Suspension of the Hurdle: The peak of height before landing on the end of the board for take-off.
THE ONLY way to approach the Blue Belle Diner is by driving through the rotary at Buzzard’s Corner. I don’t think a single driver in this town understands when to yield, including me, but at least I passed my driver’s test on the first try. Unlike Chip who failed because of this rotary. Twice. I merge with oncoming traffic and an overly aggressive SUV driver drafts my bumper, forcing me to continue circling the rotary like Clark Griswold in European Vacation.
I crank the volume on my sound system, grip the steering wheel, and speed up, singing two corresponding lines from a Them Crooked Vultures’ song that tells me I won’t make it out. But I do. Cutting my wheel to take the turnoff whether I’m ready or not. The other driver blares his horn long and loud, announcing my arrival as I whip into a space beside the 1950s railroad-style dining car.
I take a minute to catch my breath. The Blue Belle has always been a ritual for Chip and me. We come here the night before every meet to load up on out-of-this-world burgers and fries. Not to mention shakes so thick your cheeks hurt from sucking on the straws. But tonight is the exact opposite of business as usual. I invited Iris, for one. And the envelope meant for Rocco is sitting on my passenger seat like a troublemaking accomplice. My decision to trade Les’s dive has more to do with what Coach Porter said about people leaving traces behind than finding something for Malone’s class. At least that’s what I tell myself as I slip the envelope into my pocket.
The smell of grilled onions and hot grease welcomes me as I step under the sky-blue awning and through the door. Followed by Aggie, the diner’s oldest and best waitress. She may be all of four-foot-eleven, but she wields herself like an Amazonian aunt.
“Well, I’ll be. Ray, look who else the cat dragged in,” Aggie yells over her shoulder, addressing the short-order-cook-slash-owner and me simultaneously.
Ray ducks his balding head under a row of order tickets to wave a spatula at me, toothpick clenched between his teeth.
I open my arms as wide as my smile. “You are a sight for sore eyes, lady.”
She wipes her hands on a ruffled apron and tucks her boney frame into mine, hugging me tight and quick. “And you, young man, are the same wicked flirt you’ve always been. But I’m gonna keep lettin’ you get away with it ’cause it makes my old bones feel young. Your buddy Chip is at the VIP table. Go on back.” She taps me in the ass with a plastic menu, then goes about her business.
And for a moment I feel like I can do the same. Pretending this is just another night at the diner before a meet.
As I head to the booth at the farthest end of the diner, I see Amy cutting over to our table in her ultra-short Blue Belle uniform. She puts a strawberry shake in front of Chip in a perfunctory way, then stalks off with her nose in the air.
Chip leans across the table to grab her hand with a look in his eyes that betrays his usual front. When I’m close enough for them to notice me, Amy pulls away from him to give me a hug. “Just so you know,” she whispers, “I don’t blame you.” Then she retreats into the kitchen, untying her powder blue apron.
I give Chip a puzzled look. “What was that about? Did you test your theory on coming too fast?”
“Very funny. I forgot Amy and I had plans when I went to Andover with you. I didn’t mean to blow her off,” he says, “but it’s always bros before hos. Probably shouldn’t have said that to her, of course.”
I can’t help but laugh in his face. “That’s definitely something that’s meant to stay between bros. But she’ll get over it. Amy knew you were a bonehead before you started dating.”
“That’s what I said. Maybe I’ll tell her that bruise on your cheek is from me punching you in the face for screwing up our plans.”
“I’ll go along with that. My love life isn’t going much better these days.” I take a long pull from his strawberry shake and wipe my bottom lip with my thumb.
“That’s right,” Chip says, leaning forward on the table. “You never told me if you at least made it to second base with Iris before you brought her to the nuthouse.”
“There wasn’t really a time. The whole trip was colossally fucked up.”
“There’s always time for yabos, bro. Always.” Chip says this flat, and with all seriousness. Like he’s reciting a verse from his personal manifesto.
“We got past second base days before that,” I tell him. “But after Green Hill she might be rethinking the whole Big Mack and French Fry combo. She wasn’t in Malone’s class and hasn’t responded to my text messages. I left her a message anyway inviting her to meet us tonight. We’ll see if she shows.”
