CHAPTER TWO
The next morning, as I swung into the school parking lot, humming along with the guitar solo to “Sunshine of Your Love,” I saw Susan pull into the space next to me. Now I felt extra lucky. I was not only trying out for the varsity baseball team later that day but maybe able to score a few points with Susan by telling her about it. Being on the varsity baseball team was an honor. Susan worked at Mario’s with me, along with some of my buddies. I barely talked to her at work because I’d get so tongue-tied staring into her blue eyes as she tossed those salads. I’d say to my friend Ted, also a busboy, “What I wouldn’t do to be a tomato in her salad.” He’d just laugh and shrug it off.
Ted was the kind of guy who seemed to have everything—the car, the girl, the clothes, the money. His father insisted he work for pocket money, but other than that, he had everything he needed. Nothing seemed to bother him or tie him down. He never worried about missing one or two morning classes. He’d stop off for breakfast first at one of the local eateries. His friends would join him there: Jim, David, Barrett, and Brian. This was the “cool” group I was determined to become part of.
Ted was the ringleader, a James Dean type, but with dark hair. His father owned a big house on the hill in town, and he had a tennis court in the backyard. It looked like a country club. His dad even put down this new kind of foam floor for the outdoor courts. It was great for playing basketball too. Sometimes I got invited for pickup games. That’s really how I got to know him. While I was making sure I was on time for school, he was probably eating with his buddies at the local diner.
Susan got out of her car and slung her purse over one shoulder then grabbed a few books.
I took that moment to snag my book bag, slam the door quickly, then turn to her and say, “Hi Susan, how are you doing?”
She looked at me over her chemistry book and smiled, “Oh, hi Mike, I got to run to class. I’m late. You going to be around at lunchtime?”
As I said, “One o’clock…” my tongue swelled from shyness, and I wondered if she heard me mutter under my breath as she walked away, “I’m going to finish my sentence one of these days.” I really couldn't help it around her—she had these mesmerizing eyes, an infectious smile, and long, blonde hair like Marcia from the Brady Bunch. She also had a lot of male friends, and I was just trying to get noticed. Maybe if I were more like Ted and his gang, she would have waited for me, even risked being late?
I'd been trying to break into their group for a while. Just as I made it to the door before the bell rang, I saw Ted in his brown GT6 and the rest of the gang following behind in Dave’s mother’s blue station wagon. They pulled into the parking lot. Ted honked the car and slowed down beside me.
He rolled his window down. “Hey Mike, wait up.”
“C’mon, I don’t want to be late, haul your ass over here.” I glanced down at my watch. I only had two minutes before the bell rang. I watched them park quickly and pile out of their cars. Jim led the way. Even though he was short, the girls were crazy about him. He had blonde hair, always looked clean-cut, and wore his blue football jacket. Jim was a top running back who achieved his dream of being a starter for the varsity team. He had a superior attitude; you just knew nobody was going to mess with him.
Behind him was Dave, over six feet but not quite as tall as me. He had a Beatles haircut and even though he lifted weights and was a strong pickup player in football, basketball, and hockey, wasn’t that popular with the girls. I guess he was the strong silent type, with a John Wayne persona, but more into hanging with the guys than chasing girls. He was everybody’s friend—male and female. You could depend on him. If you needed a hand fixing something or were drawn into a fight, he’d be there for you.
Barrett waited for Ted to get out of the car. He was his next-door neighbor and dedicated wingman. Barrett was as tall as Jim but more mild-mannered. He didn’t participate in any of the school sports, but he’d always be part of the team if you needed someone in a pickup football or basketball game. He had a consistent outside shot and made a couple of game-winning plays on Ted’s outdoor court that we still talked about. But he was also the guy Jim and Ted would always pick on. If something went wrong, Barrett would ultimately get the blame. But when the smoke cleared we were all good friends.
Brian suddenly pulled into the parking lot in his mom’s ‘66 tan Rambler station wagon. He ran out to join us just as the bell rang. Brian and I had been friends since elementary school. We used to play on the same little league team—the Yankees—which was managed by my dad. And Brian was also a senior like me. The rest of the guys were juniors. We’d always been close, going through the trenches of school together from first grade through twelfth. We had a lot of good times growing up, fishing and waterskiing on the Saugatuck, and we’d always go out Friday nights of my junior year driving around trying to find where the party was at.
So, that was Ted’s crowd, and all I wanted to do was be a part of it. I met Ted through Brian. Brian worked with Ted at a newly opened business called Jack Horner’s Pie Shop. They had great custard pie, not to mention pumpkin. I never had to pay for it. Brian just handed me a slice, hot out of the oven. And that’s how I met Ted. He was washing dishes in the back, but when he heard us talking about baseball and girls, he came out, wiping his hands on his apron. Between bites, I said, “I’m going to be trying out for pitching this year and just hope I don’t have to kiss the coach’s ass to play.”
Brian laughed, and Ted made kissing noises and said, “Pucker up!”
After that I was invited into their group of friends, and it just started to blossom—like a dream come true. That was the summer before my senior year—when I first met Ted and was invited to the pickup basketball games on his father’s modernized turf. I was the center, and we each respected each other’s skill; nothing was taken for granted. I started to feel like I belonged. It was a great feeling—like that moment in baseball when you hit the winning home run in the bottom of the ninth and you watch the ball sail over the fence. For that one moment it’s like the clouds part, and you see that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But in youth expectations sometimes lead us to discover that the pot is often empty.
On that spring morning, though, as we entered the double doors of the school, everything felt right. I was on my way to being accepted by the popular crowd, and life was changing like a 100 mph fastball striking out the big hitter. As I found myself walking down the hall with Ted’s gang, girls smiling at me, I finally felt part of a winning team. And the clincher was seeing Susan look directly at me as I walked by and give me a flirty smile. Finally—me and the boys!
But was this the right team for me? All I knew was that the girls were noticing me for the first time, and the dial had shot up on my popularity meter. But as I headed into Kaplan’s economics class, I felt the rain clouds set in. Or worse, the hurricane of Kaplan roll in. He was standing at the board in his studious glasses. He didn’t have to say anything for us all to know to sit down fast and get ready for the class. He knew how to intimidate us with just a look. I slid into my seat, confident I had all my work done. Bring it on! I thought, Let the crucifixion called “economics” begin! As I pulled out my homework, I thought of Susan again and resolved to do whatever it took to keep proving to Ted and the others that I was the guy who fit in with their group—they hadn’t made a mistake after all—I was the Big One!