four times four

Annabelle India Cynthia Knox did not like Michael Hurley, and she let it be known throughout the fifth grade. She did not like his shockingly red hair, too bold for an eleven-year-old. She did not like his thousands of freckles, so distracting when one is trying to figure out multiplication or concentrate on diorama building. She did not like his habit of running everywhere – to the bus, to lunch, to recess, to class, to the bathroom, to the chalkboard even, for goodness sake! – which lead to his habit of crashing into things, like the wall or a tree or his desk. Or Annabelle. Twice. Michael Hurley, Annabelle decreed, was a giant loser, and not worth anyone’s time.

Michael Hurley’s only response to this, when Jason P. came back from recess and told him what Isaac told him Steffi told him Annabelle said, was to spin his right index finger in a tight circle at the side of his head, in the universal sign for “looney tunes.” Then he turned back to the picture of ninjas he was drawing, and continued his work, whistling.

When Annabelle heard this, through Jason P. to Gretchen to CJ to Steffi to her, she was furious. She kicked the monkey bars and crossed her arms and blew out a frustrated, emphatic “hmph!” and turned to her four best friends – Steffi and Liza and Reeca and Jules – and declared war.

The first thing they did was switch seats. A small opening shot, but an effective one nonetheless. Michael had problems with multiplication, and everyone knew he cheated off Reeca during tests. So Annabelle raised her hand in the middle of class and asked if she could be moved, “because I’m having problems concentrating with the smell and all,” and after an affronted “Hey!” from Michael and a lot of sighing from Mr. Palmacci and snickering from the class, Mr. Palmacci let Annabelle switch with Liza, who switched with Jules, who switched with Reeca, into Annabelle’s original seat behind Michael.

When Michael saw the girls getting up and gathering their books in a well orchestrated maneuver, he knew what had really happened, and he looked over to Jason P. and narrowed his eyes. The war was on.

Retaliation came the next day at lunch, when all five girls opened their bags and reached in for sandwiches and pulled out plastic baggies of worms instead. Annabelle’s were the fattest and most squirmy. The girls screamed even louder than expected, and none of the guys, Michael or Jason P. or Carlos or Billy, could stop laughing, it was so funny. They were still laughing when the girls turned to them with evil glares. No one said anything, but everyone knew more was coming.

There was the hall pass maneuver. The swing set attack. The prank call offensive. The frog guts incident (involving a daring raid on the sixth grade science lab in order to get the necessary parts). The Field Day retaliation. The Valentine’s card betrayal. Until, finally, there was four squares.

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Every Wednesday recess, Annabelle and her friends played four squares. It was only Wednesdays, because four square was the most popular game amongst the girls at school, and there was only one court, so a schedule had to be made as to who got playing time when. Mr. Palmacci’s fifth grade class got Wednesdays, Recess B, and Annabelle always declared herself fourth square to start. Annabelle rarely lost.

Four square was a girl’s game; the boys never wanted to play. They always ran for the kickball field or the basketball court or to the corner of the yard to dig in the dirt and plan mischief. This was fine with the girls, who were orderly and patient as they waited their turn in line, planning what games they’d make up if they landed in the fourth square. They did not need the chaos of the boys to ruin their game.

It was a beautiful spring day and Annabelle India Cynthia Knox surveyed the playground from her fourth square domain. They were six games in, and no one had managed to get her out. She didn’t plan to let them. Liza had already rotated in and out twice, she couldn’t catch a ball if her life depended on it, and Reeca had just been knocked out on an alphabet game. Annabelle thought about what to try next and watched as Reeca left the square to join the back of the line. Annabelle’s eyes followed her absently, thinking of double-bounces and animals that might begin with the letter X. Reeca passed the Schaffer twins at the front of the line, Sarah Caulk behind them, and then, to Annabelle’s shock and horror, she saw it. Standing behind Sarah, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his horrible red hair shining in the sun, was Michael Hurley. And right behind him was Jason P. And Carlos. And Billy.

The other girls noticed the interlopers just as Annabelle did, and they looked to her for a cue. But what could she do? Recess wasn’t even half over, and it was four square. The game must go on.

Lindsey Schaffer missed the ball on the first toss. Anna came in. Jules forgot to triple-bounce. Sarah came in. Liza couldn’t think of a fruit that began with F. And Michael Hurley stepped onto the first square.

Annabelle didn’t pause for even a second; she couldn’t afford to show weakness, and she’d been plotting the game she’d use to end this encroachment immediately. Double-bounce, name a character in The Baby-Sitter’s Club, bounce-pass. Boys didn’t read those books, Annabelle knew. She doubted they could even read at all.

Annabelle double-bounced, said “Kristy,” and bounce-passed to Michael, who eyed her funny. He double-bounced too, and said “Stacey,” and bounce-passed to Sarah. Annabelle couldn't believe it. How could an annoying, loud-mouthed boy like Michael Hurley know that? Sarah got Claudia and Anna said Mary Anne but forgot to bounce-pass, just tossed it to Annabelle, so she was out. Jason P. stepped in and Michael Hurley moved to square two.

