The Girls play in the Catholic Holiday Tourney with spectacular but dangerous results. Raymond Hobbes hosts a Christmas Party over Cardozas strenuous objections. Escaban chooses his hit team. Patricia and Gretchen negotiate the terms of the New Years Dance. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

It was nearly halftime and St. Ann’s were up fifteen. Gretchen had eighteen points, six rebounds and three blocks, she was an absolute monster out there, at least to the untrained eye.

Patricia had put her in perfect position for every point and half her rebounds. She even provided the defensive pressure that forced bad shots that Gretchen then blocked. Gretchen is good, but Patricia is the engine that drives this team. She spreads the ball around too, not simply setting Gretchen up every time. Terri Hughes has ten points, Bailey Brooks, I think they call her BeeBee, has nine. Patricia just has five, but there is no doubt she’s the ringmaster.

Right now, they’re playing a zone defense. They always play some variation of the zone, 2-3, 1-3-1, box and one, depending on the strength of the other team. They don’t have a lot of girls on the team so they play zone to save energy and fouls. It’s understandable but a little too passive for my taste. In this case, it’s the box and one, letting Patricia chase and harass St. Mary’s leading scorer, their point guard.

She stole the ball three of their first five possessions and the poor girl has been playing defensively ever since. She spends more time watching Patricia than she does looking for her teammates, which is easy to understand because Patricia has the quickest hands I have ever seen in my life.

She cut out the crazy steal attempts in their second game, she didn’t get in foul trouble and they beat Sunnyside by nineteen, the largest margin of victory for a St. Ann’s basketball team in twenty six years. If they don’t let up, they’ll beat St. Mary’s by more than that. Patricia doesn’t tolerate any of the girls letting up. Every time one of them doesn’t hustle, she talks with the girl. She doesn’t point or scream but pulls her aside and pumps her up, stoking the fire.

When the buzzer goes off at the end of the half, all the girls run by my floor level seat, a look of determination on each face … except for Patricia, who smiles and winks at me, lightly slapping my half-raised hand as she runs by, quickly followed by Sister Rita.

“Good half, Sister!” I shout.

She waves her hand as she pushes the locker room door open. “Thank you, Ms. Conner” she shouts back, her closed fist with an upright extended thumb being the last thing I see before the door slams shut behind her.

Looking around, I’m filled with a wave of nostalgia, memories of my days as a player flooding back. Some of the best years of my young life. I played for a public high school with over five thousand students, in a gym at least four times larger than this one, but the sounds and the smells are identical. Shoes squeaking on the gym floor, laughing children, fresh popcorn.

This is the first game of the Twenty Second Annual Catholic Holiday Tourney. St. Ann verses St. Mary is the warm up act for St. Agnes and Blessed Sacrament. St. Agnes is a large Catholic school, over two thousand boys and girls enrolled. They’ve been a dominant athletic school for decades. This Holiday tourney has just been a kind of scrimmage for them. They’re currently ranked number four in the state. This year, though, Blessed Sacrament may give them a run for their money with their senior dominated team.

The gym is barely one third full, the crowd waiting to arrive for the second game. However, one small section is packed. Hobbes and at least fifteen of his men are sitting at mid-court, slightly above floor level. They have every available refreshment, Coke, popcorn, pretzels, hot dogs, you name it. He notices me looking his way and waves, smiling. I paste a big, fake smile on my face and return his wave, then immediately walk rapidly to the bathrooms, hoping to avoid another invitation to join him.

So far, I’ve been able to dodge him, but, as the season goes on, there will likely be no way to avoid the man. The first game, he was there with ten men, the last game with twelve, this one fifteen. The surprising thing is, they all seem to enjoy themselves. They shout and yell the entire game, giving the refs hell if they disagree with a call. If the refs knew what kind of man was sitting at mid-court and that his daughter was playing, it might affect their calls, it certainly would mine if I were in their shoes. It is hardly an ideal situation, but they do seem to help get our few fans more involved in the games.

Once out of the bathroom, I linger near the entrance, trying to hide from Hobbes, waiting for the second half to begin. There are two men seated on the small set of bleachers under the basket, each with a shot chart and other papers. They are either obsessive fans or coaches. I ease my way through the crowd until I’m near enough to listen in on their conversation.

“… really got them playing as a unit. Can’t be anything their coach has done, she’s never been able to do it before now.”

“It’s that damn little point guard of theirs. That is one mean little bitch. She’s a junior. Where the hell did they get her?”

“Don’t know, but I think she’s the one Martha Zendahas mentioned.”

“Zendahas, the lady from the YWCA?”

“Yeah. She told me there was this really short girl going to St. Ann’s who was some kinda super athlete. Must be her.”

“What else does she play?”

“Apparently everything.”

“That isn’t good. The one problem we have right now is bringing the ball up against pressure. We may have to get her out of the game.”

“You aren’t really worried about St. Ann, are you? They’re St. Ann, for God’s sake, St. I’ll-play-a-zone-no-matter-what Ann.”

“No, I’m not really worried, not as long as we got Ridgeway. Hell, it’ll probably do us good in the long run to face a quick kid. Bring on the midget!”

They both laugh … long, loud, raucous, laughter. These coaches clearly have no respect for our girls.

We’ll just have to see about that.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Patricia insisted on staying and watching the second game after St. Ann won, as did most of the rest of the team, including Gretchen.

It probably wasn’t the best idea.

St. Agnes had a full squad of fifteen girls, all of them athletes, but one girl really stood out … Aelia Ridgeway. Six four, not skinny but not fat either, and, unlike many girls, she can jump! Not dunk it jump, at least not yet. She’s not particularly fast or quick but she has good footwork, knows how to get in position near the basket and is big enough to defend it. Gretchen has played against men but this girl knows what she’s doing.

She’s not the only good player but she’s tops in this tourney. She’s already accepted a scholarship to the University of Connecticut and they only take the best!

Blessed Sacrament was supposed to give them a good game, but it wasn’t close. They doubled the score on them, sixty four to thirty two. St. Agnes kept the starters in most of the game, actually shooting threes at the end instead of just running out the clock. Ridgeway was a real beast in the middle, she ended up with a triple double, thirty one points, fourteen rebounds and eleven blocks. The blocks may have been the most impressive. She let the girl shoot before she jumped up after it and she kept her distance, not fouling anyone, though the refs let her get away with quite a lot of shoving to get and keep good position.

Patricia just watched intently, Gretchen on one side and Terri Hughes on the other. Patricia would point something out and the other two would nod their heads. At different times, she would call to another player, who would come over and they’d talk about something, making gestures or scribbling on a note pad.

As the game went on, our girls seemed to become more dispirited. Patricia tried to keep their enthusiasm up but it didn’t seem that they were buying it. The girls drifted away until, at the end, it was just Gretchen and Patricia, plotting and planning.

On the drive home, I just had to ask.

“So, how do you plan to win tomorrow night?”

“Win? We’ll be lucky not to be blown out.”

“What was all that discussion about? All those pointers?”

“Oh, we may be able to give them some trouble, they can’t handle the ball very well, but once the get it to Ridgeway, there’s not much you can do about it. I’ve got a couple of ideas that should work for awhile, particularly if they’re slow to adjust. If we make a fast start, we can worry them a bit, but they’ve got too many good players, they’ll eventually wear us down. Their third string is probably better than our first.”

“Including you?”

“No, of course not. Gretchen either, though Ridgeway is better than her, but only because of more experience. If Gretchen had played these last three years, she could make it interesting. I told the girls no more moral victories but I hadn’t seen St. Agnes play yet. A moral victory may not be so bad tomorrow.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Ever since he started coming to my games, Father has been a different person. He’s more cheerful, more upbeat, more anxious to look for reasons to get out of the house. He is actually making plans to fly to Rio for Carnival next year. The guards were lining up to volunteer for that job.

He was also really interested in what was going on in my life, not just polite questions but genuinely interested. It freaked me out! What the hell could I tell him? I couldn’t say anything about me and Patty, not yet certainly. He asked about school but my answers were boring. Even I nodded off a couple of times. Basketball though … that excited him.

He had one of the guys sit up high and video each game. Father would have sent him to practice if he could have gotten away with it. After every game, he would sit with me and watch it, sometimes in slow motion to get a good look at a particular play. What was weird, though I never noticed it during the game, was that every time Patty missed a shot, the ball came right to me and I had a lay up. You’d think at least one time the ball would have bounced deep or something but no … straight to me, every single time. Weird.

Father also had me sit with him and watch other basketball games. Colleges are just getting started and the pros are just out of preseason. There’s a lot of pre-Christmas tourneys and we watch as many as we can. Father spends most of the time pointing out things I should do when I play. He means well, but I’m just not that good.

I can barely handle the ball, though I’m getting better. Sister Rita has me doing some drills that Patty found in a book and they’re helping a lot. I hit barely seventy percent of my free throws. Patty’s working with me on that. She’s only missed two all year and both times, the ball came right to me. Again. Super weird.

The best things I do are run the pick and roll, run fast breaks, and play defense. Blocking shots is fun too! Even better, all the girls on the team are nice. We hang together at school during lunch and between classes, just like regular girls. They’re still nice to me when Patty isn’t around. Girls who aren’t on the team are also talking to me. I never dreamed that school could be like this, that my life would be like this.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

RIO?! CARNIVAL?! Is he MAD?!

“I thought I’d get a suite of rooms, take a top floor, maybe the floor below too, just to be safe. I went to Carnival when I was in college. Very enjoyable.”

“Raymond … this is madness. Carnival is a security nightmare. It’s barely restrained pandemonium.”

“That’s what was so enjoyable. To a young man, it made quite an impression.”

“There is no guarantee that we will have all our problems under control by that time.”

“If we don’t, I’ll cancel. Simple as that. Enrique, I am tired of being trapped in this house. There is an entire world out there, a world that I once enjoyed with enthusiasm.”

“The follies of youth are best left to the past.”

“They were not follies. I would do them all again if given the choice. The trips to Gretchen’s games have reminded me of what my life used to be like, the places I used to go, the things I used to do. There is no reason I can’t do them again or do new things. I want to host a Christmas party for Gretchen’s team.”

Where? HERE?! In THIS compound?

“I hope you plan on renting a reception hall somewhere.”

“No, in my home. I spoke with Raul, he was enthusiastic! We have more than enough room.”

“And what about a dozen girls running through the house? How do we protect against that?”

“There’s only nine other girls, plus their parents, if they want to come, maybe boyfriends. These girls are not children, they are all well behaved young ladies. We’ve had large dinner parties before.”

“With people we knew, people we had checked out in advance. Christmas is only a week away. There is no way to complete the security checks by then, not with everything else I am doing.”

“Just put extra men in the vulnerable areas and run the bug checks after the party. And the party’s on the twenty third, you can’t expect people to come on Christmas day, that’s strictly a family day.”

I know where all this openness is coming from, this overwhelming desire for normalcy. As soon as I have gotten past the current problems, I will deal with her.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The girls are warming up. It’s St. Agnes’ gym so the crowd is seventy percent theirs. Patricia never shoots well in warm ups but that act will only work for a few more games. Eventually, there’s going to be enough video out there that opposing teams will know what she’s capable of.

That’s not true. They’ll know what she’s willing to reveal of her capabilities. I have to admit that I’d love to see a game where she lets off the chains and hits the gas but I’m afraid it might bring too much attention to us. Still, it would be fun to see.

St. Agnes seems loose, very loose. Too loose. They don’t respect St. Ann’s, why should they? So we’ve won a couple of games. Historically, that means nothing. Our girls know that too. I see a number of them nervously glancing towards St. Agnes as they shoot around, paying particular attention to number twenty five, Aelia Ridgeway. Patricia keeps bringing their attention back to what they’re supposed to be doing but it’s not a good sign.

As the teams line up for the tip off, St. Ann’s seems to have their game faces on. Patricia’s moving around, slapping hands and butts. Ridgeway is at least two inches taller than Gretchen and easily gets the tip, Gretchen not even trying, falling back into a 3-2 zone, Patricia in the middle. It seems to be a passive zone, just shifting as St. Agnes passes the ball back and forth, left to right.

Ridgeway flashes to the lane just below the free throw line, Gretchen going with her. St. Agnes’ guard passes the ball to her over Patricia’s head, which Ridgeway easily catches, starting to dribble to make her move.

Patricia darts back and cleanly steals the ball, shouting “GO!”. Bailey Burks and Cassie Moore immediately break towards the other end of the court, leaving the St. Agnes guards just standing there. Patricia throws a mid-court pass to Cassie, who sends a bounce pass to Bailey for a lay up.

The next possession for St. Agnes is almost an identical repeat, except Cassie gets the lay up. The next possession, Patricia doesn’t bother to shout, Cassie and Bailey are already running as the pass goes to Ridgeway, who freezes as soon as she catches the ball, waiting for Patricia to drop down. It doesn’t matter, Patricia snatches the ball from her hands and the fast break is on.

The fourth possession ended up with one of the guards taking an outside shot, which missed and was rebounded by Terri Hughes after Gretchen neatly blocked out Ridgeway. Patricia blew by the girl guarding her, penetrating all the way to the basket, drawing several of St. Agnes’ players to her before passing the ball out to Bailey, who hit a three point shot. Not surprisingly, St. Agnes called a time out.

Our girls hit the sideline excited and high-fiving, all except Patricia. She quickly huddled with Sister Rita, talking for about twenty seconds before turning to talk with the rest of the girls.

When St. Agnes brought the ball up court the next time, they faced the same passive zone. Ridgeway moved to the middle but continued to the right wing, Gretchen on her the entire way. After catching the ball, she attempted to drive back into the lane. She only dribbled twice before Patricia stole the ball again, though this time she wasn’t able to pass the ball to either of our guards because St. Agnes had quickly dropped back with them. However, with their team scattered all over the floor, Terri was able to get free on a delayed fast break, with Patricia hitting her for a lay up.

It was clear what the plan was. They weren’t going to deny Ridgeway the ball but they weren’t letting her put it on the floor. Patricia and Gretchen were double teaming her despite the appearance of the zone. They weren’t going to let Ridgeway beat them.

The teams traded baskets for the rest of the first quarter with the occasional defensive stop for both teams. Ridgeway got a couple of baskets on rebounds but, other than that, Gretchen and Patricia pretty much stopped her. Unfortunately, once St. Agnes stopped fixating on Ridgeway, the other girls were able to score, both inside and out. They were bigger and stronger than our girls, though I think we’re faster. Gretchen was certainly faster than Ridgeway, enabling her to score several times by beating her down the court. Patricia hit the one shot she took but concentrated on moving the ball around and getting shots for the other girls, either by driving and dishing or quick passes whenever one of them would get open. We stayed with some variation of the zone the entire quarter.

