Tradition Page 8

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  JAMES BAXTER

  As promised, we put tampons out on the desks and tables in classes for an entire week. I only had Brit lit with Jules and Aileen, but I did what she did: I put a tampon next to my pen and highlighter in every class. Word got around quickly, and the teachers all ignored it, which was a bummer for Jules. “It’s not having the effect I want,” she’d said. “It’s not normalizing anything if everyone just pretends they don’t see it or that the tampons don’t exist.”

  “Might as well hide them in our sleeves again,” Aileen had said.

  Tucker and some of the other guys had just assumed I was doing it because I was trying to get in good with Jules. “Dude,” they teased. “Duuuuude. She isn’t worth it.”

  Yeah, I did look forward to seeing Jules, but it wasn’t like that. I could still fake it with all the guys, or try to, but hanging out with Jules made me feel for the first time since Vinny that I could do something right, something good. She just had to tell me what it was. Like this new project. She wanted to put up posters all around school that said, THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE. She’d already mocked up one picturing the former NFL star Donald McPherson wearing a T-shirt with that slogan. “I tell you what,” she’d said, grinning. “You help me with this new normalization campaign, and I’ll help you with that paper you almost failed.”

  We’d taken over half a table at the library, my nine-page paper laid out in a square of columns and rows and all my note cards fanned out in a messy pile beside it. Jules kept staring at the note cards and blinking, as if they might magically disappear while her eyes were closed.

  “They help,” I said. “This is how I gather my quotes for an essay.”

  “It looks a little like you’re collecting recipes the old-fashioned way.”

  I deflated, sank my head into my hand. “You’re supposed to be helping, not making it worse.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “All right, Bax, I’m only teasing.” She pointed to the papers in front of me. “It’s just easier for me to edit in here.”

  And just like that, she’d named me, or renamed me, and I liked it. Bax. It almost felt like I was becoming someone new. I’d gotten a little more than I bargained for when I’d agreed to join Jules’s campaign for normalization. Since that day in class, I’d been hunkering down in some corner of the library with her, and sometimes Aileen, too, flipping through old books and magazine articles and searching online about civil rights marches, bra-burning rallies, Stonewall. It wasn’t the kind of thing I was used to, or thought I’d even like, but I could see why taking the spirit of those past campaigns and applying it to the design of the posters she wanted to create lit a fire behind her eyes.

  “Look,” she said, gathering up the sheets of paper. “Can I just read through this, make some notes, and we can talk about it later? I need some time to figure out what you are trying to say.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’d love to know what the heck I’m trying to say.”

  She laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, it is.” I pushed the note cards into a stack. “Need these, too?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to stick with the complete sentences, here,” she said, waving the essay at me. “Flipping through those might get me a little too far into your head. I don’t want to get lost in there.”

  “There’s not much to see in there, so it’d be hard to get lost.”

  “Come on,” she said. “Don’t be like that.” She pulled out her laptop and flipped it open. “Have you seen this before?”

  This was one of the things I’d already come to like about Jules. She moved at a relentless pace. Nothing seemed to slow her down. She was like one of those remote control cars that zip around a room, and if she hit a wall, she simply backed up, like nothing had happened, and screeched off in another direction. I felt alive, getting pulled along in the rush she left trailing behind her.

  “Images like this,” she said, pointing to a photo of James Baldwin arm in arm with Marlon Brando, “these are the kinds of things that get people excited.” In her faux-bro voice, she continued, “ ‘No way! The Godfather was a civil rights activist?’ It’s powerful. Brando might have appeal for people who wouldn’t usually think about inclusivity.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “It does, but it’s also sad. Why do men need to see other men talking about all this in order to feel like they can talk about it too? Why can’t they just listen to women in the first place?”

  I was about to say something, but then I thought better of it. I just nodded in agreement, and finally said, “You’re right.”

  “Yeah.” She paused for a moment. Then shook her head. “But still. Right now? I need help. I want to find some images like this that work for my This is what a feminist looks like campaign.”

  “That’d be cool.”

  She laughed. “See, this is the part where you say, ‘Hey, I’m on it.’ ”

  “Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s exactly what I was going to say, if you’d given me a sec to say it.”

  Jules bounced her shoulder into mine. “Thought so.”

  I reached across her and grabbed the laptop. “Don’t disturb my concentration,” I told in her in my worst fake-serious voice. “This is important business.”

  She let out one loud bark of a laugh, and covered her mouth. Then she attacked my paper with her pen. Just like that. Stop on a dime and get into something else. It was like the skating drills. Race forward. Cut around a cone. Hard stop. Sidestep backward around the other side of the cone. Charge. Hanging out with Jules was just like hanging out with one of the guys, but so much better. It was all the fun without all the competition. It was like we were actually talking. Like neither one of us was threatened.

  But also, there was the class stuff. Mr. Hale had pulled me aside the day before to tell me that I would need to do a lot better. “You can’t turn in first drafts,” he told me, giving me back my first paper. “This would be an F.” He sighed. “But I’m not going to give you an F. I’m going to ask you to write it again.” He paused. “I know you’re in preseason training, but I’m going to talk to Coach about scheduling in some tutoring time. I’m not going to be the guy who gave you an F and made you ineligible.”

