Bama Boy Page 2

  “Look, maybe you were right about Patricia and Russ, but Jimbo is different. I just know he is! A person doesn’t endure that kind of hardship without having—” I paused, searching for the right word. “—Character.”

  “He sounds like a character, all right!”

  “I’m not asking you to turn him into a rocket scientist,” I coaxed. “He just needs to keep up a ‘C’ average in all his classes. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Yes, it is,” he answered firmly. “Look, Tracy, can’t we talk about something else? This is getting us nowhere.”

  I let the subject drop, but I wasn’t through with Anthony yet. Jimbo was a nice guy who deserved a fighting chance, and I was going to do my best to see to it that he got one. Later, when Anthony walked me to my front door and took me in his arms, I knew it was time to play my trump card.

  “Anthony, won’t you at least think about helping poor Jimbo?” I pleaded.

  “Tracy, I don’t have to think about it. My answer is still ‘no.’ ”

  “All right, then, be that way!” I said irritably. “If you won’t tutor him, I’ll do it myself. And when report cards come out in six weeks, he’ll have at least a ‘C’ in every class!”

  “If you can do that, I’ll take you to that new French restaurant for dinner,” Anthony promised.

  “You mean Chez Bienville?” I asked, my eyes wide with surprise. “Are you sure you can afford it?”

  “I don’t think that will ever be an issue,” Anthony said with a smirk.

  “All right, then, it’s a bet!” I retorted, stung by his superior attitude.

  “Now, do I get a goodnight kiss or not?”

  I took Anthony’s right hand and gave it a firm shake. “Just be sure to brush up on your French, buster!”

  But after my initial anger had cooled, I wondered if I had been a bit rash in accepting Anthony’s bet. What did I really know about Jimbo, anyway? Surely the whole football team wouldn’t be worried about his grades unless he’d given them good reason to be concerned. I had a sudden premonition that I might live to regret taking Anthony up on that bet.

  Chapter Four

  When I saw Jimbo in the hall on the first day of school, I almost walked right by without recognizing him.

  “Hi, Tracy Brock,” he called when we passed each other in the hall. “Remember me?”

  I remembered him, all right. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. He was clean, for one thing, and the improvement it made in his appearance was remarkable. No girl who had ever seen Anthony could call Jimbo handsome, but his face had an open, friendly quality that I found appealing. His clothes would never start any fashion trends, but at least they were respectable.

  “I remember you,” I said, “but you look—different.”

  Jimbo laughed at that, and I discovered I hadn’t been mistaken about his dimples, or about the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Amazin’ what a little soap and water can do, isn’t it?”

  “How are you doing? Have you had any trouble finding your way around school?”

  “I’m doin’ okay. Right now I’m lookin’ for room B-107. Got any idea where it is?”

  “Not really,” I confessed. “But I think we can find it.”

  We found it, all right. I studied the number over the door, then turned to Jimbo. “Are you sure this is the right room?”

  “That’s what it says,” he said, glancing down at his schedule. “B-107.”

  “Jimbo, this is Mr. Donovan’s physics class!”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It is for a guy who’s got to keep up a ‘C’ average. Physics is a tough class! And Mr. Donovan is a good teacher, but nobody ever claimed his class was easy. Whatever possessed you to sign up for it?”

  Jimbo shrugged. “I guess I must’ve misunderstood. I thought I was signin’ up for phys ed. What have you got this period?”

  I consulted my schedule. “Physics. Room B-107. I’m in here with you.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. At least I would be close by, so I could help Jimbo if and when he needed me; on the other hand, the carnage might be painful to watch. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Anthony walked into the room. I groaned inwardly. When he found out Jimbo was in our physics class, he’d never let me hear the end of it.

  “Hi, Tracy,” he said, putting his books on the desk in front of mine.

  “Hello, Anthony,” I answered in a chilly voice designed to keep him at arm’s length.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? You’re not still sore about—”

  “Anthony, have you met Jimbo Maxwell?” I interrupted, giving him a look that dared him to say a word. “Jimbo, this is Anthony Pierce.”

