one who’s fixated on—”
“It should have been Jeremy and Alls.” She struggled to explain herself. “You know they are so happy with themselves right now, patting their backs for helping Jeremy. But then they look at Alls and see the town’s most obnoxious drunk, the Latina babysitter he conned into marrying him, and a kid who’s a mix of them. The one who refused to sell candy bars because he made more at his real job.”
Riley groaned.
“Why else would they pick Clay? Clay sucks.”
“Because he’s a little shit,” he said. “Because he never pisses anyone off, and Alls does.”
“And why is that?”
She wished she hadn’t said anything at all. If Riley was blind to Garland’s social stratification, it was not in her interest to enlighten him.
What she didn’t mention to Riley was that she had seen Alls get the call from Coach Backus. They had all been at the Grahams’ house, pawing through the basement for discarded housewares they could take to the house the boys were going to rent for college. Greg had found a cache of old babes-with-cars posters belonging to one of Riley’s brothers—Jim, they guessed, based on the vintage of both subjects—and they’d crowded around them, cackling, when Alls pulled his buzzing phone out of his jeans pocket. He looked at the number and ran up the stairs; there wasn’t enough reception in the basement.
Grace went upstairs a minute later to get a drink. She filled her glass at the kitchen sink, and from the window, she saw Alls in the backyard, phone to his ear, pacing. She knew she was seeing something private but she didn’t know what. He stopped and crossed one arm over the other under the walnut tree, his back to the house. Grace realized she was holding her breath. Even twenty feet away and from behind, she knew she’d never seen him so upset. When his arm dropped, it just hung there, limp, until he stuck his phone back in his pocket and stooped to pick up some rotting fallen walnuts from the ground. He began to whip them at the paint splotch on the fence, an old pitching target.
She wanted to go outside, to ask him what had happened or if he wanted to talk. But she couldn’t talk like that to Alls. They didn’t have that kind of friendship. He sometimes made her self-conscious and uncomfortable: When she was combing her hair with her fingers or laughing a not-awful laugh, he would give her this knowing look, a squint and a suppressed smile, as if he’d caught her at something. You don’t know shit , she’d want to say.
Grace watched him until she heard the thunder of footsteps coming up the basement stairs. Greg and Riley blew past her into the backyard, where they, too, began to pick up fallen walnuts and pelt them at the fence, as if they were all obeying some boy command from above.
• • •
“What about other schools?” she asked Alls several days later. They were sitting on the back porch steps at Riley’s family’s house a few days after Christmas. Grace sat a step below Riley, leaning between his legs. When she said this, he squeezed his knees a little, telling her to hush.
“There are no other schools,” Alls said.
“I mean UT, or State, Belmont—”
“I’m not good enough for UT,” he said. “But I’m good enough for Garland.”
“What about other sports? I mean, you’ve played pretty much everything.”
Riley put his face in his hands. Grace knew that getting another scholarship was not as simple as she was suggesting, but Alls was the most graceful person she knew, long and leanly muscled. He moved with the careless elegance of someone always at ease in his body. She had never seen Alls Hughes trip. His body could learn, she thought, anything he asked it to.
“I’m going in,” Riley said.
“You don’t have to go to college,” Grace said when the door had shut.
“I’m fucking going to college,” he said.
She’d touched a nerve. “What do you want to be?” she asked.
He snorted.
“It should have been Jeremy and Alls.” She struggled to explain herself. “You know they are so happy with themselves right now, patting their backs for helping Jeremy. But then they look at Alls and see the town’s most obnoxious drunk, the Latina babysitter he conned into marrying him, and a kid who’s a mix of them. The one who refused to sell candy bars because he made more at his real job.”
Riley groaned.
“Why else would they pick Clay? Clay sucks.”
“Because he’s a little shit,” he said. “Because he never pisses anyone off, and Alls does.”
“And why is that?”
She wished she hadn’t said anything at all. If Riley was blind to Garland’s social stratification, it was not in her interest to enlighten him.
What she didn’t mention to Riley was that she had seen Alls get the call from Coach Backus. They had all been at the Grahams’ house, pawing through the basement for discarded housewares they could take to the house the boys were going to rent for college. Greg had found a cache of old babes-with-cars posters belonging to one of Riley’s brothers—Jim, they guessed, based on the vintage of both subjects—and they’d crowded around them, cackling, when Alls pulled his buzzing phone out of his jeans pocket. He looked at the number and ran up the stairs; there wasn’t enough reception in the basement.
Grace went upstairs a minute later to get a drink. She filled her glass at the kitchen sink, and from the window, she saw Alls in the backyard, phone to his ear, pacing. She knew she was seeing something private but she didn’t know what. He stopped and crossed one arm over the other under the walnut tree, his back to the house. Grace realized she was holding her breath. Even twenty feet away and from behind, she knew she’d never seen him so upset. When his arm dropped, it just hung there, limp, until he stuck his phone back in his pocket and stooped to pick up some rotting fallen walnuts from the ground. He began to whip them at the paint splotch on the fence, an old pitching target.
She wanted to go outside, to ask him what had happened or if he wanted to talk. But she couldn’t talk like that to Alls. They didn’t have that kind of friendship. He sometimes made her self-conscious and uncomfortable: When she was combing her hair with her fingers or laughing a not-awful laugh, he would give her this knowing look, a squint and a suppressed smile, as if he’d caught her at something. You don’t know shit , she’d want to say.
Grace watched him until she heard the thunder of footsteps coming up the basement stairs. Greg and Riley blew past her into the backyard, where they, too, began to pick up fallen walnuts and pelt them at the fence, as if they were all obeying some boy command from above.
• • •
“What about other schools?” she asked Alls several days later. They were sitting on the back porch steps at Riley’s family’s house a few days after Christmas. Grace sat a step below Riley, leaning between his legs. When she said this, he squeezed his knees a little, telling her to hush.
“There are no other schools,” Alls said.
“I mean UT, or State, Belmont—”
“I’m not good enough for UT,” he said. “But I’m good enough for Garland.”
“What about other sports? I mean, you’ve played pretty much everything.”
Riley put his face in his hands. Grace knew that getting another scholarship was not as simple as she was suggesting, but Alls was the most graceful person she knew, long and leanly muscled. He moved with the careless elegance of someone always at ease in his body. She had never seen Alls Hughes trip. His body could learn, she thought, anything he asked it to.
“I’m going in,” Riley said.
“You don’t have to go to college,” Grace said when the door had shut.
“I’m fucking going to college,” he said.
She’d touched a nerve. “What do you want to be?” she asked.
He snorted.
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