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Chapter 9: Hit Or Miss?

            It doesn’t work out the way it does in the movies – Marshall doesn’t carry me off the stage in his arms and the crowd doesn’t stop throwing tomatoes just because there’s a handsome guy in the scene now. Instead, the food kept coming like an endless buffet as Marshall studied me strategically. “Okay,” he said. “What now?”

            An egg hit me on the back of the bum, and I answered his question with a glare. “You’re an idiot.” Luckily, some of the students who were honestly only there to witness the competition had left to get the teachers and now Buckerfield was dashing down the field blowing his whistle into his microphone. He looks something like a shaved water buffalo, but I don’t have too much time to look at him or the teachers running behind him as the crowd started to panic and run off in different directions hoping not to get caught.

            In the midst of all the chaos, Marshall grabbed my wrist and pulled me along with him, but not before I caught a glance of Tyler standing in the middle of the field, unmoving, his gaze following us.

            Once outside of the school campus and I could visibly see the road leading out into the main streets, I shook my wrist away from him. I’m not sure what Marshall likes to do during his spare time, but he knows a lot of winding trails, cracks, and alleys that nobody else seems to know about. Even our escape route had been highly sophisticated, jumped over the ditch behind our school, cut across a small field, sneaked into someone’s yard and then up the small hill that connected their house before cutting like an upside down V onto the main drag.

            “I think we’re safe now.” It was a long jump off the rocky hillside to the dirt path on the side of the road, but Marshall managed to get down with ease before holding up a hand to help me. I didn’t take it. Instead, I sat down and lowered my legs over the edge before inching and sliding myself to the ground. “You see my hand Camila?” He asked when I walked passed him, and he remained in that Statue of Liberty type pose. “You were supposed to take it.”

            I turned around and pulled his arm down to his side. “I’m not... I’m not going to thank you,” I said. “If you thought I needed saving, you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone to save me and I would have been fine by myself.”

            Marshall turned to me and smiled, one that wasn’t mocking or sarcastic, but as gentle as it was patient. “I know,” he said, and that was all it took to start a wildfire at the lobes of my ears. I quickly skipped ahead of him before he can see it spread to my cheeks and then engulf my face in flames.

            “Well then, if you already know, why did you still come for me?”

            He laughed. “Because I’m an idiot.”

            At that point, there seemed to be a mutual understanding between the two of us. He was an idiot – at least that was something we could both agree on, and when the silliness of the situation, how we looked and the cars honking in the background finally hit us, we both started to laugh.

            It was the first time. The first time that the both of us laughed together, and also the first time that I felt the invisible wall that separated us shrink – not a lot, but just a little bit – enough for one day.

            “Come on, let’s go find a place for you to clean up first. I’m sure your parents don’t want to see you looking like this.”

            I shrugged, but after a second consideration, decided he was right. My dad was always reasonable when I beat people up at school, but if anyone touched a strand of my hair, he unlocks the cabinet downstairs and grabs his gun. I still remember how all the parents stayed and watched their kids during the first day of kindergarten. My dad was the only one who stayed and watched on the second day, and then the third and the fourth until the teachers told him he was disrupting the classroom environment by always being there. ‘Camila is in good hands,’ they tried to convince him, ‘don’t you have to go to work?’

            To be fair, he didn’t just stand in the back of the class and watch. If things were that way, maybe the teachers would have let him stay until the end of the week, but my dad was meddlesome and annoying. He would hog all the classroom toys so I could play with them. He would make a big scene every time the teacher asked me a question and I answered correctly. In general, he made all the other kids feel bad about themselves. I remember a boy crying after the third day of school. ‘Why isn’t my dad here,’’ he had screamed.

            It was only after the fourth day that I finally put an end to his act. ‘Look dad,’ I told him after school that day, ‘I love you but you need to stop coming to school. Nobody wants to be my friend because you’re always there.’ My dad cried right after, but I expected that much.

            Sighing, I turned to Marshall with a frown. “We can always go back to the school,” I suggested.

            Marshall made a face. “Not unless you want Buckerfield to interrogate you inside his office for two hours. It smells like dead rats in there because he likes to nail every winning player’s jersey on his wall – sweat and all. At least wait until tomorrow so they have a brief idea what happened today.”

            I shrugged. It wasn’t a bad idea considering it was either going to be Buckerfield’s office or Diana’s, and frankly I’m not sure which one was worse. “We can go to the theatre where I perform then. It’s a long walk, but we can use the staff shower rooms and steal a costume after.”

             Marshall didn’t seem to care where I went. “Whatever goes. We can just call your mom to pick you up in town after you’re done.”

            I placed one foot ahead of me and pivoted in the right direction before walking ahead. “My mom won’t come,” I said. “She’s in a place where even long distance wouldn’t reach her.”

            The melancholy of my words only sunk in a second after as Marshall trotted after me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know.”

            I glanced down at my feet and listened to the sound of his footsteps as it matched mine. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. “You know, maybe I’m just being super biased, but my mom really was the most beautiful woman in the world.” I didn’t know why it came out. It wasn’t something I shared with people. I didn’t talk about my mom – not with Todd, not with my dad, not with anybody. I shouldn’t have said it, but the words kept pouring out like water jetting out of a broken faucet. “She died not long after I was born, but still, from pictures – she’s really beautiful.”

