Racing the Rain Read online

  Cassidy could hear Bickerstaff yelling from the sidelines and he would turn occasionally and pretend to pay attention, but he essentially disregarded everything except playing the game of basketball. Edgewater went on a 16–2 run and closed the gap to four points with 3:24 to play. Cassidy scored ten of those points. They were going to win. Cassidy could feel it.

  That’s when Bickerstaff took him out of the game.

  Stiggs was on the foul line shooting two when the klaxon went off and Drake Osgood trotted onto the floor. Cassidy assumed he was spelling Carroll Morgan, but instead Drake apologetically handed Cassidy his warm-up top.

  “Great playing, man,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

  The Edgewater crowd actually booed. Cassidy had never seen that before, booing a substitution. As he was walking to the end of the bench, still panting from the last fast break, he noticed something else he had never seen before: opposing spectators actually laughing at a visiting coach’s unfathomable decisions.

  Edgewater lost by fourteen.

  CHAPTER 45

  * * *

  GOODBYE TO ALL THAT

  Cassidy didn’t feel much like company at lunch on Monday, so he opted for the guilty pleasure of the cold lunch line, picking up an Italian sub, a tuna sandwich, a bag of barbecue potato chips, and a couple cartons of orange juice.

  It had been chilly earlier in the morning, so he was wearing his red wool letter jacket with a big white “E” on the left breast. He was sitting in the bright winter sunshine at one of the concrete tables in the courtyard, when he spotted Stiggs and Randleman, also wearing their jackets, coming from the cafeteria. They looked dour.

  He figured they were going to give him grief about his nutritional habits, but they just sat down and looked at him.

  “Okay, okay, you caught me. Cold cuts for lunch. Big deal,” Cassidy said.

  Stiggs shot a look at Randleman.

  “He doesn’t know,” he said. Randleman nodded.

  “It’s posted on the gym bulletin board,” Stiggs said. “Let us know what you want to do.”

  Then without another word they got up and left.

  Cassidy hadn’t finished his second sandwich, but he wrapped it up and tucked his books and sandwich under his arm and headed for the gym.

  There were a couple of guys Cassidy didn’t know idly perusing notices on the glass-enclosed bulletin board as he walked up. When they saw him coming, they backed away.

  The notice was the only thing posted in the varsity basketball section, a single sheet, typed.

  Disbelieving, Cassidy read the heading: “The following is the final selection for the 1964–65 Edgewater basketball team.”

  Cassidy scanned down the list, dread forming a knot of nausea in his gut. It was his basketball team, all right.

  But he wasn’t on it.

  CHAPTER 46

  * * *

  THE SAD TRUTH

  Mr. Kamrad looked up from his teachers’ planning workbook and took off his reading glasses. He did not look surprised to see Cassidy. He motioned to the chair beside his desk.

  “I think I know what this is about,” he said. “I heard two of the football coaches talking in the teachers’ lounge this morning.”

  Cassidy nodded. He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice yet. He had sat in a numb trance through his last class. Then he was late to his next class because he was talking to Stiggs in the courtyard, not even caring that he was risking detention.

  “Mr. Kamrad, I don’t get it. Stiggs and I were first-team all-county last year. I played in the state tournament. We missed the finals on a last-second shot. I’ve gotten letters from college coaches. Sure, things have been screwed up on the team this year, but I just . . .” He sat shaking his head, unable to continue.

  “Quenton, if it makes you feel any better, as far as I can tell, a lot of people in this school are flabbergasted, too.”

  “That’s something, I guess.”

  “Well, I would offer to talk to Bickerstaff on your behalf, but the last time we tried that, things didn’t work out so well.”

  “Maybe I could appeal to . . .”

  Mr. Kamrad was shaking his head already.

  “There isn’t any appeal. Principal Fleming might be sympathetic to you, but a head coach is like the captain of a ship. His word is law. There is nobody to appeal to. I mean, there is always the possibility of a full-blown mutiny by the team, but . . .”

  “No, that would make things worse. Stiggs and Randleman wanted to get the guys together to discuss it, but I know exactly what would happen. Even if we could get every single player on the varsity to threaten to quit—which we can’t, by the way—he would just play the rest of the schedule with the JV team. They’d lose every game, but he’d do that before he would back down.”

  “I suspect you’re right.” Mr. Kamrad still had his glasses off, squeezing the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

  “Besides, Stiggs and Randleman have real scholarship possibilities on the line. Their whole futures are at stake,” said Cassidy.

  “So is yours, Quenton.”

  “I get that, believe me. I spent the last five years of my life pointing for this season, and it was all working. I started to get feelers from colleges last year—admittedly it was Rollins and Stetson and such—but this year was going to put me—put us all—on the map. Now it’s just blowing up in our faces. I don’t have a clue what’s going on with Coach Bickerstaff. We’ve been trying to do what he says, but most of it makes no sense.”

  “Quenton, it’s only my personal opinion, but I suspect that very little of this has much if anything to do with basketball.”

  “You mean that business back in junior high?”

  “That’s part of it, I think.”

