The Star of Time: The Star of Time Series

Chapter One

Three punches. That’s how many I’d got in before they pulled me off Heather Freeman and ejected me from the game, but it had been worth it. Until Coach found me after the game restarted, anyway. I’d spent the time pacing the locker room like a caged animal replaying the whole thing in slow motion. Her stick to my face, me tackling her into a headlock, the look of horror on her face as she watched my fist approach. Then coach walked in and he wasn’t even angry, just disappointed, he’d said. That was enough to take my breath away. That was a year ago.

Now, here I was, facing off against her again, for the last time. We squared up in the center of the field, sticks mashed together, ball in between. A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. It was abnormally hot for September. It didn’t help my temper. She’d been playing dirty the whole game. Half-time had been mostly the Assistant Coach talking to the team, and a private pep talk from Coach about the importance of not losing my cool. There wasn’t time for that.

The whistle blew, and we flipped our sticks up in unison, the ball arcing skyward. I jumped and lifted my stick to snag it at the same time she did, but I had an inch or two on her. I caught the ball in my net and flipped it toward my teammate just as Heather came down and planted her elbow hard into the side of my head. Anyone watching might have assumed it was just part of the game, but we knew better. She knew better. She grinned at me over her shoulder as she ran off. Once I could see past the stars, I followed her.

There was a little over a minute left in the game and we were down one against Brooks Mill, but we’d been here before. One more point would force an overtime. I got into position to move the ball downfield so one of our attackers could score. We didn’t want to go too quickly and leave time for Brooks Mill to score again. My eyes bounced from the clock to the ball as it spun from stick to stick. This was the championship game. Two more goals would send our little rec team home champions over the wealthiest team in Virginia. The ball arced my way and I snagged it midair. I ran across the field, positioning myself to toss to our lead attacker, Trinity Moss. She could see what I was doing, trying to set her up and distract the goalie, so she moved away from me to the far side of the net. It worked, the goalie moved toward me opening just enough space behind her to allow the shot to go in. I reared back, prepared to fling the ball straight to her, then started to swing my stick forward just as Heather Freeman brought her stick across in what would have looked like a block, but was a direct attack. The aluminum pole where it met the cross grazed my stick and landed square on the side of my jaw, throwing my head sideways and sending the ball back toward the midfield. I fell backwards onto the field. I waited for the bleat of the ref’s whistle, but heard nothing except the rapturous screams of the Brooks Mill fans. I rolled over just in time to see one of their middies running toward their goal as the clock hit zero. She fell to her knees in a power slide.

I slammed my balled fist into the ground twice, then rested my forehead on the turf long enough to gather my composure. I’d promised Coach I’d play clean. I’d done it, but it had cost us the game and the tournament. My eyes and nose burned with tears.

The Brooks Mill team was engaged in a jumping up and down group huddle in the middle of the field when I looked up. My teammates stood around in various stages of disbelief. I pushed myself up off the ground and started toward our bench.

Coach clapped me on the back, Good game, Phoebe. You played it clean. That was a bad call, but we’ll just have to come back harder next year.

She won’t be here next year. She’s a senior. She’s going to play at Tech and there’s nothing I can do about it.

He grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face him squarely. It’s not about her, remember? It’s about you and your ability to lead this team and keep a cool head under pressure. We’ll get them next year. He stared me down until I gave up and nodded.

Next year ...

Good. He turned to address the whole team. Ladies, you all played a great game! I know we didn’t always get the calls, but you all left nothing on the field, which is exactly what I asked you to do. I’m proud of you, each and every one of you. Make sure you hit the showers here and we’ll be on the bus ready to go in forty-five. Hands in!

We all put our hands into the center of a rough circle.

On three! I yelled. One, two, three! Valley View!

The Brooks Mill girls were still screaming and hugging as we trotted off the field toward the locker rooms.

You should’ve gotten a call, Phoebe. That was dirty, Trinity called out as I passed her.

Yeah. If I could go back and play this game again, I think I’d lay her out instead of being the punching bag. Time wasn’t on our side. Another minute ...

Trinity nodded. Would’ve had ‘em.

