The League (2 page)

“Nice pick, Wyatt,” Evan whispered.

After the movie, Evan and I waited in front of the theater for her dad. I was still blinking my eyes from the late-afternoon sunshine after the dark theater
when Evan elbowed me in the ribs and started rifling through her pockets.

“What?” I asked. “Is your dad here?”

She looked over at me. “Quick,” she said. “Give me some garbage.”

“Why?”

She pointed to a group of people standing not far from an overflowing trash can. One of them was Brian Braun. “I need something to throw away,” Evan pleaded.

“What’s that going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Evan replied impatiently. “Maybe he’ll think I’m a good citizen.”

“Maybe he’ll think you work here,” I replied, handing Evan a stick of gum.

“Ha, ha. Thanks.” Evan took the gum, popped it into her mouth, then spit it into the wrapper as she made her way over toward Brian. When she got to the trash can, she dropped the gum inside, but Brian still hadn’t noticed her. Instead of walking back like a normal person, Evan reached into the can, picked up the gum, which had been sitting at the top, and tossed it in again. That didn’t work either. Evan looked over at me. I shook my head. She was just going back in for the gum when a woman in a hurry walked by, tossing a cup into the can and splattering Evan.

She came back smelling like coffee.

“I’m not giving up,” she said.

“What’s the big deal about him?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “He’s just … I can’t think of the word.”

Her eyes stayed glued on Brian as he jumped into the back of a Jeep with his friends and sped away.
That’s what being good at football gets you
, I thought, watching Evan watch Brian drive off.

I hoped it was the last time we’d see Brian Braun at the cineplex. Little did I know, I’d have bigger problems this summer than Brian Braun.

There was still plenty of daylight left when I got home from the movies. Mom was in the kitchen helping my sister, Kate, with long division and checking her email. She was an emergency-room nurse, which meant she saw a lot of gross injuries, like people with bleeding heads and arms twisted in the wrong direction. I figured Dad had already left on his next business trip. He was a consultant, which meant he traveled all the time. Some weeks he’d leave Sunday evening and be gone until Thursday.

Kate was eleven, three years younger than me, but she and I were almost the same height. She had blond hair like Mom and Aaron. I got Dad’s dark brown hair, which I wore short.

“Where’s Aaron?” I asked.

“He’s in the backyard,” Mom answered. “He should be cutting the grass.”

“Because he stole Mom’s money,” added Kate, laying her pencil on the table.

Pushing the pencil back to Kate, Mom said, “He didn’t steal the money, sweetie. He just misspent it.”

A week ago, Mom had given Aaron money to take me and Kate to her school carnival. She said it was a chance for Kate to spend more time with us boys, but really I think she was just looking for an excuse to get out of going to the carnival herself.

Ignoring the pencil by her right hand, Kate said, “All I know is he has to cut the grass or he can’t use the car tonight. He’s supposed to drive Sara Morelli to River Tunes. Otherwise she’s probably going to break up with him.” Kate went back to her long division. “He deserves it,” she said to herself.

Sara Morelli was Aaron’s girlfriend, and River Tunes was a free concert by the water.

“Kate, focus on your math,” said Mom. “You need to do well on this test.”

Kate got pretty good grades, but she was having a hard time with math. Mom had promised to buy her a set of golf clubs if she got at least a B on her end-of-the-year test. Not what I would have asked for, but Kate really liked golf.

Turning her attention back to me, Mom asked, “How was the movie, Wyatt?”

“Let’s just say there won’t be a sequel,” I said, grabbing a granola bar from a jar on the kitchen counter.

Putting her pencil down again, Kate asked Mom, “How come everyone in this family gets to go somewhere fun except me?”

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.

“Wyatt went to a movie. Aaron is going to River Tunes. But does anybody take me? Noooo. Because I’m Kate Parker, the girl the whole world ignores.”

“Did you say something?” I asked, munching on the granola bar as I pushed open the back door.

“Ha, ha,” said Kate, glaring at me.

On the back porch, I opened the storage bin and dug through a pile of mitts and racquets until I found the football Dad gave Aaron when he turned thirteen. The next year, Aaron made the freshman team at Pilchuck High School. That was two years ago. Mom thought it was dangerous, but Dad said it taught Aaron discipline. This year, Aaron was going to try out for varsity.

At the moment, Aaron was lying faceup in the long grass. Nearby was the lawn mower, standing idle with a short strip of cut grass in its wake. Beyond that was a tire swing hanging from the limb of the maple tree that shaded our whole yard.

“Mom says get to work.”

Aaron looked over without getting up. “Tell her I’m taking a break.”

“From what? You cut like five feet of grass.”

“It’s harder than it looks. The grass is wet.”

I glanced down at the football I was holding. I tossed it a few times up into the air, hoping Aaron would see, but he had gone back to his break. “As long as you’re not working, do you want to play football?” I asked.

“With who?”

“Me.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“I know how to play football.”

“You don’t even know how to throw a football.”

