by Marie G. Lee
“Just be home for dinner at seven.”
“Okay.”
As usual, Abogee was already at the store.
“Hey, Chan!” ALL-PRO yelled at lunch. “Come sit with us.” I threw my sandwich into my bag and suppressed an idiotic grin.
“Hey,” said eighty percent of the guys when I sat down. Monster and the Mexican-looking guy didn’t say anything. But I didn’t care. It felt good to have a group to eat with.
“You ever kicked a football before?” Coach asked me.
“No,” I said honestly. The closest I’d ever come was a Nerf at the beach.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. You seem quick,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder pad. “Beargrease here will show you the particulars.”
Jimmi Beargrease was the black-haired kid, friend to Monster. I guess he wasn’t Mexican, but Indian. Today his long hair stuck out in a braid under his helmet. He scowled when Coach told him to help me out.
“Here,” he said, shoving a football and a tee at me. He had terrible teeth, all yellow and crooked. “You put the football on this.”
I took the stuff from him. “I said I’d never kicked before, not that I’m retarded.” That came out a little harsher than I meant it to, but I wasn’t that sorry. There are some guys that you just don’t like right off the bat, and he was one of them.
He didn’t say anything. He loped up to the ball and booted it, fairly decent, about twenty yards.
I reset it; regarded it. Then I ran up and kicked. It took to the air, changed its mind, crashed down, bounced, and came to rest like a dead animal a few yards away.
“Nice,” Jimmi said sarcastically. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure I saw what he saw: that Coach was watching.
I tried again. Same result.
“Maybe you’re not cut out to be a kicker,” Jimmi said helpfully.
I reset the ball.
You know how to kick, I told myself. Focus. I ran, keeping my knee over the ball, thinking, GOAL!
The ball took off, a bit drunkenly. But it kept on going and sailed about forty yards before falling plumply back down.
“Whoo-ee!” came a cry from the field, ALL-PRO, arm raised mid-pass, gave me the V-for-victory sign. “Way to go, Chanster! Look at that leg!”
“Nice,” said Jimmi. He was trying to be sarcastic and failing miserably.
“You look happy, young man,” said Mrs. Knutson at dinner. “In fact, you look as happy as I’ve ever seen you. Have some more hotdish.”
“You make the best hotdish,” I said sincerely. Hotdish was some Minnesota thing—and today’s, tuna fish and egg noodles with crushed potato chips on top, was particularly sublime.
Abogee was schlooping down his portion, noisily like he did at home, one eye suspiciously on me. I think he thinks if I’m happy, I must be up to no good.
It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, I remember adoring Abogee. I used to stay up late just so I could see him when he came home from the store.
“I nyosok chom pwara,” look at this little rascally fellow, he’d say to me.
But he wouldn’t scold me for being up past my bedtime. He’d make a snack of ramen for both of us. We’d sit there eating while everyone else was asleep.
So, exactly when did Abogee turn so negative on me? When did this “Number one son” thing start to mean I couldn’t do anything right?
I tried to make myself glum by thinking thoughts of war, death, destruction, and Spam, but my mind kept going back to the sight of the football turning into a UFO, and a smile tugged at my mouth as if I were a puppet.
At practice the next day I caught a pass and ran an obstacle course of defensemen to bring it in for a touchdown. Coach nodded approvingly.
“You’re a twisty little guy,” said Kearny, who hardly ever complimented anyone.
After practice I was blabbing nonstop with Mikko, and it felt like my feet didn’t bother to touch the ground. At home I said hi to Mrs. Knutson and then to O-Ma, who was getting a lesson in Minnesota cookery. I said hi to Abogee, too, as he sat at the table with a bunch of papers in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice I was home.
“Did you have a good time?” O-Ma asked. She was watching Mrs. Knutson add carrots and potatoes to a big pot in which a roast was steaming.
