,” she answered, her tone polite.
“Oh, okay, sorry.” Mindy smiled, blinking.
“My pleasure,” Heather said again, like a CVCC fembot. The other women at the table kept chattering away, paying no attention to the conversation, which, to them, was Mindy talking to The Waitress. She turned to them. “Anyone else need a refill?”
“Uh, no,” said one, without looking up, and the others didn’t reply.
“Thank you.” Heather left, flustered. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Mindy who she was. Mindy hadn’t demeaned Heather at all, so why had Heather demeaned herself? She didn’t consider herself less than Mindy, so why had she acted that way? Mindy was Winner’s Circle, but what was Heather? Loser’s Circle?
She practically fled the Lafayette Room, heading back toward the bar, and it struck her that the luncheon had just started, but Mindy was the only woman on her second cocktail.
Chapter Six
It was pouring outside, and Susan Sematov stood at her office window, her cell phone to her ear, dismayed to hear her call go to voicemail. Her older son Ryan hadn’t come home last night, and she was worried. He was nineteen, an adult, but that didn’t mean she didn’t worry about him anymore, especially after last year. Her husband, Neil, had passed away after a brutal battle with pancreatic cancer, and Susan, Ryan, and their younger son, Raz, were still reeling. Neil had gone from diagnosis to death in only two months, and Ryan had dropped out of Boston University, where he’d just finished his freshman year.
Susan ended the call and pressed REDIAL to call Ryan again, keeping her face to the window, so it looked as if she was surveying ValleyCo One from her window. Susan was Marketing Manager of ValleyCo, the biggest developer of outlet malls in Central Valley. The ValleyCo One outlet mall also held their corporate headquarters, a three-story brick box designed to coordinate with the brick outlet stores that lay outside her window in a massive concrete square.
Susan’s call to Ryan rang and rang, and she sent up a prayer, asking God to please let him pick up. Her older son had taken his father’s death so hard and felt lost at home. His friends were still at BU and their other colleges, and he was spending all day sleeping on the couch, and at night, going out drinking with God-knows-who.
Susan’s call went to voicemail again, and she hung up, scanning the outlet mall. At the top of the square, its north side, were the Vanity Fair outlets—Maidenform, Olga, Warner’s, Best Form, and Lillyette—which everybody in the office nicknamed BoobTown. To her right on the east side was Lee, Wrangler, Reef, Nautica, and JanSport—naturally nicknamed BallTown. To her left was Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Lenox, and Corningware—or HousePorn. Behind her, out of her view, was Land of Shoes; Easy Spirit, Famous Footwear, Reebok, Bass Factory Outlet, and Gold Toe Factory. Susan had been hired straight out of Penn State as an administrative assistant in the Marketing Department and had worked her way up to running the department by the time ValleyCo Five was in blueprints.
Susan glanced at the clock—1:35. She didn’t want to call the police because she knew Ryan would throw a fit. She didn’t know where Ryan had gone because he’d left the house while she was on a conference call with the West Coast. Presumably he had told his younger brother Raz where he was going, but one work call had led to another, and before Susan knew it, Raz had gone up to bed without telling her where Ryan had gone.
Susan thought it over. The two brothers were thick as thieves, or at least they used to be before Neil had died, but her sons were each reacting to their father’s passing in different ways; Ryan, her mild child, had grown more inward, keeping his grief inside, but Raz, her wild child, had gotten more out of control. Raz had idolized his father, and they were both baseball fanatics.
Susan let her thoughts travel backwards in time, to those memories. Raz and Neil would hit balls in the backyard for hours, and Neil went to every one of Raz’s games, proud to see his son pitch for the Musketeers. Neil’s illness had derailed Raz emotionally, and she had gotten recommendations for therapists, but neither boy would go. She’d started therapy, and the plan was to try to convince them to come with her, but that had yet to come to fruition.
