NINE
Okay, so I wore green.
But I mean, I really wore green. Like, I wore green like it was nobody’s business: my sequined emerald-green cheerleader outfit that used to be Danny’s with a matching mint-green bomber jacket and lime-green/neon-green-striped tights. Inspired by Berry’s giraffe, I painted (yes, “ruining”) my white cowboy boots from a vintage place in Arizona with green polka dots.
Even I, looking in the mirror, was like, “Okay, Anne. Wow.”
When I got downstairs, Lucy was sitting in the kitchen waiting for the coffee, talking in low, serious tones with Millie, who glanced up and gave me a look of amusement.
“You look like a leprechaun. . .who’s feeling better.”
“I am. It’s Spirit Day,” I said, pointing at Lucy’s pale pink suit. “Hey, last Friday, you have to wear green!”
Lucy looked down at her outfit. “Oh, shoot,” she gasped, and bolted upstairs.
“Well.” Millie, who did not have to wear green and was instead sticking with her blue fuzzy robe and pj’s, took a long sip of her coffee. “So we’re ready for round two, choosing a new tactic I see.”
“It’s not exactly a tactic,” I said, “although I am committing myself to nonconfrontation and assimilation within the bounds of fashion choices I enjoy.”
“So they wear green, you wear green. But in a you way.” Millie took another long sip. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Or a tactic, depending on who you ask.”
Lucy bolted down the stairs in what seemed like a hastily assembled ensemble of mismatched greens and ran out the door before I had time to comment, not that I would.
“Do you think it will work?” I asked, grabbing a banana and my skates.
“I think whatever will work will work because of you and not because of them,” Millie said.
“I feel like that’s a non-answer,” I noted, pointing my banana at Millie. “A classic Millie Mom non-answer.”
Millie held up her coffee. “Have fun at school!”
On the average day, Greenville High, to me, was a somewhat stressful place full of loud kids who I found somewhat alien and intimidating.
That Friday, aka Spirit Day, it was like that with the volume turned up to eleven.
The halls were a sea of bright green with various lockers covered in green cards that said stuff like DESTROY! and CHAMPIONS.
Like put it this way: My outfit was not really all that out of line.
It was like Greenville was about to send a band of intrepid green adventurers into space or something.
“Are they a good team?” I asked Berry at lunch that day. “This team we’re spiriting today?”
Berry lowered her voice. “They’re okay. Mostly they win because the other teams in the district aren’t so hot. Then they get slammed when they go to state.”
“Bummer. So is today Spirit Day just because it’s last Friday or is there a game?”
“Um. I mean, today, yes there is a game. Not every Spirit Day is a game. And, um, it would probably be a good thing to make an appearance, then we can go for burgers or something after.”
It did seem like me going to the game would not mean open season on me. Tanner had spent the day continuing to apparently not care about me. After English he sailed right past me into a sea of high fives from everyone, including Mr. Davidson, who high-fived all the players on their way out.
And then, as I was the last person out of the classroom, Mr. Davidson complimented my outfit. “What a lovely daiquiri green. That jacket!”
“Thanks! I like your jersey.” I squinted. “Is that a Greenville Dragons jersey?”
Mr. Davidson held up his arms. He was actually wearing the ancient soccer jersey over a slightly blousy blouse, which, let’s say it, is how they should be worn. “Vintage.” He winked. “From back in my power forward days. Enjoy the game!”
By the end of the last class, the hallways were quaking with students cheering and hammering on the lockers in an a-rhythmic but compelling beat that exploded out into the quad as students and teachers and parents piled into the bleachers. Lucy and Millie were seated in the center square, so to speak. Millie was wearing a green sweater and had looped a green sparkly collar around Monty’s neck. Berry and I crept into the stands by the goalie net, which was Berry’s favorite spot.
“John’s a shit goalie,” Berry said, popping open a bag of pretzels, “but he’s getting better.”
As Tanner and the team ran onto the field, the crowd stood up and cheered. Tanner ran backward and waved at the stands, doing a few extra leaps. It was weird to see the guy who wore his soccer jersey every day finally on the field, actually playing soccer.
It was like all the pieces were in place. He grinned and raised his arms in the air, holding up two fingers, like. . .peace signs?
Okay.
Suddenly there was a sharp bark from the crowd, which I legitimately thought was Monty.
“TANNER!”
Berry and I looked over at the same time to see Tanner’s father—who I recognized from Pizza Fight Day—pointing a meaty finger at Tanner on the field. Tanner’s dad looked like Tanner, but with more concrete in his jaw. He wore a button-down shirt and jeans, both of which seemed to barely contain the man wearing them. His hands were like steaks.
“TANNER! GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!”
“Yikes.” I looked at Berry.
“Seeerious business.” Berry popped a pretzel in her mouth and chewed.
I’m sure there’s two levels to enjoy sports on. One of them is understanding why people are doing what they’re doing. The other is just watching who wins without understanding why. It seemed like the Dragons were fast. Tanner was very fast, and he could move around people with a kind of sharp speed that made me think he practiced at home with some sort of system with cones.
He scored three goals in the first. . .quarter. Thing.
The other team scored two.
Anytime Tanner did anything, his dad got up and started yelling about what Tanner had just done. Which seemed to cut through the cheers like. . .a hammer. I guess hammers don’t really cut, but you get it. It was like someone slamming on the door. Only it was just for Tanner. I could see his eyes darting up to the stands.
I will say, while it looked like most of the crowd were having fun, after a few minutes of yelling, it didn’t look like Tanner was having any.