“Past second, though. Not too shabby. I’m impressed.”
“How pathetic do you really think I am?”
“On a scale of one to ten, bro? Fifty.”
“Fuck off,” I say and laugh. Chip’s great at twisting my problems into jokes, which is exactly what I need right now.
“Did I miss something funny?” Rocco’s voice precedes the two shadows stretching across the table.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Chip asks.
“Theo invited me,” Rocco says. “Didn’t he tell you?” He drops his messenger bag on the seat and sits, nudging me so I’ll make room for him and Miles, the pimple-faced freshman I scolded on Monarch Night.
“He means the freshman sidekick.”
“He’s my cousin. Miles Bennett Stone. He’s on your team, guys. Look alive.”
Jeezus.
He’s the promising Bennett Coach Porter was talking about. Rocco’s little birdie. I study the glower on Miles’s face and it all makes sense.
“Funny,” I say. “He never said a word about you to any of us. But now that you mention it, he does have the same know-it-all attitude.”
“It’s part of the Bennett family charm.” Rocco shrugs out of his blazer and hands it to his cousin to hang up. “Actually, my mom made me bring him with me tonight.”
“I told you he has it in for me,” Miles tells Rocco. “You should have dropped me off at the mall like I asked.”
“I don’t have it in for anyone,” I tell him. “I was following the rules, which you and your cousin were too happy to break.”
“Not anyone?” Rocco says. “You sure about that?”
His sly grin puts my conscience back on the envelope in my pocket. But I have one stipulation up my sleeve that might not make this decision as bad as it could be. For Les, and for me as captain if anyone found out.
“You’re an underclassman,” Chip tells Miles. “You can’t expect a higher place in the pecking order.”
“I thought my awesome diving skills might matter,” Miles says.
“Don’t we all,” Rocco says. “But everyone has to pay their dues one way or another. Isn’t that right, Big Mack?”
I give him a tight upward nod that might as well be a fuck-you.
“Do me a favor,” Rocco tells Miles. “Go grab me some of those mint toothpicks they keep by the register.”
Miles grumbles but goes, giving Rocco a chance to pull a manila folder from his messenger bag. He slides it onto my lap under the table. “Your mom’s file from McGee’s office. We can take care of that other thing whenever you’re ready.”
Chip is smiling like he’s glad something is going my way, but he’s only witnessing half the exchange. He’d freak if he knew what I plan to give Rocco in return.
I channel some of my resentment about the whole thing at Miles when he returns from fetching toothpicks. “So what’s stopping you from joining your cousin at Andover?”
Miles shrugs. “Maybe I’m waiting to see how I’ll do at E.H.H.S. If I leave I wanna go out with a bang.”
I’m about to tell him to go bang nails when Chip elbows me in the ribs. “Look who’s here.”
My irritation wanes when I see Iris. She saunters closer, giving me an all-knowing smile as our eyes connect. Looks like Green Hill didn’t scare her away, after all.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “I had to wait for my ride to finish writing her article on the nutrition center.”
“Welcome to the Monarchs’ lair,” Chip says. “Where unhealthy eats abound.” He gets out of the booth so Iris can sit between us.
Her leg bumps against mine and she keeps it there, fusing our limbs, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Rocco’s face morphs into perplexity. “Iris. I almost didn’t recognize you in street clothes.”
“Same here. You’re wearing glasses.”
“They used to call me Rocco Raccoon.”
“I’m French Fry.”
Rocco laughs. “Does that mean you and the Big Mack are an official thing since Monarch Night?”
Iris bobbles her head like she doesn’t know how to answer, then mercifully says, “Yes. I guess it does,” and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Glad I could help with that.” Rocco flips a look at me, like I owe him again.
Aggie approaches our table before either of us is forced into giving Rocco more information. “You boys ready to order?” She notices Iris a second later. “Sorry, hon, didn’t see you there. I’m guessin’ you’re the reason Amy went barnstormin’ outta here. Honestly, Chip,” Aggie scolds. “You should know better than to bring another girl here.”