We got the ball to open the second quarter, Gretchen being replaced by Linda Hatke. It looked like we might score but Cassie lost the ball along the baseline. There was a big scramble, with some of the girls heading back on defense and others fighting to recover the ball. One of St. Agnes’ girls came up with it and started to drive down the middle of the court. Patricia was back peddling ahead of her, shouting to the other girls, pointing out who they should be guarding.

Suddenly, Ridgeway, who was about fifteen feet ahead of Patricia, stopped at mid-court and set a pick. The other girls were too busy finding their men to warn Patricia. Just as Patricia was about to make contact, Ridgeway lowered her shoulder and raised her forearm, then sprang upright, hitting Patricia hard in the back of the head, knocking her completely off her feet, her forehead bouncing off the floor when her head struck the hardwood! The entire crowd gasped, some of them applauding, but all fell silent when Patricia didn’t move.

It took me a moment to overcome my initial shock at the dirty play to realize that Patricia might be seriously hurt. Springing from my seat, I was the first person to reach her disjointed, sprawled body. Ridgeway was standing off to the side, a look of satisfaction on her face. I’d have punched her out right then and there if there weren’t more important things to deal with.

CHAPTER FIFTY

My head is buzzing, I can actually feel it vibrating. I’m lying on my back and it’s dark. I try to open my eyes but something’s covering them. It’s cool and damp. I reach up with my right hand and pull it away, touching my wet forehead with my left hand, making contact with a painful swollen lump above my left eye. Looking up, I see the dull, gray ceiling of the locker room. Mom’s face moves into my line of vision.

“Patricia? Baby? How do you feel?”

I blink several times, twist my jaw left and right, then start to sit up.

“I’m fine … I think.”

“Careful! Be careful, honey!”

I slowly continue to sit up, everything feels normal except for the spot on my forehead above my left eye and the vibrations in my head, which seem to be fading away quickly.

“I’m okay, Mom. What happened?”

“You were blind-sided, that’s what happened.”

That’s Gretchen! I turn to look for where the voice came from. She’s sitting on a bench nearby while I’m sitting on an elevated training table. Mom’s standing next to me.

“Where’s everybody else?”

“The games still going on” said Mom.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask Gretchen.

“She was ejected” answered Mom.

“EJECTED?! YOU? Why?”

“She left the bench when you were hurt.”

“I wasn’t the only one” Gretchen grumped.

“You were the only player, sweetie. Everybody else was … uh …”

“Who else?” I ask.

“Father. The guards. Your Mom. Sister Rita. Sister Carmela. A whole bunch of people” Gretchen answered.

“It was a bit of a …” started Mom.

“Riot” finished Gretchen.

“That’s an overstatement, but it did take the ref awhile to get the court cleared.”

“Your Mom was pretty upset, we all were. Father was mostly angry, so were the guys.”

“Who did it? Who hit me?”

“Ridgeway. She set a pick, then hit you in the back of the head with her forearm, knocking you off your feet. Your head hit the court” Mom explained.

“The sound was gross” added Gretchen.

“Did she get tossed?”

“Who?” Gretchen asked.

“Ridgeway, who else!”

“No, the stupid ref didn’t even call a foul. I thought Henry was going to shot him on the spot.”

Nice to have well armed friends. Just then, the rest of the team came in the locker room.

“Hey! She’s awake!” shouted Terri and the team swarmed me, gathering around the table, asking questions. Sister Rita entered the room along with Sister Carmela, Sister Rita hustling the team back into the locker room area.

“How are you, Miss Conner?”

“Fine, Sister Carmela. I hear you rushed the court.”

“Simply concerned about the health of one of my student’s, nothing more.”

“Either way, thanks.”

“If you need to take a day or two off to recover, I’ll make sure your assignments get to your home.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m playing the second half.”

“Miss Conner, you were unconscious for several minutes. The paramedics were prepared to transport you to the hospital before your mother insisted you be brought back here … and I still question the wisdom of that decision.”

Of course! Mom couldn’t let any regular doctor’s near me, imagine what my head x-ray would look like.

“I have a call into Patricia’s personal physician” said Mom. “He should be here shortly. Patricia has some unique … conditions and it would be best that she be treated by someone who knows …”

There was a knock at the locker room door, a pause, and then it was pushed open. A female paramedic stepped in.

“There’s a man here who claims to be the girl’s doctor.”

“Thomas Matthews?” asked Mom.

“Yeah.”

“It’s him, please let him in.”

She stepped aside and Matthews hurried in, averting his eyes from where the other girls were sitting. He had a large case in his right hand.

“I was told what happened and have spoken with the paramedics. I think I can determine fairly quickly what the damage is, if any.” He sat the case on the table next to me, flipped open the lid and removed a helmet that was similar to the one from the machine at his office. It was attached to a laptop computer. “This is the first chance I’ve had to try out the portable version. An exiting opportunity!”

He carefully slipped it on my head and made several adjustments, gradually tightening it until it was a snug fit. I caught Mom’s attention and slightly nodded towards Sister Carmela. She nodded back.

“Sister, if you would please excuse us. This is a personal matter. I’m sure you understand.”

Sister Carmela had been skeptically observing everything and clearly did not want to leave but she didn’t really have a choice. She reluctantly left the training area, joining Sister Rita and the team in the locker room.

“Patricia, what did you feel when you regained consciousness?” asked Matthews.

“I felt my head vibrating, like a million bees buzzing, though a lot quieter. Sometimes the vibrations were synchronized, sometimes not. It didn’t last long, started fading away almost as soon as I was awake.”

He looked surprised. “You actually felt it? That is unusual. The damage might have been more extensive than I anticipated. We shall see.” He turned the computer away from me so that I couldn’t see the screen and began to type. I couldn’t feel anything from the helmet, but I never did at the office either. While I sat on the table, Mom reached out with her right hand, taking my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. I squeeze back as Matthews scans the results, mumbling to himself. Mom can’t contain herself.

“Well Thomas … is she okay?”

He doesn’t respond, just continues to scan and mumble.

“Thomas?”

He looks up. “Yes?”

“Is Patricia alright?”

“It would seem that she is … repaired, or mostly repaired. Initially, there was some damage and the nanites kept her unconscious so that her body could concentrate it’s energies on repairs. Doctors often keep patients with brain injuries in induced comas to speed recovery. There was no difference here, just at a much faster rate.”

“Patricia had brain damage?”

“Yes, but not that much. Any concussion by definition is brain damage; it’s just a matter of degree.”

“So, how much brain damage was there?” asked Mom.

“Nothing the nanites can’t handle.”

“Are you saying there is still unrepaired damage?”

“Yes, but it is mostly clean up work. That is why she is awake now.”

“So the buzzing I felt was …”

“The nanites, yes, exactly. Amazing when you think about it.” He unstraps and removes the helmet, stowing it and the computer in the case, closing the lid.

“Can I play?” I ask.

“Basketball?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yeeessss!”

“I don’t see why not.”

I jump off the table, hurrying to where the team is, Matthews shouting “you’re welcome” behind me. The girls are all sitting on the benches, heads mostly down, a couple sipping from paper cups, Sisters Rita and Carmela whispering in the corner.

“What’s the score?” I ask.

“Twenty five, Forty three” answered Terri.

“Who’s ahead?”

She looks up at me, disgust clear on her face. “Who do you think? They are!”

“What happened? We were up by … twelve, right?”

“Things kinda fell apart when you and Gretchen went out. I don’t think they were counting on a twofer with that cheap shot.”

“So, it really was a cheap shot?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah, it was a cheap shot. That Ridgeway …” she glanced at the nuns, who weren’t paying attention “… BITCH tried to hurt you. She was pretty proud about it, the whole …” checked the nuns again, “… damn team was patting her back and bumping fists.”

“I saw one of the coaches rub the top of her head” chimed in Hatke, “they were both smiling.”

“Got it.”

The whole thing made me angry, angrier than it should. That kind of stuff happens, it’s all part of the game, but the knowledge that they had gone out of their way to try to hurt me just … ticked me off! How dare they! Who did they think they were? Who did she think she was?! What gave them the right?!! I stride over to the Sisters.

“Sister Rita, we’re going to have to change our defense if we’re going to win this game.”

They both look down at me, then at each other, then back to me. Sister Rita goes first.

“Patricia … I appreciate your confidence and competitive nature, but I can’t let you play, not after what happened today.”

“Why not? My doctor says I can play.”

They look at each other again.

“I’ll check” said Sister Carmela, who heads back to the training area.

“As I was saying, we need a new defense.”

“And a new offense.”

“Offense won’t be a problem; I just need stops and turnovers. They picked the wrong girl to screw with.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The girls charge out of the locker room, lead by Patricia. She had assured me that she was fine and, with what Thomas had said, I didn’t have much of a case, beyond a mother’s concern. I had tried to convince her that her health was more important than a game but the longer we talked, the more adamant she became … and the angrier. I can understand the anger, I was upset about it too. If it had been me who had been attacked, I’m sure I would also feel something like that, but Patricia had always seemed to have a better handle on her anger, better than me, truth be told. I certainly hope Thomas is right.

When our fans realize Patricia is on the court, they give the girls a standing ovation, Hobbes and his men being very vocal. They really do like Patricia. I can see why she has been so successful in the past. Anyone who can make the enemy feel that way about you could accomplish a lot.

Each team is running lay up drills to warm up. Anytime one of St. Agnes girls get near Patricia, they say something. I can’t hear what they say but Patricia doesn’t respond, she just smiles … but it’s not a pleasant smile. It’s the kind of smile you see on the faces of a family as the Thanksgiving turkey is set on the table in front of them, a hungry, anticipatory smile, relishing the thought of what is about to happen.

St. Agnes gets the ball to open the third quarter. St. Ann’s doesn’t fall back to a zone but puts all their players in the front court, randomly spaced. When St. Agnes inbounds the ball, all the girls rush towards the player with the ball, screaming. The St. Agnes player panics, loosing control of the ball. Cassie is the first to reach it, burning a pass straight to Patricia who is set up outside the three point line. She immediately shoots, the ball bouncing around the rim, then falling through. Fifteen point lead.

This time, St. Ann’s sets up in a full court press, leaving the inbounding girl unguarded. Patricia is patrolling the middle of the front court. Once the player gets the pass, Cassie and Bailey quickly close on her, forcing a lazy bounce pass to an apparently open teammate but Patricia easily intercepts the ball, backs out behind the three point line and fires. Twelve point lead.

The third time, our girls set up in a zone press. St. Agnes is clearly confused. They hadn’t anticipated this or anything like it. They inbound to a guard who quickly passes it to Ridgeway, who is near mid-court. She attempts to hand the ball to a passing teammate but Patricia beats her to the mark, takes the ball and dribbles towards the three point line, Ridgeway in hot pursuit. When she reaches the line, she hesitates, allowing Ridgeway to catch up, then leaps sideways, kicking her legs out slightly. Just before Ridgeway runs into her outstretched leg, Patricia shoots, hitting the basket and getting fouled in the process. Once she hits the free throw, it’s a four point play, an eight point lead and a time out called by St. Agnes, their coaches having seen enough.

Our girls hurry to the huddle, new life and vigor in their bodies, smiling and clapping, congratulating themselves but not Patricia. She sits down on the bench, a towel over her shoulders, listening while Sister Rita talks. She’s the last one to leave the bench at the end of the timeout.

This time, St. Agnes clearly has a plan. A quick in bounds pass to a guard, who just as quickly throws a high pass to Ridgeway, who turns and passes to one of two forwards who are breaking for the basket, clear of any of our defenders. Our girls had been caught off guard and the ball never got anywhere near Patricia. The lead is back to ten.

Terri inbounds to Patricia, who is promptly double teamed. St. Agnes is trying to force her to give up the ball but she won’t do it. The two girls try to apply pressure but they can’t keep up with her, Patricia constantly changes direction, eventually causing one girl to fall down and the other to trip over her fallen teammate, Patricia then shoots more than ten feet behind the line. Nothing but net. Seven point lead.

We put Linda Hatke on Ridgeway when she sets up at mid-court this time but Linda is barely five eleven, above average height for a girl but she can’t challenge Ridgeway. We don’t let the St. Agnes forwards break clear but they do get the ball across the time line. They pull the ball out and start passing it around, primarily keeping it away from whoever Patricia is guarding. When she cheats towards whoever has the ball, her man breaks towards the basket, forcing her back to prevent an easy score. The rest of our team tries to stay with their respective men but someone eventually gets open and scores. Lead back to nine and only two minutes left in the quarter.

We call timeout and the girls huddle up, with Lynne Rodgers coming in for Terri. Lynne is a sophomore who doesn’t play much, she’s a little too short and skinny to play Forward.

Out of the timeout, St. Agnes presses but once Patricia gets the ball, the rest of the team runs to the other end, forcing most of the St. Agnes girls to follow them, leaving Patricia to be double teamed again. This time, neither girl falls down but they barely slow Patricia, who breaks clear after a few seconds of ankle breaking cuts and crossover moves, hitting her fifth consecutive three point shot. The lead is down to six with a minute forty five to play in the quarter.

St. Agnes beats the press again and pulls the ball back as before, moving it around, taking up as much clock as possible. As soon as the girl Rodgers is guarding gets the ball, she fouls her while trying to steal it.

The St. Agnes player hits both of her free throws and this time, Patricia faces a triple team as she brings the ball up court. St. Agnes is desperate to get the ball out of her hands but Patricia ignores obviously open teammates, forcing her way across the time line with an assortment pack of moves, one time passing the ball to herself through a defender’s legs. It takes more than thirty seconds but she eventually shoots from almost twenty eight feet out, banking it in from the side.

St. Ann’s is only applying token pressure now so St. Agnes gets the ball quickly across the timeline and starts to move the ball around, waiting to take the last shot of the quarter, however Rodgers fouls her man immediately when she gets the ball.

So that’s the plan! We’re willing to trade two points for three points. Lynne Rodgers is the designated fouler. If they won’t let the ball anywhere near Patricia, then we’ll foul whoever does get the ball, give them whatever they can get from the line then let Patricia score three points, gaining one, two or even three points in the exchange. It’s ugly, but it works, as long as you have enough bodies. Unfortunately, several of our girls picked up a number of frustration fouls in the first half so we can only do this for so long.

St. Agnes hits both free throws, the last one with forty five seconds left in the quarter. As Patricia brings the ball up court, she is facing four defenders, with only Ridgeway covering the rest of our team. She manages to get across the timeline before ten seconds by sheer force of will, keeping the defenders off balance with lightening fast changes, but, eventually, she passes to Bailey, who is open in the corner. She shoots but misses, the ball bouncing long, with both Ridgeway and Patricia chasing after it.

