Her Name In The Sky Part 1

Her Name in the Sky.

by Kelly Quindlen.

For Mom, Dad, Freida, Gorb, and Cakes, with all my love.

Chapter One: Birthday.

Baker is wearing her least favorite pair of knee socks. Hannah can tell even from here-even from halfway up the bleachers, where she stands between Wally and Luke and looks down to where Baker stands in the center of the gym floor-because Baker keeps reaching down when she thinks no one is looking and tugging her knee socks up her calves. Hannah knows that Baker must have woken up this morning and realized that none of her good pairs of knee socks were clean-perhaps they were still in her laundry basket, untouched since before Christmas break-and that she must have dug into her sock drawer, her nimble fingers brushing against the cherry wood, and pulled out the old cotton pair, the ones she swore back in 9th grade that she would never wear again because they were always falling down.

"They'd better hurry up," Wally says, glancing at his wrist.w.a.tch. "It's 2:17 already."

"It's Friday, Wall," Hannah says. "No one's gonna care if we have to stay an extra minute." She scans the gym and spots their ill tempered vice princ.i.p.al brooding beneath one of the basketball hoops. "Except maybe Manceau. He looks like he's gonna faint if he doesn't get his end-of-the-day sticky bun soon."

"I feel him, for once," Luke says. "I'm starving and I want a burrito."

Hannah's about to respond when a deafening buzzing sound swells outward into the gym. Students all around the bleachers jerk their hands up to their ears. Then there's the distant sound of a microphone falling over, and Hannah, clutching her ears, sees Mr. Gauthier, the half-blind old technical director, raising his palms in apology. Several feet away from him, Mrs. Shackleford, the princ.i.p.al, rolls her eyes up into her head.

"Think they finally got it?" Hannah says.

"Mr. Gauthier looks confused," Wally says.

"He looks the same as ever," Luke says. "Like he's high and doesn't know what he's doing here. Gotta love old Goach."

"-say something to test it?" a clear voice says through the speakers, and they all swing their eyes to Baker, who stands at the half court line holding a cordless microphone in her hand. "Oh," she says, half-laughing at herself, her earnest expression visible even from the bleachers. "I guess it's working now-"

"'Bout time!" one of the football players in the lower bleachers yells. From where Hannah stands, it sounds like Clay.

Baker laughs along with the rest of the gym. She runs a hand through her hair, her smile relaxed and unguarded like it is when she tells Hannah stories late at night. "Hi, y'all," she says.

"Hi," the hundreds of students laugh.

"Thanks, Mr. Gauthier," Baker says, with no trace of irony in her voice. "Okay-so should we have this pep rally?"

The student body breaks into whooping and applause. It starts in Hannah's section, with the senior cla.s.s, and moves all around the gym as the juniors, soph.o.m.ores, and freshmen echo their older peers. "Yeah!" Luke shouts amidst all the cheering. "Bring on the burritos!"

Several of the seniors on the bleachers below them turn around with quizzical smiles on their faces, but Luke just grins and pumps his hands in the air, making everyone around them laugh.

"Before we start," Baker says, and at her words, the gym falls quiet again, "Father Simon is going to lead us in prayer."

The energy in the gym turns restless and agitated. Boys crack their necks; girls pull their shirtsleeves over their wrists. Father Simon steps toward the microphone, his neck straining against his white clerical collar.

"Kill me now," Hannah says under her breath. The seniors all around her shoot her conspiratorial smirks.

"Let us bow our heads and pray," Father Simon says. The ma.s.s of freshmen to Hannah's left obeys his order, their skinny, acne-heavy faces tilted toward the bleachers. Across the gym, most of the soph.o.m.ores and juniors follow suit. It is only here, in the senior section, that Hannah senses resistance. The anxious resistance of young adults, of people caught between the crayon drawings of Sunday school and the cognitive dissonance of grown-up theology.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day..."