At some point the teams took a break, or it was halftime or something. Berry went looking for more snacks, and parents swarmed my moms so that all I could see was Monty’s tail wagging from inside the crowd.
I looked out over the sea of green. The whole thing felt weirdly buoying but also connecting. Like everyone on that side of the stands was feeling the same thing, in such a big way? And then suddenly the sun on my shoulders disappeared, and I looked up and it was the tall meat tree that was Tanner Spencer’s father.
His hands twitched by his side, flipping the giant gold watch on his wrist around his wrist.
“You must be Anne,” he said in a thick voice.
“Yes. Hello.” I shielded my eyes. The sun crested from behind Mr. Spencer’s giant Easter Island statue head.
“Vice Principal Shirley’s daughter,” he said, sucking on a tooth, “that right? You take that name? Anne Shirley? Since you got two moms? Is that how you do that? Just pick a name?”
“I go by Shirley, sir,” I said.
The air on my face felt prickly. Hot. The sequins on my cheerleader outfit stuck into my thighs. Did he really just ask me if I got to pick a name?
“Right, right. Anne Shirley.” He thumbed his nose. “I’m Michael Spencer. Tanner’s father.”
He tilted his head toward the field as if the field were Tanner.
“Right.” The man who may or may not have called me “disgusting” outside my mom’s office.
“Seems like you’re still adjusting to things around here. Causing a little trouble.”
My stomach squeezed. “Yes, I mean. No,” I said, “I, uh, did and I apologized to Tanner, for the pizza fight. I am sorry.” This was not easy to say. But I said it.
“I heard that. Heard that.” Mr. Spencer stood still as a statue. “Well, we are of course happy to welcome you and your mother to our community. Hopefully you’ll learn a little respect for it. For the community.”
Berry jumped down into the seat next to me, “Mr. Spencer.” She pushed a bag of popcorn under my nose. “Popcorn?”
“It was nice meeting you,” I said to Tanner’s father, holding out my hand. “Thank you for, uh, introducing yourself.”
He raised an eyebrow before he shook my hand, which disappeared into his like a nugget into a hamburger bun. I could swear my hand was a little smaller when he let go. With that, Michael Spencer disappeared into the swaying sea of green as the game started up again.
“Thanks,” I whispered to Berry, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
I spotted Millie in the distance, waving, and waved back with a big smile. I squeezed the popcorn in my hand until the kernels bit into the insides of my fingers.
The game had started again. Players scattered.
“Hey,” Berry said. “You just going to hold on to that popcorn?”
“Oh yeah.” I looked down at my hand, greasy and full of wilted kernels. I slid my palm down my side and brushed them off on the seat.
“Want to get in Mato and ride?” Berry asked.
Suddenly there was a gasp. Some tall kid on the other team, the Princeville Kings, kicked the ball up the field, moving at a clip.
“NO!” someone below us screamed.
“STOP HIM!” someone else bellowed.
Tanner sprinted after him, but another player from Princeville ran ahead and cut in front of Tanner. Tanner tried to sneak around him and tripped, pirouetting to the ground.
Mr. Spencer stood up and started screaming at the coach, “YOU GONNA JUST SIT THERE? GODDAMMIT!”
How could anyone do anything? The kid from the other team scooted right past John and scored a goal.
“Crap,” Berry mumbled.
Tanner hopped up under a rain of horrified hollers from the stands and the sound of his dad yelling at him about his feet.
“What ya got, six left feet, son? What is wrong with you?!”
The game ended in a tie. Which I guess for the Dragons was like a loss? How does that even work? Everything went from grass swaying in the stiff breeze of victory to grass that had been trampled and squished by a thousand heavy feet.
“Hey there.” Millie walked over to us at the end of the game with Monty in tow. “Ready to go?”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She’s talking to a few parents,” Millie said. “She’ll probably be a while. Who’s this?”
“This is my friend, the one and only Berry.” I held my hand out not unlike the way Berry held her hands out when she introduced Mato. “Berry is awesome. And an artist.”
“Clearly.” Millie smiled. “You need a ride, Berry?”
Berry shook her head. “My mom is around here somewhere.”
Lucy had her car, so I rode with Millie and Monty, who, the whole way home, panted like she was finishing up a marathon.
“Did she eat something weird?” I asked.
“Mmmm.” Millie frowned. “Nothing I gave her. . .”
That night a bunch of things happened, none of which were fun.
First of all let me say, Monty is one of those dogs you think is chill and then she goes and does something cracked like eat all your shoes. She’s a mystery. She’s a quagmire. She’s a golden retriever. And everyone loves a golden retriever. My guess is that maybe there were a few parents who came to say hello and they slipped her a little hot dog butt.
Or two, or three. Or ten.
So she trotted into the house when we got home, sat down on the rug, relaxed and content, and then she barfed up a stream of vomit that settled into the size of a small wading pool. Just as Lucy walked into the door.
So we didn’t really have time to talk about anything other than dog vomit and the fact that we were basically going to have to burn the rug it was deposited on. We spent all night either walking Monty outside and trying to get her to drink water or scrubbing and rinsing.
So I didn’t have a chance to tell Lucy and Millie about my conversation with Mr. Spencer. We just lit as many lavender and citrus candles as we could find, and I collapsed on the couch with a newly shampooed, still-wet dog. I promptly passed out into a dream about a sea of tall grass.
I didn’t hear a thing. Not a truck. Not a whisper. I didn’t hear anything until I looked out the window and saw Greenville had left us a message.