Rule #9 by Sheri Duff
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We win the playoff game. Jack’s the hero again. He had two interceptions. We drive for our victory burritos. Nobody’s going to mess with tradition at this point. Then we follow Tyler to his house. It’s either spending the night playing video games or heading to the party at the Pit. Coach warned the boys, and Jack’s not going to take any chances before the championship game.
We head to the basement, and Natalie and I insist on the dancing video game. Jack beats me. “What can I say? I can dance. We had these dances in Kentucky. Everyone went. But it’s more two-stepping and line dancing,” Jack says.
“I love line dancing.” Natalie screams. She’s beating her two-left-footed boyfriend. Poor Tyler, he can’t dance. He doesn’t have any rhythm.
“I’d rather dance close,” Jack pulls me in.
“Some good that’s gonna do when you’re off in Georgia,” I pout.
“I’m here now,” Jack says.
“Tyler!” a shriek comes from upstairs. Tyler also has a stepmom. He told us that she’s a nightmare but I didn’t believe him. The crazy stepmom thing seems reserved for stepdaughters, not stepsons. She doesn’t give him time to respond. She stomps down the stairs. “Someone left their shoe in the middle of the garage. I ran it over.” She gives each us of the eye. Seriously, we individually receive the eye. “You all need to leave,” she says.
We run up the stairs, padlocking our laughter inside. We follow Tyler through the family room and out the garage door. A door on the second floor slams shut. Tyler closes the door to the garage carefully and quietly.
Jack stands in the middle of the garage, shaking his head. He looks at the ground. I follow his gaze to the shoe, his shoe, centered under the front left tire. Wow.
“Dude, can you ask her to move the car?”
“You ask her.” Tyler backs away from the car.
“She’s your mom,” Jack says.
“Stepmom,” Tyler corrects him. “Can I spend the night at your house, brother? My dad’s out of town, and she’s scary. My mom and stepdad are celebrating their anniversary tonight, so I was trying to give them some peace. Let me tell you, I’d take a hundred stepdads before I’d take one stepmom.”
“Not me, buddy,” Jack says.
We hightail it away from the garage, without Jack’s shoe.