Arly by Robert Newton Peck

the Lucky Leg’s porch in her extra-big white wicker chair was Miss Angel Free herself, wearing a fancy dress of white lace, white shoes with pink pointy toes. The pink matched the color of her fingernails and her dangle-down earrings.
    â€œMiss Angel,” one of the dredgers said, “maybe you’d ought to step down here, and pocket the first shot.”
    Moving as slowly as the Caloosahatchee Queen, the bosslady rose from her fancy chair, fanned herself, and then paraded down the steps with a smooth rolling of her ample hips that caught the eye of every nearby gent.
    â€œMy,” she said, eyeing all the colorful stuff on the table, “I don’t guess I was fixing to handle pool balls.”
    All the men roared. Some clapped.
    â€œGo ahead,” said another gent, “try ’er out for size, Miss Angel.”
    She winked at the man. “All right,” she said quietly, selecting a brown cue stick which she fondle with ease, “reckon I just might do such. Seeing as you gentlemen already know that I’m the hottest pool shark in town.”
    Right then, I got the biggest shock of my whole life. Even though I saw it, and heard it, my brain justwouldn’t believe what happened next. Stepping forward and walking to where the pool table stood on the dirt of the street, Miss Hoe picked up a cue stick, smiled at Miss Angel Free, and said two words.
    â€œSecond hottest.”
    A wave of laughter come from the sports who were standing there watching.
    â€œWell,” said Miss Angel, “don’t tell me that our new schoolmistress is as gifted a pool player as she is around a spelling bee.”
    â€œMiss Free,” said my teacher, “there’s only one way to find out.”
    Standing there, I couldn’t breathe. Only blink. There stood little Miss Binnie Hoe in her plain gray dress, right beside Miss Angel. They looked like a poor mouse and a rich milkcow.
    â€œCharlie,” said Miss Angel to one of the toughs, “would you please do us ladies a favor and rack the balls?”
    In a breath or two, the fellow named Charlie had all fifteen balls tight-racked and ready for play. Pool was a game I’d never tried. But, aplenty of times, Huff Cooter and I had peeked in the Lucky Leg’s parlor window, just to watch, and we’d picked up a word or two of the lingo.
    Miss Free won the lag and so it was her honor to shoot the break shot.
    â€œWhat’ll we play?” she asked my teacher. “Do you fancy straight pool? Your choice.”
    â€œEightball,” said Miss Hoe.
    Miss Angel lifted her chin with a dash of pride. “Good. Eightball happens to be what I’m best at.”
    â€œSecond best at,” one of the sporty gents hollered out, and the rest of the guys laugh to beat all.
    Charlie reset the balls for Eightball, placing theblack one in the forward center, and the table was ready. Drawing back her cue, Miss Angel slammed a break shot to scatter the balls like a covey of flushed quail. A yellow ball dropped. The one ball.
    â€œI got the solids,” said Miss Angel, meaning the solid-colored low number balls, one through seven. “You take stripes.”
    â€œNifty,” said Miss Hoe, “because, for me, those big ringers always seem to drop easier.”
    Miss Angel sunk a six ball. Then a four. But she missed on the three and muttered a salty word. It was a word I didn’t want my teacher to hear. If’n she heard it, she didn’t at all let on. Instead, she sunk a long twelve ball, a short ten, banked the green-striped fourteen. Then missed. Miss Angel missed too. Her three ball clogged a corner pocket but wouldn’t drop.
    â€œThat’s fine by me,” she said. “It’ll block that pocket as long as I desire it to.”
    Miss Hoe shot a tidy combination shot, the thirteen into the fifteen. Then missed. Miss Angel ran two balls but that was it. Now the white cue ball was froze to a