“Yep,” I said. I decided that practice had gone so well that I could let the cat out of the bag. “Get this, I’m trying out for the football team. The team needs a kicker, and with all my soccer skills, I might be able to do it.”
“Where were you?” Abogee said.
“At football,” I said with surprise. His English couldn’t be that bad.
“The store should be opening in another week or so. I’ll need you to start working there,” he said without looking up. His glasses, perched at the top of his head, looked like a pair of sightless eyes.
“Okay,” I said, wondering exactly what he was getting at. “On weekends, like I did back home, right?”
“After school too.”
Oh. I believe Abogee was telling me I couldn’t play football. He does this thing where he drops hints, punches in a code, mutates and mutilates words until he can tell me no without having to say no to my face. Occasionally he makes O-Ma do his dirty work, like the time I wanted a mountain bike for my birthday, but mostly he does the job himself, leaving me flapping like a fish pulled up on a dock, trying to figure out exactly what he means.
I let the silence stretch out, thinner and thinner. Tell me no if you mean no, I was thinking. Tell me to my face and give me a chance to argue my point.
“Why don’t we wait and see if Chan makes the football team and then worry about things?” O-Ma broke in. “I think that would make the most sense.” Abogee looked at O-Ma, kind of surprised, as if the roast itself had started talking.
“Iron River has a wonderful football team. I can’t wait to see you play,” Mrs. Knutson said as she shoved the roast back in the oven. “I never miss a home game.” Abogee went back to his papers.
After dinner I was doing some push-ups when Young came up to my room.
“How come I never see you at lunch?” She settled cross-legged on the floor.
I told her about the gym, Mikko, and the other football players.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
I shrugged. “We’re not supposed to, but some kids do anyway.”
Young looked mildly shocked at this. She’s a big rule follower.
“So, you meeting any cool kids?” I asked, to change the subject.
“It’s too early to tell,” Young said. “People seem friendly enough, but no one does anything around here. I like Donna. She’s no Sujin, though.”
My knuckles throbbed because I’d been doing the push-ups tae kwon do style on the wooden floor.
“Yeah,” I said. “The only guy I’ve really gotten to know is Mikko, the one who got me to go out for football.”
“I can’t believe you’re going out for football.” Young leaned over to pinch a sore biceps. I tried not to grimace.
“I know you’re strong, Oppa, but they grow ’em big up here. Like that one guy who wears the dirty frayed jeans and those T-shirts without the sleeves. He’s a monster. There’s something odd about him. He smells bad too.”
“How do you know how he smells?” He stank something fearsome in the locker room, but then we all did.
“Yuck, Chan, just walking down the hall. He has a cloud around him, you know, like Pigpen in Peanuts.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“So what’re you going to do if Abogee doesn’t let you go out for football?”
My other favorite subject, Abogee.
“You think he doesn’t want me to go out for football?” I batted my eyes. Young rolled hers.
“Anyone can build muscle, but building brain …” she mimicked Abogee’s clipped Korean. “Number one son, you must do something to make this family proud!”
“Young-ster,” I said. “I really
do want to go out for football. I mean, I used to think it was a useless sport, but actually I kind of like it.”
“I know. It shows.”
“So what should I do?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe you should ride it out a little first. You know how Abogee is so touchy.”
“Touchy isn’t the word.”
I couldn’t help feeling touchy myself. Though I am willing to work hard, I’ll never be a rocket scientist. But doesn’t talent extend beyond things you do with a pencil in your hand? I worked my butt off to make the soccer team. And while Abogee drove Young all over the freaking state of California for some math tournament, he never came to one single soccer game, even when they were right in the neighborhood.
“Abogee always listens to you, Young,” I said “Can’t you come up with some cool argument for football—like studies show that football can help you get better grades, or something like that?”
Young shrugged her thin shoulders.
“I’ll try,” she said doubtfully.
thirteen
“Students should now report with their homeroom teachers to the auditorium.” The principal’s voice droned facelessly from the intercom as everyone shuffled out.
