Page 149 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Mom, if I give you directions on how to make a hangover breakfast, do you think you could make it for us?” Marley asked, slumping into a chair at the table.
“Sure thing, sweetie.”
While Jessica flipped bacon and Marley made a second pot of coffee, Vicky and I divvied up ibuprofen.
“And this is the kitchen,” Ned said, waving the stranger from earlier into the room. “As you can see, we have a few extra guests this morning.”
The guy, now fully dressed in jeans and a sweater, offered a shy wave.
“Come on in, Vicente,” Jessica said, pointing him in the direction of the coffee.
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Cicero, about your shorts.”
“Keep them,” he said. “And let’s never speak of this again.”
63
Marley
“Over my dead body!” Coach Vince loomed over Principal Eccles’ desk in his best impression of a sweaty vulture.
“I understand that you’re disappointed,” Principal Eccles said blandly.
I wondered if she kept pepper spray or a taser in her desk drawer in case students, staff, or parents got too aggressive. I hoped she at least had a bottle of booze in there somewhere.
“The Homecoming game ismine,” Vince shrieked like a wounded zombie. Spittle flew from his thin lips and dotted the desk.
Principal Eccles jerked her thumb toward the window. “You want to play in this? You think anyone is going to turn out for a paradein this?”
The remains of Hurricane Patricia were bathing Culpepper in a torrential downpour of biblical proportions. Now a tropical storm, Patricia had lumbered her lard ass up the East Coast, turning the Outer Banks and most of Virginia into a dumping ground of floodwaters. Pennsylvania was enjoying her wrath now.
The stadium field was under four inches of water, and we were ten minutes away from an early dismissal before all the local creeks barfed up storm water and closed roads. I was packed and ready to go spend an unexpected free afternoon naked at Jake’s.
At least, I had been before receiving the summons to the principal’s office.
“Then we’ll reschedule,” Vince said stubbornly.
“Wehaverescheduled. Homecoming will be next Friday.”
It was becoming clear why I was invited to a front row seat of Coach Vince’s rage. I swallowed hard.
“We have a home game Friday,” I said. Not just any home game. We were playing Culpepper’s rivals the New Holland Buglers. Buglers sounded friendly and peppy. Unfortunately, the New Holland Buglers were aggressive, eyeball-gouging Amazonians who could put the ball in the back of the net better than any other team in our league.
I remembered losing to them spectacularly my junior year. One girl hit me so hard going for the ball that I lay there staring up at the lights wondering if I should head toward them or not.
“Ms. Cicero, your game is now the Homecoming game,” Principal Eccles announced.
Shit. Shitty shitty shit shit.Homecoming games were meant to bewon. No one wanted to get slaughtered on the field in front of the entire town and then go to a dance where your classmates made fun of you.
“This is bullshit, Eccles,” Vince raged. I wondered if I could talk him into the nurse’s office next door for a blood pressure check. I didn’t like his color. “I demand that you reschedule. We have a game that Saturday.”
“Your Saturday game is an hour away,” she pointed out, not particularly disturbed by the hulking primate throwing a hissy fit inches from her face. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I demand that you get out of my office so I can send everyone home before the buses float away.”
I stood up and followed Principal Eccles out of the office in a fog while Coach Vince snarled his disappointment behind me.
“Uh, Principal Eccles. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I was kind of banned for life from Culpepper Homecomings,” I explained, jogging after her.
“That was just a rumor started by a disgruntled student. I checked,” she said, ducking outside to check the bus line.