This time, Ridgeway wins the race, but just barely. She gets the ball in both hands, then viciously swings around, squatting low but elbows high, Patricia pulling her head back just in time to avoid being hit square in the jaw. The two girls stare at each other for a moment both of them knowing exactly what just happened. Ridgeway was going for the knockout blow and if it had been anyone other than Patricia with her hummingbird reflexes, she would have succeeded. Before either of them can do anything, the horn blows and a ref runs between them, signaling the end of the quarter. Eight minutes left and seven points down.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

As soon as I plop down on the bench, someone hands me a drink, which I down in one, long swig. I’m more tired than I should be, the nanites must have used up a lot of my energy reserves. If I had half a brain, I’d quit right now. This is only a game, it doesn’t actually mean anything! It’s got nothing to do with the assignment, with Gretchen’s future, my future, nothing.

Then why did it take every ounce of my self control to keep from punching that big goon out ten seconds ago? I wanted to kill her, actually kill her, and I could have done it too. Even made it look like an unfortunate accident. If that horn hadn’t blown …

Sister Rita’s saying something, pumping up the team. Eight minutes to go, game of our lives, honor of the school, blah, blah, blah. All I know is … that bitch is going down.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We get the ball to open the fourth quarter. Patricia is again the last one to leave the bench. She looks determined but tired. I wish I knew what was so important about this game. I reach into my purse and locate the remote control to the Balancer. I could change the setting to the upper Pink range, make her more willing to listen to me, to obey me. It would violate our agreement, but it would be for her own good, wouldn’t it?

Cassie passes the ball to Patricia to begin play. She dribbles to the right, followed by her four shadows. Suddenly, she passes the ball back to Cassie, surprising the defenders. Two of them move towards Cassie while the other two freeze, allowing Patricia to run past them down court, breaking clear. Cassie hits her with an arching pass, leaving only Ridgeway to guard four players.

As Patricia drives right at her, Ridgeway slides back towards the basket, turning towards her left. Both of them are ignoring all the other players, this is one on one. Just as Patricia draws close, she pulls up to make a move but stumbles, falling towards Ridgeway. As she falls, Patricia reaches out with her right hand, flipping the ball softly upward, arching near the basket. Ridgeway could block this one in her sleep.

With Patricia sprawled on the court at her feet, Ridgeway jumps as high as she can, swatting the ball out of bounds with a triumphant shout that can be heard throughout the gym, a shout that she extends as she drops back to the court, Patricia twisting away to avoid being stepped on. She almost gets completely clear, except for her right foot, which lingers for just a fraction of a second until Ridgeway’s left foot lands on it, then she jerks it away.

What was a shout of victory becomes a scream of anguish as Ridgeway rolls her ankle, bending it more than ninety degrees, all her weight, all her downward momentum, concentrated on that single, fragile joint. All the tape in the world, all the braces, could not prevent the stretching and tearing of her ligaments. She crumples to the floor, landing on her side, grasping at the rapidly swelling joint, gasping for air, shrieking, cursing and crying, all at the same time.

Every person in the gym who had every twisted an ankle in their life grimaced in unison at the memory of the excruciating agony, their ankles aching with sympathetic pain.

As the St. Agnes coaches and players scramble to Ridgeway’s aid, Patricia slowly stands up and walks away, not even looking back towards the girl writhing on the floor. Walking by our fans in the bleachers, she looks up towards Hobbes and his men. They are all standing, stone faced, but with tight smiles as they watch Patricia pass by. She pauses and nods her head ever so slightly towards them. They respond in kind, a demonstration of respect.

They all know exactly what she did. Hell, a third of the gym knows what she did, but no one could prove it was anything but an unfortunate accident. One of those things that can happen to any player at any time. St. Agnes’s coaches don’t even bother to argue with the ref about not calling a foul.

Patricia sat heavily on the bench as several teammates and an assistant coach help carry Ridgeway back to their locker room. Patricia didn’t even look up as they passed in front of our bench. Several of our girls came up to Patricia, resting their hands on her shoulders, telling her it wasn’t her fault, that it was an accident. She thanked them for their sympathetic gestures. It was almost believable. I managed to catch her eye and hold it for several seconds. She finally smiled ever so slightly and shrugged her shoulders, palms up in a “shit happens” gesture.

Right.

After the delay to cart Ridgeway off the court and to wipe up the sweat from the floor, we took the ball out under our own basket. Still down by seven, Patricia passes to Teresa Gaeta, who gives the ball right back. Patricia takes it out beyond the three point line, turns and faces a still shell shocked team, a team who had just seen their best player, and possibly their season, lugged off the court. She fires a bounce pass with back spin to Terrie Hughes, who had back cut her defender, the ball hitting her perfectly in stride for an easy lay up. Five points down.

We set up in a half court trap, Patricia in the middle but St. Agnes is ready for it, taking the ball down the sideline, avoiding the trap. They cross court a pass, high enough that Patricia has no chanced at it, The St. Agnes guard shooting a three as quickly as the ball reaches her hand. It was good, for an eight point lead.

We trade baskets over the next few possessions but ours are all threes, two by Patricia and one by Bailey Burns, our crowd shouting “BeeBee!” when ever Burn’s scores, reducing the lead to five. With St. Agnes having the ball, they pass it in to Ridgeway’s replacement, a tall girl but she lacks Ridgeway’s skills and confidence. Patricia drops down, knocking the ball away from her, setting off a mad scramble of bodies diving to the floor, struggling to get their hands on the ball. St. Agnes eventually recovers it but Patricia comes out of the scrum with a cut on her right cheek, just below her eye. It’s bleeding badly, so she has to come out of the game. I quickly make my way to the bench as our trainer works on it. The other girls make room for me and I sit down next to Patricia.

“What happened?”

“What’s it look like? I got cut by number fifteen out there!” She points at Ridgeway’s replacement.

“Was it an accident?”

“Of course not! They want me out of the game! Hurry up Sister, I need to get back out there!”

One of their girls hits a three, to the resounding cheers of the St. Agnes fans.

“If you will sit still, Patricia, I’ll do what I can” answered the Sister. I believe her name is Charity, she might have some training as a nurse.

“Are you sure getting back out there is a good idea?” I ask.

Patricia glares at me. “Fifteen punched my in the face, cutting me with the metal clasp on that elastic wrap around her hand. She said it was from the entire team. I won’t let them get away with this, not now, not ever!”

“Patricia … this isn’t like you, you’re acting like some kind of over emotional …”

“Teen age girl? Isn’t that what I am? What else should I be acting like?”

“I don’t know, but if you don’t settle down … I’ll be forced to …” I reach into my purse.

“Don’t you DARE, Mother” she hisses. “If you do, I will never forgive you. NE-VER. Do you understand me?” She stares at me, as angry as I have ever seen her, Sister Charity finishing treating the cut. As she steps away, it leaves just Patricia and me, me fingering the remote control in my purse. I slowly pull my empty hand out. Patricia relaxes.

“Thank you.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

St. Agnes scores again, pushing their lead to ten points. The girl was fouled by Hatke, so they get a chance to make it eleven.

“I hope so too” says Patricia as she jumps up off the bench and reports to the scoring table, putting herself back in the game. The ref quickly inspects Sister Charity’s repair job then lets Patricia back on the floor, to the muffled groans and a few boos from The St. Agnes fans, who are quickly drowned out by the cheers and shouts of our fans, again led by Hobbes and his men.

You really must admire their enthusiasm.

St. Agnes hits the free throw, and falls back to mid court, not pressuring Patricia, but as soon as she crosses the time line, they foul her. It was intentional but not terribly so Patricia just gets two shots, which she hits. Apparently, St. Agnes isn’t going to let her rain threes on them anymore. There’s only three minutes left and they’ve got plenty of fouls to spare.

St. Ann’s sets up in a zone, the first time in the second half, but then try to trap the ball. St. Agnes moves it too quickly for our girls to get to it and they hit number fifteen for a lay up, pushing the lead back to eleven but it only burned twelve seconds off the clock.

Patricia brings the ball up and there are three girls spread out along the time line. They’re going to foul her as soon as she crosses the line. She stops just short of the line, dribbling as the ref counts down the ten seconds. At the last second, she passes to BeeBee and sprints to the left corner. BeeBee makes a cross court bounce pass back to Patricia, who shoots as two St. Agnes girls desperately grab her. Too late. She hits the three and gets a free throw, which she nails. A seven point lead with two and a half minutes left.

We try to trap the ball again, St. Agnes still moving it quickly from player to player, not bothering to even look at the basket. The problem with that is they can’t keep the ball away from Patricia. Eventually, the player that she’s guarding gets the ball along the baseline and Patricia immediately steals it. Terri was already at mid court, several feet ahead of the nearest St. Agnes player. They all head for the basket and Patricia hits Terri with a pinpoint pass, who hits a lay up and is fouled.

Our girls huddle up at the top of the key around Terri but St. Agnes calls time out, apparently trying to ice her. All the girls head to their respective benches. Our crowd is screaming and yelling, with a lot of base tones. I can’t hear what is being said in the huddle but both Patricia and Sister Rita are talking while the other girls intently listen. The St. Agnes coaches are also loudly talking to their players, being quite emphatic at times.

The ref blows her whistle and the girls return to the court, setting up along the lane, Patricia again being the last one off the bench. The ref hands Terri the ball, she spins it in her hand, dribbles twice, sets and smoothly shoots, hitting it cleanly. She thrusts her hand in the air, holds it there for a fraction of a second, turns and sprints down court.

St. Agnes brings the ball up slowly, using as much clock as possible. When they cross the timeline, there’s just fifty three seconds left and we’re four down. St. Agnes spreads the court, trying to limit the double team opportunities. Patricia takes the ballhandler, not pressing her hard but staying close, shooting her left hand out towards the ball repeatedly, worrying the St. Agnes player. When she passes to the player on her right, Patricia doesn’t contest it, backing off slightly, leaving her open for a return pass. However, when the return pass comes, Patricia dives for it, deflecting the ball up in the air, setting off a desperate scramble for the ball.

It’s actually kicked a couple of times before Suzie King dives, grabs it and quickly calls time out with forty three seconds left. All the girls gather round Sister Rita, except for Patricia who sits on the bench, head hanging down. She looks completely out of gas. When the huddle breaks, Cassie has to actually help Patricia stand.

St. Agnes again sets up at the timeline, this time with only two players, trying to limit Patricia’s options. As she approaches the line, the clock ticking down, she pauses at the top of the center circle, then fires a bomb from half court, swishing it! Our fans go completely crazy, screaming, high fiving and bumping fists, our girls jumping and clapping as they run back to play defense.

St. Agnes calls their last time out, sending the players back to the benches. St. Agnes substitutes three new players, all smaller than the one’s they replace, though number fifteen stays in. I’m guessing they expect St. Ann’s to quickly foul and give up two points at the foul line so they can get a chance to tie it with a three from Patricia. The new players are probably better free throw shooters but they aren’t warmed up and haven’t played much in the game yet.

When they pass the ball in, St. Agnes has a one point lead, thirty three seconds left on the clock. We don’t foul immediately, which surprises them. Bailey closes on the girl with the ball, the ref starting the five second count. The girl has to do something or it’s a turnover, so she passes it to the girl on the right sideline. Twenty nine seconds. Terri does the same. Our fans are screaming for her to foul but she doesn’t, instead playing good defense.

The player Patricia’s guarding runs around, starting on the left sideline, down to and along the baseline, trying to get to the ball. Linda Hatke switches off her girl, number fifteen, doubling on the ball, the girl trying to dribble out of the double team. Twenty three seconds. Patricia’s player tries to use fifteen to set a pick, but Patricia jumps it, beating her to the front, forcing her to change directions, clogging the middle.

With the exception of number fifteen, we actually have a height advantage, well number fifteen and Patricia. St. Agnes is having trouble getting clear of our defense but time is quickly running out. Fouling makes sense, but we refuse to do it. Some of our fans are getting angry. With sixteen seconds to go, the girl with the ball decides to drive towards the basket, primarily because it was the only way open. As she got close, the ball bounces off Hatke’s foot, bouncing high and heading out of bounds. At the last second, Patricia goes for it, stretching all out, getting her right hand behind it, twisting in midair, throwing the ball as hard as she can back in bounds, square into the face of number fifteen, the ball rebounding deep out of bounds into St. Agnes’s bench.

Number fifteen drops to the court like a rag doll. Patricia lands flat on her back, sliding on the gym floor, leaving a sheen of sweat. The bench players and coaches all jump up, screaming for a foul call but it was no different than trying to bounce the ball of a leg or an arm to keep possession. There’s no rule against smacking someone in the face with the ball. St. Agnes’s assistant coaches struggle to keep their players from rushing the court while the head coach hovers over number fifteen as the paramedics work on her.

They have her sitting up in seconds, bloody gauze pressed against her nose. The refs send the players to their benches while the medical people keep checking number fifteen out. She seems woozy, her nose likely broken. The St. Agnes fans applaud wildly when she stands up, with a little assistance, and walks back to the locker room, our fans politely joining in. Once the sweat and blood is wiped off the court, the refs are ready to resume the game.

It’s St. Ann’s ball, one point down, nine seconds left, inbounding right in front of St. Agnes’s bench. They can’t afford to foul anyone, particularly Patricia, who is likely going to get the ball. They could try to deny her the ball, but she’s clearly quicker than any of their players. They’re just going to have to play straight up defense, hope to slow her down.

The ref’s call the players back out onto the floor. Bailey and Patricia come over to take the ball out, St. Agnes setting up at three quarter court in what looks like a zone press. The fans and bench are in full throated roar as the ref hands the ball to Bailey, who passes it to Patricia and runs down court.

Patricia stands there, dribbling as the clock ticks. Eight seconds, seven seconds. She starts to walk the wrong way, toward the baseline, while glaring at the St. Agnes coaches and players, her eyes shifting from face to face, looking each one in the eyes as she dribbles by them. Six seconds, five seconds. The crowd quiets down, not understanding what they’re seeing.

I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. Very, very bad.

She keeps dribbling, heading toward the ref standing just out of bounds on the corner of the court. Four seconds, three seconds. Just two steps from going out of bounds, Patricia reaches out, the ball in her right hand. She heaves the ball over her shoulder, high and deep, towards our basket. She continues off the floor, jogging toward the locker room, opening the door just as the ball plummets from the sky like a laser guided meteor, hitting the rim dead center, ripping through the net with such force that it’s turned inside out.

I hear the locker room door clang shut before the gym explodes.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Hobbes had insisted.

There was a pizza place near St. Agnes’s gym. A lot of the fans hung around after the game, waiting for the team to shower and change. Mostly friends and families of the players, some students from school and the nuns but also some fans from the other schools who stayed after the consolation game to root against St. Agnes.

