by Tim Green
Danny looked up to see Ms. Rait standing on the porch looking down at him. His face felt hot. “I . . . I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I thought they have handicapped parking, so . . .”
Ms. Rait didn’t seem angry. “Yes. I call it ‘accessible parking.’ That’s what it is, don’t you think?”
Danny thought about it for a minute. “Yes. I do.”
“In England, the term ‘disabled’ isn’t considered offensive, but I don’t like that either because I’m quite able.” Ms. Rait seemed almost happy to talk about it. “I think of myself as ‘using a crutch’ even though I’ll probably always use it, whereas you’ll hang them on your garage wall in a few weeks.” She paused, then said, “Well, come on. We have a lot to do.”
Ms. Rait held the door for Danny, which embarrassed him, so he tried to move quickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Mrs. McGillicuddy scooted inside before Danny with her belly swaying.
In the kitchen, there were two glasses of iced tea on the table along with a stack of papers. Mrs. McGillicuddy waited beneath Danny’s chair, her puffy white tail swishing like a feather duster.
“Sit right down.”
Danny leaned his crutches against the wall and did as he was told. Ms. Rait sat across from him and reached down into the book bag at her feet. She pulled out a paper airplane and slid it across the table at him. Danny had a sinking feeling as he unfolded it to see the word list.
“I . . . uh . . .”
She smiled at him. “That’s okay. You didn’t need it then, did you?”
“I didn’t think so,” he said quietly, reaching down to scratch Mrs. McGillicuddy’s ears.
“Librarians always cover their English teachers’ backs.” She sipped her tea and then set it down with a thump. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Danny smoothed the paper.
“From the top.” She pointed at the sheet of sight words, then pushed a piece of scrap paper and a pencil across the table. “The ones you don’t know, I’ll tell you, and you’ll write them out five times.”
They launched right into it. She pushed him like a coach, demanding and no-nonsense. His brain felt like a sneaker in the clothes dryer: spinning, turning, thumping, and finally heating up. He looked at the clock, then at the word she was pointing to.
“I . . .” He shook his head and winced. “I don’t know. I can’t.”
“Yes you do, and you can.” She raised her voice ever so slightly.
He clenched his teeth and pounded a fist on the table, rattling a spoon and the top to the sugar bowl. “How can you say that? You don’t know what I know.”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “Is that what you say to Coach Kinen when he tells you to get him five yards? You can’t?”
“You’re not—”
“Not what?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not a coach? Let me tell you something. I’m the most important coach you’ll ever have.”
She pointed to the sheet of words again. “You know ‘all,’ and we went through all the variants: ‘tall,’ ‘wall,’ ‘call,’ ‘fall,’ and ‘ball.’”
“Yeah, I know.” Danny stared at the word until his vision got cloudy.
“And you learned ‘moon,’ ‘soon,’ ‘goon,’ and ‘noon’ because they all have o-o-n, which makes the ‘oon’ sound. Now, this is the core of your problem, and we are going to beat that problem, but I need you to do this. Put those two things together. Look at that word: b-a-l-l is what?”
“Ball?”
“Yes! Now keep going. Add the o-o-n sound to it.” She was as excited as a football coach, he had to give her that.
“Ball-oon.”
“Say it fast!” She nodded vigorously.
“Ball-oon, bal-loon, balloon!” A light went on. He jumped up out of his seat and raised his arm and spiked an imaginary football, as if he’d just scored a touchdown. “Balloon! Haha!”
“That’s reading, Danny! You’re reading!”
Danny sat back down and Mrs. McGillicuddy jumped up into his lap with a yowl and they laughed together.
“Balloon” was only the beginning. It was like your first time running for a first down—a big moment that quickly got lost in the need for more and bigger and better and then ultimately putting it over the goal line.
After five weeks of mind-bending work, a dozen sheets of sight words, and repetition that made the endless football drills Danny had done throughout his life seem brief, he read a book. It wasn’t much of a book. It was Miss Daisy Is Crazy! It was a kid’s book, with pictures, but it was a book that he read and enjoyed on his own.
So, as he sat in the medical center waiting room to get the word on his foot, he distracted himself by reading the second book in the series.
“Danny, come on.” His mom stood over him, impatient. “They called your name.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d missed when they called his name because he was scared to death or because of how goofy the book was. He handed it to his mom and gathered his crutches. He didn’t think he needed them, but even if he hadn’t taken the doctor’s orders seriously, his mother had never let up on her insistence that he stay off his foot.
They followed the nurse into the MRI room, where he spent what seemed like days in the MRI “space capsule” with the huge magnets spinning inside their plastic skin. The constant thumping and banging cut into the headset they gave him, spoiling the country music he tried listening to. Finally, he was done and they deposited him in an exam room where his mother was waiting.
“Well?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Mom, I have no idea.”
“I just didn’t know if you overheard anyone saying anything.” She bit her lip and frowned at the door, which opened as if on cue.
“How is it?” his mom asked the doctor before he could say a thing.
“Let’s take a look.” The doctor grinned at her and took Danny’s foot in his hands.