Susan scrolled to the text function, found her last text to Raz, and texted him: Honey, please call when you can. It’s important. Students were allowed to keep their cell phones with them, only with the sound off, and they weren’t permitted to look at them during class. It was a rule more honored in the breach, and Raz and rules were never on good terms.
She slipped the phone back in her blazer pocket and went to her desk, which she kept uncluttered except for her nameplate, a digital clock, a jar of pencils and pens, and family photographs of Neil and the kids. She sat down and scanned the photos, wishing that she were in at least a few of the photographs with Neil, so she could see them over time. They’d met in college, fallen in love, gotten married upon graduation, and been happily married almost every day since then. Susan couldn’t have asked for more. Except now, all she asked for was more.
Her gaze found her favorite photo, the one of Neil hugging Ryan and Raz at Ryan’s graduation from CVHS. They had been so happy then, and even she didn’t believe that they had had such a successful marriage, given their upbringing. She wasn’t perfect, nor was he, but they were imperfect in the same way, a union of two doers who loved nothing so much as checking off boxes on a Things To Do List.
Susan shooed the thoughts away, then checked her phone, but Raz hadn’t texted her back. She texted him again. Honey, please call. Worried about Ryan. She set the phone down, trying not to catastrophize, as her therapist Marcia said. Marcia had taught her to cope by occupying her mind, so Susan tapped the mousepad on her laptop. The screen filled with the red ValleyCo logo, a stylized mall nestled in the V of Valley, a branding decision made before Susan’s time.
She opened an email and a PDF of a BoobTown ad for her approval. The top banner read, THIS MOTHER’S DAY IS SUNDAY, MAY 15! CELEBRATE MOM AND YOURSELF! Underneath was a photo of a pretty mom with a little boy, a stock image aimed at their target market. Susan had been that woman, the shopper who was ValleyCo’s sweet spot, the kind of mom who put the date of a sale on her calendar the first time she heard it. That was why Susan made sure that in every ad, the sale date was the largest thing on the page, and in their email blasts, the sale date connected automatically to My ValleyCo Calendar, an app that she had commissioned herself.
My ValleyCo Calendar enabled the customer to schedule the sales at any ValleyCo outlet mall and send herself alerts at one- and two-week intervals. Susan’s bosses, all male, had been skeptical, wondering why any woman would agree to be harassed, but the app took off. Susan hadn’t been surprised. Its success was due to the innate belief that doing everything right would lead to happiness, a credo that she had ascribed to unt
il Neil died.
Susan approved the ad. It was good enough. She was losing her edge now that Neil had died. He’d been her biggest supporter, and only after he was gone did she realize that she had been performing for him all along.
Susan picked up her phone. It read 1:45 P.M., which meant that Raz was in seventh period, but he hadn’t called or texted. She swiped to her Favorites and pressed three—Neil would be forever number one, and Ryan was number two. The phone rang but it went to voicemail.
“Damn!” Susan said aloud, glancing behind her, but her secretary wasn’t looking. Everyone had been so wonderful to her after Neil had passed, but lately her office felt like a fishbowl. Every time they looked at her, she saw herself the way they saw her: a new widow, trying desperately to keep herself and her family from coming apart at the seams, like a factory second. The Sematovs were Irregulars now.
Susan pressed REDIAL, the phone rang twice, and finally, Raz picked up. “Raz—”
“Mom, what?” Raz asked, his tone irritated. “Why are you calling me? I’m at school.”
“This is your free period, isn’t it? I’m worried about Ryan. He didn’t come home last night.”
“So?”
Susan sensed he was with friends. “So he doesn’t do that. He’s been out all night.”
“Mom.” Raz snorted. “Is this what you think is important? He’s a big boy. He’s out.”
“Did he tell you where he was going last night?”
“I don’t know!” Raz raised his voice.
“Where did he say he was going?”
“‘I don’t know’ means I don’t know! I don’t remember.”
“Raz, please think,” Susan said, softening her tone. “Something could’ve happened to him.”