  “But he said we were all over that. He even put up my time for a school record . . .”

  “I’m not saying this is intentional on his part. I doubt he understands it himself. All I know is that when Trapper and I went to talk to him back then, we saw someone dealing with some personal problems, someone not very secure in his own skin. And someone who does not like to be contradicted or shown up. First he told you that you weren’t a basketball player, and you proved him wrong about that. He wanted you to run track back then, and you did. Then you got injured while running for him and he refused to acknowledge it. You proved him wrong again. Now he’s apparently in over his head in his new job. He wants to come off as a tough disciplinarian, so he doesn’t want you to miss practice for a cross-country race. But you go out and win it. Then you play your first basketball game for him and guess what? You’re doing it to him again.”

  Cassidy made a low groan.

  “It’s just armchair psychologizing on my part, of course,” Mr. Kamrad said, “but it seems to me that your whole relationship with this man has been one long process of showing him up.”

  Cassidy let the breath out of his lungs.

  “And the time before, when you two came to an impasse, you had an alternative. You made your point in an all-comers event. Now, though, there isn’t any all-comers basketball team to join.”

  “Wow.”

  “Right. But, you know, in the Chinese language the same symbol that means ‘danger’ also means ‘opportunity.’ ”

  Cassidy grimaced. He was too young to be an aficionado of silver linings.

  * * *

  Stiggs and Randleman were waiting outside the Temporary Classroom Building as Cassidy left Mr. Kamrad’s room.

  “You guys are going to be late to practice,” Cassidy said.

  “Screw that,” said Randleman. “What did Mr. Kamrad say?”

  Cassidy shrugged.

  “Come on, he must have said something.”

  “Yeah, it was all about this interesting symbol they have in Chinese that can have two different meanings. One meaning is ‘danger’ or ‘caution’ or something like that . . .”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah?” Stiggs said, wary. Cassidy smiled at him.

&nbs
p; “And the other meaning is ‘Comes with egg roll.’ ”

  CHAPTER 47

  * * *

  A PLAN

  Cassidy didn’t even try to talk to his parents about it. He was sure it would just confuse them and then they would probably make excuses for Coach Bickerstaff. They were not big on challenging authority.

  He was able to talk his mother into letting him take the car, though, and he drove to the place where the Jeep road left the highway and went into Trapper’s camp. Afraid to bury the little car up to its axles in the deep sand, he left it parked on the highway and hiked in.

  Trapper wasn’t around, so he went inside and got some peanuts and sat out on the deck to play with Willie, who had greeted him by yelling “Cracker!”

  “Come on, I won’t bite,” Cassidy said, holding a peanut up for him to see. “I cannot say the same for you, however.”

  “Cracker?” said Willie.

  “Food, yes.”

  Willie flew down to the deck rail. “Willie, cut that out!” he said.

  “You’re just talking to hear your own voice now,” said Cassidy, holding the peanut out. The bird walked over cautiously. He tried to snatch it and make his getaway, but Cassidy made him come closer. He had become much tamer with Cassidy over the summer when he was around all the time.

  “Head rubbies first,” Cassidy said.

  “Cracker,” said Willie.

  “That’s right, head rubbies, then cracker.”

  Willie bowed his head and fluffed up the feathers all around his head and cheeks.

  “Good boy,” said Cassidy, rubbing the top of his head with his index finger. “Now cracker.”

  But Willie kept his head bowed, ignoring the peanut. Cassidy kept rubbing the soft little head. He thought he heard something like a very faint mosquito whirring in the distance. It was Trapper’s ancient outboard. Willie heard it, too, and lifted his head high and alert.

  “Vinnnn-cent!” he squawked.

  “Hey, that’s good!” Cassidy said. “When’d you learn that?”

  “Cracker!” Willie said, snatching the peanut and flying back to his limb, scattering the guinea fowl that had settled there in his absence.

  Trapper greeted him as he pulled up to the dock and tossed Cassidy the line. Three large snook and a pile of what looked like green rocks rested in the bottom of the boat.

  “Where did he get ‘Vinnnn-cent’?” Cassidy said.

  “Oh.” Trapper laughed, “My sister Lurleen and her brood were down last week. That’s what she calls me. He picked it up from when she would call me to dinner. Took him thirty seconds to learn it. I bet you couldn’t teach him to say ‘Trapper Nelson’ in thirty years. Hey, how about hopping up and grabbing the bucket for these oysters while I get the fish over to the cleaning station.”

  Cassidy got the zinc bucket from inside and hopped down into the boat to fill it with the bivalves. It took two trips to get them all moved over to the cleaning station for Trapper to rinse them off.

  “I’m not going to ask you why you’re not at practice,” Trapper said. “I was at the Jupiter Hilton and a bunch of the old guys were talking about it. Apparently everyone in town is talking about it.”

  “Yeah, can you believe it?”

  “You forget I have some experience in the matter of dealing with Coach Bickerstaff. I’m only surprised that something like this didn’t happen sooner.”

  Cassidy took the Rapala knife and started filleting the second fish while Trapper rinsed off the oysters.