Hannah doesn't listen to him. She lets her mind wander as she picks at the chipped green nail polish on her thumb. Next to her, Wally scratches at his forearm, his calloused knuckles hinting at too many nights spent wrestling with his little brothers.

Hannah's mind slips back to the pep rally they had in August, when everyone had fresh haircuts and neatly pressed skirts and slacks, and when she, Baker, Wally, Clay, and Luke had organized a surprise skit for the student body in which their teachers had dressed up as the more memorable students in the senior cla.s.s. She can still see Mr. Akers' impression of Clay's c.o.c.ky strut, can still hear Mrs. Paulk's attempt at Baker's laugh, can still remember the thrill she felt when Ms. Carpenter-her favorite teacher-adopted Hannah's own mannerisms and spoke with her phrases.

"...We thank you for our athletes, these young men who will represent our school tonight and who will seek to glorify You with their performance," Father Simon says. "We know You have endowed them with a special gift-"

"Hagh," Luke says, shaking his head. "Jeeze. Sorry, everyone. Got a little cough here."

The seniors all around them snicker and brush their hands over their mouths. Hannah tries in vain to stop her shoulders from shaking with laughter.

"...In Your name we pray. Amen."

"Amen," Hannah mutters, tossing the word into the great rush of "Amen" that sweeps across the gym. She raises her hand to her forehead to make the same Sign of the Cross that everyone else is making, the words and actions ingrained in her brain, her movements mirroring those of every other person in the gym.

"Thanks, Father Simon," Baker says, taking the microphone back. She pivots toward the senior cla.s.s and her mouth twitches with a smile, like she can read their discomfort all too plainly. "Alright," she says. "So. Does anyone want me to bring out our St. Mary's football team?"

The energy in the gym changes instantly: the crowd erupts, the band launches into the school fight song, and the center of the gym is flooded with color as the football players, decked out in their blood red St. Mary's jerseys, spill onto the gym floor and throw up their hands at the crowd around them.

"Don't you just love when we hero-worship our own cla.s.smates?" Luke says.

"You know, I actually do," Hannah says. "I'll probably ask Clay for his autograph after this."

"He'll think you're serious," Wally laughs.

Baker holds the microphone low in her right hand and cranes her neck to talk to some of the football players. The rest of the student body, watching from the bleachers, continues to shout and stomp and cheer, until Mrs. Shackleford pats her hands over the air to indicate that she wants quiet. The gym falls into a relaxed silence, and Baker redirects her attention to the student body, biting her lip as she transitions from a smile to a serious face.

"Tonight's expo game will be a crucial event in the race for the Diocesan Cup," she says. "We're already leading the pack with community service hours and our Adoration log, but winning this football game will really put us over the top. And I think the leaders of this diocese know exactly what they're doing in pitting us against Mount Sinai, because there is no better rivalry in Baton Rouge. So tonight, let's set ourselves up for a Diocesan Cup victory and ensure that the St. Mary's legacy continues to grow stronger.

"Those of us who are seniors-" she pauses to wait for the inevitable hollering from the senior cla.s.s-"first set foot on this campus three and a half years ago, back when the football team had an overall losing record, most of us still had braces, and Clay Landry was about four-foot-seven."

There's a great outburst of laughter, particularly from the senior cla.s.s section of the gym. Clay, who stands at the front of the football team, laughs good-naturedly while several guys. .h.i.t his arm.

"All of that has changed now," Baker says. "We had an overall winning record this past fall, all of our seniors are braces-free and beautiful, and Clay now stands at-what are you, four-foot-eight?"

Everyone laughs again, as does Clay, his smile huge and bright. "Pretty close," he calls to Baker.

Baker's smile stretches up to her eyes. She tips the microphone away from herself and lets out a series of short, repeated laughs, the kind that always overtake her when she's trying not to find something funny. She casts a look behind her before speaking into the microphone again. "Sorry," she laughs. "Mrs. Shackleford wanted me to use that joke-Sorry! Sorry! Anyway. We beat Mount Sinai back in the fall, and tonight we're going to beat them again, right here in our own stadium, with the whole diocese watching. We're going to show them what it means to be a St. Mary's player, student, fan, and believer, and what it means to be the very best school in this diocese. So, before I turn the mic over to Clay, I just want to say: Geaux Tigers!"

