If You're Reading This

by Trent Reedy

  “Come on,” Sullivan said. “We gotta kick!”

  “Here you go, son,” the ref said, holding out his hands.

  I tossed the ball to him and went back to the huddle. The guys slapped me on the shoulder pads and punched me in the helmet, laughing and cheering. When we settled into the huddle, even Karn leaned over so he could see me. “Nice catch,” he said.

  Our kick sailed wide, but I couldn’t hold back a stupid grin even when I reached the sidelines.

  “Sloppy play, Wilson,” Coach Carter said when I ran up near him. “But good work.”

  We kicked off and our defense took over. The Trojans made a series of short gains, allowing them to keep earning first downs. Eventually they scored again, leaving the score at halftime twenty-one to six.

  The team was pretty furious on the way to the locker room, but I couldn’t help feeling a little pumped. Then Rhodes checked me in the shoulder, almost knocking me down. He ran on by without saying a word.

  The coaches went over plays in the locker room, trying to point out adjustments to our strategy. Laura crouched down in front of me as she handed me a water bottle. She smiled and whispered, “Nice play, Mike.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and smiled back.

  That was the last nice moment of the game. Coach didn’t let Rhodes play for the rest of the time, so I had to cover his spot at tight end. The linebacker I’d knocked down on that first play took his revenge again and again, laying tough hits on me. I never gave up a sack like Rhodes had, but I never pulled off another great play. Nobody else did either. We ended up beat, beaten down, forty-one to six.

  After the game, Coach gave us a consolation talk in the locker room, throwing around words like discipline and execution and determination. Then we cleaned up. Nobody said much. Cody punched his locker. Karn showered and dressed and then sat on the bench with his head in his hands, looking down at his pile of sweat-soaked clothes as if he wondered what had happened to all their smelly luck. I walked past him on my way out of the room.

  “Wilson,” he said without looking up.

  I stopped. “Yeah?”

  “You kept us from being shut out. Nice play.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I waited a moment longer. “Thanks for the good pass.”

  He sort of snorted. I went out to the gym, where the air smelled sweet and felt cool compared to the warm, damp stench of the locker room. Only two dim service lights held back the quiet dark, and my footfalls echoed on the wood floor.

  I should have been all upset like the other guys, and I did wish we had won, or at least not been beaten so badly. I knew I’d have several new bruises too. But my mind kept running back to the lights on the field, the sense of power I felt when I knocked that linebacker down, the terror and exhilaration of my frantic touchdown run. The guy on the loudspeaker announcing my name. The crowd on Bleacher Hill cheering.

  So far, all high school had ever meant to me was an opportunity for a better future. I’d viewed Riverside High as nothing more than a stepping stone on my way to college and a way out of this tiny town. Tonight, for the first time, school had meaning beyond the future. Tonight felt like it mattered on its own.

  I wished I could tell Dad about it.

  On my way toward the front of the school, I entered the dimly lit cafetorium to find my sister waiting for me with her arms folded.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Mary said. “Mom will freak when she finds out you were playing football.” She put her palms against her cheeks and spoke in a high-pitched voice. “Oh, my sweet baby boy! You’ll be hurt if you play football! You’ll be hurt if you leave the house or have a life!”

  “Knock it off!” I checked to make sure nobody else was around.

  Mary laughed. “You are going to be grounded for the rest of your life when Mom hears about this. But then, you never had a life before, so what would be the difference?” She tapped her foot on the floor. “On the other hand, you know, I had to borrow money from Tara and Crystal when we celebrated our victory at Piggly’s. I’m supposed to buy for the girls next time. As the new seventh-grade class president, I’d say if you forked over fifty bucks, I might be persuaded not to tell Mom about this.”

  “Fifty!”

  Mary shrugged. “Yeah, because there’s also this shirt at the mall that I kind of want.”

  Why couldn’t I have had a brother instead of a sister? A brother I could’ve punched in the arm for being such a jerk. But as smart as Mary thought she was, she could be a real idiot sometimes. “Does Mom know you’re here tonight?”

  Her smug grin faded a little. “What?”

  “You’re right. Mom doesn’t let us do anything, so I’m wondering if you have permission to be here.”

  She remained silent.

  “Hmm,” I said. “I’m thinking Mom expects you’re at home right now and you just went out anyway. She’d probably ground you if she discovered you’d sneaked out. She’s even more protective of her little baby girl than she is of me.” I took a step toward her. “If I had to stop playing football, I’d be home all the time to make sure you never went out with your friends, and I wouldn’t give you any money for shopping trips or dinners at Piggly’s.” She wouldn’t even look at me now, and I had to laugh. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

  She blew out a frustrated huff, like a five-year-old having a tantrum. “I hate you,” she said, spinning away from me so fast that her hair whipped up in the air. She walked off toward the lobby but stopped near the trophy case and faced me. “I never pay any attention to the game, but Brandon Larson — he’s this really cute boy in my grade. His sister is a cheerleader and is so awesome…. Anyway, Brandon said you scored a touchdown. That’s kind of cool.” She went out through the lobby. “But you’re still a dork!” she shouted back.

