Pacific (9780802194800) by Drury Tom

Author:Drury, Tom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perseus Book Group
Published: 2013-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE HEADMASTER’S instinct proved correct: Micah made a fine volleyball player. The game came easily to him. Playing, there was no past or future, just breath going in and out.

The uniforms of the Deep Rock Lancers were black with red stripes down the side, a handsome, menacing combination. The shorts were long, the jerseys sleeveless. Micah liked riding the team bus and putting on knee pads and heating his legs with Tiger Balm.

The Lancers’ coach believed that volleyball embodied many elements of life. The dig was survival, the bump was cooperation, and the set was prayer. The spike, he said, was going home.

He was unusually philosophical for a coach and in fact taught Introduction to Philosophy. Yet he hated to lose and would say things like, “Tonight I found out who has guts and who doesn’t,” leaving each player to wonder if he had guts or not.

The Lancers’ record improved to 5 and 5 in the Conference of the Golden Sun. One night they played an away game against the conference champions, the Meteors of Mary Ellen Pleasant Country Day. Parents and students filled the bleachers, twiddling their phones, confident of another win.

The Meteors’ gym was a vaulted palace compared with the Lancers’ crackerbox. Rows of blue-white lights shone from the rafters. Nervous and disorganized at first, the Lancers fell behind. Micah took it upon himself to bring them back with a run of topspin serves that caromed backward from the Meteors’ arms. Playing front court, he split the seams of the defense.

The Lancers won the first set, lost the second, and won the third, deciding the match. They danced in wide-eyed celebration, realizing the team they had become.

“Not in our house,” said the Meteors. “Not in our house!”

“It’s our house now,” said Micah.

One winter’s day, Micah and Charlotte went running along the concrete trough of the Ballona River. After a few miles they rested in a concrete underpass.

“Do you want to go to a show?” said Charlotte. “My mom got tickets from a magician she’s dating.”

“Sure.”

“Or maybe you and Thea could go.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Not if you and Thea have your hearts set on it.”

“You and Thea have this weird thing.”

“You are the weird thing that we have.”

Then an old man, his face lined by the sun, came along pushing a grocery cart filled with cans and bottles. He stopped and looked at them, arms resting on the handle of the cart.

“I have beautiful handwriting,” he said. “I use the Palmer Method. All the muscles of the shoulder and the arm must work together. Do you know it?”

Charlotte and Micah said they did not.

“Well, it’s hardly surprising,” he said. “The Palmer Method is a thing of the past. Only a few of us keep the memory alive. Watch now. I will show you and perhaps you will become interested and your generation will not forget the old ways.”

He produced a newspaper and pencil from the pockets of his raincoat, asked their names, and stood writing in quiet concentration.

“Done,” he said.

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