“She’s with Theo,” Chip says.
“Not that Chip didn’t offend Amy in an equally boneheaded way,” I add.
Aggie’s scolding eyes soften on me, but that doesn’t mean she’s through with Chip. “Whatever you did do has Amy madder than a hellcat. She punched clock and tore outta here with another fella. Curly brown hair. Fancy car. I won’t tell you what she muttered on her way through the back door, but it was unsavory.”
Les Carter. Always there whether you want him to be or not.
Chip slinks down and hides his face with the menu. “Thanks for the warning, Aggie.”
“Young love’s not what it used to be,” she says. “So, what can I get you kids tonight?”
We give Aggie our order and she taps her pencil on her pad before repeating it back to us, simultaneously yelling it to Ray in the kitchen. “Ray, gimme a Jack Tommy for the lady. Then burn four. Run three of ’em through the garden and make ’em hemorrhage. Make one of ’em cry. Take away the tears on two, and make one a melt. And put ’em on the rails. Chip’s gotta go see his girl and make good.” She bops him on the head with her order pad and walks to the kitchen.
Hearing Aggie give our order to Ray is the highlight of coming to the Blue Belle. She’s been trying to teach diner lingo to the other waitresses, but they don’t give it the same flair.
“Wow,” Iris says, “That’s a whole other language. Her energy is ultraviolet.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Chip says.
“Haven’t you been here before?” I ask. “Aggie’s the best.”
“Not since—it’s been a long time.” Iris smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I understand. “So what brought this group together tonight?” she asks. “I’m sensing a greater purpose at work.”
“That’s perceptive,” Chip says. “For a fortune-teller. The truth is, Iris, the Big Mack needs our help hatching a plan to discover whether he was dropped here on earth via alien spacecraft, or really had a human family. I don’t know what the freshman is doing here, but I think we’re planning to use him for alien bait.”
Iris’s laughter is infectious. “Better him than me.”
“Screw you guys,” Miles says, dampening the mood.
“Does anyone beside Chip know your mom was an Andover diver?” Rocco asks. “That must feel alien to your Monarch pride.”
“Coach Porter knows. Iris knows. And now, thanks to you, so does Miles.”
“He doesn’t care,” Rocco says, then turns his attention to Iris. “I think your boyfriend might be diving for the wrong school.”
“I disagree,” Iris says. “In fact, I just finished writing up an article about the diving demo for the school paper, and Theo is a Monarch, through and through. He’s not the Methuselah generation.”
“I’m not the what?”
Iris shakes her head “Monarchs normally only live about four weeks. Kind of how we go to high school for four years,” she explains. “But every autumn, a special generation of monarchs is born called the Methuselah generation. They have ten times the life span of their counterparts, making it feasible for them to migrate all the way to Mexico to hibernate, then return to ensure the continuation of the species. They live a little longer, but in order to get where they need to go they have to leave everything behind. Like you did, Rocco. Maybe underneath your red Shark suit you’re still a Monarch, after all.”
“Survivors,” I say, picturing the swarms of butterflies at the carnival.
“Adaption,” Iris adds. “Remember when Mr. Malone was quoting Darwin in class. He said, ‘It’s not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.’”
Adapt or perish.
“I think I’m that too,” Miles says. “The Methuselah generation.”
“Actually,” Iris says, “I get the impression you’re a viceroy.”
“What’s that?” Miles’s voice is rife with anticipation.
“A viceroy wears a special costume that looks like a monarch, but it’s mostly to ensure its own survival. Look it up. It’s very cool stuff.”
Miles opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, then shreds a paper napkin instead, his ears reddening.
Iris gives me a closemouthed grin and squeezes my knee. I’m not sure what the hell she’s talking about, Methuselah and viceroy, but I think she just burned Miles in her nerdy, nature-loving way, without provocation from me. Almost like she doesn’t need her cards to read people at all.