  For once in his life, Anthony was speechless. Well, almost. “You’re Jimbo Maxwell? And you’re in this class?”

  “I was last time I checked,” said Jimbo, looking at his schedule again. “Why does everybody keep askin’ that?”

  A wicked smile curled Anthony’s lips. “Am I glad to meet you!” he said with relish.

  “Anthony—” I began.

  “Ah, Tracy, ma belle, we have so much to discuss.” He took my hand and raised it to his lips with an exaggerated gallantry that made me itch to slap him.

  The late bell rang and I sat down at my desk, with Anthony seated in front of me and Jimbo behind.

  “What’s wrong with that guy?” Jimbo murmured, indicating the back of Anthony’s head.

  “Are you kidding?” I sighed. “Right now, that’s the happiest man on earth.”

  Anthony’s behavior was infuriating, but my mind was made up. I was going to offer Jimbo my services as a tutor, and he was going to make a “C” in physics if I had to tie him to a chair and make him study all night! As soon as the bell rang, I promptly turned to Jimbo and made my offer. He accepted gratefully, I thought, and we worked out the details while Anthony stood by impatiently waiting to walk me to my next class. The three of us walked together as far as the door, where I gave Jimbo brief directions to his next class before we parted.

  “Well, Tracy, I’ll say this for you: you’re a brave little soul,” Anthony said once we were alone. “But just to be fair, I’ll make things easier for you. We won’t even count his other classes. If he makes a ‘C’ on his first physics test, you win the bet.”

  “Just wait. You’ll see,” I said with a lot more confidence than I felt.

  “By the way, I noticed you’re only charging two-fifty an hour. Russ Johnson paid you twice that. But then, he got the deluxe package, didn’t he?”

  “I’m only charging Jimbo half because he probably can’t afford five dollars an hour. And as for Russ, if I’d known how he was going to act, I would have charged him ten!”

  “Maybe you should charge Jimbo ten,” Anthony suggested. “At two-fifty an hour, it’s going to take a lot of tutoring to buy dinner for two at Chez Bienville.”

  “Then maybe you’d better start doing some tutoring yourself,” I said, giving him my sweetest smile. “Because when Jimbo makes a ‘C’ in physics, I’m going to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  An hour later, I stood at the cafeteria door and scanned the crowded room for a glimpse of my best friend. Maggie’s red hair made her easy to spot in a crowd, and soon I made my way past the bustling cafeteria tables and plopped down onto the vacant chair beside her.

  “Mags, I’ve got problems,” I said. “I’ve been fighting with Anthony all weekend.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. What are you fighting about?”

  “Jimbo Maxwell. I asked Anthony if he would tutor him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He accused me of picking up strays and trying to reform them.”

  “As much as it galls me to agree with Anthony, I have to admit he’s right. When you were thirteen, it was animals. Then you got older and started adopting people.”

  “I can’t help it! I told Anthony that if he wouldn’t help Jimbo, I’d do it myself. And be
fore I knew it, we’d made a bet that if Jimbo made all ‘C’s or better on his first report card, Anthony would take me out to dinner at Chez Bienville.”

  “Way to go, Tracy! What kind of classes does Jimbo have?”

  I sighed. “That’s where things start getting ugly. He’s got physics.”

  Maggie let out a long whistle.

  “My sentiments exactly,” I said.

  “Tracy! Maggie!”

  My bet with Anthony was temporarily forgotten as Maggie and I turned at the sound of our names. There stood Tiffany Tyler, looking as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, and tossing a mane of black curls that should have been illegal on anyone under twenty-one years of age.

  “Hello, Tiffany,” I said without enthusiasm.

  “I just had to ask if you two have met the new boy yet,” Tiffany said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She crossed one long leg over the other, and her black leather miniskirt slid up her long legs. “Have you seen him?”

  “He’s in my homeroom, but I haven’t really met him,” Maggie answered. “Brian has told me a lot about him, though.”

