Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

  "Yes," he said, like it was a ridiculous question.

  "Couldn't we wait to measure them sometime when I haven't been running sprints all afternoon?"

  He grunted. "You're telling me you're too exhausted from basketball practice to weigh a rocket?"

  I pushed the strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail back behind one ear. "Fine, have it your way. I'll meet you in the biology room after practice."

  "Fine." He walked away muttering something about jock-ettes, and I went back to practice, trying to sweat less so my T-shirt wouldn't be sticking to my body when I saw him next.

  Which didn't work.

  After practice I went out to the parking lot and explained the situation to my mom, who'd come to give Cami and me a ride home. Our parents took turns giving us rides from practice, since we lived in the same neighborhood.

  "How long will you be?" Mom asked.

  "I don't know. I'll call you."

  She sighed, like it was a burden to drive the five minutes to the school to pick me up again, which it probably was, considering she dragged Jack with her everywhere. He was bouncing up and down in the backseat.

  "I wish you'd told me about this beforehand," she said.

  "I didn't know about it beforehand. My project is on rockets, not ESP. Camilla should have been the one to predict it for you."

  Cami rolled her eyes at me and climbed into my car.

  I watched them pull out of the parking lot, then walked back into the school and went to the biology room. Frederick had the rockets set up by the table and was sitting at one of the desks, reading a science fiction novel. Which figured. Not only did he know all about rockets, he was probably devising space-travel techniques in his spare time.

  He put the book down when I came in. "Good, you're finally here." He stood and walked to the nearest rocket holding it up for me to see. "While we measure the rockets I'll explain the project to you. I've used lead tape on the nose and behind the fins to move the rocket's center of gravity. We'll also change two of the rockets' centers of pressure by cutting some of the fins off. Then we'll launch the rockets and record their trajectories and flight times, proving that to be stable, the rocket's center of gravity has to be forward of the center of pressure." He put the rocket back on the counter. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

  "I'm waiting for you to start speaking English."

  He held his hands up in frustration. "What didn't you understand? I thought you said you were smart."

  "I am smart, Frederick, I'm just not fluent in rocket-ese."

  He shook his head. "Great. Not only do I have to do the experiment, I have to teach you basic aerodynamic principles along the way. This is exactly why I wanted to work alone."

  I put my hands on my hips. "And this is exactly why no one wanted to work with you. Can you even have a conversation without insulting everyone else? If you don't want to teach me aerodynamic principles, we can do a different project. I would have been happy with a nail polish project, re­member?"

  He picked up a rocket and placed it on the scale. "Nail polish. How did you even get into advanced biology?"

  "I got A's in science last year."

  He huffed and then wrote down a number in his notebook. "That's the problem with teachers. They give extra credit out for being pretty. You probably just smiled and said, 'I left my assignment at home.' And your teachers said, 'Don't worry about it, honey. I'll give you an A-plus anyway''

  "For your information, I did all of the assignments and never got—" I grinned and leaned against the counter. "You think I'm pretty?"

  He huffed again and gave me a condescending stare. "And that's the problem with girls. All you care about is your looks." He took one rocket off the scale and replaced it with another. "Intelligence doesn't matter to anyone. I'm the smartest guy in our class, and everyone hates me for it."

  "No, everyone hates you for being so obnoxious about it. Your being smart doesn't really bother anyone."

  He wrote down the weight of the rocket, then placed another rocket on the scale. "The school doesn't give out letter jackets for getting straight As. Only the jocks get those. Smart people don't get cheerleaders or pep rallies. I bet Bill Gates got no respect in high school. Now he could buy all those athletic teams you want to be on. Think about that."

  I didn't think about Bill Gates, but as Frederick lectured me about the center of gravity, the center of pressure, and the difference between the two, I did think about all of the reasons he was annoying. The fact that he was forcing me to listen to this stuff topped the list.

  I just wanted to get this project over as soon as possible so I didn't have to spend more time with him.