“I’ll cut the grass for you.”

Aaron opened one eye. “You’ll cut the grass if I play football with you?”

I nodded.

“You get ten minutes,” said Aaron, pushing himself to his feet.

“Fifteen,” I replied.

Aaron stretched and rubbed his chin. “Twelve. I need time to shower and shave.”

When Aaron was ready, I spread my fingers out across the laces of the football and held it up. “Is this right?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said.

I brought my arm back and let it fly. The ball wobbled, landing halfway between me and Aaron.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Aaron grumbled as he shuffled over to the football. He tossed back a tight spiral that bounced off my hands.

“Hallelujah,” Aaron said when I threw the next ball all the way to him.

Aaron’s next pass was also perfect, spinning so fast it was impossible to tell by the white stripes if the football was even moving.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“It can’t be taught,” Aaron answered.

“Come on,” I said. “You said you’d teach me.”

“I said I’d throw the ball around with you. I never said I’d teach you anything,” Aaron said, sniffing his armpit. “Oh man,” he muttered. “I stink. I gotta hit the shower.” Gesturing to the lawn, he added, “Don’t forget to bag the clippings.”

“That wasn’t twelve minutes,” I said. “That’s a breach of contract.”

“Sue me,” Aaron shot back, heading inside. “Aim for the tire swing if you want a target,” he added before disappearing into the house.

I didn’t really feel like mowing the lawn for Aaron, so I started throwing the football at the tire swing. My first five passes missed the tire completely. My
sixth bounced off the top of the rubber. But by the tenth throw, it sailed through.

“Wyatt, what are you doing?” asked Dad, walking toward me in his work clothes.

“Just practicing,” I said, startled.

“Sorry, kiddo, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay. I just didn’t know you were home.”

“Just got here,” he said, taking the football in his hands. “You’re practicing football?” Dad sounded like he didn’t quite believe me.

“Kinda,” I said.

“Any special reason?” Dad asked.

“Not really.”

Dad walked over to me. “Football is a tough sport, kiddo. It’s not for everyone.”

“Aaron plays.”

“And he takes a beating.”

I stared back at Dad, hoping he would offer to play catch. “How about we play nine after school tomorrow?” he asked. “We’ll grab Jim and Francis and make it a foursome.”

Francis was my best friend and Jim was his dad. The four of us had been golfing together for a few years. I was getting pretty good, but I wasn’t sure it was the sport for me. Mom and Dad had signed me up for two weeks of golf camp this summer. Kate was going too, but she was actually excited about it.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess.”

I must have sounded disappointed, because Dad patted me on the back. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m doing you a favor. Football is no picnic. Ask your brother about wind sprints in full gear under the August sun.”

“Can I keep throwing?”

“Sure,” said Dad, smiling. “In fact, I’ll play catch with you.”

Dad and I tossed the football back and forth until it got dark. My right arm was aching by the time I went inside. Later, as the burn faded, I flexed my biceps and wondered if I could ever look like Brian Braun, or if I could get strong enough to throw a football so hard it would bounce off someone’s hands. That night, I took the football to my room. The golf outing tomorrow was the furthest thing from my mind.

The clock was ticking down fast and I had to cover thirty yards of hallway before reaching safety. I didn’t look back, but I knew he was behind me somewhere. Spencer Randle was lumpy, but he could move. I raced through the crowded hallway, zigging and zagging around anyone who got in my way. Up ahead I could see Francis waiting in front of Mr. Leland’s classroom. He was holding his lunch bag in one hand and waving me in with the other.

I made it to the door just as the bell rang.

“Any sign of him?” Francis asked as he looked around nervously.

I knew he meant Spencer, the biggest bully in
school. When Francis and I were in second grade, Spencer was in fourth. Now we were in the same grade. Spencer had shaggy hair, flabby arms, and meaty hands. As far as I could tell, he didn’t own a single shirt with sleeves. The last time I’d seen him, about thirty seconds earlier by the drinking fountain, he was wearing a football jersey with the arms cut off.

“All clear,” I said. “For now. Let’s go inside. During gym class this morning I heard him tell Troy Bunyon he had something to take care of during lunch.”

“Oh man,” said Francis as he knocked on the door. “I’m glad we’ll be in here.”

A while back, Francis and I started eating lunch in Mr. Leland’s classroom. We’d help him out by wiping down his whiteboard or organizing his bookshelves, and he’d let us hang out until it was time to go back to class.

We were just about to go inside when Mr. Leland opened his door. “Sorry, boys,” he said. “I have a parent meeting today. You’ll have to find somewhere else to eat lunch.”

“We’ll be quiet,” I promised. “And anything we overhear would never leave your room. I swear.”

“I’m sure I can trust you, Wyatt. You weren’t voted school citizen of the year for nothing.” Mr. Leland smiled. “But it wouldn’t be right. You understand?”

“We’ll label every bone on your skeletons,” Francis pleaded. “We’ll clean your microscopes for a week.”