I rested my forehead on the bus window, watching the Brooks Mill girls, surrounded by family and friends, load up on their private charter bus. One girl broke out of the line and ran to an older man who wrapped her up in his arms so tight that she was lifted off the ground. An older woman stood next to him looking proud enough to burst. They all spoke animatedly before the girl hurried back to load the bus. I turned away before I had to witness anymore happy family celebrations.

The bus ride back from the tournament was quiet. It had been local, but still far enough away that we had stayed in a motel. It had been a nice break from being at home. Fewer gunshots anyway. Our old, long-retired school bus chugged up to the front of the rec center that was the center of my life, and had been for as long as I could remember. The squat, tan brick building with a flat roof had at one time been a city office, but they had moved into nicer quarters years ago and Coach had bought it cheap and converted it into a place for neighborhood kids to hang out.

The girls started to file off the bus one by one. I was at the back and waited until everyone had gotten up and gone ahead before I pushed out of the seat and put on my backpack. I grabbed my stick and dragged my feet down the center aisle.

You gonna be around tomorrow? Coach asked, turning in the driver’s seat as I approached.

After school, yeah. I think I’m supposed to work with the reading program tomorrow, or something. I volunteered with a literacy program at the center helping kids and adults learn to read and write.

Good, good. Listen, we need to talk. About, you know, the future ...

Sure, yeah. Whatever. I shrugged, partly because it seemed like a stupid exercise and partly to readjust my backpack strap. He put his hand on the door handle and I hopped off the bus. Coach Morgan, the assistant coach, was waiting on the curb.

Good game, Phoebe. You did really great today. He clapped me on the shoulder. You got a way to get home?

Yeah. I left my bike in the office. You wanna let me in to get it?

Soon as Coach gets back up here, sure.

The big street lights buzzed over our heads casting an eerie yellow glow. It was getting darker earlier, a sure sign that winter would be making an arrival soon.

Where you living at now? he asked. I’d bounced from foster home to foster home all my life. I’d always landed close to the rec center, but never lasted more than a year in any house.

Jefferson Meadows.

He bit his lip. You gonna be okay by yourself?

Yeah. It’s early.

Coach came around the corner, twirling his key ring on his finger. Need your bike?

Yeah. He flipped me the keys. I set my bag and stick down and unlocked the door to the office. Coach Morgan came and held the door, so I could back my bike out. Thanks, I said.

Yeah. Hey, listen, you good getting home? Really?

I got it. I swung my backpack up and onto my shoulder, then held the stick across my handlebars. It’s only a couple of blocks.

I pushed off and pedaled toward home. The streets were quiet, though a handful of people were out, leaning on cars smoking, or hanging out on porches enjoying the evening.

Home now was a second-floor apartment with a cluttered porch. My current foster mom, Janelle, had three other foster kids living here, all younger than me. The stipends from the state for our care made the difference between the rent assistance and the actual rent. It didn’t leave much for food and clothes, but we got by. I’d be 17 in a couple of weeks and only had a year after that before I’d age out. The little ones here were siblings, 9, 7, and 4.

You’re home earlier than I thought, Janelle said, flipping her fried blonde hair. She was perched in some guys lap in the corner of the couch. She took a cigarette out of her mouth and put it in his, blowing out a lungful of smoke towards me then leaning her head back on the wall. Hope you ate, ‘cause I wasn’t planning on feeding you.

I’m good. We hadn’t eaten, but it was late on Sunday night and Coach wanted us home since we had school the next day. I wheeled my bike through the living room to the back bedroom that I shared with the 7-year-old. The boys slept in the other bedroom. Janelle stayed out on the foldout couch.

You know I hate you bringing that bike in the house! Janelle called from the front room. She muttered something else to her friend then giggled loudly. I parked the bike at the end of my bed. It was the one Christmas gift I’d received in my life, so I wasn’t about to risk having it stolen.

You want me to braid your hair? A tiny whisper floated out of the dark.

Tisha, why are you still awake? It’s late and we have school tomorrow. I flipped on the lamp by my bed.

The little girl slipped out of her bed and onto mine. I sat down so she could braid my hair.

I needed to talk to you, that’s why. Miss Janelle says we going back to momma.

When?