  “So, how are you holding up?” asked Trapper.

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Nice fish, by the way.”

  “Good batch of oysters, too. From your favorite bed.”

  Cassidy nodded.

  “I don’t suppose you can stay for dinner?”

  “Oh, I could be talked into it.”

  * * *

  It was good and dark by the time he hiked the Jeep road back to the car. He had a flashlight with him, but the moon was bright enough that he could see the double ribbon of white sand easily without it. He felt a sense of calm, of normalcy that he hadn’t felt in days.

  He had a tummy full of fried snook and raw oysters.

  And he had a plan.

  CHAPTER 48

  * * *

  PUTT-PUTT

  Maria DaRosa placed the bright yellow ball on one of the dimpled bumps on the rubber mat and assumed a solid putter’s stance, feet shoulder wide, rocking back and forth from one foot to the other to settle in, holding the putter straight out, pointing down the course and picking her spot.

  Cassidy watched, entranced.

  Her tanned legs were set off nicely by a yellow, black, and red madras wraparound skirt, white cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and thin, white leather sandals. She was all concentration as she took a couple of practice swings. Cassidy watched carefully, and sure enough, right before she struck the ball, the little pink tip of her tongue appeared in the corner her mouth. It was outrageous.

  Her backswing was short, so it always surprised him how loud the thwack was when she connected. The ball flew into the right side of the chute, did a complete loop-de-loop, and shot out the other side heading straight for the angled board in the corner of a sharp dogleg right. The ball hit it dead center, making a beeline for the hole. At first it looked like it would go in, but it was off just a hair to the right and came to rest two inches past the cup.

  “Damn,” said Cassidy.

  “Don’t swear,” she said.

  Cassidy saw that the group playing just ahead of them had taken to watching her shots. It was date night and the place was full of couples. Cassidy and Maria between them knew about half of them.

  “I just want to know how the dickens you do that,” he said.

  “I tell you every time. You don’t listen every time.”

  He placed his ball on the tee mat and knocked it through the loop-de-loop with plenty of force, but it came out crooked and caught just the edge of the angled board in the corner. It sputtered down the green hugging the side rail and came to rest ten feet from the hole.

  “Do you mind if I putt out?” she said. “Just so I can be out of your way.”

  “Oh, sure, why not. Go ahead and putt out by all means. Very considerate of you.”

  Giggling, she tapped in and watched with feigned sympathy as he two-putted from where he was.

  He picked both balls out of the hole and deliberately handed her the wrong one. She waited, hand on hip, giving him the cocked-head look he associated with Willie the parrot.

  “Yours is luckier. I think we ought to switch,” he said.

  “Think again,” she said, taking her ball back.

  The next hole was a giant clown’s head with a big laughing mouth that you had to go through to get to the hole, but otherwise a perfectly straight shot. The Cracker Jack surprise in this hole was that when your ball went through the clown’s mouth, a loudspeaker blasted you with maniacal laughter.

  “I don’t see what’s so damned funny about what’s going on here,” Cassidy said.

  “You haven’t shot yet either.”

  She had honors and placed the ball on the center dimple. She addressed the ball, sighted down the club, took two practice swings, stepped forward, and smacked the ball through the middle of Clarabelle’s pie hole. The crazy laughter erupted as the ball exited the back of the clown’s head and beelined into the cup like it had eyes.

  “I don’t believe this,” he said.

  “Believe it or don’t, but put me down for a one, Roscoe,” she said, smiling. “That’s pretty funny, isn’t it?”

  He fished the little stub of a pencil out of his breast pocket and wrote “1” for her. She was three under par on the seventh hole. He was three over, so it was a symmetrical trouncing.

  “How did you get so good at this?”

  “I told you the last time. My parents used to drop my sisters and me off here every Saturday morning at eight and would come pick us up at noon. It
cost a dollar each and was the cheapest babysitting deal in town. Try to imagine how many rounds of this stuff you can do in four hours. We’d get so bored we’d be wading in the water hazards when they got back.”

  “Where did your folks go?”

  “They said they were going grocery shopping, but I think they went back home for hanky-panky. Ewww, I don’t even like to think about it.”

  “Mine always took a ‘nap’ on Sunday afternoons. Interruptions for anything less than missing limbs were dealt with harshly.”

  She laughed, showing white teeth. Next up was the windmill.

  As she was placing her ball, Cassidy saw Harry Winkler, one of the football captains, at the next hole over. He waved and Winkler walked over, shaking his head.

  “Hey, I heard,” he said. “Unbelievable.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Cassidy shrugged. “Looks like my roundball days are over.”

  “Do you have anything lined up collegewise?”

  “Not really. A little interest, but I think they were waiting to see how this year was going to go.”

  “Well, it bites a big one, man. Wanted to tell you.”

  “Thanks, appreciate it, Wink.”

  “Hang loose.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Maria was standing next to the hole and her ball was nowhere in sight.

  “Not another hole in one, for crissakes,” he said.

  “No cussing. And I got a two, thank you. I just went ahead and putted out since you were busy with your big friend.”