            I felt embarrassed immediately after, but Marshall only let out a small hum as I felt his gaze studying me. “The most beautiful woman in the world huh?” I glanced upward and found his eyes smiling down. “You must take after your mother then.” And for a fleeting half a second, my heart missed a beat, but then I realized it was all fake so I just continued walking without a word.

            By the time I got home that night, it was already after 6. Truthfully, the road seemed a lot shorter by car than by foot and after spending almost an hour walking to the theatre, I still had to shower and pick out all the pieces of broken egg shells from my hair.

            When I got home, it was apparent that Diana had called and exaggerated all the details because my dad was pacing like a psychopath back and forth across the lawn. The moment he saw me, relief settled in his eyes and he pulled me into a hug so tight that it could have potentially killed me. His hands cupped my face next, and started patting me on the head before running it down my arms, trying to make sure I wasn’t hurt anywhere. “You turned off your phone! Nothing is wrong right? My baby girl is okay right?”

            I sighed. “I’m fine dad. It was just a couple of tomatoes. Nothing biggie.”

            My dad wasn’t convinced, but then his eyes reached behind me, saw Marshall standing a metre away wearing a gorilla costume that I told him – forbid him – to wear and immediately frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

            Marshall grinned at my dad. “Hi, I’m Marshall,” he bubbled.

            If it was possible, my dad’s frown curved more downwards. “Get off my lawn,” he said. “Or I’ll go get my gun.”

            Marshall’s face fell before I kindly interrupted. “He’s not an enemy dad, he’s a...” I really had to think the next bit over. What was Marshall to me? A friend? No. An acquaintance? No. “An underling,” I said. “Yeah. He’s an underling and he helped me out today.”

            “What?!” Apparently Marshall wasn’t quite happy with his new title. “An underling? Wouldn’t have saying I’m your boyfriend been more...” His words trailed off when he saw my dad’s next expression.

            “What kind of friend did you just say?” He grunted. “A boyfriend?”

            Marshall swallowed the lump in his throat before he stood up straight – or at least as straight as he could in that humongous gorilla costume he was wearing. “No sir,” he barked. “I said underling. I’m definitely an underling! I do all of your daughter’s biddings and let her beat me when she’s upset!”

            My dad nodded, finally satisfied. “That’s better.” Then he turned to me and smiled much in the way that Marshall often smiles at me – like an idiot – before mumbling sweet nothings like I’m 4 years old and ushering me inside the house. “You too.” He threw a dark glare over his shoulder when he reached the front door. “Come inside. I’m not done talking to you.”

            Marshall’s mouth popped open as if he was planning to reject the offer, but then sighed and waddled over. My dad walked right passed the corridor and disappeared into the living room, but I stayed behind and watched in amusement as the gorilla costume got stuck in the doorway. “Um... a little help Camila?” Marshall tugged at the costume and made a face at me. “Come on. I even brought you home and paid for the bus fare today.”

            I laughed. “It’s a good thing you did. I told you not to wear the gorilla costume, but you just had to! You wouldn’t have been able to walk two blocks without tipping over in that thing.”

            “I thought it would make you laugh,” he argued.

            “Well, did it?”

            “Not really...” He wrinkled his nose. “Come on. A little help.”

            I arched an eyebrow at him and then placed one foot on the stomach of the gorilla before giving it a big stomp. Marshall landed outside on his back in less than a second. “Well at least now I know where you get your violent personality from,” he muttered, and then smirked at me when he got up to let me know he was teasing. This time, when he attempted to come inside my house, he walked in sideways.

            “I’ll grab you some of my dad’s clothes,” I muttered, and then left him to wander the house as I made my way upstairs. It only took a few minutes browsing through my dad’s junk, but by the time I came downstairs, Marshall was already getting an interview from my dad. Sitting in a little wooden chair my dad must have only set up in front of the couch a moment ago, they were already midway through the ordeal.

            “So what are your grades like at school then?”

            “Well they aren’t–”

            “That won’t do,” my dad interrupted, and then quickly drew a big X on the piece of paper slipped into his clipboard. “How about work? Do you have a job?”

            “Well right now I’m–”

            “That won’t do either,” he said, and then repeated the process before shaking his head dejectedly. “You’re just not good enough for my daughter Marshall. I mean your grades aren’t good enough. Your job doesn’t pay you eight figures a year. What exactly are you planning to do with my daughter?”

            Marshall shifted his gaze and thought carefully before replying. “I just want to please your daughter in every way possible sir.” He flashed a killer smile next, confident in his answer.

            My dad nodded with a gentle smile. “So then tell me Marshall, are you a virgin?”

            “Wh- what?”

            “Are you a virgin?” My dad grumbled. “Have you had intercourse, sex, the whole shebang!”

            “Well... I... you know...” Even from where I was peeking, I could see the thin curtain of blush that had fallen over Marshall’s face. “I... you know... might not be.”

            My dad nodded, again in that frighteningly gentle way. “So then once more – in that exact way you worded it previously – tell me what you’re going to do with my daughter.”

            Marshall looked at him weirdly but still did as he was told. “I want to please her in every way– Oh good god!”

            My dad nodded, content now, before getting off the couch. “Come Marshall,” he said. “Let me show you my gun collection next.”