And again, the crowd of students roars, stomps, and throws their hands in the air. Some of the girls near Hannah are practically shrieking. The teachers sitting along the first row of bleachers on the other side of the gym shake their heads and laugh, and Mr. Gauthier actually pulls his hearing aids out of his ear. Ms. Carpenter claps her hands and leans over to say something to Mrs. Shackleford, and they both laugh.

The noise dies down as Baker beckons Clay over to the microphone. He hugs her and whispers something into her ear, earning a smile from her, and then he takes the microphone and pivots his body so he can address the entire gym.

"Our student body president, everyone," he says in his deep, rumbling voice. "Hey, y'all know it's her birthday today, right?"

Suddenly the whole gym swells with an impossible level of cheering and shouting. Baker smiles big and tugs on her earring, tilting her head to the floor. Clay lowers the microphone and turns back to look at the football team, holding his fingers in the air-3-2-1-and then the team begins to sing Happy Birthday. Within a half-second, the whole school is singing with them.

Hannah sings quietly under her breath, keeping her eyes on Baker the whole time, watching her tuck her hair back behind her ear. Toward the end of the song, Baker raises her eyes to the bleachers. She meets Hannah's eyes, and Hannah waggles her eyebrows and grins as big as she can, and Baker shakes her head and fights a smile just as the song ends.

It's a standard pep rally after that. Clay pumps up the crowd until the cheering around the gym is so amplified and everyone's emotions are so heightened that Hannah feels almost delirious with excitement. Luke starts to crow where he stands, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, and then he sets his hands on Hannah's shoulders and shakes her back and forth until Wally leans forward and jabs him in the stomach to make him stop.

"Dude!" Luke rasps.

"You deserved that," Hannah laughs, shoving Luke's shoulder.

"Joanie would have hit you harder," Wally says, hiking his eyebrows high above the rims of his gla.s.ses.

Luke pulls up his t-shirt in a fit of mania so that the red Tiger Spirit! imprint catches around his armpits and his white undershirt is on full display to everyone across the gym. He makes to take the shirt all the way off, but Hannah elbows him and points down at Mr. Manceau, whose small, beady eyes are glaring daggers at Luke from beneath the basketball hoop.

"Alright, alright," Luke says, pulling his shirt down and holding his palms up in surrender.

The cheerleaders take to the floor to lead everyone in organized cheers while the band plays the fight song again. Clay holds the microphone in his left hand and grins out at the display like it's entirely for him. The band reaches the end of the fight song, allows for a minute-long intermission, and then plays the fight song all over again.

The pep rally ends when the costumed school mascot-a yellow tiger sporting a red St. Mary's shirt, and whom the administration officially refers to as "Mr. Tiger" but whom the entire student body calls "Hot Little Mary"-bursts onto the center of the gym floor and dances to the fourth repeat of the fight song. The gym goes crazy with cheers and shouts to the costumed tiger, and the noise level peaks so high that Hannah's ears ache.

Then the music abruptly stops, and the cheerleaders and football players and students look around for the source of the disruption. Mrs. Shackleford stands on the court sidelines, slicing her hands back and forth over the air in an Enough kind of gesture, and then she walks to the center of the gym and takes the microphone from Clay.

"What are y'all on today?" she says. "Save some of this energy for the game tonight! Let's all bid farewell to Mr. Tiger, and then we'll start dismissal with the freshmen."

"Bye, Hot Little Mary!" "We love you, Hot Little Mary!" "Get it, Hot Little Mary!" the students around the gym shout, and Mrs. Shackleford frowns at the bleachers, her mouth pulled tight in disapproval.

"Were you planning on giving the whole school a strip tease?" Joanie asks Luke when she joins them in the hallway. Around them, other students drum on each other's booksacks and push each other down the hall, and the whole vicinity has that air about it like something is going to happen.