Hobbes said that food and drinks for the night were on him, so almost two hundred people descended on this neighborhood place that was within an hour of shutting down for the night.

It was their biggest day of the year. A couple of people with experience in the business actually volunteered to help get the pizzas and sandwiches out to the crowd.

Everyone was in an insanely good mood, celebrating the victory. And they were all over me. I couldn’t go anywhere in the building without twenty people wanting to relive the final shot … and that includes the bathroom.

Right after the game, while we were still in the locker room, Mom pulled me away from the pandemonium and demanded to know what I had been thinking when I had taken those shots. All I could tell her was that I was mad, angry at being attacked, angry that Ridgeway had tried to do it a second time, that her coaches probably approved it and her teammates supported it.

“Wrecking her ankle wasn’t good enough for you?”

I couldn’t keep from smiling just a little. “You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that!”

“The ref’s must not have because they didn’t throw me out.”

Mom smiled just a little too. “That’s because it was so well done. How did you even think of doing that?”

“When I played football, I was the master of the leg whip. The other linemen were usually bigger than me, so when I’d go down, I’d take em with me. Got pretty good at it. They don’t call a foul if you’re splayed on the ground.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Maybe next time she’ll think twice before she tries to decapitate some one.”

“It’ll probably be a long time before she gets another chance. What about the other girl?”

“You mean the one who punched me in the face?”

“Nuff said. That was well done too, by the way.”

“Thanks. Look … I don’t really know WHY I acted like I did. I mean, everything was fine until the cheap stuff started. When I woke up in the locker room … I just wanted to make them PAY! We were going to win that game or I was going to die trying. Then she came at me again and I just … snapped. All bets were off. That other girl was just secondary damage, though she started it.”

“I understand, honey … but those shots! The half court one was bad enough but that last one?! Did you even think about how that looked?”

“I know, I know. I just wanted them all to understand that I’d just been playing with them the whole time, that I could score whenever and however I wanted and there wasn’t a darn thing they could do to stop me.”

“I think that message was delivered, loud and clear, but you can’t hide anymore, everyone knows what you can do.”

“Not everything.”

“Enough to attract attention. A lot of attention.”

“Okay, short term, maybe. I’ll just say I was hot that night, couldn’t miss. It happens. I remember this pro player, Quinn Buckner, averaged like three or four points a game, scored fifty one one night. Never got more than ten in a game the rest of his career. It happens.”

“How many hit a full court, over the shoulder, no look, last second shot for a two point victory?”

I screwed up. We both know it.

“How many people actually saw it? Were there even five hundred people there?”

“More like eight hundred.”

“Fine, eight hundred. They’ll talk about it, tell their friends, word will spread, the story will get wilder as it spreads, it always does, but there wasn’t any television coverage, no concrete proof of what happened. It’ll blow over … in time.”

“I hope you’re right, Patricia.”

The celebration had been going on for almost three quarters of an hour when a couple of televisions suspended from the ceiling of the restaurant turned on and a video started playing. It was the game. The picture switched off after a few seconds, then it was back, replaying the last shot.

The crowd roared.

Oooohhh CRAP!

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

All the cars drove up the driveway, horns honking and lights flashing. Switching to the front door camera, I saw the men carrying Gretchen up to the porch in their hands over their heads. Those not carrying were applauding. All were shouting, including Hobbes. From their appearances and behavior, some of the men had a few too many drinks. I had better get out there to make sure the celebration didn’t attract unneeded attention.

By the time I had reached the main house, everyone was inside, Gretchen still being paraded around in the air, laughing loudly.

“I take it that things went well?” I shout.

The celebration stops, though all the men are still smiling broadly. They gently drop Gretchen onto her feet, as Hobbes makes his way through the crowd towards me.

“You should have been there, Enrique! There has never been a game like it in the entire history of basketball!”

“I’m sure that you are exaggerating, Raymond …”

“Oh, he’s not Mr. Cardoza” said Henry, waving a video camera in his right hand. “I got the whole thing here. Jackson says he’s putting it up on YouTube. Patricia Conner ain’t human. If this don’t prove it, nothing will! That little girl got knocked out, came back and hit three point shots like a God damn machine! That last shot? Never been one like it, EVER! She practically beat that cheating bunch of bastards all by herself.”

Clearly, Henry was at least tipsy, probably spiffed, but not blotto.

“Wait just a second, Henry” said Hobbes, who was also in his cups. “Patricia was unbelievable, but she wouldn’t have had to work so hard if Gretchen hadn’t been ejected.”

Most of the men nodded and murmured enthusiastically in agreement, and I don’t think they were sucking up.

“You’re right, you’re absolutely fucking right, Mr. Hobbes” said Henry. “With Gretchen out there, they’d have won, going away. But without her … she really stuck in the knife and twisted it on that last shot. Fucking amazin’.”

“Agreed Henry … fucking amazin’.”

Nothing is going to be accomplished tonight, though I need to review that video. Sports bore me but there could be some new information buried in there somewhere. Right now, it is best to break this up.

“I’m so happy that everything worked out in the end, for everybody. However, it is quite late and tomorrow is a busy day … for all of us. I would suggest that we call it a night and all of those who have had too much to drink should stay in the bunkhouse tonight. No need to spoil such a wonderful evening with a DUI arrest. What do you say … Mr. Hobbes?”

“An excellent idea, Enrique! Have the maids make up how ever many beds we need. We must watch the video together, particularly the first quarter when Gretchen outplayed their star.”

Joy.

“I look forward to it, Raymond. Now, every one to bed. I’ll make sure the security is covered for the night.”

Hobbes slaps me on the shoulder. “Good man, Enrique Cardoza. I can always rely on you.” He then puts his arm around Gretchen’s shoulder and she helps him up the steps. Looking around at the condition of the rest of the men as they slowly walk away, it’s good that no one has an interest in attacking us. This group couldn’t turn back a Girl Scout troop tonight. I pull Escaban aside before he leaves.

“What happened out there, Tony?”

“Just what they said, Mr. Cardoza. Patricia Conner was totally awesome tonight.”

“What is this ‘shot’ they all speak of?”

He chuckles. “No shit, it was amazing. She stalked by the other team’s bench, as time was running out, staring them down, completely ignoring what was happening on the court. She kept going, headed right out of bounds and at the very last second, she throws the ball over her shoulder, never even looking at the basket before or after the shot. She runs off the court and the shot goes in. It really was a million to one shot, maybe a billion to one, but she never looked. The fans go nuts, flooding the floor. Hobbes has everybody go to this pizza place, pays for the whole thing. Needless to say, there was a lot of beer drunk … drank? Whatever. Now, we’re back here. Oh, that shit about Conner being a machine, not human? Forget it. She bleeds, I saw it with my own eyes. And she did get knocked out, out cold, for like ten minutes, at least. She’s no machine but she is the toughest, meanest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“How do you account for her accuracy in shooting the basketball?”

“That last one? No idea. The rest, she just got hot. Sometimes a player gets in a groove, everything they throw up goes in. I’ve seen it before. It’s impressive when it happens but it’s not a miracle or anything.”

As I thought, nothing extraordinary, though I will review the video … with Hobbes, if it can’t be avoided.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I was back in Wisconsin. At least that’s were I think I am. I’m younger, smaller and, for some reason, it feels familiar, like home, though not a happy one. As I move from room to room, I’m on the alert for my father, the man who repeatedly raped me.

It’s a small house but well kept, neat and clean, like my father likes it. How do I know that?

Walking down a short hallway, I pause at the first closed door, starting to reach for the door knob but stop, my hand hovering near the knob before I slowly pull it back. Things have happened in this room, things I don’t want to remember. I move down the hall to the next room.

It feels safer. I open it and peer in. Clearly a girl’s room. Bright pastels, frilly curtains, stuffed animals … two beds. I carefully close the door and lean on it.

A sister. I have a sister. A younger sister.

“Jenny Jo!”

Someone called my name. They were in the kitchen. It wasn’t Daddy, thank God. When I get there, the only other person is a small woman, not a lot taller than me, working at the sink. At least now I know where I get my height.

“Yes, Momma?”

“You need to get changed, your father will be home soon and he wants you to go to the lake with him tonight.”

Not Again! I can’t do that again! Suddenly, another girl runs into the kitchen.

“Why does Jenny Jo get to go to the lake? I love fishing, she hates it! Why can’t I go?”

“Hush Penny. You’re father will take you when you get older. Right now, he’s taking Jenny Jo. Go get ready, girl.”

Penny frowns at me, whips around, her twin pony tails flying behind her and skips away.

He’ll do it to her too. When she gets old enough, he’ll do the same thing to her. He’ll rape his daughter. He’ll rape my sister. My baby sister. She’s got … how old is she? How old am I?

“Momma? I don’t want to go with Daddy tonight. He … he … does things … to me. I can’t go with him to the lake.”

She dries her hands on the apron she’s wearing, then quickly reaches out, grabbing my left wrist and twisting it.

“OOWW! MOMMA!”

She pulls me closer, still twisting.

“Hush Girl! Your daddy works hard, putting food on our table, keeping a roof over your ungrateful head, buying you those fancy clothes and pretty underwear. It’s the least that you can do to show a little appreciation now and then!”

She let’s go, pushing me away. She knows! I suspected that she knew but … she knows and she won’t stop him! She won’t help me!

“Momma, what about Penny?”

“What about her?”

“Will Daddy … will he …”

She turns back to the sink. “Sooner or later. Your father likes young girls, not too young though. You’ll get older and he’ll lose interest. Then it’ll be Penny’s turn to show some appreciation. You go get ready, and hurry. He don’t like to be kept waiting.”

I turn away and walk to my room, rubbing my aching wrist, past Penny, who’s curled up in a chair, reading a book. I stop to look at her for a few seconds, then move on to our room. To get ready to be raped tonight.

Suddenly, it’s dark. Things have shifted, changed, the way things do in dreams. I’m still in my room, but so is Penny, asleep in her bed. There’s a stuffed duffle bag on my bed and a half filled back pack. I’m finishing loading the back pack with my clothes when Penny coughs lightly a couple of times, then sits up rubbing her eyes.

“What are you doing, Jenny?”

“I’m leaving, Peanut. I can’t stay here any longer.”

“You’re running away?”

“Yes.”

She starts to cry. “I’ll do better, Jenny. I’ll leave your stuff alone, I promise I will. I’ll make my bed too, you won’t have to do it for me no more. Please, don’t leave me!”

“I’m not running away from you, Peanut.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

I stop stuffing my clothes in the back pack and sit next to Penny on her bed, hugging her and kissing her forehead.

“I love you, Peanut. You’re my stupid baby sister and I’ll love you till the day I die. I just can’t stay here anymore. Daddy … Daddy and I are fighting again. Momma won’t help me with him, so I gotta go. It’s nothing you’ve done and it’s a problem you can’t solve. It’s not your fault. No matter what Daddy or Momma tell you, it’s not your fault! You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You’re a wonderful sister and don’t you forget it!”

We sit there, on her bed, hugging each other. I can feel my resolve to run draining away with each second I hold her. I shouldn’t leave her in the hands of these monsters but she should be safe for a few years. By then, I’ll have found a place to live and a way to make some money and then I’ll come get her before Daddy gets a chance to hurt her the way he hurt me.

“Where you gonna go?” she whispers.

“Not sure. Probably South. Can’t go much further North, can I?” She giggles a little. I could always make her laugh. “I hear Florida is nice. Warm weather, beaches, oranges just hanging from trees.”

“Will I ever see you again, Jenny?”

I hug her tighter. “I promise, you’ll see me again. It may be a year or two, maybe longer, but I’ll be back. And when I get back, no one will ever hurt either one of us, not ever again. I promise.”

She snuggled against me, like the promise was all she needed to hear, like it would sustain her against all the hard times to come. It was probably just my hopeful imagination.

I reluctantly let go and quietly move back to my bed to finish packing. I need to get out now before I lose my nerve. If Daddy found me before I get away … the thought of that speeds my hands as I stuff in the last few things, zip it shut and sling the pack over my shoulder. Carefully opening my window, I quietly lower the duffle bag to the ground, then climb out, dropping the last foot. I pause, waiting to hear if I’ve been discovered but there’re only the sounds of insects in the night.

Penny runs to the window, her hands reaching for mine. I take them, squeezing.

“You didn’t hear me go, you didn’t talk to me. When you woke up in the morning, I was gone, right?”

She nods her head, too emotional to speak. She’ll be able to pull it off, she’s a pretty good little liar, got me in trouble a lot of times.

I let go of her hands, pick up the duffle bag and creep towards the road in front of the house. It’s only a half mile to the highway. I take a few steps before I turn back to look at Penny, still at the window, hands still outstretched towards me.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

And then I’m gone.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Practically the entire school is waiting for me when I pull up on my bike. I have to run a gauntlet of cheering girls to get to the front door, where Gretchen, Terri, Bailey and Cassie are standing.

“How’s your head, El Capitan?” shouts Terri over the other girls.

“Better.”

It really is, so’s the cut on my face and the spot over my left eye. The forehead was a little black and blue but make up took care of that, hope Sister Carmella’s in a forgiving mood. I left the cut alone, didn’t even bother to bandage it. The nanites may be doing more than just repairing my brain. We make our way through the crowds slowly, everyone saying how great the game was and what they thought when the shot went in. If everyone who said they were at the game was actually there, we would have had the same number of fans as St. Agnes. They’ve seen that video somewhere, which isn’t good. I’m happy to get my first class started so I can have some peace and quiet.

In both the first and second period classes, the teachers opened the class with their own recollection of last night’s events. There’s not going to be a lot of teaching taking place around here today. Third period starts pretty normally, other than Ms. Truax shaking my hand, so it may be a sign of a partial return to normalcy. Sister Rita comes for me about half way through the third period.

“How are you feeling this morning, Patricia?” she asks as we walk side by side to the main office.

“I’m okay … didn’t get much sleep last night, had some weird dreams.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’ve recovered. I don’t mind admitting that the entire episode frightened me. I’ve never had one of my girls knocked unconscious before. If you had been seriously injured … that may have been the end of the program here at St. Ann’s.

“Accidents happen anywhere, any time, Sister.”

“We both know that wasn’t an accident. I hope Sister Carmela has words with the principle of St. Agnes.”

“Then they’d have to talk about a certain sprained ankle. It might be best to just suggest a future truce on that kind of behavior.”

She opens the office door for me. “You could be right about that. It’s good to see that your even temper and judgment has returned. Sister Carmela told me to send you right in.”

Did everybody think I was out of my mind at that game? They may have been right and I think I know why. When I open the door, Sister Carmela was on the phone.

“I will speak with her about it … no promises you understand … Yes, I will return your call, though that may take awhile … there have been quite a few. Goodbye.”