  Searching for images for Jules, I typed “inclusive women’s rights” into the Google bar, using her words, hoping I’d find images of the Marlon Brandos of the world, holding signs or whatever. I didn’t find that, though. Instead, I saw women in hijabs. A WE ALL CAN DO IT sign with a black woman as the figurehead of a trio of women doing the Rosie the Riveter pose. Latinas, Asian women, women in wheelchairs. Another poster for Trans-Inclusive Feminism Always. I sat up and looked around the library space, looked at all the white faces like mine in the room.

  “Hey,” I said to Jules. “Fullbrook is super white.”

  “News flash.”

  “No, seriously. Back home. Public school? It wasn’t like this.”

  “It’s a problem. Javi and I tried to get a Black Lives Matter vigil going last year.”

  “What happened?”

  “At Fullbrook? Give me a break. This place is way too white for that.”

  I nodded again, but that bugged me. “Yeah,” I said. “But it’s just like what you were saying before, except different.”

  “Wow. Profound,” she teased.

  “No,” I went on. “It’s like Black Lives Matter. All these white people who can’t bring themselves to say it, actually say Black Lives Matter, and then they wonder why there are protests in the street? It’s sad some white people need to see other white people marching to start thinking about it more. To start listening to people of color more.”

  Jules swallowed and took a second before she spoke. “When the vigils flopped. Well, I let all my energy for them slip away too. I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m not even sure I know what I’m saying,” I said quietly, struggling
to find the words. “I’ve never really said something like that out loud.”

  Jules was quiet for a moment.

  “It’s just, well. I’ve thought about it, though. Or, someone asked me to.” I paused. “Heather’s black,” I said.

  “Heather?”

  “My ex-girlfriend.” I smiled at her sheepishly. “She was a cheerleader.”

  “Football star and cheerleader. Just how I pictured you,” Jules said. “What happened? College?”

  “Yeah,” I said, turning back to her computer. “Something like that.”

  I could feel her eyes on me as she waited for me to say more, but nothing else was coming. Staring at the computer, I felt my vision narrow, no longer seeing all the faces in the photos, just a blur of glowing color. “Whatever,” I said, almost whispering.

  “Heather is the first thing you’ve really told me about your life back in Ohio,” Jules said. “You know you can talk about it with me. Or I hope you know.” She put her hand on my shoulder again, and it wasn’t flirty. It was none of that. It was more like half a hug from a sister I’d never known I had.

  But no matter how it felt on the inside, it must have looked like something else on the outside.

  “Oh, hey there, you two!” Freddie hollered from behind us. His voice made me jump.

  “Oh God,” Jules said.

  “Oh shit,” I said. “I forgot.”

  “I heard that,” Freddie said, pulling up a chair beside me. “Dude. Coach O doesn’t play. Don’t think he won’t notice you skipping. That’s just stupid.”

  Jules looked at me, but said nothing. Her guard was back up, the skepticism tightening her face. I blew out a sigh, and she knew exactly what I was going to say next.

  “Come on,” Freddie said, grabbing my arm. “You’re already late.” He stood and pulled me with him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Jules. “I have to go.”

  “Obviously,” she said, turning away. She pushed my essay aside and tapped a key on her computer to make the screen brighten again.

  “Hey,” I said, a little sharper than I meant. “I’m scholarship. It’s not like I have a choice here.”

  She nodded without looking back. She tapped my essay with her finger. “We’ll talk about it later. It’s due tomorrow, right?”

  My heart sank. “Jules,” I said. “I’ll help with the photo research. Tonight. After practice.”

  “Come on, Romeo,” Freddie said, tugging me.

  I spun out of his grip and whacked his hand away. “Jules,” I said again. “I promise.” She flashed the peace sign over her head, and I took my cue.

  Freddie led me around the tables, beanbag chairs, reading pods, and down the hall to the back door of the library. “Bro. Jules?” I tried to ignore him, but it was impossible to ignore Freddie. He wouldn’t let you. “She’s batshit.”

  “Come on, man. Let it go.”

  “Oh, damn,” he said, bringing his fist up to his mouth. “You’re really into her.”

  “Pick up the pace,” I told him. We got out onto the path along the quad. “We’re heading to the rink, I assume.”

  “No, man,” he said. “It’s weight-training day. You’re joining me and the rest of the football team.”

  I’d been avoiding thinking about it. Almost seemed cruel, I thought. Making me join the team I couldn’t be on for a practice. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t on the field. It was too close.

  Freddie eyed me, thinking he knew what was on my mind. He didn’t. “And hell, no, by the way,” he said. “You and Jules. She’s nuts, bro. Like, super nuts.” He paused. Let his eyes get all huge and melodramatic. “Unless you think that kind of crazy translates to the other kind of crazy. I mean, Hackett used to talk about how she was wild, into all kinds of stuff.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Freddie blew past me. “Wait till I tell Hackett. He’s going to flip. Hilarious.”

  I chased after him and grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t be an ass, man. She’s helping me with Brit lit so I don’t fail out of school before the season starts. That clear?”