  Cami

  When I got home, I was still thinking about practice. I estimated how long it would take for my free throws to noticeably improve and wondered if it would be impolite to ask Rebecca a lot of questions about the WNBA, like—when they're not playing games, do they get together and do girl things like go shoe shopping, or do they do one another's hair? I forgot all about Ethan's phone call until I walked into the family room and saw Kevin stretched out on the couch with the phone pressed against his ear.

  "No, I wouldn't say it's that bad."

  I stood in front of him, waving one hand to get his attention. I mouthed, "I'm expecting a phone call."

  He glanced at me, then looked away without responding. Into the phone he said, "Nothing I can think of right off­hand."

  I put my backpack on the floor and went into the kitchen to find something to eat. Mom was warming up frozen lasagna in the microwave, but it wouldn't be done for another fifteen minutes. Mom hardly ever cooked. She usually came home from work so frazzled from her job as a junior high teacher that just unthawing something took all her energy.

  I took a banana from the counter and peeled it while I kicked off my shoes and waited for Kevin to get off the phone.

  "It's pretty clean as far as rooms go," Kevin said. "No frilly pink stuff, although she still keeps Mr. Bunny and Miss Kitty on her shelf."

  I put my banana down. "Who are you talking to?" I called into the family room.

  Kevin didn't answer me. "I'd say her first love was Fred from Scooby-Doo. She used to go up to the TV and kiss it when he was on."

  I sprinted into the family room.

  "Yeah, I'm sure Fred felt jilted when she started watching the Jackie Chan show. Jackie has better muscles. Chicks go for that."

  I jumped on to the couch and grabbed the phone, wrestling it out of Kevin's hands while he laughed. Finally I took the phone and walked down the hallway to my room. "Who is this?"

  "Hey, Cami, you sound out of breath," Ethan said. "Or is heavy breathing just the way you greet people on the phone?"

  I made it to my room, shut the door, and leaned up against the wall. "Ethan, I can't believe you were actually talking to Kevin about me."

  "And I can't believe you had a thing for Jackie Chan. The man is old enough to be your father."

  "Yeah, well, I wasn't so picky about guys in the fourth grade."

  "Are you pickier now?"

  "Oh, sure. Now I never go for the guys who are cartoons. My motto is: If his wardrobe comes from a pencil, I will not be going out with him."

  Ethan laughed. I liked the way it sounded over the phone. I could almost see him with his head tilted back and his bangs falling across his forehead. "I feel the same way. Sure all those Anime girls are nice, but the girls I date have to have a nose somewhere on their face. That's where I draw the line—even though the artist didn't."

  "I have a nose," I said.

  "I noticed that," he said. "And my clothes don't come from a pencil."

  Ethan had not called to talk to me about Josie.

  I sat down on my bed, smiling, and felt completely happy.

  Josie

  The phone rang. A moment later Sadie poked her head into my bedroom. In a singsong voice she said, "A boy is on the phone for you."

  Sometimes I hate being the oldest.


  I grabbed the phone away from her and pushed her out of my bedroom, then locked the door.

  Please let it be Ethan. Please let it be Ethan and not some misguided salesman who thinks Ym thirty-five and is trying to sell me a time-share condo. "Hello?"

  "Hello, Josie, this is Frederick. Can you get together Saturday morning at the football field to shoot off rockets?"

  "Oh." I tried not to sound disappointed but probably failed. "Sure. I don't have anything else planned."

  Which was unfortunately the story of my life.

  We agreed on the time, and I hung up the phone. Then I sat down on my bed, pulled out my English notebook, and doodled flowers while I tried to think of a poem about myself. Twenty minutes later I e-mailed the results to Cami.

  ODE TO A BAD SCIENCE PROJECT

  There once was a pretty young jockette

  who was forced to launch off a rocket,

  but when it was loaded

  the project exploded;

  now her fingers are worn in a locket.