I start to say something but Sister Carmela raises her hand.

“Excuse me Ms. Conner.” She picked up the phone again and pushed the intercom button. “Please hold all calls Ms. Jenkins … either update the prior message slip or attach them … I will, thank you.” She hangs up. “Ms. Jenkins wishes me to tell you that your last shot was bitchin’.”

“Bitchin’? She wasn’t at the game. How did she see it?”

“Which raises the issue as to why I asked Sister Rita to bring you here. You may notice the assorted stacks of messages on my desk.”

I look at her desktop. There are five stacks of phone message blanks on her desk. I hope people haven’t been calling about what I did to Ridgeway and that other girl.

“I have now.”

“There were several videos taken during the game that have been uploaded to YouTube and similar services, including one that is practically the entire game. A few have gone, I believe the term is ‘viral’. The first stack are messages from the local print media, the second the local television stations, the third national print media and the forth the national networks.”

“What’s the fifth stack?”

“Letterman, Leno, Kimmel, and so on.”

MY GOD!

“What do they want?”

“To talk with you, Patricia. That’s not quite accurate. Letterman wants you to repeat that blind, over the shoulder shot in the street outside their theater.”

“How many people have seen those videos?”

She turns to her keyboard, takes her mouse and makes a few clicks.

“Between four hundred fifty thousand and eight hundred ten thousand, depending on which video.”

“How many are posted?”

“Seven, so far. Most appear to be taken with mobile phones but one, the long one, is with a video camera. There’s one that’s a compilation of all your shots, including the last, naturally. It runs only about thirty seconds but is quite impressive.”

What now? What can I possibly do about all this? I think Sister Carmela can read the distress on my face because she comes around from behind her desk, sitting in the chair next to me.

“You’re upset about all this, aren’t you Patricia?”

She’d never called me by my first name before.

“Yeah. I didn’t want all this. I kinda lost control in that game, did some things I probably shouldn’t have. I was just so angry about what they did to me, I wanted to beat them so badly … I …”

“Took off the restraints?”

What does she know? What does she suspect?

She pats my hand. “I have been watching you very closely ever since you came to St. Ann’s. I can usually figure out any girl fairly quickly, but you have been a complete conundrum. The moment I think I have a bead on you, you do something surprising, not illogical but surprising. When you play ball, you spend most of your time setting up all the other girls, particularly Gretchen Hobbes. She seems to be your pet project. Were you aware that practically every shot you miss goes directly to Gretchen? Of course you’re aware of it; your control is that good. I suspected you had capabilities you were hiding under the proverbial bushel basket but I had no idea it was anything like what you did against St. Agnes. It is the same with your scholastic skills. You could be outstanding, beyond outstanding, but you consciously hold back. You know exactly what you are doing. What I can’t figure out is why.”

“I was in control until last night.”

“I would blame your head injury for that.”

She’s closer to the truth than she could ever suspect.

“I was hoping this whole thing would blow over but now, with all those messages … all those videos … I don’t know what to do Sister.”

“What do you want to happen?”

“For it all to disappear.”

“You aren’t interested in the fame and notoriety?”

“Not at all.”

“I haven’t noticed a shy streak in you, Patricia. Can you explain why you don’t want something that most girls in your position would sell their soul for?”

“No, Sister, I can’t explain it.”

“‘Can’t’ as in I don’t know or ‘can’t’ as in it is not wise to explain it?”

I don’t answer her, which is an answer.

“I see,” she says, nodding her head. “I would suggest that I call back all those people and politely decline their request for more information. You’re free to talk or not talk; you owe them no obligation of any kind. You are not a professional athlete or a public person.”

“How will they react?”

“Some will be more aggressive, likely our local media, they may show up outside our gates or future games, the rest will just move on to the next hot story. There are plenty of people clamoring for attention. Your initial plan to let it all blow over will likely ultimately work, it just may take longer than you originally thought.”

“Why are you helping me, Sister?”

“Because you are one of my girls. It is my job to help every one of my girls become the best person they can before they graduate. Sometimes that entails pushing the girl, sometimes praising, sometimes punishing, and sometimes protecting. Right now, you need protecting, so I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Sister Carmela … I appreciate it more than you can know.”

“Perhaps some day, you can explain it to me, all of it.”

“I’d like that, Sister.”

“Let me know if anyone bothers you, Ms. Conner. You best get back to class.”

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Things were normal at work this morning, but, as the day progressed, more and more people came in to my office to ask questions about St. Ann’s game, and how Patricia did. No one from the office has ever met her, though I do have some photos of us on the walls, just to make a good show for our cover. Teresa from accounting said that there were some videos from the game on the internet and that news was spreading like wildfire. Mr. James, the big boss himself, dropped by and asked if Patricia was feeling well, if she had recovered from everything. I lied of course, said she was fine, no problems. I couldn’t say that more memories had been dredged up from the life of the poor girl whose body Patricia currently inhabited.

At least she didn’t wake up screaming like she did the last time but it may have been more disturbing. The last time, she didn’t have any problem telling me exactly what had happened. This time, she didn’t even mention the dreams at first, but I could tell that something was troubling her, something big.

There’s no way to really prove that these are actual memories of actual events. They could still be dreams based on random thoughts of this Jenny Jo, though Patricia is convinced of the truthfulness of the dreams. I guess it is possible that, with research, you could find the town, the house, the people … the younger sister, but then what? Call the police? Call child protective services? There’s no proof of anything and Patricia could never testify in court about what she ‘saw’. Right now, we have a more important job, one that is dangerous enough without adding complications like a little sister. Patricia agrees but it’s obvious that she’s concerned about the situation.

All we can do for the present is wait and see.

On the way home, I turn on one of the local all sports radio stations to hear what they may be saying about the game, if anything.

“…the news and weather at the top of the hour. This is Tommy MacDonald along with Dave Cheeseman for hour two of the Mac and Cheese show. For those just tuning in, we’ve been talking mostly about a local story today, a bit of an Internet sensation.”

“I’ll say, Tommy! More than a million hits! For those who haven’t seen it yet, we’ve got links on our website, www.wspt.com. You’ve REALLY got to see it! I know, it’s a high school girl’s basketball game. A lot of you guys out there are thinking, no jump, no speed, no good. I hear ya’ but this local gal … she is just raining three’s.”

“Davey, my man, she is dropping BOMBS on the other team!”

“True that, Tommy.”

“We’re talking way beyond NBA threes. There were two four point plays. How long’s it been since you’ve seen ONE four point play?”

“It’s been awhile Tommy, and all this AFTER she got knocked out of the game by one of the cheapest shots you’ve ever seen.”

“Makes my head hurt to even watch it, Davey. This girl is like five foot nothing …”

“If she’s lucky. If she’s five foot, I’m six ten.”

“Which you ain’t. She hit one from beyond mid court and it wasn’t a buzzer beater! She saved the best for last and I swear to GOD, you have got to see it on YouTube for yourself. There has never been a shot like it before!”

“To heck with the shot, it’s what she did before the shot … she practically got in the faces of every single player on that team, plus the coaches and then she stuck the dagger in their guts. She knew EXACTLY what she was doing!”

“No doubt. I never seen even Michael Jordan do something like that. We’ll be taking calls after this break.”

“I think Larry Bird did something like that against the Knicks.”

“Don’t be an idiot Cheese! I’d remember it if Bird or anybody else …”

I switch the radio off. Patricia is now part of popular culture. I can just hear Daniel freaking out about it.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Thankfully, we don’t have another game until after the Christmas beak. Most of the other schools play straight through but our Athletic Director, who happens to also be our Principal, feels that family comes first over the holidays. This means there will be NFL playoff games and BCS Bowl games before St. Ann’s plays again, knocking me off the sport pages and sport talk radio. If I keep my cool and play my normal game, that’ll go a long way to spiking this story.

Mom thinks it’d be better if I didn’t play at all but I disagree. Me not playing just raises a bunch of questions. If I don’t hit circus shots the next game, the St. Agnes game looks more like a fluke and just gets flukier with each succeeding unremarkable game. In a month, this should all be over. Not forgotten, but over.

But for right now, I’d love to get Lipscomb off my back.

All he does is restate the obvious complaints and questions. This is taking too long. What possessed me to make a public spectacle of myself? Why am I playing basketball? Do I even have a plan? Am I just wasting his time and money to relive my youth? Do I want to return to the life of Peter Harris?

I tell him, it takes as long as it takes, though I know it may come to a head soon. Sooner than I’d like. As for the questions, I can clearly and concisely answer every one of them, just not to him.

All except the last question. That I can’t answer, not that I’d admit it to him.

I know that I can’t go back to living the way I did, isolated, afraid, alone. A whole new world of possibilities has been opened before me but I know that I’ll never have a chance to explore them all. I may not be brave enough to do so if I had the chance. Matthews is unclear as to how much I’ll retain when I return to my old body, probably because he doesn’t know himself. It’s been a grand experiment, a successful one as far as I’m concerned but we’re a long way from a safe landing. Lot’s could go wrong, with me, with the plan, with darn near anything.

Business as usual for me. God … I love it.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“I appreciate you coming with me, Mom.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I? I would have been the only parent not there.”

“That’s not quite true. Some of the girls and their families are on vacation, looking for snow for Christmas.”

“Have you ever seen snow, Patricia?”

“Real snow, in person?”

“Yes, real snow.”

“Sort of. I was on a flight from Los Angeles to Miami that had a stop over in Denver. It was snowing as we changed planes. I stood in front of a big window, watching the snow swirl around in the runway lights. It was really beautiful, though I never got a chance to touch it. We were in Denver for just a half hour and never left the terminal, but still, it was real snow.”

I settle back into my car seat, relishing the memory of my single encounter with one of the symbols of the holiday season. Of course, Jenny Jo saw a lot of snow.

She hated it.

Since the last head injury, I’m getting more frequent flashes of memories and images, things I can’t account for. I’m assuming they’re related to Jenny Jo, though Mom insists there’s no way to be sure. She’s right, but my gut says they are, and my gut’s rarely wrong.

We pull up to Hobbes’ front gate, getting in line behind two other cars. There’s a couple extra guys at the gate but they’re all wearing red Santa hats. It looks like they’re checking driver’s licenses against a guest list but being as friendly as they can. When we work our way to the front, Henry and Lou approach our car. I roll down my window.

“Hey guys, nice hats.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Patty. Nice to see you again, Ms. Conner” said Henry. Mom reaches for her purse and starts looking for her wallet. “That’s not necessary, Ms. Conner. We know you … and we certainly know your daughter.”

“I am kinda unforgettable, aren’t I? So, what’s the story with the hats? Lose a bet?”

“Nah. We actually got the long straw. Everybody else got stuck with green elf hats … with ears.”

“NO WAY! Sidney in an elf hat!”

“No doubt, it’s a sight to see. Ms. Conner, you can go on, follow the driveway to the house. Parking is on the right. There will be someone to direct you. We’ll see you later.” They both stepped aside as the gate swung open. I waved as we drove in, they smiled and subtly waved back, the gate quietly shutting behind us.

“You really hate this, don’t you?”

“Hate is a strong word, honey … yes. Does it show?”

“A little. You need to relax, at least a bit. You’re about to choke that steering wheel to death.”

She flexes her fingers while gripping the wheel with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry. This is a mistake, I can’t do this. I’ll stay a while and then claim I’m sick. You can stay the night or someone can bring you home.”

“Just mix with the other parents. You can gossip with the other women about what a terrible person Hobbes is and how he makes his money.”

“Don’t be sexist.”

“Hey! I’m a woman too, ya know? I can say things like that now.”

“No. You can’t. Where do I go now?”

We’ve reached the house. A guard wearing an elf hat with attached oversized, pointy ears is swinging his hand across his body, right to left.

Henry’s right, the Santa hats are better.

“Over there” I say, pointing at the guy. “There’s some parking spots around the side, near the kitchen. They must be sending everyone that way.”

We follow his directions and are picked up by another guard at the next corner, who sends us where I thought they would. Just as we get out of the car, an electric buggy, like a big golf cart with extra seats, pulls up behind us. It’s decorated with tinsel and Christmas lights.

“Can I give you ladies a lift?”

“Yes, thank you” answered Mom. “Which of the … staff are you?”

“Gomez, ma’am. Thomas Gomez. How’s the head, Patty?”

“Fine, no problems at all. Where’s your hat?”

He reaches down next to him and picks an elf hat off the seat.

“I only wear it when I gotta.”

“Who’s bright idea were they?”

“Guess.”

“Not Gretchen’s?”

“Got it on your first try. She wants us to sing Christmas Carols too.”

“No.”

“Yeah. You ever heard Lou sing? Sucks, but he doesn’t know it, thinks he’s Pavarotti or something.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“We’d all appreciate it. Though, I gotta admit,” he slips his hat on and adjust the ears, “the hat is warm.”

Mom and I get in the shuttle, as does Debbie Waymire and her parents, they pulled in seconds behind us. Gomez puts it in reverse, a little buzzer sounds as he initially backs up then he throws a switch and we pull away, dodging a second trolley decorated like ours, returning to the parking lot.

“How many people are here?” I ask Gomez.

“I think almost everyone. The nuns were the first.”

Mom looks surprised. “Sister Carmela’s here?!”

“Yes, ma’am, drove them to the front door myself. We don’t get a lot of religious folk here.”

“I can imagine.”

I nudge her in the ribs. “There ya go Mom, now you got peeps to hang with.”

“You might be right about that” she replies, as we pull up to the front door. “Thank you for the lift, Mr. Gomez.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Connor. Remember Patty … Christmas carols.”

“Got it. I can’t promise anything.”

“You’ll be doing everybody a BIG favor, believe me.”

We all get out and walk up the steps to the front door, the Waymire’s a little slack jawed and wide eyed.

Sidney’s manning the door. Him in the elf hat’s everything I thought it’d be. I start to say something but he just puts up a big hand.

“I’ve heard it all already, I don’t need to hear …” he glances at my mom “… anything from you, Patty. Even got grief from the nuns.”

“Guess you’ve been punished enough, I mean … nuns.”

“Damn straight. Merry Christmas, Ms. Conner.”

Mom’s got a smile fixed on her face but is struggling to keep from laughing. If we stay out on the front porch much longer, she’s gonna break.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Sidney. I hear we’re the last to arrive. We better hurry in, don’t want to hold up the festivities.”

He reaches down, grabs the door handle and opens the door. “No ma’am, can’t let that happen. Enjoy yourselves, folks.”

We hurry in, Mom keeping it together until the door shuts, then breaking out in a giggling fit. She manages to quickly pull herself together.

“Sorry. Sorry … but that hat!”

“I know!” said Ms. Waymire. “That poor man!”

