Page 77 of Just Say (Hell) No
Marko, who’d been opening a can of beetroot slices and cutting veggies, said, “That’s a good thought. Always good to narrow down, then narrow down again. Decision tree.”
“Huh,” Ella said. “I could do that.”
“Nyree could look with you,” Marko said, slapping his burger patties into the pan. “Or Caro. Or even me, if you want me to vet the fellas, give you my impressions. Do you want to go to Tekapo for part of your school holidays, by the way? I’m taking Nyree from Sunday to Wednesday. You can stay longer, or come back with us on Wednesday. Either way.” Which sounded casual, but was probably Marko walking a tricky line between looking after Ella and letting her make her choices. Nyree had already figured out that there was always more to him than you saw. He was like an iceberg. Not because he was cold, because he was exactly not. But because most of him was under the surface.
“Ha,” Ella said. “That’s a tough one. People talking about me here, or talking about me there? Being here’s better, probably. At least I can say I don’t care what they think. Reckon I’ll come back up with you on Wednesday. And stay up at your house with Caro while I’m there, not in town with Mum.”
Marko had been standing, spatula in hand, with an eye on his burgers. Now, he looked up. “What do you mean, people talking about you here?”
Ella shrugged. Too casually, maybe. “Just things people say, and looks, you know. In school. Even in New World. You should’ve seen the look this lady gave me last week, like she couldn’t believe it. News flash, people get pregnant. I can’t wait until I’m thirty weeks gone, standing in the checkout in my school uniform, with everybody looking at me and being all amazed and horrified. That’ll be a fun time.”
“We should practice, then,” Nyree said. “What to say. What do you think, Marko?”
“Ha,” Ella said. “He’s not going to be any help. He’d just look like he was going to hit them, and they’d shut up and move on before he lost control. That’s not going to work for me, not unless I batter them to death with my belly.”
Marko looked like he wanted to hit somebody right now. Nyree said, “You could say something funny, maybe. Something over the top. Like they make some comment, and you smile and say, ‘Quadruplets. Fertility drugs, eh. Only three months gone, can you believe it?’”
“Except then they’d talk to memore,”Ella said. “Or talkaboutme so I can hear. That’s the worst. Why do girls whisper, like that makes it all right? They know I’ll hear. Theywantme to hear. They just want to pretend they didn’t mean to. At least blokes just go on and say it, or laugh in that way where you know why they’re doing it. At least they don’t try to hide it. I know, though. I’ll say, ‘Aliens,’ then walk away.”
This rage. It burned. “Good one,” Nyree managed to say. “Or ‘Reptiles.’ You could whisper it like it was a secret, then stare at them untiltheywalk away.”
Ella was smiling at last. “Bit rude, though.”
“Nah,” Nyree said. “Not if they say something first.That’swhat’s rude. More than rude. Hurtful, and meaning to be.” She wished she were still chopping. She needed a knife in her hand right now. She took a breath and said, “You can handle it in a couple ways, I guess. Glare at them like Marko, confront them. Or look at them like… all wide-eyed, and a bit deaf. Smiling, even. They’ll be so confused. Or do either one, whatever you feel like. If you choose your response, it gives you power.”
“Why should they have an opinion anyway?” Ella burst out. “It’s like that book.The Scarlet Letter.Like, the bloke’s all respected, or he’s even cool, because he got me pregnant, like that’s some kind of accomplishment or proof of his manliness or something, but me?I’msupposed to be ashamed. Like you were talking about, the thing that happened to you with the Highlanders. Why is that all right to do? Why should that letter be on me?” Her hand trembled on her bowl of carrots, and her eyes were bright. And still, no tears fell.
“I didn’t read that book,” Nyree said. “And I don’t know why it’s that way, but I know it’s wrong.”
“It’s American,” Ella said. “The book. Old. Somebody said it about me at school, so I read it. Lame as.”
Marko flipped his burgers, and Nyree came back to herself, opened the oven door, and turned over her kumara chips.
She thought about cruelty, and she thought about courage. She knew which one was harder. She also knew which one was better.
Three o’clock Friday afternoon, and the Captain’s Run was finished. Time to go home and start the pregame rituals. Except not today.
At least it wasn’t raining. It might be tomorrow, but today, it was clear. Which meant, Marko hoped, that they’d have a good turnout, despite it being the last day of school before the start of the autumn holidays.
When he pulled into the carpark, he headed for the orange cones as he’d been directed, and a woman in a smart pantsuit pulled the cones out of the way and waved him in. Behind him, three other cars followed suit, and Marko stepped out with the others, four doors shutting in synchronized fashion,clunk clunk clunk clunk,as smooth as the Men in Black.
Marko shook hands with Ms. Clark, the deputy head, and introduced the others. She said, “Come on around. Our P.E. teachers have everything set up for you. We appreciate your coming out.”
Boys and girls both, dressed in their navy blue and white P.E. uniforms and split into groups already. Chattering and laughing, most of them jumping out of their skins at seeing Hugh Latimer and, especially, Koti James. Pretty Boy was flashing his smile, and Marko was glad to see it. The more special this was, the better.
After that, it was familiar. Running lines with the kids, coaching, encouraging, instructing, taking them through passing drills. Making it fun and offering up the thrill of celebrity, Kiwi style.
Kors was proving a draw of his own, he saw. Tall, well built, tattooed, and good-looking, with his share of Koti’s flash and Koti’s skills. Around Marko, though? The kids got quieter. Shyer.
Suited him fine. He wanted the boys a little scared.
No, he wanted them scared as hell.
It was a school visit like a hundred others he’d done, with the Highlanders and the All Blacks both, over the past thirteen years. Except that this one was personal.
It went on for thirty minutes, as they’d planned, and then the teachers blew their whistles, the head made her thank-you speech into her portable microphone, the students applauded, and in another minute, the autograph requests would begin.
Hugh should have stepped forward, but he didn’t. Marko did.