Danny bit into his tongue so he wouldn’t wince. He was ready to lie, if that meant getting back into action. He had to get back. Markle had run for his second hundred-yard game yesterday, and people were beginning to talk about how anyone with some talent could run behind such a talented offensive line.
The doctor began gently running his fingers along the outside edge of Danny’s foot. “That hurt?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Severs gave the bone a squeeze.
“It feels fine, Dr. Severs.” Danny was surprised. “Really.”
“Really?” The doctor gave the bone another squeeze as he studied Danny’s face.
Danny held his breath and didn’t move a muscle. Again, it was okay. It didn’t hurt. “Yes, sir.”
The doctor finally released Danny’s foot. “Well, the MRI looks good. It seems to have healed nicely. Let’s see how a week without crutches goes. No problems after that and I’ll clear you to practice. If that goes well, you’ll be back in action in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Danny felt like throwing up. “The season . . .”
“The season goes for three more weeks. Crooked Creek is undefeated, and the toughest games are behind you. You may be able to play in the championship. But you still need to take it easy.” The doctor thumped Danny on the back. “Now, look, you have to tell me if this starts to hurt. I know all about the big game and why you want to play in it, but you have to think long term. You don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize your ability to play sports at all, right?”
“No, sir.” Danny couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Good. Very good. It starts to hurt and you get right back on the crutches and get in here.” The doctor tapped some notes into his laptop and then spoke to Danny’s mom.
“Did you get Danny the pair of wooden-soled sandals I recommended, Mrs. Owens?”
“Well, Doctor, the shoe salesman said these Birkenstocks were much better than the sandals you recommended.”
Dr. Severs laughed and said, “They are better . . . and much more expensive.
” He had Danny put them on and stand for inspection, then said, “They’re great! You can make an appointment at the desk for next week. See you then.”
Danny automatically reached for his crutches, then stopped. “So I can walk without the crutches?”
“Yes, but take them so that if you need them, you’ll have them. Right?” The doctor paused at the door.
“Okay.”
“Great. See you in a week.” Dr. Severs vanished, leaving the door open.
“I’m so happy for you, Danny.” His mom gave him a hug and took the crutches.
Danny gave the crutches one last look and tried to look confident walking out.
Danny felt nervous sending his first-ever text. Not being able to read had limited him to phone calls, so his friends ragged him for being “old school.” He sent it to Janey and she replied right away, “U bet!”
“Mom, can you drop me off at the guardrail by our fort?”
She gave him a disappointed look. “I thought we were going to the game together.”
“We can, but that’s later. I just haven’t been to the creek since the crutches and it’s been so hot today, I thought I’d go for a swim.”
She slowed down and Danny got out.
“We’ll have dinner at six,” his mom said. “Invite Janey if you like. She can come to the game with us.”
“Okay.” Danny closed the door and watched her leave. He walked carefully on the uneven ground. If he was going to play football in two weeks—the thought of waiting that long made his throat tight—he had to watch his step.
The air was so humid that even the shade provided little relief from the heat. He got to their fort and heard a chattering sound above. A squirrel was sitting on the windowsill, looking down at him and flashing its tail.
“Hey.” Janey appeared, startling him.
The squirrel continued to scold him until Janey picked up a smooth rock and fired it. The stone struck the sill, and the squirrel disappeared inside the tree fort with a harsh squeak. Another rock clattered off the plywood walls, and Danny saw the squirrel racing up the tree for cover.
“You okay?” Janey asked. “What did the doctor say?”
“All good! Another two weeks and he’ll let me play.”
“Great! I knew you’d do it!” Janey poked his arm. “I can’t believe you texted me. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
Janey giggled.
“What’s funny?” Danny paused in the middle of the path.
Janey held up her phone and showed him his text.
“What?”
“Well, I’m not making fun of you because I know ‘fort’ isn’t one of your sight words,” she said.
“Yeah, so I sounded it out.”
She laughed. “I know, but you typed ‘fart.’ ‘Meet me at tree fart.’”
Danny laughed at that too. “I’ll remember it now.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Could it be hotter? Let’s take a dip.”
Danny’s worries multiplied as they kept walking. When they reached their water sluice tubs, Janey asked, “So, you’re feeling good?”
“Sort of,” Danny said. “But even if I can play in the big game, I think Markle’s gonna have my spot.”
She stared at him for a minute, and her brown eyes seemed to change colors in the dappled sunlight filtering down through the trees. Her words were as gentle as the breeze. “You don’t have to play varsity as an eighth grader to make it to the NFL.”
“Yes, I do!” Danny shouted. He took deep breaths to calm down. “That’s how it works, Janey. I need to make varsity next year, get my feet wet, start as a freshman, all-league as a sophomore, then all-state as a junior and I’m a five-star recruit. Then, I go to a school where they play me, start me, I make all-conference, all-American, and I’m a high-round NFL draft pick. It’s like stacking blocks. You have to have the foundation to build the tower tall. The foundation is now. Like my dad said, this is the year.”
He choked up, and he turned away to strip down into his boxers and ease into his water sluice tub. The tub’s bearded edges were bright green and soft with algae. The creek water was cool and clear. Gradually the fire in his brain cooled.