  “Oh, football stuff.” Tiffany dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Have you met him, Tracy?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times,” I said. “I’m going to be tutoring him.”

  “Oh, Tracy, you poor thing! You’re going to have your work cut out for you,” Tiffany laughed, turning back to Maggie. “He’s what they call ‘poor white trash’ down South. I’ll admit, I had high hopes when I heard we were getting a Southerner. I was looking for Rhett Butler, and instead we’ve got Li’l Abner! I’m talking major disappointment! Oh, there goes Sarah. Sarah! Wait up!”

  “I can’t stand her,” muttered Maggie, watching Tiffany sashay out the door.

  “Join the club.” I frowned at her retreating form. “I don’t know what all the boys see in her.”

  “Open your eyes, Trace.”

  “Okay, so she’s got a lot of hair, a figure men go mad for, and nobody’s ever seen her wear the same thing twice. Big deal!”

  “Yeah. Big deal!”

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” I said, leaning forward over the table and pointing with my fork for emphasis. “She’s wrong about Jimbo. He may be poor and white, but he’s not trash. So when you meet him, don’t let her influence you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry! All it takes to make me like him is to find out that Tiffany doesn’t. I think I love him already.”

  “Who, me?” asked Maggie’s boyfriend Brian, sitting down in the chair Tiffany had just vacated.

  “We were talking about Jimbo Maxwell and Tiffany Tyler,” Maggie explained.

  Brian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Jimbo and Tiffany?” he echoed incredulously, jumping to the wrong conclusion. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Oh Brian, don’t make me laugh!” Maggie said haughtily, thrusting her freckled nose into the air. “He’s poor white trash, you know—far beneath her! She told us so herself.”

  “She’ll think ‘poor white trash’ after Friday night’s game,” Brian predicted. “I’ll admit, the whole team nearly cracked up the first time we heard him call signals in that drawl of his—I’ve never heard anybody make ‘twelve’ a two-syllable word before! But then we saw him play, and nobody’s laughing anymore. I think there may be more to old Jimbo than meets the eye.”

  “I hope you’re right, Brian,” I said with a sigh. “You don’t know how much I hope you’re right!”

  Chapter Five

  Jimbo came to my house for his first tutoring session the following Tuesday night. When we had agreed on six o’clock Tuesday and Thursday nights, I hadn’t realized I was making a serious error in scheduling. Richie’s pee-wee football team played its games at five o’clock on Tuesday evening, and Mom and Dad never missed a game. That meant I would be alone in the house with Jimbo for most of the hour. After my experience with Russ, I was a little nervous at the prospect.

  Jimbo arrived at my house promptly at six, and I invited him in and led him to the living room, where we spread our books on the coffee table. We spent a few minutes making general remarks about school and the people he had met there, and soon I began to feel less jumpy.

  “That guy in our physics class,” Jimbo said. “What was his name?”

  “Anthony. Anthony Pierce.”

  “Oh, yeah. Is he your boyfriend?”

  I discovered I didn’t want to talk about Anthony. “Well, yes and no,” I answered evasively. “Speaking of names, is Jimbo your real name, or is it a nickname?”

  “It’s a nickname. My real name is James Robert Maxwell, Junior.” He glanced around the room. “Say, it’s awful quiet in here. Where’s Richie?”

  “He’s got a football game tonight. Mom and Dad have gone to watch him play.”

  “So it’s just you and me, huh?”

  Jimbo’s words might have been innocent enough, but they brought back all my earlier fears. Suddenly the house seemed very still and quiet, and I was very much aware that I was alone with a boy I knew little or nothing about.

  “Yes, it is,” I said warily, edging away from him slightly. “Just you and me.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Jimbo said, smiling at me in understanding. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

  It was a little embarrassing to have my mind read so easily, but I couldn’t help but be relieved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you—it’s just that the last guy I tutored seemed to be a little confused about what subject we were studying.”

  “No kidd’n’?” asked Jimbo with undisguised curiosity. “Who was he? Anybody I know?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” I said, my cheeks burning. “In fact, I don’t kiss at all!”

