I’ve got you,” Randie said. “Kotter, I’ll see you in my room first thing in the morning.”
That was all she said. She left.
“Oh, no, oh, no,” I moaned. “We’re done for Shamrock, we’ve got to get you out of here.”
The steel gaze of the pitcher was back in her eyes. “What for?”
“Huh?”
“She didn’t throw me out. She didn’t say anything, except she’d tell my coach I was here and she wants to see you in the morning.”
“You mean you’re thinking about staying?”
“I’m a pitcher. I like to finish what I start,” Shamrock said playfully. She rubbed the side of my breast with the backs of her curled fingers, and I melted.
I was somewhat doubtful I’d be able to put the image of Coach Wilkes in the doorway out of my mind, but I found out you have very little concern for what’s in your mind when a girl’s fingers are touching you, tenderly stroking you, and she is whispering unrepeatable things in your ear, and you are bucking and sweating and shuddering like a lost soul flung to paradise.
Then Shamrock taught me to do what she had done, and we kept on doing it, just to make sure we got it right.
I rose early in the morning on the other side of innocence. Shamrock dressed and kissed me good-bye and went off to live her life. I showered and went to Randie’s room with my hair still wet. I was feeling sheepish but otherwise unrepentant and surprisingly not very scared. Whatever she was going to do to me, I would accept.
Her door was open, so I walked in. Like any good cop, she already had managed to scrounge up a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Coach,” I said quietly.
“Have a seat on the bed, Kotter.”
I sat. “Are you kicking me off the team?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell my parents?”
“No.”
“Are you going to do anything to me?”
“Why should anything be done to you?”
“Because—because—” I started to cry uncontrollably. “Oh, God, Coach, because you trusted me and I let you down.”
She did not let me cry alone. She came over and let me bawl in her arms until I finally sobbed myself out.
“How do you feel, Kotter?”
“I feel like I should just die.”
“It’s called ‘remorse,’ Kotter. Perhaps it’s an emotion you will take care to avoid in the future. Now go and pack your things. The bus is leaving after breakfast.”
Chapter Five
Julie cleared the dishes from the table. She never let Randie or me into the kitchen. She said we were hopeless in there.
Meanwhile, Randie got us a couple more beers. Julie said we both were competent enough to do that.
“Even after all these years,” Randie said, chuckling, “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to take Shamrock to your room. If I had thought you were in there, I never would have opened the door. I expected to find the place empty.”
“Well, I never expected you to check on us. You never checked on us.”
“I wasn’t checking on you then. I was pretending to check on you, and only because Shamrock’s coach was being a real pain about finding her. I had a pretty good idea what you two were doing, and I didn’t want any part of it.”
“And you didn’t do anything to us, anyway.”
Randie shook her head. “How could I? If word got out, it could have cost Shamrock that UCLA scholarship she was in line for. It certainly would have turned the state tournament into a major scandal.” Randie hollered into the kitchen, “Did you hear that, Julie? Do you see what I was up against? That’s why the day Kotter lost her virginity was absolutely the worst.”
Julie stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Typical. Kotter gets laid, Randie, and you get screwed.”
“Hey, it wasn’t any picnic for me, either,” I protested. “Listen, Randie, I didn’t care whether Shamrock respected me in the morning, but I sure as hell cared whether you did.”
“You expect me to buy that?” Randie asked, and the look in her eyes told me I was in for it. “Now tell me the