Thick clouds rolled in over the stadium on the back of a stiff breeze. The Friday night lights already burned bright over twelve thousand fans for the varsity game, most of them wearing Jericho Cowboys’ gold and black. The visitors, whose stands only allowed for two thousand of the twelve, wore orange and white. Jericho took the field and the crowd roared with applause.
It deafened and delighted Danny and his two friends. His mom gave him a knowing smile as well. This was Friday night football in Jericho County. Even the long walk through acres of parked cars wasn’t bothering him like he had feared it might, and that cheered him.
Danny thought it was like strolling down the midway at the state fair. People with cowboy costumes and painted faces lined the way. Grills sizzled and smoked between parked cars and trucks, and the hiss of beer and soda cans being opened was everywhere. Laughter, music, banners, and balloons were everywhere too. Danny ached for the party to be in his honor, for his team, and it made him more determined than ever to play in the big game.
The junior high championship wouldn’t be a sold-out crowd like it was now for a Friday night varsity game, but there might be as many as seven thousand. That’s how many had gone to last year’s county title game. A win for Crooked Creek this year could put him on the Jericho varsity—on his way to being part of the Friday night spectacle next year. The thought gave Danny chills.
As the Cowboys did their thing down on the field—a slow, steady grind, running the ball, chewing up time, and playing a vicious brand of defense—Danny cheered along with the rest of Jericho County. But, unlike most, he felt connected to the players. The crowd’s energy charged him.
When Jericho scored their second touchdown with a ten-yard run up the middle, Danny raised his own hands and slowly rotated around, soaking up the cheers and smiles around him. He found himself thinking about the permanence of Friday nights in Jericho, how this was the present, but he was the future. That led him to the past, when his father tore up the field with his moves.
As memories of his dad began darting through his head, and the roar of the crowd became deafening, Danny suddenly lunged for the aisle, pushing Janey and Cupcake out of his way.
“Danny?”
He heard his mom cry out behind him, but he was already halfway down the bleachers when her words registered in his brain. He hit the bottom of the steps and split the middle of a teenage couple to double back on the stairs leading to the concessions. He jumped the last three steps, sprinted around the corner, and slapped both hands across his mouth as he rushed into the men’s room.
The urinals were full and he wasn’t going to make it to the stalls. He turned toward the sinks. Before he could quite get there, a spray of vomit blasted through his fingers, coating the mirror and two sinks with a brown-and-yellow spatter.
“Aww!” A chorus broke out around him.
Another wave of nausea rocked Danny’s stomach and he heaved again, this time hitting the bowl of the sink. Still, it spattered all around.
“That is disgusting!”
“What’s wrong with you, kid!”
“Aw, what a mess!”
“Gross!”
Danny spun around and kicked a stall door, crying out in pain. The door slammed inward, then banged back at him. His foot throbbed. Danny cursed and headed for the exit. People scattered to avoid his smell—or maybe it was his rage they feared.
A boy just a bit smaller than Danny bumped into him. Danny thought he recognized him from somewhere, but he gave the kid a shove anyway and kept going toward a grassy spot beside the concession stand. He staggered and doubled over, choking and gagging although nothing came up. His eyes watered, and deep inside his nose the stomach acid burned.
“Hey!”
Danny turned and saw five kids i
n a half circle, fists dangling by their sides.
“What’s your problem?” the biggest kid said.
Danny peered through the shadows and stumbled back.
It was Markle.
“I’m sick, okay.” Danny hated the sound of his own voice. It was . . . weak.
“I’m sick.” Markle mocked him with a high-pitched, whining voice. The circle of Markle’s gang grew tighter.
Then, out of the shadows, Janey appeared, her voice rough and tough. “Hold it right there!”
Markle froze, startled until he realized it was Janey.
Markle laughed. “You here to rescue your boyfriend? He needs it.”
Markle’s gang laughed. They were a rough-looking bunch. None of them were on the football team. They were all scrawny and ragged, kids who smoked cigarettes in the woods behind the school.
“You can say what you want,” Janey said, “but you’re gonna look awful silly with half your teeth knocked out.”
Things got quiet.
Markle straightened his back and sneered. “How ’bout I pull that ponytail and see how loud you squeal?”
That got his buddies loose and laughing again.
“How about not?”
Markle’s legs buckled. He went down on his knees and Danny saw Cupcake standing behind Markle with a massive hand wrapped around Markle’s neck.
“What?” Markle cringed and twisted his head around. “Let go, Cupcake. What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” Cupcake rumbled like a diesel tractor going uphill.
“I’m just messing around.” Markle pawed at Cupcake’s hand. “C’mon, let me go.”
Markle’s last three words were desperate and high pitched, not unlike the tone he’d mocked Danny for. His buddies edged away instead of forward.
“Danny?” Cupcake asked.
“Ask Janey,” Danny said.
“Janey?” Cupcake raised his eyebrows.
Janey glared. “You can do whatever you want with him. I’m not afraid of him.”
Cupcake shook Markle’s neck and his head wagged back and forth. “Well, we’re teammates, right? So, I’m gonna let you go, but you better remember about the team thing too, Markle. Danny’s your teammate.”
