“And you dropped your hot dog,” she finished for me.
“Yes! And you would not let me forget it because I —”
“Still ate it!”
“Yeah!” I said a little louder than I intended, mostly because I was excited to remind her about a fun time we’d had. “But!”
“There’s no buts about it. It was disgusting.”
“It was only —”
“ ‘On the floor for five seconds.’ ” She repeated what I kept saying to her that day in a low voice, the one she always used when she imitated me. Usually, it annoyed me when she did that. I was ecstatic to hear it from her now.
“Remember, I hadn’t put anything on it yet.”
“Which would’ve been better because then you could’ve at least wiped the dirty ketchup off.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t stop teasing me about it.”
“Because it was disgusting.” She said this slowly, like she was talking to a toddler.
I started laughing. For the entire game, anytime something happened, the Brewers struck out or the other team scored, Macallan had leaned forward and said, “Well, they may be losing the game, but at least they didn’t eat a dirty hot dog.” Or “Wow, that must be tough to swallow, although not as tough as a dirty hot dog.”
Macallan studied me. “Well, what about it?”
“What about what?”
She wrinkled her nose. “What about that game?”
“Oh,” I said, disappointment seeping through. “It was fun.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. One of her timers went off. “Well, I think I need to ask you to leave. I don’t serve dirty food, and with your luck …” She let the words hang there, but I was grateful to have her say something teasing to me. Macallan didn’t waste her time, or her barbs, on people she didn’t care about.
Now that I think about it, having Macallan as my best friend prepared me for all the trash talking that can happen in the locker room. And the weight room.
“You call that a rep?” Keith taunted Tim as he pushed up the weights on the bench press a week after Thanksgiving.
Tim got up and sat down on the mat next to me while I did leg lifts.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” Keith laid down on the bench press and started easily pumping the weight up and down.
“Yeah, you only weigh fifty pounds more than me, dude,” Tim reminded him.
“Dude, I can’t help it if I make everything look good.”
I stayed quiet as I worked on strengthening my lower body. Tim started stretching, and asked, “You want to go run some suicides on the court?”
The weather had gotten even colder as Christmas approached, so we’d taken to staying inside to work out. We’d hit the weight room above the gymnasium after Tim was done with basketball practice.
“Yeah, man, sounds good.” I got up and grabbed my gym towel.
“That’s right, you skinny boys can’t handle the pressure, so get out of the kitchen,” Keith grunted as he finished his last set.
“That didn’t even make any sense.” Tim laughed.
“Hey, I’m pumping a lot here. Gotta save everything for the game.”
“Nice excuse,” I snarked at him.
“What’s your problem, California?” Keith got up and came toward me. “You’ve been acting all weird lately.”
I hadn’t been acting “all weird.” I’d just stopped laughing at Keith’s jokes when they weren’t funny.
Keith continued. “It’s like you get a taste of the good life and then can’t handle it anymore. But don’t worry, this year will fly by and then we’ll be back on the field. Senior year’s gonna be awesome. You’ll for sure start and we will own this place. No question.”
I shrugged. That sounded nice, but I didn’t know what price I’d have to pay for it. For the first time, I wasn’t so sure it would be worth it.
“I’m telling you” — Keith threw me my water bottle — “track is gonna be a shock to your system. You went from playing in front of hundreds screaming your name, to, like, what? Five people on the benches for a track meet?”
Yeah, but all the important people in my life showed up for that.
It was then I realized that maybe Macallan wouldn’t be showing up this year. I wouldn’t really blame her. But I’d gotten used to having her there, cheering me on.
She was always there for me when I needed her. I only wished I could say the same for myself.
“I think I know what this is about.” Keith sat down and motioned me to join him on the opposite bench. I obliged because that was what I did. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with your chick friend.”
“Macallan,” I corrected him.
“Macallan.” He sighed when he said her name. “I’ve apologized to her, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe even though I was being serious. I practically begged Boockmeier to not suspend her. I snapped — I realize that. I don’t know what it is about that girl, but she just gets to you. It’s like she doesn’t care what anybody thinks about her.”
No, I thought, she just doesn’t care what you think of her.
“I don’t know.” Keith looked thoughtful for a second, then slapped his hands against his knees. “Girls, you know?”
No, I didn’t know. Clearly, I had no idea.