AR - Talk to Carla

Carla takes you to the biker gang’s meeting room. It’s not as cool as the one in Sons of Anarchy, but it’s cozy. You’re curious about these women; you always have been. Especially now that you know that Adella spent some time hanging around them while she was here without you.

You’re also more curious than you used to be because of your mom. You always knew that she knew all these people, but that was off to the side of your mind. You had other things to think about. Now, you’re thinking about this.

Carla sits at the head of the table and gestures for you to take the chair to her right.

She sighs. “I want a cigarette,” she says.

“I don’t have any.”

“I know. You’re an athlete.” She snorts. “I haven’t smoked in years. I just always want one. So listen, Riley. I won’t keep you here all night. One of our people took some initiative. She’s, uh…” Carla trails off, searching for the right word. “She’s good like that. She hunted down Ellen’s team and where they’re practicing.”

“Oh,” you say. Right. “I don’t see why we can’t all just use the school gym.”

“Because then the private school kids would be able to say that the public school kids have a home-turf advantage,” Carla reminds you gently.

You groan. “Right. But they’re all like fourth and fifth graders. It’s not that serious.”

“It is to Ellen. Don’t underestimate the culture war value that Winter Soccer can have, Riley. Ellen’s running…” she trails off again, sighing. “Running as a Republican. And that means she’s leaning into charter schools and vouchers. It’s in her interests to attack public schools. This gives her a way to give a public school a black eye.”

“That is just so the last thing that they need,” you say irritably.

“Bad for the kids. Good for getting conservatives to vote for you,” Carla replies.

“I don’t want any part of that political bullshit,” you snap. “It’s none of my business and it’s not what I’m here for. I’m here for the kids and Adella. I don’t care about culture war stuff.”

“Riley, you’re a gay woman in a red state. Maybe you should.”

“No,” you say stubbornly. “My mom warned me not to let you do this, and I’m gonna listen to her.”

Carla sits back in her chair, which squeaks. “Did she really?”

“Yes. She must’ve known you guys would try to drag me in,” you grumble. “I’m a fucking soccer player. I flunked social studies. Because it sucks.”

Carla tries not to laugh, then she shakes her head. “Oh, Mary,” she says, not really to you, more to herself. She picks up the small glass of what’s probably whiskey from the table.

“Look, I know that you and mom know each other,” you say. “And I think I’ve seen Stef come by the house once or twice…” you stop talking as Carla chokes on her whiskey, almost spitting it all over you. “You OK?”

“Wait, you what?” she says, eyes wide.