But Nola had already gulped. Her eyes widened as the scalding cocoa passed across the roof of her mouth and continued down, a blistering streak. Maggie jumped up, poured cold milk in a glass. Nola took a drink of cold and sighed. Then she closed her eyes and put her hand over her mouth.
Maggie’s teeth clenched her words back. She didn’t say that she was sorry, but she was sorry. She was sorry that she couldn’t do the right thing. Sorry that she couldn’t do what her mother needed done. Sorry she couldn’t fix her. Sorry, sometimes, that she had come across her mother in the barn. Sorry she had saved her. Sorry sorry sorry that she thought that. Sorry she was bad. Sorry she wasn’t grateful every moment for her mother’s life. Sorry that LaRose was her mother’s favorite, although he was Maggie’s too. Sorry for thinking how sorry she was and for wasting her time with all this feeling sorry. Before what happened with her mother, Maggie had never been sorry. How she wished she could be that way again.
Maggie went to find Snow and Josette. It was after school for them. Hers would start Monday. She, at least, could go back and forth and see them and see LaRose. The girls were outside. LaRose had gone to town with Emmaline, they said. She should help them with this thing they were doing. The grass, or weed base of the yard, was torn and gouged. It was hard and trampled. The girls had set up a ragged old volleyball net. Maggie helped them spray-paint orange boundaries on the dirt and mashed weeds. The court was done. While they talked, they bumped the ball back and forth. Maggie had only played in gym. Josette taught her how to bump, showed her how to set. Snow spiked. They practiced serves.
Don’t even bother with an underhand, Josette said. Watch.
Josette set her pointy left foot forward, drew her right elbow back, like she was going to shoot an arrow. She smacked the taut, filthy, velvety ball around in her hand four times, then tossed the ball high overhead. As it fell, she skipped up and slammed it with the heel of her hand. It curved low and fast over the net, bounced down where you wouldn’t expect it.
Ace!
That’s her trademark, said Snow.
I wanna learn it.
Holy Jeez, said Josette, after Maggie tried to serve.
Maggie missed six times and when she connected the ball just dropped down feebly, didn’t even reach the net.
You gotta do push-ups if you want any power.
Drop down, gimme ten, yelled Snow.
Maggie did four.
This girl needs building up, said Snow.
Yeah, you need some upper body. Josette felt Maggie’s arm critically.
Coochy came outside.
Having your girl time? He mocked them, stepping back in a graceless pretend serve. When he turned to walk away, Snow served a killer to the back of his head. It must have hurt but he just kept walking. He was bulking up his neck to play football.
Two points, said Snow.
Josette popped the ball up on her toe and tucked it beneath her arm.
Beaning Coochy is two points, she said to Maggie. Just hitting him is one.
I wanna bean, said Maggie. Show me that serve again.
At home, Maggie checked in on her mother’s nap, waited at the bedroom door’s crack until she saw slight movement. Then she went out to the garage. The big door was open, the air blowing around some papers on the floor. Her father had the hood of the pickup propped up. He was changing the oil and air filters, draining out the sludgy residue.
Hey, said Maggie. Can I change schools?
No, said her father. But grown-ups always said no before they asked why.
Why? he asked. Because of LaRose?
I have to go to the same school as my brother, right? Also, other reasons. Kids at my school hate me.
That’s ridiculous, said Peter, though he knew it wasn’t.
There’s this girl Braelyn one year older, and her brother in LaRose’s old class, and his brother Jason, who’s older. That whole family hates me, plus their friends.
You never said anything before.
Maggie shrugged. I can handle it, that’s why. But I’d rather change schools.
So you want to go to reservation high school? He laughed. Even tougher there.
Dad, they have more afterschool programs now. Pluto’s a dead town. Our state’s so cheap. You know they’ll probably consolidate and we’ll be on the bus an hour more.
What she said was probably true, but Peter didn’t like to think that way, except he did think that way.
Reservation’s getting federal plus casino money.
Peter wiped his hands on an old red rag and closed the hood. He looked down at Maggie, a whippet, finely muscled, her intense stare.
Where’d you hear that?
I heard it from you, Dad.
Did I say our state was cheap? I wouldn’t say that. Plus, their casino’s in debt.
You said the farmers around this part of the state don’t have any money. You said there’s more money on the reservation these days. You said . . .
Okay. That really isn’t true. I was, you know honey, I was frustrated.
Grown-ups always say that when they lose their temper.
Now you’re the expert on grown-ups.
Maggie knew it was time to shift strategy.
I can go there because of Mom. Descendancy status and everything. And, see, I wanna go to high school with Josette and Snow. Be on their team.
But you hate sports.