“He probably got laid!”
“Raz!” Susan glanced over her shoulder and caught her secretary looking at her. “I’m worried about him.”
“There’s nothing to worry about! He’s fine. I have to go!”
“Raz, you don’t know that he’s fine. Think about what he told you. Did he say where he was going or who he was with—” Susan stopped when she realized Raz had gone unusually quiet on the other end of the call.
She looked at the phone, and Raz had hung up.
Chapter Seven
Chris headed to baseball practice, more tired than he’d expected. He had no idea how teachers did it, day after day. He’d had to teach the same lesson twice, saying the same exact things to two classes of AP Government and two classes of the non-AP level, since the class size at CVHS was restricted to thirty students. Plus he had to teach his elective, Criminal Justice. He’d identified two more boys in his non-AP course and one in Criminal Justice, but neither as promising as Jordan or Raz.
Chris threaded his way down a packed hallway, having changed into his coach’s gear, a blue polo shirt that read ASSISTANT COACH MUSKETEERS BASEBALL, royal-blue nylon sweatpants, and sneakers. Framed group photos of past CVHS classes were mounted on the white walls, and inspirational posters hung at regular intervals: MUSKETEERS MAKE EMPATHY A HABIT. BE THE CHANGE—NOTICE, CHOOSE, ACT. VALIDATE OTHERS. He passed a window overlooking a courtyard filled with flowerbeds. It was raining out, so practice had been moved inside to the gym.
Chris was looking forward to seeing Jordan and Raz, so he could make a final decision. He had tentatively eliminated Evan because of the boy’s alpha behavior with the snacks and choice of the Bill of Rights team. Raz had also chosen the Bill of Rights team, so he was now on the bubble. Jordan was the frontrunner since he had chosen the Constitution team, suggesting that he was a boy comfortable with structure and authority, perfect for Chris. He needed a boy he could use and manipulate. Tuesday was coming up fast.
Suddenly Chris noticed that two of his players had turned onto the hallway, Trevor Kiefermann and Dylan McPhee. Chris hadn’t met them yet, but he had researched them, and the two boys couldn’t have been more different. Trevor was a tall, blocky redhead with a freckled face and an obsession with kettlebells and weight lifting, according to his social media. Dylan was the tallest kid on the team, at six-five, but reed-thin and wiry with wispy blond hair, fine features, and heavy wire-rimmed glasses that slid down his nose. Dylan’s social media consisted of photos from NASA, the Astronomy Photo of the Day, and photographs of outer space, sent by whatever astronaut was currently orbiting the earth.
Chris flashed them a smile. “Hey guys, I’m Coach Brennan, the new assistant coach.”
“Hey Coach, Trevor Kiefermann, nice to meet you. I play third base.” Trevor shook his hand, squeezing it firmly.
“Coach, I’m Dylan McPhee, center field.” Dylan shook Chris’s hand, too, but his hand was slender, though his grip equally strong.
“Good to meet you both.” Chris fell into step with them down the hallway, and Trevor seemed eager to talk, the more outgoing of the two.
“They say you’re a cowboy. Moved here from Montana, right?”
“Wyoming, but news travels fast here.” Chris allowed his features to reflect mild surprise.
“Raz told us. Where’d you coach before?”
“I didn’t. I almost played minor-league ball but I tore my ACL the week before tryouts.” Chris knew his alias couldn’t be found online on any minor-league roster, should they look him up. Interestingly, the Internet made lying easier and harder, both at once.
“Sucks.” Trevor shook his head. “Where’d you play?”
“Class A, Midwest League. If I tell you which team, you’re gonna laugh. The Fort Wayne Tincaps of Fort Wayne, Indiana.”
“What a name!” Trevor chuckled.
Dylan smiled. “Is that real?”
“Yes, totally.” Chris smiled back, feeling the humor break the ice, as usual. “Still, it coulda been worse. Would you believe the Cedar Rapids Kernels.”