Annabelle always had contingency plans, and she would not be bested. “Next game is bounce, name a Miley Cyrus song, bounce, then toss pass.” She knew Jason P. would get it, he had a younger sister after all, and he did, but Jason P. didn't matter. She could knock him out once Michael Hurley was done. Annabelle had her priorities; her eyes were on the prize.

But Michael Hurley got it too, and Sarah didn’t miss of course, and they had to go another round. Annabelle was so shocked she almost blanked on a song, almost forgot to bounce before the pass. And then Jason P. again, and Michael again, and this time Sarah said “Start All Over,” which was right, but was also the song Jason P. named, so she was out too. And Carlos came in and now Michael Hurley moved to square three, right next to Annabelle, and that red hair was so distracting, but not as distracting as the challenge in his eyes.

Annabelle expected the boys to be aggressive or mean or chaotic. She expected them to hurl the ball, make up rules, try to hit someone in the face. But they didn’t do any of that. They played like the girls played, orderly, and they didn’t talk to each other or crack jokes. In fact, the only time they spoke at all was to give their answer for the game. “Stacey.” “7 Things.” “Yak.” “Water buffalo.” “Viper.” Annabelle thought as quickly as she could to try to trip them up, but they go round after round, without forgetting a word or a bounce.

After five rounds of animal names, reverse alphabetically, she called for a new game. It was a rule the girls made up to keep the game challenging, and for a second it seemed like the boys might rebel. But Michael looked at each boy in turn, and no one said anything. Annabelle thought for a moment, the ball balanced on her hip, and it came to her. The perfect solution to getting Michael Hurley out.

“Triple-bounce,” she said, “double-bounce pass,” she continued. “And the multiplication tables for nine, in order.”

There was an audible intake of breath from the line, which had grown as fifth-graders around the playground gathered to watch boys take over the four-square court. Annabelle put on her sweetest fake smile and looked at Michael Hurley. There was sweat on his over-freckled face, and he chewed his lip in that nervous tic Annabelle despised, but his eyes were narrowed in determination and he didn’t look away. Michael Hurley took the challenge.

“Nine,” she said after her triple bounce, and double-bounce passed to Carlos. “Eighteen,” he said with all the right bounces, and gave her a look that mades her feel about as big as a toothpick. “Twenty-seven,” said Jason P., but slowly, and he bounced slowly too. Annabelle figured he was trying to give Michael time to remember the answer.

“Thirty-six,” Michael said, and looked Annabelle directly in the eye as he passed.

“Forty-five,” Annabelle said, surprised he got that. But there’s no way that he could know the next one, he’d cheated off Reeca from almost the start of the year. She took a breath and monitored the boys, checking their math and their bounces.

“Fifty-four.”

“Sixty-three.”

“Seventy-two.”

A pause before he said it, but then a gasp from the crowd when he did. And now it was a crowd, all of fifth grade, both classes, gathered in a half circle around the players. Even if Annabelle got one of the boys out, Billy still waited on deck, she’d still need at least three games to clear the square of all the intruders, send them back to their dirt and their ball fields. “Eighty-one,” Annabelle said. This round would be her triumph, good-bye to Michael Hurley, once and for all.

“Ninety,” said Carlos, easy as anything.

“Ninety-nine,” said Jason P. Bounce, bounce, pass.

“One-oh-eight,” said Michael, without a pause, and with triumph in his eyes.

And then there’s the ball, bouncing up to Annabelle, and then there’s Annabelle, holding it for a beat, her mind blank. They’d only gone up to twelve on their multiplication chart, she didn’t think they’d get this far in the game. Another beat. She should’ve been adding the nines in her head, she should’ve been ready just in case. A third, and that’s all you get in four square. She waited too long, she didn’t even think to triple-bounce to buy time, she just stood in the fourth square, holding the ball, unable to move, defeated.

From the sidelines the girls were stone-cold quiet, and then a cheer went up, started by Billy, that all the boys in the yard picked up. Shouts of “you’re out!” came from some boy in the back, but Annabelle still couldn’t move from the shock. They'd moved their desks so he couldn’t cheat, so Michael Hurley had started studying. How could she have known? Ninety, ninety-nine, one-oh-eight, the end.

And now Michael Hurley is coming toward her, stepping over the line between square three and square four to claim his new rank. Annabelle is still standing, rooted to the pavement, holding the ball in front of her where it bounced. He is going to grab it, she supposes, maybe elbow her out of the way to get her to move. She doesn’t think she can move, so he might have to. He is walking toward her, that bright red hair like flames in the sun, his grass green eyes locked on hers triumphantly. Around them there is cheering from the boys still, and now arguing from the girls, and general mayhem, but the sound fades out as Annabelle watches the end of the war approach.

Michael Hurley is in front of her, and he puts his hands on the rubber ball like she thought he would, but he doesn’t elbow her aside. He holds the ball on the opposite side from where her hands are and he leans in and she thinks he might whisper something to her, something mean and victorious. But instead, in front of the whole fifth-grade class and under the spring sun, Michael Hurley puts his pursed lips on Annabelle India Cynthia Knox’s own and kisses her chastely in the middle of square four.

It is only a second, but she drops her hands from the ball in shock. Michael Hurley steps back and smiles.

“One seventeen,” he says with a bounce. “I win.”