Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [2]
“Our duel,” Ramon said, spinning his broom like a bo staff, “will represent the struggle our nation’s currently engaged in.”
“Please, we both know you’re just going for home team advantage.”
“You wound me, Sam. I can’t help it if your crackerlike oppression gives me the better playing field.” He did a quick hamstring stretch. “Suck it up.”
“Fine,” I said, “then I get the handicap.”
“Sam, you’re Texas. Texas always gets the handicap.”
“I’m Team Texas again?”
He grinned, rolled his shoulders, and wiggled his arms, loosening them.
I gave up and nodded at the Mercedes. It looked old and expensive, especially in our parking lot. “Shiny.”
Ramon snorted. “Classic. Check out the gullwing doors.”
“Fine. Classic Shiny.”
Ramon tossed an empty Plumpy’s cup into the Dumpster. “Sometimes, Sammy, I question your manhood.”
“A car is to get you from place to place. That’s it.”
Ramon shook his head at my ignorance.
“Whatever. Just try not to dent the car, Team Mexico.”
“It’s Team South America,” he said.
“You do know that Mexico is in North America, right?”
“Yeah, but I have the whole continent behind me.” He held up his fist dramatically. “They support their cousin to the north.” I laughed and he dropped his hand back down. “And it’s that guy’s own fault for parking in our lot so he could sneak over to Eddie Bauer or Starbucks or whatever.”
UVillage was an open-air shopping orgy that sat behind Plumpy’s restaurant. Between the Gap, Abercrombie, and not one but two freestanding Starbucks, the place attracted a certain clientele that rubbed Ramon the wrong way. Mostly because UVillage had its own parking structure but their customers still parked over here because it was slightly closer. I didn’t know why that pissed him off. He didn’t like Plumpy’s either. Maybe it was the principle of the thing. I was more disgusted than annoyed by the effort put forth by people just so they didn’t have to walk ten extra feet.
I leaned down to tie my shoe, the leather pouch around my neck sliding out from under my shirt. I slid it back in without really thinking about it. A habit born from years of repetition. Personally, I didn’t think UVillage was totally awful. Some of the food was good, and I found it hard to hate the bookstore. Of course, the bookstore contained the third Starbucks in the complex.
“Whatever,” I said. “Game on.” And I rolled the potato into the center.
Brooke came out to watch after Ramon scored another goal, making the score a depressing four to one.
“Ramon, order up,” she said. She reached for his broom. “I’ll pinch-hit in your absence.”
“And leave Frank all alone up there?” he asked.
Brooke grinned deviously.
“That’s my girl,” Ramon said. He had already lost the bet, so he was now considered a free agent and worked to aid both of us. The important thing, he felt, was that Frank crack, not who won. Ramon handed Brooke his broom and walked inside.
“The devil in pigtails,” I said.
Her grin widened as she adjusted her stance.
“Okay,” I said, “but we’re switching sides.”
Brooke straightened up and sighed. “Fine, I’ll be Texas.”
I could be a man and admit that Brooke was much better at potato hockey than me. I didn’t know what sports she played in high school or if she just worked out, but she was a better athlete than I was. I didn’t even skateboard very well. My board could move me from point A to point B okay, but I couldn’t really do anything fancy on it like Ramon, so I didn’t feel the least bit ashamed in asking for the home field advantage.
We crouched down, brooms ready. I saw the faintest twitch around Brooke’s eye before she flipped the potato into the air with the tight-packed bristles of her broom. Then she leaned back and gave it a whack with the handle. I blocked it from the garbage bin, barely, but only by slamming my own body into the bin’s green, chipped side and taking the spud directly in the chest.
I squinted at her. “Dirty move.”
“My brothers played lacrosse.”
We both hunkered back down, eyes never leaving each other as the