“Ha!” Trevor laughed, and so did Dylan.
“So how’s the season?” Chris asked, though he already knew. The Musketeers were on a losing streak.
“Not so good.” Trevor’s expression clouded. “The season started April 1, and we’re one and five. Coach Hardwick might replace Raz with Jordan for tomorrow’s game. We play Upper Grove, and they’re undefeated.”
“Is Jordan the better pitcher?”
“I think so. He just made varsity and he doesn’t throw as hard as Raz, but his accuracy and control is unreal. He just stays calm, no matter what.”
Dylan interjected again, “Jordan’s a contact pitcher. The batter might get a piece of the ball, but they won’t get a base hit. The ball will be a grounder or fly out, easy to catch.”
Chris mulled it over. “So they’re competing for starting pitcher and they’re friends? That can’t be easy, can it?”
“They’re buds, but hey, it happens on a team. Only one can be the ace.”
Chris was settling on Jordan, but he would need to separate him from Raz to exert the maximum influence on him. The competition for starting pitcher might be the wedge, and all Chris had to do was hammer it hard.
The hallway ended at the entrance to the boys’ locker room, and the door was propped open. Trevor gestured inside. “I’ll show you where the coaches’ office is. Coach Natale should be there, the JV Coach.”
“Lead the way, boys.”
Chapter Eight
Chris followed the boys down a ramp to a lower level and they entered a large locker room with benches and blue lockers, which was emptying. Trevor and Dylan dropped him off, and Chris walked the short hallway to the coaches’ office, spotting Coach Natale through the window. Chris knew from his research that Natale taught Health, his wife Felicia was a reading specialist at the high school, and their twin girls were in fifth grade at CVMS. They owned a white poodle but Chris didn’t remember the dog’s name. Then it came to him—Snowflake. Confirming, no imagination.
“I’m Chris Brennan, the new assistant,” Chris said, when he reached the entrance to the office, and Victor crossed the room with an eager grin, his meaty hand extended. r />
“I’m Victor Natale, welcome!” Victor pumped Chris’s hand with vigor. Natale was short and chubby, with an affable Italian-guy vibe. He had large brown eyes, a big nose, and thick lips, his fleshy face framed by thick black hair. “I coach the JV team with my assistant Dan Bankoske. He’s already in the gym. So I hear you’re from Utah?”
“Wyoming. Everybody knows everything here, am I right?”
“Bingo!” Victor laughed. “My wife told me. She’s on the Instructional Support team. She heard it from Anne in the office.” He spread his arms broadly. “Well, this is our palace. The empty desk is yours.”
“Thanks.” Chris crossed to the empty desk and set his backpack on the black desk chair. The windowless room held four black desks facing the wall, and the other three desks were cluttered with forms, three-ring notebooks, and Inside Pitch, Coach & Athletic Director, and Covering All Bases magazines. Black file cabinets lined the opposite wall next to a dorm-size refrigerator, old microwave, and a Keurig coffeemaker.
“So, Chris, what’s your deal? You single or married?”
“Single.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Looking to meet somebody new? My sister-in-law’s about to free up. You can take her off my hands. I can’t get her out of my house.”
“Not yet, thanks.” Chris thought Victor was likable but he didn’t need a friend.
“Lemme know. Did you get the free iPad? It’s from the Boosters, God bless them.”
“Yes.” Chris unzipped his backpack and took out his new iPad.
“You downloaded the software, right? It’s like that app, MLB Dugout.”
“Right.” Chris had downloaded the coaching software as per Hardwick’s emailed instructions, but he had also created secret player files. “Any pointers for working with Coach Hardwick?”
“Ha!” Victor’s dark eyes glittered. “The kids call him Hardass behind his back. Also Hardhead, Hardwood, Hard On, and Hard Dick.”
Chris chuckled, happy to be taken into confidence so quickly. “He’s not exactly Santa Claus.”