  Freddie shook out of my grip as I eased up on him. “Yeah,” he said. I’d shaken him, and it took him a second to find that smarmy smile, but he found it. “I got it.” He walked a pace away from me. “Well, if it isn’t Jules, we need to find you someone. You’re so wound up, you need a little action.”

  I let it slide and said nothing and kept us speed-walking toward the gym. It was the kind of place where I’d once been so at home. The quiet peace of fire in my muscles, the breaths that rushed out like gale winds when I pushed through a final set. The satisfying clank of the bars dropping back into their hooks when I was done. But being with Freddie and the Fullbrook football guys obliterated the dream.

  At first he let me be, but after the first few sets, he kept circling back, hovering like a goddamn shadow, spinning around me no matter which way I walked.

  “Girls don’t like nice guys,” he said. “They don’t like quiet guys who never make the first move. Know why?”

  “Freddie, I don’t need this.”

  “Could have fooled me. You’re out there barking up the wrong tree. Jules? Please.”

  “I told you about that. I’m not barking up any tree.”

  “That’s what I mean. You pretend like you don’t want to do the horizontal mambo with her.” He gyrated ridiculously next to the bench I was using. “You’re so afraid, you lie to yourself. Girls can smell that fear a mile away. The shit stinks. Nobody scores out of pity, bro.”

  “Give me a break.” I finished my third set of bicep curls and dropped the dumbbells on the mat between us, hoping he’d give me some space. It didn’t faze him.

  “Moody, brooding, all arty and shit,” he continued. “Fine. That works too. Girls think you have your finger on some hidden pulse of the universe. Like you’re misunderstood.” He made air quotes. “Like Hackett, that wannabe musician. Guy can barely play guitar. He just owns one so he can look sensitive. So many girls that get all giggly around the floppy-haired bastard.”

  I pushed past him. “I don’t see you holding hands with anyone.”

  “Exactly, dude. Ex-act-ly. I’m all about getting laid and being free.”

  I stared at him. Right then, I realized Freddie was a complete and total jackass. I’d had enough of him. Never mind the girls and the fact that he talked about them like they were from a different frigging planet. He was so cocky and so used to having no one call him on his shit, I had a hard time pretending to be nice to him anymore. I had thought I missed the whole team-spirit feeling, but it actually disgusted me now.

  “Man,” I said, moving over to the squat machine. I rolled the bar onto my shoulders and forced up the first rep. “I’m with Hackett,” I growled, powering through another one. “You sound like an idiot. You don’t know shit.”

  “Oh, yeah, just look up at my window every couple of weeks. I’m stacking pucks, one for every—well, you know.” He smirked and bobbed his head like he was on a TV show and was about to get someone fired, or voted off the island, or shunned by the rest of the house—he was all smug like top dog. What a joke. Except it wasn’t.

  He knew I didn’t believe him, but he went on anyway. “For real. The whole team. We’re all doing it. We’ll see who has the most pucks stacked by the end of the year. You can’t let us call you Puckless.” He laughed at his own joke. “You already have a nickname, Buckeye.”

  I moaned as the bar rolled off my shoulders and back into the rack. “Do you ever shut up?”

  He laughed again. “I know you’re getting uptight, but you got it all wrong. Girls are down too, bro. You just have to know which ones. Like, I’ll give you an easy one. The Viking. Easy. That party Hackett’s throwing. Set you up. Easy.”

  Hackett and a bunch of other guys had been secretly preparing for a huge party up at Horn Rock. They’d been collecting booze and stashing it in the woods around the bluff. Nobody was supposed to know about it, but of cours
e we all did.

  Freddie followed me to the bench press. He had the dumbbells in his hands and he started a halfhearted set. “No need,” I said, as I lay down on the bench.

  “Forget Jules, dude.”

  I put the bar back up on the rests after only two reps and sat up. Around the room there were more girls now, mostly on the cardio machines, headphones on, pumping away on the treadmills and ellipticals, but some were lifting weights just like I was. “I’m done,” I said. “I’m hitting the showers.”

  “Nobody likes a quitter,” Freddie said to my back as I walked toward the locker rooms. “Especially girls, dude!” he added, just to harass me.

  I had the awful urge to pop the guy in the face when he came around to use the showers too. The adrenaline surge was back, flooding my limbs and head like helium, lifting me up, dizzy-up, ready to swing. But I couldn’t do that. One move like that and I was gone. Scholarship kid. I had to behave. I had to hang with Freddie, despite how I felt about him.

  He came into the showers, talking as if I hadn’t walked away from him before. “I mean, you had a girl back in Buckeyesville, right?” He wasn’t even looking at me, just talking up to the mildew-stained tiles above us. “What was her name?”

  “Yeah, I had a girlfriend.”

  “Why are you holding back? Show me some photos. I gotta see what you were scoring back home so I can connect you here. You should see the photos some guys sent me from last year’s Senior Send-Off. Brrrro! Real time. Unbelievable.”

  “I’m not showing you any photos.”

  “I can’t find you on Insta. You have some creepy ghost account?”