  CamE: Great limerick. I'd write a poem entitled "Ode to My Science Partner," but I can't think of any words that rhyme with "delusional." Did I tell you she's considering "pet psychic" as one of her career choices?

  JoCi: A pet psychic? I never knew people kept psychics as pets.

  CamE: No, she doesn't want to be a pet, she wants to help them. Like if your pet is having some sort of problem, you take it in for a consultation, and she tells you all about the inner turmoil that's going on in your guinea pig's mind.

  JoCi: Maybe you can make an appointment for your cat. There is obviously something wrong with a creature that willingly drinks from the toilet.

  Cami

  After I finished IMing Josie, my conscience kicked into overdrive. I thought about Josie's other two poems for English. She would probably write about how she had a crush on "this guy." While I had just talked to "this guy" on the phone, flirted with him, and never once mentioned Josie's name to him.

  I was a bad friend.

  As I went through the rest of the evening, I tried to push away my guilt. Before I got into bed, I decided to make a list often reasons why it wasn't wrong to talk with Ethan.

  1. Manners. It's just polite to talk to someone when they phone you.

  2. You can't dictate who a guy likes. It's not my fault Josie flung herself down the escalator and made a bad impression on him.

  3. I've liked Ethan for almost as long as Josie, so why should she have dibs on him just because her crush got a jump start on mine?

  4. Why should Josie hold it against me if a guy likes me? I don't hold it against Josie that she's better at school and basketball—well, at least not much.

  Okay, I do hold it against her. Cross out number 4 on this list.

  5. Ethan is way cute.

  6. Ditto for reasons number 6—10.

  There was no way around it. I was a bad friend. The next time I spoke to Ethan, I would talk about nothing except all the ways Josie was a wonderful person, and then I'd ask my parents if I was too young to become a nun.

  Seven

  Josie

  I rode my bike to the school the next day. I didn't bring anything but paper and pencil. Frederick had all the rocket supplies, guarding them at his house like they were made of diamonds instead of cardboard tubes and plastic fins. When I rode up, he was setting up a launchpad in the middle of the football field. He gave me a rundown of the procedures, as though he were the teacher and I were his student, then ended his speech with, "I'll record the flight time and flight path in my notebook and keep it at my house."

  "Fine." I picked up one of the rockets to look at the fins, but he grabbed it from me like he expected me to snap it in two.

  "These aren't toys." He laid the rocket down by the other three on the ground. "I'll set them off."

  I picked up the video camera from his pile of stuff on the ground. "Okay. I'll video the rockets in flight then."

  He took the video camera from my hands. "I'll do that too."

  "You'll set them off, videotape them, and record the data? What am I supposed to do?"

  "You can retrieve the rockets once they hit the ground."

  "Retrieve them? Like a dog?"

  "Right. You're an athlete, so running should be no problem for you."

  I forced a smile. "Yeah, but you're not an athlete, so you need the exercise." I took the video camera back from him and looked at the buttons. "Besides, you can't ignite the rockets and tape their flights. It just makes more sense if I tape them flying and you run after them."

  He held his hand out for the camera. "You're not taping the flights. I know what you'll do. You'll video me chasing after the rockets and make a stupid commentary about how I run like a girl, or zoom in on my butt or something."

  "Frederick, why would I want to see a close-up of your butt?"

  He kept holding his hand out for the video camera. "Just give me the camera. I'm not letting you ruin my science project."

  "Ruin it? You're not even letting me touch it, and it's supposed to be our science project."

  He took the video camera from my hands. "Yeah, well, I know what I'm doing, and you don't."

  I thought about grabbing one of the rockets and holding it hostage until he gave the camera back to me, but decided to reason with him one more time before I resorted to violence against cardboard tubes. I held my hand out to him. "I can work a camera, Frederick. It isn't that hard. You push the button and point."

  He glanced from the rockets to me, fingering the camera like it was his firstborn child. "Well, all right. But no com­mentaries."