"It was only for you," Luke says. "But considering you were on the other side of the gym, what was I supposed to do?"

"You should have let him take it all the way off, Han," Joanie says. "You deprived us all of another great Luke-Manceau showdown."

"There'll be more," Hannah says.

"A whole semester's worth of them," Wally says.

"Can we talk about how the band played the same song like twelve times?" Joanie says. "Do they not know anything else? I felt like I was riding in the car with Hannah, being forced to hear the same song on repeat for twenty minutes."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hannah says, "would you like me to choose something else from my library of three-thousand songs that you accidentally deleted when you were wasted?"

Joanie rolls her eyes. Luke takes her hand and says, "Aw, do you not know how to respond when we publicly shame you?"

"I am above conflict," Joanie says.

Wally snorts, and Hannah shoots him a sideways smirk. Luke looks down at Joanie with exaggerated pity, almost like she's not in her right mind.

"I hate all of you," Joanie says. "Come on, Luke, let's go before I change my mind about wanting to hang out with you. Han, will you take my bag home?"

"Take it yourself, lazy."

"Come on, it's like two books. Can't you at least put it in the car?"

"Fine."

"Tell Mom I'll be home to change before the game."

"I'm going to tell her you're fornicating in the park and she'd better buy you a new chast.i.ty belt."

"Shut up. You are disgusting. Bye, y'all," Joanie says, and then she grabs Luke's hand and pulls him toward the senior parking lot.

Hannah swings Joanie's bag over her arm and looks to Wally, who leans against the white cinder block wall. He smiles knowingly at her. "Does she really only have two books in there?" he asks.

"Of course not," Hannah says, rolling her eyes. "Feels like she's been lugging a dumbbell around."

"Want me to carry it?"

"I got it."

"Don't tell me you two were waiting around for me," someone calls. They turn to see Clay striding toward them, his football jersey stretched taut over his chest. "What'd y'all think of the pep rally?"

"It was awesome," Hannah says. "You were as dashing as ever."

"Don't make me blush, Han," Clay says, clapping a hand to her shoulder. "Where's everyone else?"

"Joanie and Luke just left," Wally says. "Can you hang for a bit, or do you have a team meeting?"

"Nah, I can hang. Where's Baker?"

"Haven't seen her yet," Hannah answers.

"Let's go out to the parking lot," Clay says, brushing past them. "It was crazy in there. I need some air."

Hannah and Wally lean against the back of Clay's truck while Clay talks up his excitement for the game. He bounces up and down on his toes and pounds his fists against each other, his statements getting increasingly repet.i.tive. Hannah blinks against the late afternoon sun. The parking lot has mostly cleared out and only a few stragglers linger around the remaining cars. The air tastes crisp and clean, like it always does in January, and Hannah breathes it into her lungs while she rubs her hands over her bare knees to warm them.

"But how lucky am I that I get to play one last game for St. Mary's?" Clay says. "This whole Diocesan Cup thing is awesome."

"I find the whole thing weird," Hannah says. "Making schools vie against each other for something that doesn't even mean anything?"

"Doesn't mean anything?" Clay says, his expression incredulous. "Are you kidding? Dude, like Baker said, it's a chance to show we're the best. Fifty years of compet.i.tion with Mount Sinai and we can finally prove we're better. We'll have bragging rights for the next 50 years! Besides, think about that prize money. If we could pour that into the football program-"

"Everyone talks about Mount Sinai like they're the enemy," Hannah interrupts, "but we're part of the same diocese. The same Catholic diocese. Don't you find that a little hypocritical?"

"Mount Sinai people suck," Clay says. "Half the kids Wally and I went to middle school with ended up going there, and they were all douchebags."

"That's true," Wally says, lifting his shoulders.

"Anyway, I just have this feeling about tonight," Clay says. "I can't explain it, but I know we're going to win. You know?"

"Yeah," Hannah and Wally say together, Hannah giving up on arguing with Clay.