Tomorrow. After school.

I cringed inwardly. It was as much for me as it was for them. Their mom had lost custody of them because she was a heroin addict. They’d been in foster care since the youngest was a baby, and even though they had visitation with their mom while they were in state custody, it would be weird going back. As for me, I’d be alone with Janelle until she sent me back. There was no going back to mom for me. Nobody knew who she was. I’d been found abandoned on the side of the road and nobody had ever come forward to claim me.

Ouch! Don’t pull so hard!

Sorry. You wouldn’t never be able to get your hair in rows. Miss Martha, she pulls so hard it’s like she wants my hair to come out my head.

You got all your stuff packed up for school? I knew that DJ, the 9-year-old, would have handled that, but I liked checking.

Sure do, she paused. I’m gonna miss you, Phoebe. She patted the French braid she’d just finished and put her arms around my neck, resting her head on my back.

I’ll miss you too, Tisha. I dropped my head into my hands. A few minutes later, I moved the sleeping girl to her own bed.

Chapter Two

It was Thursday before I got to talk to Coach. I was playing a board game with some of the daycare kids when he came and got me.

Finally got a minute to sit. Seems like there’s always something going on that needs me these days. He sighed.

I followed him into the office and took the green vinyl covered seat that wasn’t cracking. The other one would pinch the back of your leg in the cracks if you moved too quickly. He’d said they’d come with the building and he’d never had time or money to replace them.

His chair squeaked and groaned as he settled into it. He wasn’t a big man, in fact he was fit and could still break up a fight faster than anyone else, but that chair had probably come with the building too, which had to make it ancient in chair years.

He smiled as he rolled it forward to his desk. I always worry that one day this chair’s going to disintegrate out from under me. He chuckled. I just hope nobody’s here to see it when it does.

Personally, I hope I’m here. With a video camera. I laughed along with him at the mental image of him landing hard in a pile of chair dust.

Now, now ... be kind to your old Coach, huh?

Ha! Right. You’d think I was up to something.

You’re probably right about that. He shuffled some things around on his desk and his face turned serious.

Am I in trouble? I straightened up.

No, no, kid. You’re good. We just need to talk, is all. The look on his face aged him in front of me. He almost seemed to be in pain.

What’s wrong? If you’re worried about me and Janelle, it’s cool. I don’t like her, but if I avoid her as much as I can she doesn’t complain. Especially when the check comes.

Nah, nah, that’s not it. Not worried about that. No, we need to talk about something more serious. I’ve known for a long time we’d have to have this talk, but I put it off. Always a good reason to do it, you was too young, too hotheaded, too something. But, now’s the time, and we gotta talk.

I didn’t respond. I just waited for him to get started.

You remember anything about how you got into the system?

No. Not really. I mean, Hayley told me I was abandoned. She said they found me by the side of the road and never could find my parents. Why? Hayley was my social worker and she’d promised to be honest about anything I ever asked her. I trusted that she had been honest about my early days.

Uh-huh, all that’s true. That is a true story.

Why would you ask about it, though?

Well, that’s what I needed to talk to you about. See, I was there ...

You were there? What do you mean? I leaned forward.

I mean, I was there the night they found you.

You were?

Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you for a long time ‘cause I knew you’d have questions I couldn’t answer. Then it was ‘cause you had such a temper. I didn’t want you angry at me or quitting the rec center. But, you got played dirty this last tournament. And you held your cool even when we lost. You went and grew up on me, and now I guess you deserve to know the whole story.

Wait, you’re saying that you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d be mad?

He nodded. I was worried you’d think I was trying to keep you from finding your family ...

Were you?

I don’t know. He turned his head and stared through the window that overlooked the tutoring room. Maybe I was. Wherever you came from wasn’t a good place. Maybe deep down, I didn’t want you to go back. He turned back to me. His eyes were sad, and he dropped his head to rub the spot between his eyebrows.

What happened to me? My voice came out in a whisper.