Aggie returns to our table with a huge tray of food. She doles out the shakes before putting a cherry Coke in front of Iris, making a point of catching her eye. “A Coke with virtue for the lady,” she says, then proceeds to distribute the plates of burgers and Iris’s grilled cheese. When she’s done, Aggie tucks the tray under arm to waggle a finger at Iris. “I never forget a face, but yours took me an extra minute. I must be gettin’ old. Older by the second these days, ’cause I could swear you’re the spitting image of—are you Bert and JoJo’s daughter, by chance?”
Iris nods with a small smile and takes a sip of her cherry Coke.
“I’m sorry for your loss, hon,” Aggie says, patting her arm. “Your mother was real good people. Read my cards once in this exact same booth. Accurate as all get out too.”
“Thanks,” Iris says. “I appreciate hearing that.”
“You got yourself a keeper, Theo. Don’t screw it up like your buddy Chip.”
“Hey,” Chip moans. “It wasn’t entirely my fault.”
I lean closer to Iris as she picks up her first french fry. “If you eat that, won’t you be cannibalizing a tiny a version of yourself? I wouldn’t want you to end up in the same murderous category as that oriole munching on that monarch butterfly.”
“Maybe you should eat her french fry,” Chip says casually.
The entire table goes quiet. Chip shrugs and takes a bite of his burger. “You left yourself wide open for that one,” he says, mouth full.
“I told you, Iris. No filter.”
“Your Dog is true to his colors. I like it.” She gives me a wicked grin, then stuffs the fry in her mouth.
Actually, my dog is a poonhound. But I keep that to myself.
Once the ketchup is flowing, conversation around the booth becomes less about who’s a Monarch and who’s a Shark and more about what’s going right for everyone, making the envelope in my pocket feel like a bigger burden. If I’m going to do this it has to be now or never.
“Can you guys let me out,” I say. “I have to hit the restroom.” I kick Rocco under the table so he gets my meaning.
“Me too. Scoot.” He gives his cousin a nudge.
We slide out of the booth to hit the john and before the door even closes behind us Rocco starts in on me.
“You gonna give me the dive or what?” He removes his black glasses and cleans them with the bottom of his RESPECT YOUR MOTHER T-shirt.
Subtle, Rocco. Real subtle.
I reach into my pocket and hand him the envelope. Inside is a slip of paper that explains Les’s dive, what I’d do for lead-ups, and two of the Adderall capsules Uncle Phil gave me on Tuesday, for old time’s sake.
“This makes us square; I was never in Coach McGee’s office.”
“Who was in McGee’s office?” He smirks, then tears the envelope open. “Nice. This should help me amp things up.”
“Listen, Rocco, that dive hasn’t been performed at any of our meets to date. It’s advanced. So don’t go for it until you’re ready. I think it’d be safer if you practiced first and used it against a different school.”
He cocks an eyebrow and I drop my hands on his shoulders. “I’m serious. I don’t even think I could pull it off without a lot of work. Les got private training for that dive. He’s perfected it.” Admitting all of that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I know. That’s part of its appeal.”
The restroom door swings open and in strolls Miles.
I take my hands off Rocco’s shoulders fast and he stuffs the envelope into his back pocket. But our actions are clumsy, at best, and one of the capsules drops to the floor.
Rocco lunges for it as I growl, “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“What do you think? I have to take a leak.”
“Tough. Go use the ladies’.”
“No way.”
I’m in his face in two strides. “Get. Out.”
“No. What were you doing in here?” He looks past me at his cousin. “Are you being secretly gay with him now or something?”
What the—
I want to smack this kid in the head. “We’re not being gay, whatever the hell that means, you narrow-minded twerp. And it wouldn’t be any of your freaking business if we were.”
“Just go,” Rocco tells him. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
Miles storms out in a huff.
“Thanks for that,” Rocco says. “You defending my honor actually means a lot to me. But I can see why he hates you.”
“I don’t need him to like me,” I say. “Haven’t you taught him anything? Respect the team captain and listen. That’s the only way he’s gonna learn and get better.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Miles tends to go off half-cocked.”
“Just make sure that isn’t a Bennett thing too. Think about what I said. You should take your time with that dive.”
He gives me an exaggerated salute and clicks his heels. “Aye-aye, Cap-i-tan!”
And I understand how Iris felt trying to warn me about my cards.