  The parking lot in front of the school was deserted except for a few teachers’ cars. A bunch of people were hanging out in the student parking lot around the side. I could hear their stereos and some of their loud voices. They were always there for a while after the game.

  The school door opened behind me, and Isma came out. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You scored! Your first game and you scored a touchdown!” She squeezed my arm, showing more excitement about my big play than anyone else outside the team. “That’s really cool, right?”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “You guess so?” She laughed. “You know so. So, Mr. Sports, will you walk me home?”

  “Sure,” I said. At the beginning of the last school year, her family had moved into one of the cool new houses in the west-side development. I’d never been to her house, but that neighborhood was sort of on the way to where I lived.

  I pulled Scrappy out of the rack and walked it along as we started up the Lincoln Street hill. For a long time the only sound was the embarrassing clanking and rattling of my bicycle. This was our very first time hanging out together outside of school.

  “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And before you ask, yes, I will have the report written by then. It might actually not be so terrible either.”

  “I never thought it would be bad. You’re a good writer. A smart guy. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  What could I say to that? “What are you going to do tonight while I’m slaving away on this paper?”

  “Oh, not much. I have some new comics to read.”

  “Wait. What? You read comics?”

  She stopped. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Like what kind of comics?”

  “Spider-Man. Iron Man. Lots of Captain America.”

  I hadn’t expected this at all. I used to read a lot of comics, mostly stuff I’d found in one of Dad’s old trunks, but lately I’d turned my attention toward more serious books. “Wow,” I said.

  “What’s so ‘wow’ about it? Just comics.”

  “I know, but not a lot of girls read about superheroes.”

>   She hurried ahead of me. “I take back what I said about you being smart.”

  I jogged to catch up with her. “No, no. I think it’s cool. I just didn’t know that about you.”

  She stopped, looking right at me with her depths-of-space eyes. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  We stood very close to each other, and neither of us moved. Her smile made her nose crinkle, and I wondered what she was thinking.

  Then a car rounded the corner and its headlights fell on us. The car’s brights came on as it got closer, and in the glare I couldn’t tell who it was.

  The car stopped. “Woo, Wilson and Ass-ma!” Rhodes yelled out the window. The guys riding with him called out a bunch of crude jokes and other stupid crap. Rhodes pointed at me. “You got lucky tonight, scoring that touchdown that should have been mine. I’ll see you in practice, loser!”

  I took two steps toward the car to see if Rhodes felt like fighting about it. Isma grabbed my arm and held me back. “Not worth it,” she said.

  I bit my lip and let the car drive off. Isma was probably right.

  “I hate those guys,” I said.

  “I know what you mean.”

  A short while later we were on her street. The houses here traded off the honor of winning Riverside’s “Lawn of the Month” award in the Riverside Reporter. They were large, clean, newer homes, all with similar neutral shades of aluminum siding and brick fronts.

  Isma stopped where a maple tree cast a shadow from the streetlight. She pointed to the largest house at the end of the street, a big place with a two-car garage, a huge window in front, and a chimney for the fireplace. “That’s where I live. Thanks for walking me home.”

  “Well, we’re not really there yet,” I said.

  She laughed a little, but kept sneaking glances at her house. “Yeah, I know, but if you walked me up to the door, my … um … my little brother might see you, and then he’d make kissy noises and make a big deal out of it.” She looked up at me. “Um … making a big deal out of you walking with me, not of us kissing.” Then her eyes went wide, as if she’d just realized what she’d said. “Oh. Unh, not that we’d be kissing.”

  Why had she said that? Was she thinking this was like a date? “Yeah.”

  “Not that I wouldn’t want to —”

  “What?”

  She wiped her forehead. “No, it’s … You’re fine. I don’t know why I …” She punched me in the arm. “We’re just walking. No big deal. Good luck on that paper, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ran off toward her house, stopping on her doorstep long enough to offer a little wave before she slipped inside.

  “What just happened?” I whispered.

  Back at home that night, even though it was late, I couldn’t have slept if I tried. The dull ache in my sore muscles kept pulling me back to the memory of the smell of sweat and grass, the glare from the lights overhead, and the crowd cheering after I ran the ball into the end zone. From there my thoughts drifted to what had happened with Isma, the way she looked at me with her deep, dark eyes, the small electric space between us. I’d never had a night like this before.

  In his second letter, Dad had talked about how he’d worked up the nerve to ask that girl, Hillary, to dance. How he’d almost missed out with her because he kept chickening out. Isma had talked about kissing. Did she want to kiss me? Had I botched it with Isma the way Ethan had thrown away his chance to go out with Raelyn last year? Did I even want a chance with Isma? Had I failed my second mission?

  I shook my head. Isma and I only worked together on school projects. She was just a friend. Just a really pretty friend. Who probably never thought of me as anything more than a school partner.

  Which reminded me of homework. I could always make more sense of books than about anything else. A ring of light kept the attic shadows at bay as I worked at my desk. The Civil War report almost wrote itself. When I finished, I thought about going to bed, but the warmth of my desk light shining on my books held me there, reading Hamlet for English.