Gretchen comes running up, grabbing my arm and Debbie’s hand. “Thanks for coming, guys! Come meet my Father … okay, you already know him, Patty, I know that … but everybody else … except your mother, she’s already met him … and there was the pizza party too, but …”

She’s starting to babble. “Chill, Gretch. We’re here. Catch your breath.”

She takes a big breath, then exhales, smiling. “Freaking out, I know. This is just so great though! I’ve never had a party before, not for my friends.”

“That’s cool” said Debbie. She looks around. The foyer appears to have been worked over by a couple dozen elves. Thirty plus foot tree, completely decked out in lights, ornaments and tinsel. Evergreen swags entwine both staircases. Large holiday candelabra on the piano. Poinsettias on most every flat surface.

Hobbes is standing next to the tree, shaking hands and schmoozing with the other parents, smiling and laughing, clearly in his element. He turns his head towards us and we catch his eye. His smile grows larger and he waves at us, beckoning for us to come join him. Gretchen starts to pull us towards him but I resist.

“Before we go over there, I need to talk with you about tonight’s musical entertainment.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It was perfect.

The whole evening, from the decorations to Raul’s wonderful meal to Patty’s surprise offer to play the piano couldn’t have gone better. I had originally talked father into having the guards sing Christmas songs. I’d heard some of them singing before and they weren’t bad. When Patty said she’d play for us, I had to tell them they’d been replaced. The all seemed relieved, except for Lou. In the end, the girls and their parents joined in to sing holiday songs while Patty played, which was probably better.

Sister Carmela and Sister Rita mixed with the parents, which surprised me. You don’t really think of nuns as regular people, I mean, they’re nuns. You can’t see a nun going to a party, getting’ down. Too weird. They laughed, they ate, they had a good time.

Even Patty’s mother seemed to enjoy herself, at least a little bit. I didn’t expect her to come, she’s not particularly fond of Father but she showed up anyway. She mostly hung around with the Sisters and a few other parents. She did take one of the tours of the house and spent a lot of time in the gardens. One time Father asked me where she was and I asked him to leave her alone. I think it upset him a little but he had so many other things to do that he forgot about it. I hope.

His gift to the team went over great! Every girl and coach got a customized warm up outfit, even the Sisters. We’re gonna look awesome at the next game! All the girls were trying on the jackets. He even managed to get one that fit Patty without her needing to make changes, which just doesn’t happen. She was impressed.

But the best was yet to come! As people started to get ready to leave, I made up an excuse to get her to come with me to Father’s office. When we got there, he was waiting for us.

“Patty, I haven’t had a chance to tell you how wonderful your music was tonight! It left me in a trance! I knew you played but … totally stunned, that’s all I can say.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hobbes.”

“Unfortunately, I need to make this quick as our guests are preparing to leave. We can work out the details in the future. I just wanted you to know that, when you go to college, I am paying all your expenses. Tuition, room, board, books, fees, everything. No matter where you get accepted, it doesn’t matter. And if, by some unfortunate chance, you apply to some school you wish to attend and they don’t accept you … leave that to me also.”

I can tell she’s surprised. “Isn’t that great, Patty? We can go to school together, wherever we want. We can be roommates and everything. It’ll be wonderful!”

“Yeah … yeah, it’ll be great, but I don’t know if my mom will accept the money. She’s always been pretty adamant about paying our own way.”

“But you’re on scholarship at St. Ann’s, it’s practically the same thing.”

“Gretchen, my mom won’t see it that way.”

“As I said, we can work on the details” said Father. “If it needs to be a scholarship, that can be arranged, anything can be arranged.”

“You don’t know my mother very well, Mr. Hobbes.”

“It’s not for lack of effort, Patty. If you’ll excuse me, I have guests to deal with.”

“Sure, just one last thing. I’d like Gretchen to go to the YWCA’s New Years Eve party with me. My mom’s chaperoning, she’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. I know the people who run it and they don’t tolerate any funny business.”

“Plleeezzzz Father?”

He hesitates, looking back and forth between Patty and I.

“And if I say yes?”

“As you said, we can work out the details later.”

He smiles at that. “You are very good, Patricia Conner. Yes, she can go. Now, I must go.”

As he hurries from the office, Patty spreads her arms, raising them slightly, palms up.

“TA-DA!”

Like I said … perfect.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

The staff is still cleaning up after last nights festivities. Hobbes told everyone that they could wait until morning but I had my men begin a security scan as soon as the last guest left.

That was the first one. I had a completely different group repeat the entire process this morning to make sure nothing was overlooked. The combined groups will do it again this evening, to be triple certain.

None of the guards reported breaches of any kind. Apparently, all the guests followed Hobbes’ instructions to the letter and did not wander into secure areas. Everything went exactly as planned, no problems of any kind.

Unfortunate.

When I arrived at Hobbes office, his door was open. Even though there were no outsiders present in the house, him leaving his door open was another sign of his increasingly lax attitude.

“Raymond, what is this? Anyone could simply walk in here. They could see anything.”

“There is nothing to see and no one to see it, Enrique. Did your people find any problems?”

It suddenly occurred to me that I should have faked finding a bug of some kind, it would have strengthened my hand. Too late now. I sit down opposite him.

“No, nothing … yet.”

“They won’t find any. These were just normal, average parents and their daughters.”

“As far as we know.”

“Relax, Enrique. It was an enjoyable evening and I was the perfect host.” He returned to reading a report on his desk but quickly put it down. “Years, Enrique.”

“Years?”

“Yes, years. It has been years since I hosted a simple party where the only reason to do so was to enjoy the company of other people. For years, everything we did was for the business. Getting the right people here, demonstrating why it was in their best interest to cooperate with us, negotiating a price for that cooperation … always business.”

“And look what you have because of that business, Raymond.”

“Yes, but look what it has cost me as well. Not just money, but freedom.”

“Money can buy freedom.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps some kinds of freedom, but not the kind that truly matters, not the kind that last nights guests have, that Patty Conner has.”

That GIRL again! I knew that she was at the bottom of this new, disturbing attitude. She has worn my patience away to nearly nothing!

“No one can have everything, Raymond. We all make trade offs. You can not have money and power and be a shephard on the hillside.”

“Yes, but once you have the money and the power, you can retire to a ranch and be a shephard, if that is what you want to do.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not! It was you who started talking about shephards. I hate sheep! I’ve just been thinking about options and choices, that’s all.”

“And what have you decided?”

“Nothing … yet.”

“Well, please let me know when you do. For now, I have work to finish.”

“Before you go, I have decided to let Gretchen attend a New Years Eve party with Patty Conner. It’s at a local YWCA.”

“I see. That should require at least … six to eight guards, I would think.”

“No guards, Enrique.”

“Are you certain? There could be over a hundred people there. Anything might happen.”

“I trust my daughter and I trust Conner. I will not condemn Gretchen to the same life I have led.”

I stand up. “As you wish, Raymond. It is against my advice but she is not my child. I sincerely hope you do not regret this choice.”

I close the door as I leave Hobbes’ office. He may not worry about security but one of us needs to. Hurrying through the main room, I see Escaban coming out of the kitchen, some kind of pastry in his hand.

“Escaban!” I shout.

His head jerks my way. I signal with my hand for him to come over to me. He rapidly walks towards me, dropping whatever he had in his hand into a trash can as he passes it.

“What do you need, Mr. Cardoza?”

“Are your friends ready?”

“My friends? Ooohh, you mean … yeah, my friends. I think so, haven’t heard from them lately.”

“Well, find out, immediately. The time has come. They have a party to attend. A bright and better new year for all of us.”

Well … most of us.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Do you think it’s still there, Patty?”

“Probably. Either that or one like it.”

“I don’t want one like it, I want that one.”

“It’ll be there. You got money this time?”

Gretchen quickly reaches into her purse and whips out a plastic card. “Better, a gift card … a thousand dollar gift card!”

Patricia grabs her hand, covering the gift card. “Put that away!” she hisses. “Don’t know who might be listening.”

The girls are several steps ahead of me. Too embarrassed to be seen with an oldie I guess. We’re all headed back to “Sofia’s” to see if they still have that red dress Gretchen fell in love with in stock. I hope to God they do because it’s been all she could talk about since Patricia and I picked her up this Saturday morning.

We got an early start but the crowds are already out and about. Gretchen notices.

“This is more crowded than the last time we were here” she says, a touch of concern in her voice.

“It’s the after Christmas sales” answered Patricia. “All kinds of stuff goes on sale, particularly holiday clothes. We could get a deal.”

“I don’t care about a deal. I’ve got a thous …” she stops and rapidly looks around as we walk, “enough money.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to spend it all in one place on one thing. Do you have to give the card back to your dad?”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Then anything you can save is money to the good. You never know when a little cash of your own will come in handy.”

“Do you have a cash stash?”

Patricia looks back at me and smiles. “I plead the fifth” she says.

“The fifth?” asks Gretchen.

“The Fifth Amendment?” Patricia responds.

Gretchen doesn’t react.

“The Bill of Rights?”

Still nothing.

“Come on Gretch! Government class!”

“Sorry.”

Just then, we turn the corner and “Sofia’s” comes into view. There are a lot of people already there.

A lot of people.

“NUTS!” grunts Patricia. “Lets go Gretch!”

The girls take off at a dead sprint, leaving me in their dust. Patricia dives into the crowd, leaving Gretchen on the fringe. By the time I reach her, she’s hopping up and down on her toes, trying to get a glimpse of Patricia. I grab her arm and pull her after me as I bob and weave through the other customers, heading for where we last saw the dress.

The elevated mannequin is dressed in a different outfit.

“Its … Gone!” Gretchen wails.

“Not necessarily,” I reassure her. “Displays change all the time. We need to check the racks.”

“MOM! OVER HERE!” Patricia shouts. We turn to try and find where Patricia called from. Neither of us sees anything at first but Gretchen finally spots her hand waving above a group of girls.

“Over there, Ms. Conner!”

I take her hand again. “Back into the Valley of Death.”

“What?”

“Stay close.”

Gretchen yelps as I pull her behind me when I plunge back into the horde of shoppers, forcing my way to where Patricia signaled from. We have to weave back and forth a couple of times before I find an opening and manage to work our way to Patricia.

“Found it!” she triumphantly shouts. She pulls it off the rack and hands it to Gretchen, who holds it up against her body, eyes bright, smiling broadly. It was then I noticed it.

The hem was torn, badly. When Gretchen turned towards Patricia, she saw it too.

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.”

“Fix what? Ohhhhh mmmmyyy Gaaawwddd! Is there another one!” Gretchen’s starting to panic.

Patricia grimaces. “Sorry, not in your size. It looks worse than it is. We’ll get you some shoes and head back home. I’ll take care of it.”

“Really? You sure? Is there enough time?”

“Absolutely! When I’m done, it’ll fit you like a custom made glove. Plus, we should get a heck of a deal! Fifty percent off my butt, how about ninety percent?!”

“Awesome! Patty … I don’t know what I’d do without you …I’m sooo lucky you’re my girlfriend.”

Gretchen hugs her, the dress crushed between them. The hug lasts longer than I’m comfortable with.

“We better check out, girls. There’s a lot to get done today.”

I tap Gretchen on the shoulder. She doesn’t respond right away but a few seconds later, she releases Patricia and straightens up.

“You’re right, Ms. Conner. Thanks for all your help too. I’ll go find a clerk.”

As she slowly works her way toward the checkout area, I take a better look at the damaged dress.

“You certain about this, Patricia?”

She twists the dress around until the torn area is in her hands. She sighs. “It could be worse. I’ll think of something.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It’s my old neighborhood but I still hate coming back. I’d thought this was all left behind when I was hired by Hobbes. Moving up the food chain. Stopping back here’s a reminder that, even if you move up the food chain, you can still be eaten by someone below you.

Driving slowly down the street, I can see the younger kids checking out my car, a 2012 Mustang. I recognize the looks in their eyes. It isn’t envy, it’s opportunity. They’re thinking “if this fool will just stop, that ride’s MINE!”

I thought the same thing when I was their age, did it a couple of times too. The first guy I killed was an idiot who fought back. What was he thinking? I had a shotgun and he had nothin’. Moron.

Neighborhood’s even more run down than I remember it. Boarded up windows and doors, broken down cars, drunks passed out on bus benches. Where’s the pride? Guess I’ve spent too much time away.

I finally see the address I’m looking for, a big three story Victorian. Both houses on either side have burned down. Purely accidental, I’m sure. There’s several big guys, milling around on the sidewalk out front. All the parking spaces on the street are open. No local is dumb enough to park there. If you look carefully, there’s a guy in each upper story window, likely an AK 47 sitting right next to him.

As I pull to a stop right in front, four of the street guards move towards me, hands on hips or the small of their backs, reaching for heat. I stay in my seat until one of them taps my side window. I power it down.

“Watchu doin’ here, Man? You lost or sumpin’?”

I keep both hands on the steering wheel. “Here on business, came to see Raphael.”

“You don’t just SEE Raphael, chump!”

“Just tell him that Tony Escaban is here.”

“Who the hell is Tonee Escaban?”

I cock my head to the side, looking up at my interrogator with one arched eye. “Just tell him, Einstein.” I power the window up as he scowls at me.

Street muscle. The dumbest level of a gang.

He fiddles with a small radio on his hip then brings it to his mouth and says something. In a few seconds, the look of anger on his face softens but doesn’t totally disappear. He signals with his hand for me to come out. I swing the door open and step onto the sidewalk, slamming the door shut behind me. I push the button on the fob and the security system gives a useless beep, causing several of the street muscle to laugh. We all know they could strip this car to it’s wheel liners in fifteen minutes. Now’s the time to let them know they won’t.

“When I’m done with Raphael, if there’s a single scratch on my ride, I will track down every one of you, burn down your momma’s house and rape your sister before killing you. You got me?”

“And he’d do it too” said a voice from the porch. We all look that way to see a grinning Raphael, leaning on a porch column. “Why you scaring my men, Tony?”

“I’m not scaring anybody … just givin’ some friendly advice, that’s all.” I walk up the steps and we shake hands, Raphael clapping me on the back as he guides me inside. Things are a lot neater and cleaner inside, but they’d almost have to be.

“Why you come snooping round my door, Tony Escaban? My numbers not right?”

“Numbers are fine, as far as I know, not my department anyway. I’m here about our … special job.”

“Oh yeah! That. Come into my office and get comfortable.”

He continues to lead me, arm over my shoulder. I let my right arm drift back to were my gun is stashed in my belt, just to be safe. When we reach his office door, he pushes it open.

There’s a half naked girl in there, snorting coke off the desk top. She stops, looking up at us, her nose still near the next line.

“I tried to wait for you, Babe, but you were gone so long.”