We were in alphabetical order, so my seat was right next to Young’s.
“Wow, an assembly,” she said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t a big assembly type, unless it was quiet enough to allow me to catch up on my Z’s.
“Hey, you weeg, scram!” I looked to see ALL-PRO bending menacingly over the kid who had the seat next to me.
“Howdy, pardner,” he said, settling in. He looked over at Young. “Who’s this?”
“My sister,” I said. “Young, this is Mikko.”
“You guys are twins? Cool.”
“Actually, I’m really thirty-one,” Young said. “I flunked a lot.”
“Really?” ALL-PRO looked amused all out of proportion to Young’s remark.
“Really. Of course we’re twins. Can’t you tell by the way we look alike?”
Mikko laughed. Young has a long, narrow face and high cheekbones, while my face is as round and formless as a wheel of cheese. About the only thing we have in common is Abogee’s cowlick, over the left eye for Young, right eye for me. Mirror images.
“So what is this all about?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” ALL-PRO’S eyes grew comically wide. “Like, really? It’s only the most important event of the school year.”
“So why don’t you tell us?”
“You wait and see.” He winked.
The lights went down and the heavy velvet curtains opened. Behind them was the principal—ALL-PRO’S dad—and Coach, and Coach Kearny. The cheerleaders stood behind a table that displayed a row of shining black helmets.
“Ready?” ALL-PRO’S teeth almost glowed in the dark.
It couldn’t be. The varsity team results were supposed to be announced today—but after school, at practice, I thought.
“Welcome, welcome,” boomed ALL-PRO’S dad. “Here’s the day we’ve all been waiting for, to find out who will be the representatives of the Miners for the upcoming football season. Let me turn the mike to Mike—har, har—head coach of the varsity team, Mike Thorson.”
As the audience cheered, ALL-PRO whooped like an Indian. Young gave me a look, like who is this guy?
Coach took the stage.
“This will be our most exciting season in years,” he said, his tan washed out a bit by the strong stage lights. “The last time we went to the state tournament was ten years ago!”
“Bo-ring,” whispered Young. “Can you believe we get out of class for this?”
“Shhh.” I was engrossed.
“With this year’s lineup, we’ve got a record number of seniors returning, a junior who played varsity last year, lots of talent. This team is experienced.”
A titter rose from the audience. Ever dignified, Coach ignored it.
“Let’s start with the captains. Returning senior quarterback, Leland Farrell.”
From the audience, the senior QB climbed onto the stage amid cheers, shook hands with the Ripanen-Thorson-Kearny triumvirate, took a helmet, and stood with it tucked under his arm. The cheerleaders’ pompoms made a sound like rain.
Monster Rom Kreeger was the other captain. Young jabbed me with her elbow and whispered “That’s Pigpen” when he got called.
“Our junior quarterback, Mikko Ripanen.”
“Hmm,” said Young. “He made the varsity team.”
ALL-PRO got out of his seat leisurely and sauntered to the stage. He was all solemn shaking hands with the coaches, but when he was supposed to shake his dad’s hand, he reached out and pinched his cheek—to loud roars of approval.
Mr. Ripanen put his hand to his cheek and pretended to swoon.
“People in this school are weird,” Young remarked.
More roars, laughter while other names were called.
“And last but not least is our kicker, Jann Kim!”
Jann, Chan—close enough. He could have called me Jennifer, for all I cared.
Young’s mouth was open, moving slightly, as if she was saying, “It couldn’t possibly be you!”
I floated all the way to the stage. One helmet winked under the lights. I grabbed it. I did my best to look stern, tough, like everyone else in line—but I just smiled like a goon.
fourteen
“And the whole school totally clapped,” Young recounted for everyone at dinner. “I had no idea Chan was going to make the varsity team.”
“It’s no small accomplishment, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Knutson agreed as she poured ketchup on her hamburger. “You should be very proud, young man.”