  After I finished the first act, I switched off the light and lay down on my bed to relax, with thoughts of tonight’s game, and Isma, and my father spinning through my head.

  * * *

  I woke on Saturday morning about nine. Derek had agreed to stop by at ten to work on the roof, so I went downstairs to the kitchen. From the fridge, I downed the dregs of a two-liter bottle of Coke (hopelessly flat), hoping it would help wake me up.

  “Morning, Mikey.” Mom yawned as she came into the kitchen in her bathrobe. She ran her fingers back through her still-wet hair.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  She slumped into a chair at the table. “I live here,” she said.

  “No, I mean, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” If she were still here when Derek arrived to help with the roof, she’d worry about the leak. If she stayed long enough to discover I’d invited Isma over without permission … Well, Mom did not approve of guests.

  “I told you. Stupid cutbacks at the home. They won’t let me cover Saturday mornings anymore. Just a few hours in the afternoon.”

  At least she’d miss Isma. Maybe Derek could help me smooth things over with Mom about the roof. They knew each other from high school a long time ago.

  “Cool.” I started to leave the kitchen. “I’ll be up in my room.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Mom said. She motioned me toward a chair that she pushed back from the table with her foot. “We’ve hardly talked since school started. How did the first week go? How’s work?”

  I joined her at the table. “School’s fine, Mom. Work’s the same.”

  She leaned over and reached out to squeeze my hand. “It’s your birthday in a few weeks,” she said. “Is there something special you’d like?”

  “Hunh. You mean besides a car?” I joked.

  “Yes, besides the Ferrari I already have parked in the garage with a bow on the hood.” She pushed my hand away and laughed. “Seriously, though.”

  “I seriously don’t need anything,” I said. I would have liked some books, and I could have used new clothes, but I’d get by. “Anyway, there are more important things to spend the money on besides me.” The leaky roof came to mind.

  “We’ll see about that. There just might be a little surprise for you, mister.”

  I made some toast and had breakfast. After a few minutes I heard a vehicle pulling up out front. Of course Derek just had to show up early. I headed outside, leaving Mom to her cereal.

  “Hey,” I said as I jogged over to the Falcon. “Sorry for bothering you with this hassle.”

  “Oh, no problem. Heard you did real good in the game last night.”

  I checked over my shoulder to make sure Mom hadn’t heard. “It was just one touchdown. We got killed.”

  “Still, good job.” He stepped out of the truck but leaned over the seat to get something. When he turned back around, he held a paper sack in one arm, some sweet corn poking out the top. “Um, is your mom home?”

  I frowned. “She’s inside.”

  “Oh. Hmm.” Derek looked back to the truck, then at the house, as if he couldn’t decide what to do with his food. “It’s just, I had all these extra vegetables. From my garden,” he added suddenly. “And I can’t eat all this. So I thought if your mom … I just … This was all ripe, and I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

  “Michael?” Mom’s voice came from behind me. I spun around to see her coming out on the porch.

  “Mom.” Great. I couldn’t hide any of this now.

  “Hi, Derek.” She looked tired. “How are you?”

  “Hey, Allison.” He walked up the path to her. “These vegetables needed to be picked in the garden today. Some sweet corn. Cucumbers and stuff. I thought you might like them.”

  Mom took the sack. “Thanks so much.” She smiled like she hadn’t in a while. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yeah! You too.” They both looked down at the ground. Finally, I had
to fake a cough to break the quiet. Derek looked at me. “Well, we’re just going to take a look at the roof real quick. Maybe touch it up in the corner.”

  “Why?” Mom’s whole body sagged as if the food had suddenly become much heavier. “Is there a problem? I don’t have the money for new shingles.”

  “Mom, it’s fine,” I said. “There’s just a spot where I noticed a shingle was missing. I wanted to get it patched so that it doesn’t leak. It’ll take …” I looked to Derek.

  “About ten minutes, tops.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She gave the bag a shake. “Thanks for this, Derek. And for your help.”

  “Anytime,” he said. Mom started toward the front door. “Oh, hey, Allison? I just … What are you up to tonight?”

  Mom closed her eyes. “Mmm. I get a couple hours at the home this afternoon, but I have the worst headache. When I’m done there, I think I’ll see if I can get some rest. Get to bed early.”

  “Yeah, you should do that.” Derek wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “There’s a band down at the VFW. They play a bunch of old eighties and nineties songs. I was thinking about going to see ’em.”

  Wait a minute! I looked from Derek, who I swore was starting to sweat, to my mother, who actually took a step back. Was Derek asking my mom out? Like, on a date? Mom hadn’t been on a date in my whole life. She was … she was, well, Mom.

  She swallowed and nodded. “That sounds fun. You should really do that. I wish I could get out to see a band sometime.” I looked back and forth between them again as the silence set in. “Well,” Mom finally said, “thanks again for the food. Have fun tonight.”

  “Because I was thinking, maybe you could come with me,” Derek burst out. “I mean, if you’d like to. ’Cause … Would you like to go? With me, to see this band? They’re supposed to be good.”

  I didn’t fit in so well at school, and so I had almost more embarrassing memories than our library had books. But I’d never been stuck in a situation quite as awkward as this one.