“Try thirty seconds, you whore.” She stands up. “Get the fuck out of here, I got business with someone.” The girl looks longingly down at the remaining lines of coke. “You heard me, BITCH! MOVE!”

She gathers a couple of pieces of discarded clothing and scampers for the door. Raphael gives her a resounding slap on the ass before shutting the door behind her with a thud. He smiles at me, pointing toward the chair opposite his. I start to sit down as he speaks.

“Whores … what can you do with ‘em?”

“Plenty … but not usually during the day.”

“You got a rule against morning fucking?”

“No, not as long as business gets taken care of first.”

“What you expect, showing up here all unannounced and everything. You’re lucky she was just sucking me off.”

“Whatever, man. I got a job to offer and you said you had three of the best to take it. I need to meet them, cause the job is on. Now.”

“Today?”

“Next couple of days. I need to talk with them, make sure they know what’s at stake.”

He picks up a radio off his desk. “Okay.” He clicks it on. “Send Julio, Billy B and Teak in here.” He returns the radio to his desk. While we wait, I look around the room.

“When was the last time you had this place swept for bugs.”

“BUGS! What kind of place do you think I run! Just cause the neighborhood is going to hell doesn’t mean I live in a flea infested whole in the sand!”

“Electronic BUGS, idiot. How long?”

“Uhhhh probably … never. What’s the big deal?”

“Mr. Hobbes just wants to cover all the bases. That’s one of them.”

“Nice to know how the successful live.”

“And that’s why he’s successful … he sweats the details.”

Or at least pays someone like Cardoza to sweat them for him. There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Raphael shouts.

The door opens and three typical bangers stroll in, full of ego and swagger, striking tough guy poses. Not a good start.

“I hope these three are smarter than the geniuses outside.”

“Don’t worry, they’re just for show and stopping bullets. Billy B. here can …”

“No names! Let’s keep the information to the minimum.”

“Fine, whatever man. Anyway, these guys are good. What exactly is this job?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“The fuck I don’t! These are my boys. MY boys. I don’t give a damn who you work for, my boys only work when I know what’s happening. I protect my people!”

It’s all a show. Raphael would toss his brother off a bridge if there was something in it for him, and it wouldn’t have to be much. These three are cannon fodder, just like the street apes out front, but I’ll play along.

“Listen Raphael … this isn’t going to be a quiet job, it’s gonna make a big bang, big enough to bring down lots of heat, maybe hot enough to burn this place down. That’s the way we want it. If you don’t know shit about the job, the cops can’t touch you. We ain’t gonna sacrifice your boys. We need them to get away clean, that’s why I need guys with brains, not your average bangers.”

The three goons in front of me smile and nod. We’re bad. We’re smart.

Whatever.

Raphael scratches his chin. “You sure you’re gonna treat them right? Cause if you don’t, nothin’s gonna stop us from …”

“They’ll be as safe as they are good. We’ll give them what they need. It’s up to them to do the job right.”

Raphael stands up and slaps the biggest of the goons on the shoulder. “Then these are the men for you, none better in Dade County.”

“Good. Give me a few minutes alone with them.”

“You got it.”

Raphael leaves, slapping hands as he goes, shutting the door behind him. I just sit there, watching them for a few seconds, waiting for them to settle down. They’re still smiling, but at least they’re paying attention to me.

“I won’t pretend I didn’t hear your names, but I don’t want to know who’s who, got it?”

“Yeah, man” answered the smallest of the three. “We understand.”

He looks like a teenager, which is a good thing. His eyes are brighter and appears to be more alert than the other two. I reach into my pocket, pull out a smart phone and hand it to him.

“This is a burner phone. It gets trashed as soon as this job is done. Until then, this is how we communicate. I assume that Raphael told you who was hiring you?”

“Yeah, the big man, Raymond Hobbes.”

“Yes and no. Mr. Hobbes is aware of the general outlines, but the person making the decisions is Enrique Cardoza.”

“Why you telling us this, man?” asked the largest goon. “I thought this was all hush hush.”

“You’ll understand. The target is the first picture on the phone.”

The first goon turns the phone on, starts the picture app and brings up Conner’s photo.

“It’s a girl! You want us to take out a GIRL?!” He shows the picture to the other goons.

“You crazy, man! Don’t take no three of us to kill one girl” said goon two. He looks back at the picture. “That’s one fine looking bitch, though. Look at those tits! My oh my!”

“Then it should be easy for you, three strong, smart men such as yourselves against one little girl. Simple job.”

“Ya got that right” said goon two.

The last guy, goon three, hadn’t said anything yet but was looking intently at the picture. Now he spoke up, in a deep, slow voice.

“I think I’ve seen her before … I’m sure I have … like on the internet or somethin’”

Goon one turns to me. “Is she famous or somethin’? Are we gonna have to deal wit bodyguards? Is that why this is supposed to bring down all that heat you was talkin’ bout?”

I raise my hands. “Calm down, there’s no bodyguards or anything like that. She plays basketball and there was some stuff from one of her …”

Goon three lights up, excitedly pointing at the screen of the phone. “Yeah! Yeah! That was it! She’s that girl, ya know, that girl what hit that shot over her head, wit out looking, after dissin’ the other team!”

“Nooo” cried goon two. “Not her! She’s bad ass, man! Why someone want to hurt such a fine bad ass girl like that?”

Goon one starts to take control. “Chill guys. I’m sure Mr. Hobbes has his reasons. Ain’t none of our business. We’re just doing a job, nuttin’ personal, just business. Ain’t I right, Mr. …”

“Black. Call me Mr. Black. Yeah, you’re right, none of your business. If any of you don’t think you can do it, now’s the time to say something. No second thoughts after today.”

They all look back and forth between each other but no one says anything. Eventually, goon one takes the lead.

“We’re in … right bro’s?” The other two nod. “So, what’s next?”

“Mr. Cardoza wants this done with knives, the bloodier, the better. Hands, fingers, other parts cut off are okay. No guns, that’s one of the reasons for three people. The more people, the easier to control the situation.”

“But the more people, the better the chance someone will talk, right?” asks goon one. Smart kid.

“Right, three’s the compromise number. Big enough but not too big. The girl will be at the Fifth Street Y’s New Years Eve party. You should get your chance there.”

“I’ve been there before” said goon one. “Lot of people go to that. Their security’s just a bunch of teachers and parents but the cops ain’t far away. We aint gonna have a lot of time.”

“Just grab her and go. A little extra damage is acceptable, two, three other people, don’t go nuts or anything but one girl is completely off limits. She’s picture two.”

Goon three still has the phone, so he brings up the next picture and they all gather round.

“Daaamnn!”

“My oh my oh my!”

“Stick a fork in that!”

I let them go on a few seconds, then drop the bomb.

“That’s Gretchen Hobbes. HOBBES! Get it?”

They all shut up instantly. They got it.

“That girl gets hurt and … I can’t even imagine how terrible it will be for you … and your families … and their families … and so on.”

It’s clear from the looks on their faces that they all understand. Might as well make sure they get the entire picture.

“Just so you know, this is pass/fail. Get it done right, no matter how, you’re golden. Get it wrong, no matter why, you’re fucked. Tryin’ hard don’t cut it. You get the job done or … there was this gang who was selling drugs for Mr. Hobbes, I ain’t sayin’ where, but they were sent to burn another gang’s stash house. Nothin’ too complex, just a drive by with four cars and a lot of AK’s. They did the job, shot up the place real good and got back to the crib without a problem. ‘Cept, next morning in the paper, they discovered they got the address wrong; right number, right street name, wrong direction, went North instead of South. Stupid but understandable. Killed a man and his daughter. The media raised holy hell. Mr. Hobbes took care of it though. Bought off whoever needed to be bought off, intimidated those he couldn’t buy, posted bond and got them out of jail and out of the country. You know where those guys are today?”

“Where?” asked goon three.

“Dead. Bodies scattered across the Atlantic Ocean, probably. Personally, I don’t think Mr. Hobbes shot each and everyone of the gang himself, not his style. Now, if Mr. Cardoza did it, shooting would have been the nicest thing done to them.”

I look all three of the goons squarely in the face. There’s no doubt in my mind that they believe me.

“The purpose of my little story is to show that we don’t like lose ends. You don’t want to be a lose end. If the opportunity doesn’t present itself at this dance, fine, we’ll try again some other place, some other time. However, if you decide to go for it … you better get it right.”

Goon one takes the phone back, switching to Conner’s picture, which he stares at for a few seconds.

“We limited to cutting her up?”

“What else you got in mind?”

“A girl like that, seems a waste.”

“A waste?”

“Seems like we should be able to have a little fun before we put her down.”

The little fucking pervert. “Knock yourself out, but remember that bedtime story I just told. You leave evidence behind that gets you caught, it’ll be the most expensive fun you ever had.”

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

When we got back to Patty’s house, she didn’t want me upstairs with her at first, said she needed to concentrate. Guess that means I’m distracting.

Nice!

Her mom offered to help me with my hair and makeup, trying out different looks for the dance. Patty said she taught her everything she knew and Patty’s really good.

Ms. Conner had this portable makeup mirror which she set up on the kitchen table. Before she took my new dress upstairs, Patty told her mom to think less than more.

“What does she mean by that, Ms. Conner?”

“She’s reminding me that the best work enhances the natural assts and minimizes the defects. In your case, there aren’t any defects and the assets don’t need much help. Go too far and things look worse, not better.”

“Really? Patty thinks that about me?”

“Gretchen, of course she does, because it’s true. You are an extraordinarily lovely girl.” She gets a little misty eyed. “You so remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Who’s that?”

She quickly rubs here eyes with the back of her hand. “Another young girl I used to know. Have a seat and let’s see what we can do to make all the other girls hate you.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We tried several different looks. I liked them all but Ms. Conner wasn’t satisfied. Finally, she did one that was really nice. The make up never changed much, just slightly different lipstick colors and eye shadows. What was surprising was the mascara. My eyelashes have never seemed so full and long. The rest of the makeup didn’t seem to change my face that much. I kept asking her if it was enough but she said subtlety was the watchword.

She spent most of the time on my hair. The last style was high on the sides, held in place with a pair of silver plastic combs. The rest of my hair curled down my back. I’ve never looked so good before in my life. I slowly turn my head back and forth in front of the portable mirror, looking at the different reflections.

“Do you do this for Patty?”

She chuckles. “I used to, now she does it pretty much on her own, though she does occasionally ask my opinion.”

“I never got to do anything like this with my mother … sometimes …”

“Sometimes what, Gretchen?”

“Sometimes … I miss her so bad … it actually hurts, I mean physically hurts, right in the pit of my stomach … and my chest. Is that normal?”

“Yes, honey” she sighs, “very normal. There are days when I think I just can’t go on.”

“OH MY GOD! I completely forgot about your husband! … Patty’s dad! I’m so sorry! You guys are sooo normal. I’m so mega stupid! Please …” She reaches out, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Shhhhh, calm down, sweetie. It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Patricia and I … we’ve adapted, so have you, but you never completely get over it, it’d be unnatural if you did. There’s a little sadness in your life all the time.”

“Sometimes more than a little.”

“Very true, it comes and goes … but it helps to talk about it. Do you have anyone you talk to?”

“About this? No.”

“Not even your … father?”

“He’s not the kind of person you can talk to, not about this kind of thing. I used to talk to some of the nannies. There were a couple who helped a lot … but it’s been a long time.”

“You can talk to me, when ever you need to, Gretchen.”

“Really?”

“Yep, anytime you want.”

“Can you, like, … help me with my makeup and hair, you know, in the future?”

She smiles. “I’d like that a lot, Gretchen.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I had to show Patty what I looked like before cleaning off my makeup. When I got upstairs, the door was partially open and I could hear the sewing machine running. I gently push it open.

Patty’s hunched over the machine, intently watching as the fabric feeds through it, quickly moving her hands and fingers. She stops, quietly groaning as she drops her head, slowly twisting her head and neck, back and forth, her eyes closed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing” she answers, her eyes still closed. “I’ve just been sitting here too long. I need a better chair.”

“Can I help?”

“No, I’m almost done.”

I walk up behind her, place my hands on her shoulders and squeeze.

“AAAHHhhhhh, yyeeesssss.”

I keep squeezing and massaging her shoulders, moving back and forth from her arms to her neck while Patty softly moans, and sighs. After a minute or so, she tips her head back, opens her eyes and looks up at me.

“Where did you learn to … WHOA! Stop the presses! Look at YOU!”

I step back as Patty spins her chair around and stands up, groaning.

“Darn chair. You look great! Mom really out did herself this time, though, she had good material to work with.”

“You’re mom told me what you said about me.”

“Heck, it’s no secret, I’ve been telling you that all along, though, honestly, it still surprises me how good you look. I’ve got the repairs made. It’s not exactly the way it was.”

“It’s not?”

“I’m sorry, the fabric was completely frayed, no way to mend it. I had nothing in stock that matched the dress, but I did have something that exactly matches the shoes, so I replaced a panel. The cut’s exactly the same. Once you try it on, I can adjust the bust and we’re done. Here,” she reaches down next to her chair, pulling the shoes from under a small mound of scraps, “Put these on and slip the dress on over your head. The bra won’t be the right one but it’ll be close enough for now.”

“Do I even need a bra?”

“Aren’t you the daring one? No, you don’t, not if you’re sure.”

“Will I look okay?”

“You’ll look fantastic, maybe too good, might have to bring Henry and Lou in to protect you.”

“You’ll be there, you can protect me.”

“Fox guarding the hen house.”

I unbutton my shirt and pull it off over my head.

“What?”

“Never mind. Put your clothes on the chair next to the bed.”

I toss my shirt on the chair, unbutton my jeans, slid them down and step out of them. After the jeans join the shirt on the chair, I step into the heels, having left my regular shoes down stairs. The heels are only three inches, but it’s still a bit of a head rush when I stand up. As Patty begins to gather the dress, I remove my bra, laying it on the mound of clothes on the chair.

“All right, Gretch, bend over and put your hands out over your head.”

I do as Patty says and she smoothly drops the dress over my head, my arms slipping past the narrow straps as I straighten up. My head pops into the open as the dress settles around me, feeling just as I remember it did.

“Turn around and let me zip the back.”

As Patty zips me up, the dress gets tighter and tighter across my chest, pinching my breasts.

“It’s too tight, isn’t it?” Patty asks.

“Yeah, a little.”

“I knew it, from the very first, I knew it. Put on a pair of heels and bingo. Don’t worry, I can fix it, there’s plenty of material to work with. Just stay right there … let me get my stool and stand up behind you … where the heck is my chalk … there it is! Now, relax, stand up straight. Don’t be tense, shake out your arms and shoulders.” I give my upper body a brief shake, letting my arms swing free. “That’s it! Good. Don’t suck in your gut, not unless you plan on not breathing at the dance. Good. Okay, hold still while I mark.”