That ... I really don’t know. He sighed and put his elbows on the desk, interlacing his hands. So, I had just set up here. Just bought the building and we weren’t getting much traction, you know? The bangers, they didn’t want nothing to do with the place, and only a few kids would come by. One of them was Tyrell Burke. Good kid. Bad situation. Anyway, his older brother takes him out one night and gets stupid. The brother, he knocked over a liquor store, had Tyrell drive the getaway. Only Tyrell, he’s only fourteen, so he can’t drive. Ended up jumping a curb and hitting a pole. Cops come, they get arrested, who’s he gonna call for help? Not his grandmama, she can’t drive at night, and besides it was her car they totaled. Nah, he calls me. So, I get up and I drive down to Hybla Valley, on the Mount Vernon side, to the Police Station.

Okay ...

Be patient. I’m getting there, he said. So, anyway, I’m sitting out in the lobby, waiting. They aren’t going to let Tyrell’s brother go, ‘cause he’s the one had a gun. But Tyrell, they’ll turn over to me. I’m just waiting. Then this pair of cops come in and one of them is carrying this little girl. Filthy, dirty, and screaming to beat the band. It was like this guy was wrestling an octopus trying to keep this kid under control. He grinned at the memory.

They’re talking to the desk sergeant and another pair of cops come in dragging a junkie and before I know it, all hell breaks loose. The junkie charges the desk, goes flying over it, then these guys over to the side, cuffed to chairs start screaming and they’re running around dragging the chairs behind them. The cops are trying to get control, only one of them’s got this kid he’s wrestling. So, he looks at me and goes, ‘Don’t you run that rec center up the road?’ and I nod, and he practically tosses this kid at me, so he can go help out and now I’m holding a dirty, mess of a kid in a nightgown.

Me?

Yeah. The one saving grace was that you had the biggest blue eyes I ever seen. Soon as I took you, you settled down, pushed your hair out of your eyes, it was blonder back then than it is now. You looked me right in the face and smiled. You said, ‘Wily,’ patted me on the cheek then watched the chaos. They finally got things under control, but you let out an ear-piercing scream when they came back for you. So, they put us in a little room in the back while they worked on getting Tyrell out, and a social worker for you. We’re just sitting there, you staring at me and me staring at you, when you hold your hand out like you want to give me something. I hold my hand out and you drop this diamond necklace into my hand. Damn it, I know I shouldn’t have, but I put the damn thing in my pocket. I was just thinking, I turn this over to the cops and it’ll get ‘lost’ and this kid’ll lose the only link she has to her family.

A diamond necklace? That seems weird. I’d been in foster care for a long time. It wasn’t unusual to see filthy, dirty kids around. Most of them got into the system that way. But I’d never heard of them coming in with something as valuable as diamonds.

Yeah. That’s what I thought. So, I start looking a little closer and it turns out, you’re covered in mud and blood. It’d dried, but that’s what it was. They took samples and they checked locally for murders, but never found any that matched the samples. After a while, they just stopped looking. We met Hayley that night. I begged her to let me keep you, but I wasn’t an approved caregiver. She said I could apply, but it’d be a long process. Then as we’re talking, and she finds out my hours, she said they’d never be on board with that. So, I asked for a favor instead. I asked her to place you and keep you close by the center. Somehow she’s managed it.

So, you’re telling me all this now, why?

He tapped an envelope in the center of his desk. The cop that brought you in, his name was Stan Foley. Few years back he comes by to ask what I know about some neighborhood kid suspected in something or other, he was a detective then, and he sees you right out there. He nodded to the tutoring room. Asks if that’s the little girl he was wrestling. Remembers that night. He never did stop trying to figure out where you’d come from. He said that everything about the situation was all wrong. You were wearing clothes that had to be homemade, ‘cause no store would sell a nightgown for little kids with a drawstring neck. You were covered in fresh mud and blood and manure, but it hadn’t rained here for weeks, and there were no horses nearby. None of the samples they took ever matched any murders, assaults, or crime scenes from anywhere in the area. He even had the mud tested. It was a match to somewhere in coastal North Carolina.

That’s ... even weirder.

Yeah. So, he called around down there. Got nothing. Even drove samples down to have tested against their stuff. Nothing. He kept talking about how he felt like there was just a piece missing, and that if he had all the pieces he might be able to figure it out. Every time, I’d think I needed to tell him about the necklace, but I never did. He