Pete's Vagina -52.2- Dive

Pete’s Vagina

Chapter 52.2 Dive

By Joyce Melton

Lee seemed to be in a good mood, it would probably upset him if I leaped from the van at the next corner, so I decided to tough it out. I felt a bit like when I had talked Jake into calling 17-56-Dive, which meant I took a handoff and tried to find a hole in the defensive line for a one- or two-yard gain.

We completed the turn onto Country Club Drive, and I sighed, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.

Lee glanced my way and flashed a grin. “Everyone seems to be afraid of my mom. I swear to you, she doesn’t bite.”

I recaptured the nervous giggle that had tried to escape. “Yeah, well….” I stalled.

“I think you two will get along well,” he said, still grinning. “You have a lot in common.”

“Huh?” I couldn’t imagine what.

Lee explained. “Well, she’s the first woman elected to city-wide office since World War II, and you’re the first girl to play football in the county, ever.”

“Ah,” I managed around the giggle I thought I had asphyxiated.

He laughed. “She kind of admires you. She said so.” He blushed. “Uh, well… what she actually said is that she admired your, um, your balls. Um….” He sort of trailed off, looking sideways at me with more panic than I had been feeling.

Now I laughed, and not a giggle. Lee looked as if he thought he’d mortally offended me. I felt the tension drain out of me. I didn’t have balls anymore, but it was nice to have them admired.

I shook my head. “Your mom must be more of a character than I thought,” I told him.

He chuckled, showing his relief that I hadn’t taken the compliment wrong. “In fact,” he said, “she’s been my encouragement for tackling the documentary I’ve been filming.”

“Uh? Documentary? You’ve been filming the Lions all semester. All our games and most of our practices. What’s the documentary about? I wouldn’t think high school football would be….” I trailed off as I realized what he was going to say.

“Well, sure, but the documentary is about you, Pete. You’re my star subject. Um…?”

I must have looked stricken, and I could see his anxiety rising again. Mine towered over the hills surrounding us, looming like a rubber-suit monster seeking a tempura snack.

We turned right on Lakeside Circle and followed the shore of the overgrown pond past the Golf Pro Shop and Clubhouse into the maze of curving residential drives that angled up the hillside. Godzilla retreated.

“It’s okay, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice catching. “I mean, everyone signed a release back in the summer, or I wouldn’t even have started….”

I felt like I might have kicked his favorite puppy. “Sure. Sure,” I mumbled. “We all knew you were filming….” In fact, I’d been counting on Lee to help make sure Jake got the attention he deserved so he could win a scholarship.

Lee nodded, relieved.

The houses we passed had been growing larger and more elaborate, rivaling the Linklater home where the ice cream party took place. As if to remind me of that, I felt a twist in my lower gut — a memento I would willingly have done without.

We pulled into a curving drive in front of a sprawling, timbered split-level ranch house, somewhat smaller and less ornamented than most of the neighboring haciendas.

I managed to get the heavy door of the Caravan open before Lee stomped his way around to hold the door again. I didn’t need the help, but I took his hand when he offered it to steady me as I clambered out of the Frickmobile. The texture of his skin was rougher than mine, and I could feel the strength in his arm as I let him take my weight. It was either that or jump.

I reflected that although the F-150 sat even higher than Lee’s Caravan, Jake had never offered me an arm to get down.

Then again, I would probably have slugged him if he had.

“I’m glad to see you smiling,” Lee commented. “Cause I’ve got something else to ask you? Un….”

A wind off the mountains ruffled my hair. “Ask,” I told him, pushing a stray lock away from my face. I turned to look directly back at him since he seemed to be just standing there staring at me for a long moment.

Finally, he shook his head and spoke up. “What…what do you want to be called?” He stumbled on the question. “I mean, everyone at school except a few teachers call you Pete. Um?”

I almost rolled my eyes at him. I thought about five years before when I had thrown a fit at home about being called Gaylen. For a time, my family had called me Hunter, but even Mom called me Pete more often than not. Except sometimes Dad was Big Pete, and I was Little Pete. And Jordan called me Gaylen or even Gayle, just to annoy me sometimes.

I sighed.

Lee’s brow furrowed. “I ask because Mom asked me. And I realized that I always call you Pete just because everyone else does. And then, and then, uh, I did something stupid.”

I frowned back. “What did you do?”

“Well, I’m making a documentary about you and the team, but mostly,” he swallowed, “mostly about you.”

“Uh, huh?” We were approaching the big, oaken double doors of the house set back in a sort of alcove.

“And, and, I would like to kind of keep a little journalistic distance between us.”

I stared at him in astonishment.

“I should never have asked you on a date,” he said, mumbling the last of that.

I don’t know why I did it, but I reached out and took his big, rougher hand in my small one. I squeezed three of his fingers and said, “Call me Gaylen.”

I must have hiccoughed right then — because it was sure the wrong time to giggle.