I can feel pressure on my left side under my arm and then the same on the right. Patty forces her hand down my back a couple of inches and there’s more pressure down both sides.

“Turn around and face me, Gretch.”

I carefully spin in place, keeping my arms up slightly so as not to smear her chalk marks. Standing on the stool, we’re practically eye to eye. She pulls the fabric this way and that, all the time keeping her eyes on my breasts. Finally, she sticks a couple of fingers between them.

“That IS tight. I’ve got my marks, you can take it off.”

“Can I see it in the mirror first?”

“Sure, I forgot you hadn’t seen the whole thing yet.”

Patty steps down off the stool and I turn toward a group of three mirrors in the corner of the room. As I walk closer, my images start to appear. The front hem looks just the same as before, higher than the back, where the damage was. Patty’s put in a cream colored insert where the hem was torn. There are large, stylized red roses in the fabric, not quite the same color as my dress but the identical color of my shoes. The band comes around my right side in an ever narrowing ribbon until it stops, merging with a shoulder strap. Patty’s image appears from behind, standing next to me in all three mirrors.

“Do you like it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Yeah, but do you LIKE it?”

“I … I … do. I really do. It takes a few seconds to get used to but I like it. It’s different but very nice.”

“You can be sure there won’t be another one like it at the dance.”

“That’s true, a designer original.”

“Sort off. Take it off and I’ll make the last alterations.”

“How long will they take?”

“No more than fifteen minutes, I hope.”

“Good, we can show your mother.” I turn my back to her. “A little help?”

“What would you do without me?” She reaches up and unzips me. I can breath again. I wriggle out of the dress and Patty goes back to work. I walk up behind her as she sits in the chair.

“You can get dressed … if you want.”

“If it’s only fifteen minutes, I’ll wait.”

She turns her head, looking straight into my breasts. She has to pull her head back to avoid rubbing her face in them.

“You sure about that?”

I push my chest forward a bit. “You bet.”

She turns back to the machine. “Suit yourself” she mumbles.

She starts working on a seam, cutting threads. I put my hands back on her shoulders and begin massaging again. Patty stops.

“What are you doing?”

“Your shoulders and neck still hurt, don’t they?”

“And back. Why are you doing that?”

“I want to help. I can’t sew like you can. I can’t do makeup and hair like you and your mom can. You won’t take my money. I feel like I should do something and I can do this. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Oh yeah, but you don’t have to do it.”

“Are you telling me to stop?”

“No … no, I’m not.”

“Good.”

She goes back to work and I keep gently massaging her shoulders. She finishes one seam and begins cutting the other. I lean down next to her right ear.

“You know” I whisper, “this is the first time we’ve been alone since …”

“Since when?”

“You know, since you and I …”

“What?”

I lean in closer. “Since we … fucked.”

“Heeeyyy! We’ve been alone a lot since then.”

“At my house. We can’t do anything there.”

“Well, we can’t do anything here either. I gotta finish this dress.”

“Which will take you about ten minutes. After that, we’ve got nothin’ to do.”

“How about dinner? We have to help make dinner.”

I squeeze harder on her shoulders. “That’s three hours from now. We can have a lot of fun in three hours.”

“We’ll see, let me finish this.”

“Sure thing … baby.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Patty had to adjust it twice. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was wasting time. The dress did look and fit better each time she made changes, so I guess it was all for my benefit. Can’t bitch about that, can I?

After the last fitting, we went down stairs to show Ms. Conner. She absolutely loved it! She hugged me several times, said I was the most beautiful girl she ever saw. I looked over at Patty but it didn’t look like she was upset or anything, what with her mother basically saying I was better looking than she was. Which isn’t true, we both know that. Ms. Conner was just being nice. She’s always nice to me.

“You want me to get your camera, Mom? You said you wanted pictures.”

“I’ll take them at the dance, honey. Better ambiance.”

“Better what?” I ask.

“Nicer background” answered Patty. “Nicer atmosphere. It’ll look like a party.”

“I get it. Plus, you’ll be in your dress too. Hey, I haven’t seen yours yet.”

Patty winks at me. “It’ll be a surprise. Let’s get you out of that dress.”

I grab her hand. “Just what I was thinking.” I head for the stairs, pulling her behind me.

“Wait … I just wanted to double check everything” she says as I lead her upstairs. She’s not fighting me and we both know that if she didn’t want to go upstairs, there’s nothing I could do to make her.

I let go of her hand when we reach her bedroom. Turning my back to her, I pull my hair aside, clearing the zipper on the back of my dress.

“Care to do the honors?”

“Look, Gretch … this may not be a good idea.”

I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “I thought you wanted to double check everything.”

“I do, I do.”

“Well, go ahead then.”

She doesn’t move right away, just looks up at me, rubbing her fingers together. After a few seconds, she steps up behind me, reaches up and slowly unzips me. I carefully slide the straps off my shoulders, pull the dress down, freeing my breasts. I turn to face Patty as I cautiously work the dress down my body, twisting and wriggling until it reaches the floor. I cautiously step clear, bend over, pick the dress up and hold it out to Patty.

She just stands there, her head slightly cocked to the side. “I thought you wanted to …”

“To what?” I ask, innocently.

“To …” She takes the dress from my hands. “Nothing, never mind. I’ll take this back to the sewing room and bring your clothes.”

“Take your time” I say as she walks out of the room, cradling the dress in her arms. I scamper to her dresser, dig out the sex toys and find the harness and the double ended vibrator. I rapidly drop my panties, quickly step into the harness, pulling it up and tightening the straps. After twisting and locking the vibrator in place, I squirt some lube on my end and slide it into my pussy, savoring the feeling as it fills me up.

God. I missed this.

I hurry over to Patty’s bed, climb up and strike a pose; laying on my side, head resting on my left hand, elbow on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, still wearing the heels, my right hand grasping the base of the vibrator, gently jiggling it, making the head bounce around. I can hear Patty’s footsteps as she approaches the room.

“I think it’s good to go, Gretcheeennnn … whoooaaa.”

I smile at her. “Guess I did have something else in mind.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

This is nuts! What is she doing?! Well … I know what she’s doing. Anyone looking at Gretchen would know what she’s doing. But why now?

And why can’t I take my eyes of her and that bouncing plastic dick.

“Gretchen” I sigh, “this isn’t a good idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea! You know you want it, I can see it in your eyes. And I want to give it to you.”

She pops up onto her knees, legs spread, hands on hips, that darn fake dick swaying left and right.

“Come on, Patty. You said you liked it last time.”

More like screamed I loved it. Repeatedly. For a beginner, Gretchen has some nice moves.

“Okay, yeah, I liked it, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“Why not?”

“Because … the more we do it … the more you’re gonna’ think you’re a lesbian.”

“Two girls having sex together. I’d say we were both lesbians.”

“You’re not. Have you ever felt this way about any other girls. Even been remotely attracted to girls before you met me?”

“No, but it only takes one.”

“You’re wrong. It takes a lot more than one.”

“Maybe you just opened my eyes to a whole new world. Did you ever think about that?”

“What other girls turn you on?”

“I can’t tell you that! You’re my girlfriend. It’d be like … cheating or something. Besides, I don’t know that many other girls.”

“Oh no, there are lots of famous, beautiful women. Actresses, models, sports stars. Go on, tell me who else gets you hot besides me. I promise, I won’t be jealous.”

Gretchen just stays on the bed, slightly bouncing in place, the vibrator bobbing in all different directions. Distracting as heck. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Weeeellll … there’s that one model, the Sport’s Illustrated swimsuit girl … you know the one I mean.”

“Maybe. But the question is, do you know the one you mean? If you were so interested, you’d at least know her name.”

Gretchen steps off the bed. “Fine. There aren’t any others. Happy?”

Yeah, I am. “It’s not about me being happy. I just want you to realize what’s going on here.”

“Why are you fighting me about this, Patty? I don’t love anybody else, boy or girl. I love YOU! You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known before in my whole life! Don’t you love me?”

AWWWW CRAP! The “L” word! Now what? Better get this right the first time.

“Gretchen … I’m not your average person …”

“No kidding!”

“Well neither are you. For whatever reason, we found each other. And I’m glad we did. Really glad! But we’re just … kids. Neither of us knows what the future will bring. Yes, I’m happy to be with you, right now, and for the immediate future. But I don’t want you to just concentrate on me. I don’t think your gay. You need to at least try seeing guys … then you’ll know for sure.”

“You may not have noticed, but guys aren’t exactly lining up to date me.”

“Tomorrow, at the dance, they will. Trust me. I want you to promise me that you’ll … try some of them out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing serious. Talk with them, dance with them, be friendly, but no hanky panky. Your dad would kill me.”

“He might try, but my money’s on you. So, will you be dancing and talking with guys too?”

She’s smart … and quick. “Yeah, I might. I already know some of the guys who’ll be there. We’ve danced before, no biggie.”

“Any one in particular?”

“N-n-no one in particular, not at all. It’s just guys.”

She stares at me, like she doesn’t believe me. Smart girl.

“You haven’t answered my question yet. Do you love me?”

Why do women always fixate on the answer to that question?

“Yes … I love you, but that doesn’t mean we end up together. We might, we could, but it’s too early to know for sure. There’s a lot of complications here. Your dad, my mom, society.”

“Your mom’s cool with us.”

“Just because she’s not up here screaming doesn’t mean she’s cool about everything. She’s okay for now. I was thinking more like your dad and my mom don’t get along.”

“If we love each other, that doesn’t matter. Not what they think, not what society thinks.”

God! She is so darn young! Young and in love. I remember what that was like. Nothing else mattered, just the two of you. The rest of the world, the rest of our worries just faded away. It was bliss!

It also lasts about six months and then reality comes barging through the door, sits down, lights up a cigar and makes himself at home. End of fairy tale.

But right now … I can sense those old feelings beginning to stir. She is beautiful. So innocent, so honest, so intelligent, so sexy. She’s more than I deserve. More importantly, I’m not what she needs in her life, not now, not ever. She’s not ready to hear that, not now anyway … but maybe.

I slowly walk the few feet separating us, reach out and take the vibrator in my hand, gently sliding my hand up and down its length but also gripping hard enough to make it plunge in and out of Gretchen’s vagina. She just smiles and sighs.

“Tell you what” I quietly say. “You and I, we’ll have some fun, right now, if you promise to try and meet some nice guys at the dance tomorrow.” I lick her swollen nipple, then tenderly nip it with my teeth. “What do you say?”

“What if the guys aren’t nice?” she asks through clenched teeth.

I lick and nip her other nipple. “They’ll be nice, I promise.”

Her breathing is a little ragged. “So, you want to bribe me with sex to cheat on you … is that it?”

I twist the switch, turning on the vibrator at its lowest setting, still rhythmically probing Gretchen’s pussy. She softly moans and writhes slightly.

“Not cheat … baby, just keep an open mind. Is that asking too much?”

Her eyes are starting to lose focus. I’ve got her where I need her. “Is it too much?” I repeat.

“No … no … it’s not too much.”

“You promise then?”

“Sure, yeah, I promise.”

“Good. Why don’t you help me undress and then I can show you some new tricks.”

The spell broken, Gretchen roughly grabs at my clothes, trying to get them off me almost as fast as I’m trying to strip out of them. In seconds, we’re both naked, except for her heels. She looks damn sexy in them but she towers over me, like the usual foot and a half isn’t bad enough. Well, there’s an answer to that problem.

I push her back onto the bed, quickly climbing on top before she can react, Straddling her waist, the vibrator brushing against my tummy, I lean forward, placing a hand on either of her shoulders, holding her down. As I raise my hips to bring the tip of the vibrator in line with my pussy, I smile down at her.

“First new trick.”

I settle down on the vibrator, letting the tip enter just a few delicious inches before clamping down hard with my vaginal muscles, transferring as much motion as possible to the end nestled in Gretchen’s pussy, causing her to quietly grunt.

“Ohhh yeeaahh.”

I pull back up and repeat several times, getting the same response each cycle. Finally, I loosen my grip and let it slide almost all the way into my pussy before I clamp back down and drive it hard the last few inches.

“OOww GAWD!” she yelps as I quickly piston my hips, several sharp, short strokes of the vibrator. My grip is starting to slip so I let it slide all the way in until our crotches are firmly pressed against each other at which point I begin to rock back and forth, rubbing her vaginal lips with mine, first slowly and then gradually increasing the pace.

Slipping my right hand between us, I find the controls on the vibrator and increase the frequency.

Awwwww GAWD! That’s the stuff! The change causes me to pause, arms buckling slightly, impaled on the vibrator. Gretchen’s eyes are closed, her head slowly rolling left and right.

“Ooohh … Patty … Oohh … God!” she whispers when she exhales.

Having regained control of my legs, I alternate between bouncing up and down and rubbing back and forth but I move my hands from her shoulders to her breasts. As soon as I make contact with her nipples, Gretchen’s eyes fly open and she loudly gasps, unable to breath for a few seconds.

“My … Yeah … Oh Yeah … Ohh Yeaahh … pleeassee”

I’m getting close myself, the pressure quickly building. I’ve got the big end in me, more vibrating plastic per square inch. I’ve got to get her off before I do, otherwise, I may lose her. She starts to reach up to grab my boobs but I push her hand down. Not now, not this time, it’d be too much. I slide my right hand between our wet pussies, searching for her clit. When Gretchen shrilly moans and arches her back, I know I’ve found it.

I just need to hold on … a few seconds … longer … gawd, please hurry Gretch!

Suddenly, thankfully, she begins to shake, tremors running through her legs as she gasps and laughs and begs for more. I manage to fight off my orgasm for a few endless seconds before the walls come crashing down, my vision goes all white, black and sparkly and I collapse onto Gretchen’s sweaty, twitching body.

As I become aware of my surroundings and my breathing slows towards normal, I can feel Gretchen gently stroking my hair, which feels wonderful. What doesn’t feel wonderful are my legs, which are all scrunched together, bent increasingly painfully at the knees and ankles, plus the vibrator is at a sharp, uncomfortable angle in my pussy.

Thank God for endorphins or people would never have sex.

“Ooowww Gretch, I gotta’ move my legs, hold on just a sec … ooohhh yeah, that’s better. You okay?”

“Okay? That was … I don’t know what that was … what was that?”

“It’s hard to explain. It’s a variation on something I used to do.”

“With WHO?”

“Ahhhh, that’s hard to explain too. It was awhile ago.”

“We’re the same age, seventeen. How long ago could it have been?”

“Before I ever got to Miami, okay? What’s important, did you like it?”

“Hell yes! How can I top something like that?”

“I don’t know but we’ve got about an hour for you to try. Surprise me.”

Oh, she did. She really did.