  “Never? What a waste!”

  “Well, not under those circumstances, anyway. And I’d rather kiss a slug than kiss R—him.”

  “Try not to be too hard on him, Tracy. Just listen to this.” Jimbo picked up his physics book and opened it at random. “ ‘The gravitational potential energy of an object is considered to be zero when the object is at an infinite distance from the earth.’ ” He shut the book with a snap. “See? This kind of stuff just sets a guy’s heart on fire.”

  “By the time Dad got finished with him, his heart wasn’t the only thing on fire! His ears may still be burning.”

  “I’ll bet ol’ Anthony wasn’t too keen about it, either. Probably beat the guy to a pulp!”

  “No,” I said with a twinge of regret. “Anthony says violence is for people who don’t know how to communicate effectively.”

  “I don’t know about that. If some guy tried something like that with my girl, I think I could communicate real effectively!”

  It had never occurred to me that Jimbo might have a girlfriend back in Alabama. For some reason, I found the idea unsettling. Shaking off the unaccustomed feeling, I opened my physics book to begin the session.

  About fifteen minutes before Jimbo’s hour was up, I heard the front door slam, and I knew Richie was home.

  “Tracy!” he yelled, charging into the living room. “Is Jimbo still here? Jimbo! We won! We won!”

  “No kidd’n’? What was the score?” I didn’t think anyone besides the pee-wee players and their parents would care about a game between ten-year-olds, but Jimbo couldn’t have sounded more interested if Richie had just played in the Super Bowl.

  “Thirteen to six,” Richie answered proudly. “I scored the second touchdown myself!”

  “Richie!” Mom called. “Jimbo and Tracy are trying to study, and you need a bath!”

  “Aw, Mom!” he groaned. “Let me tell him about my touchdown!”

  “Later,” Mom said, gearing up for the battle that was sure to follow. “Now, march!”

  “Go take a bath, squirt,” Jimbo said, whacking Richie on the rear with his physics book. “You stink!”

  Richie beamed as if Jimbo had just paid him some wonderful compliment, and
scampered out of the room.

  I stared at Jimbo incredulously. “How did you do that?”

  Jimbo only shrugged.

  “He idolizes you, you know,” I said. “I hope he doesn’t embarrass you in front of the rest of the team.”

  “Shoot, no. Richie’s a good kid. I’ll have to take him snipe hunt’n’ some night.”

  “I don’t think we have any snipes around here.”

  “I sure hope not!” Jimbo grinned at me as if I’d said something wildly funny. “Nothin’ would shock a snipe hunter more than somebody comin’ back with a snipe in the bag!”

  “Then why bother to go?” I asked, all at sea.

  “It’s an old joke,” he explained. “You take somebody out into the woods and leave ‘em there with a bag. You tell ‘em you’re gonna chase the snipes, and they can catch ‘em in the bag.”

  “And then what?”

  He shrugged. “You just leave ‘em there and see how long it takes ‘em to figure out they’ve been had.”

  I grinned back at him. “Jimbo! You’d do that to Richie when he worships the ground you walk on?”

  He gave a short laugh. “If he worships the ground I walk on, I’d better take him soon, so he’ll learn the error of his ways.”

  “You’d better get used to it—not just from Richie, but from the whole school.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Your reputation has preceded you. Tickets for Friday night’s game are selling like hot cakes.”

  “Are you gonna be there?”

  “I’m not sure. I usually go out with Anthony on either Friday or Saturday night, but he doesn’t care much for football.”

  “No, I don’t guess he would. Probably thinks we ought to get out there on the football field and reason with each other.”

  The very idea was so ridiculous that I had to laugh, but I felt obligated to defend Anthony. “He’s not as bad as all that. At least, not most of the time.”

  “Well, if you can talk him into it, I wish you’d come. I’m gonna need all the friends I can get.”

  “Jimbo, you’re going to have more friends Friday night than you know what to do with!”