  After he handed me the camera, he picked up the first rocket and strode over to the launchpad. "Hey, Frederick," I called after him. "You walk like a girl."

  "Shut up," he called back.

  All in all, we were getting along better than I expected.

  We set off each of the four rockets, replaced the rocket motors, and set them off again. The ones with the good fins flew in high arcs above the football field, so high sometimes it was hard to tell which direction they were going. The two with the cutoff fins went up a few feet, then spiraled out of control, turning nose over bottom like a fiery pinwheel. We made a total of eight flights and recovered all but one rocket. It flew into a yard in a neighborhood by the school, and although we crawled over a cinder-block wall to get it, we were prevented from accomplishing this mission by two Scottish terriers who had other ideas about the space program. I did get some great footage of Frederick scaling the block wall while wearing a terrier on his pant leg, though.

  When we made it back to the football field and sat on the grass, panting, I showed it to him using the replay button. "Look, I think you can see the fingernail marks from where you clawed your way up the wall."

  "Yeah, and thanks for helping me fend off the dogs."

  "It's your science project, I knew you'd want to be the one who took the teeth in the leg for rocketry."

  "I'll be sure to mention that in our oral report. I'm the one who took the teeth."

  I turned off the camera and set it on my lap. "We jocks may not be smart enough to figure out rocket science, but we can outrun the dogs. They pick off the sick and the weak first, you know."

  He lay down on the grass, his arms splayed out. "You're going to tell everyone at school about this, aren't you?"

  "Tell? Of course not. I'm going to distribute copies of the video—"

  He sat up and grabbed the video camera away from me. "I'm erasing it right now." He pushed the rewind button, then pointed the camera at the grass. "There went your chance to humiliate me in front of everyone. Are you happy now?"

  I lay down, feeling the grass prickle my back through my shirt. My breath was finally coming in a normal rhythm. "Geez, Frederick, I was only joking. Don't you have a sense of humor?"

  He put the lens cap back on the camera. "Oh, yeah. I have a wonderful sense of humor, and I think it's hilarious every time one of you jocks gives me a w
edgie during PE. I just can't stop laughing every time I'm shoved into a locker."

  I sat up on my elbows in the grass. "I have never given anyone a wedgie during PE."

  "No, you're right. Girls don't give wedgies, they call names. 'Hey, there goes Frederick the Whine. The Wino. Would you like a little wine with your dinner? No? Neither would we, so just bottle it, Frederick, and maybe one day you'll be vintage and worth something. Ha ha.' You girls are so funny."

  "I've never said any of that to you, Frederick." Although, now that I thought about it, I may have been the one who started the whole vintage comment behind his back.

  He gathered up the three rockets we had left and shoved them into his backpack. He took his notebooks and did the same.

  " I 'm sorry I was teasing you," I said, because I felt like I should say something. His face had a pinched look to it as he gathered up all of his supplies, and suddenly I did feel sorry that people teased him. "I won't tell anyone about the dog. Really. I mean, stuff like that happens to me all the time. Two days ago I tripped down an up escalator."

  He didn't answer me, just put the last of his pencils and paper in his backpack and slid it onto his shoulders. "We'll need to write up the report and then get together to lay out the science fair board."

  "Okay."

  He got on his bike without saying good-bye and pedaled using standing strides. I got on my bike and rode back to my house, considerably slower. I had never thought twice about calling Frederick "the Whine," but hearing him repeat all of it back to me, well, it made my stomach feel like I'd been eating lead.

  Cami

  Ethan called me twice over the weekend. He teased me about having stuffed animals in my room, and having a thing for cartoon men. We talked about English class, writing poems, and basketball. Then we talked about basketball poems. (Okay, there aren't any, but there should be. I considered writing one entitled "Dribble, Dribble, It's not Just Drivel.")

  I never said anything to him about Josie. Somehow I couldn't. For once I wasn't second-best in someone's opinion. I felt special. Important. I didn't want to jinx it by telling him Josie liked him too.