The only one who didn’t say anything was … guess who. He just muttered darkly to O-Ma about her need to economize, meat like this was expensive. I felt like telling him to quit picking on her.
Is it too much to ask that he be happy for me once in a while? I worked hard for this. On weekends I helped him fix up the store—no small task—and I’d even repaired the leaky sink in the kitchen and fixed up Mrs. Knutson’s lawn, which had been well on its way to reverting back to wilderness. But if it doesn’t come on a piece of paper, with the grades A through A, he just doesn’t give a damn. Abogee didn’t say anything through dinner. Not even “Pass the rice”—he just reached across O-Ma and grabbed the bowl. Mrs. Knutson politely looked away, just like the first day we sat down to eat together and Abogee belched at the table.
Obviously he was mad. It was a silence you could hear, like when you put a blank tape in the stereo and crank up the volume. The silence just blasts you.
But this time I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to panic and say “Okay, Abogee, I’ll quit football and work in the store” just because I was afraid he’d sulk.
I knew Abogee was testing me, like in those fairy tales where if I chose the right answer, I’d be rewarded with riches and kingdoms (that is, Abogee not being mad for a while). If not, I’d fall through a trapdoor into a pit of alligators.
The events of the last weeks churned like laundry inside my head. The leaving. My last soccer practice. Saying good-bye to Sujin. The endless ride to get here. Eating lunch alone.
If he didn’t have the balls to ask me to quit football out loud, I wasn’t going to answer, either.
I think he was afraid I would say no, out loud.
“Go out on the slant, long,” Mikko said to me, waving his arm toward somewhere out on the field. “Don’t turn around until I tell you.”
I ran out. The rain-sopped field squished like a sponge beneath my feet.
“Now!” he yelled. I turned. A bomb crunched me right between the numbers.
“Hug it to ya, or you’re gonna lose it,” Kearny shouted in disgust. “Whatsdamatter, your fingers all greasy from that Chinese food?”
Kearny really yanked my chain sometimes. I think he knew it and enjoyed doing it, too.
He was always chewing out people in public, questioning their manhood, trying to get the larger guys to absolutely flatten the smaller ones. It was all part of what he called the “necessary roughness” of becoming a football player. I thought that was bull.
But I wasn’t so stupid as to mouth off to him. I knew who controlled the roster for the games.
I had the kicking down pretty well. I could kick at different angles, I could adjust for the wind. I was getting to the point where I could figure out if we needed a straight-ahead boot or a puffy little floater to get through the uprights.
But we all had to play more than one position. Coach thought I should be a running back or a safety, since I was fast. Mikko was trying me out at wide receiver. It was a little frustrating learning the ropes for so many positions, but Coach made it clear that there wasn’t room on the team for a guy who just sat on the bench and came out when it was extra-point time. That fancy stuff was for the NFL, he said.
To end practice, after the gauntlet, we had to do a mile run in under nine minutes, which we did. Then we had to do hundred-yard sprints in pads and helmets in under eighteen seconds, which Rom and some of the other bulky linemen didn’t do, so Coach made us start over from zero. Run. Run. Run till your gut explodes.
The third time, Rom came huffing in at over twenty seconds. I think Leland saw that if Rom hadn’t made the sprints yet, he never would. Leland stuck his finger down his throat, hacked up some watery gruel, and the coaches let us stop.
“Let me remind you, gentlemen,” said Coach, as we all lay sprawled out like lawn ornaments. Kearny made us get up and move around. “Our first game is next week. Two-a-days start tomorrow. Kindly get your butts to the locker room before six.”
“What’s two-a-days?” I asked Mikko. “Is it like One-a-Days plus Iron?”
“It is what it is, idiot,” ALL-PRO said back. “Get ready for the practice from hell.”
fifteen
At five thirty in the morning it is dark. Like opaque dark. I thrashed around for my football stuff, clothes to change into, grabbed my book bag, and headed downstairs.
