by Bob Krech
Becky narrows her eyes. Everyone is just watching, stunned. How often do two teammates jump on each other and try to kill each other at the beginning of a game?
Lynne pushes on nervously. “C’mon, girls. Le’s shake and get on with it.”
I step forward and Becky does, too. We shake. Becky looks over my shoulder. “Right. Sorry.”
“Right,” I say.
I am very shaky as we go to the middle. I am still burning-hot mad at Becky, but I’m embarrassed, too. I’ll try to channel it. Use it. We have the ball first, and since I am centering it, I will have the first touch of the game. The whistle blows to start. I pass it back to midfield and run down the line.
The field is much bigger than our playground and for the first time since home I have enough room to really move. I get the ball back and pass out to my right wing, then loop behind her. She gives back to me and I cross over, use my wing as a screen in front of the girl on me, and race right to the eighteen. I use my angry energy to speed right by her. I quick fake the goalie left and let go with a blast to the low right corner. It’s in! My first shot—a goal!
I fill with that crazy energy and pump a fist in the air as I jump. Then I fly in a circle. The TGFC girls swarm me and we all fall on the ground. When I get up, I look over to the boys’ game, but they are done and are all walking off in different directions. I can’t see Stewart anywhere.
As I walk back, I see Becky is still in goal. I look right at her. She finally, grudgingly gives me a thumbs-up. I give one back to her.
I score three times and we finish with a 3-2 win. I’ve got to admit, Becky plays a good game in goal. She stopped everything she possibly could, but the other team got off some excellent shots. As I’m walking off, Lynne runs up. She is practically giggling. “Andy, yer awesome! We’ve never even come close to that lot before!”
All the players on TGFC bang knuckles together in this big mob at the end of the game and shout, “TGFC!!” Becky stays on the other side of the mob but sees me looking at her, and she quick glances away.
Lynne’s dad shakes my hand. “Fantastic game there, Ahndee. Ye kept us in it.”
Everybody seems to have forgotten about the fight at the beginning. “Thanks,” I say.
Lynne’s dad opens his gym bag. “Could I have yer jersey? I’ve got to wash ’em.”
I peel it off and hand it to him. This is great! I played well. Real well. The Thistle girls are trudging off. They are bummed. Clearly they expected to win. I am so totally relaxed and up from the game I actually talk. “Were those boys over there Thistle, too?” I ask.
Lynne says, “Oh, yeah. Bunch o’ losers. Did ye notice stupid Stewart plays for ’em?”
“Um, no. Was he there?”
“Yeah. Never mind he’s supposed to play for Tristen Green Boys. He lives right in Tristen Green like us. He’s basically a traitor.”
Becky jumps in. “Who cares? He’s worthless.”
Lynne says, “Aye. Well, we’ll see ye then Andy.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Becky just nods and the two of them jog off. The other girls pair off and start walking or hop into the little waiting cars. Lynne waves to me as she and Becky get in Lynne’s dad’s car. I get on the bike. The place is cleared out. A light rain starts to fall.
I think about the fight. Becky’s not the first person I’ve ever punched out over being called something. There’s been more than a few, unfortunately. Of course, Becky would have eventually killed me, but she wouldn’t have messed with me again. I wonder if Lynne’s dad thinks I’m a psycho now. I mean, I did good, but no one ever really said whether I made the team or not.
15
TERMERARIOUS
Reckless, rash, marked by lack of proper caution.
FAITH and I trick-or-treated last night. I was very psyched to find out that Scottish people are into trick-or-treating, too. Now I’m sitting around on a Sunday afternoon, reading and munching on Halloween candy. There’s no school tomorrow because of a Scottish potato-picking holiday. Mrs. Watkinson told us that in the old days they used to close the schools so that all the kids could go out in the fields and help with the potato harvest. They would keep the schools closed till all the potatoes were picked. Now everyone just gets a day off. Weird? Yes, but good.
Ring, Ring . . . Ring, Ring.Faith comes flying out of the kitchen and grabs it. “Hallooo!” she answers. Then she listens for a few seconds looking puzzled. “There’s no Andy here,” she says.
I jump up. “It’s for me.” She hands over the phone. “Hello?”
“Andy, it’s Lynne.”
Lynne! Lynne is calling me at home! I swallow hard. “Hi, L-L-L-Lynne.” Faith is still standing there, staring at me. I wave her away. She sticks her tongue out and then vanishes upstairs.
There’s silence on the other end. Then—“Are ye okay?”
Oh no. Oh no. Lynne can’t know! Emphasize the words. Go slow. Take control. “I—uh—sneezed.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, would ye wanta sleep over tonight?” she asks.
Sleeping over! This is the true test of friendship. If you invite someone to sleep over, you’ve got to be friends, because they’ll most likely see you in your underwear.
Stay calm. Slow speak. “I’ll—ask.”
“We’re going to use the tent,” Lynne adds.
It’s freezing out. But no way can I miss this. I put my hand over the phone and call out, “Hey, Dad! Can I sleep over at Lynne’s tonight?”
He walks in the room. “Sleepover, huh?” He smiles. “Sure.” Then he winks and in a low voice says, “Told you you’d do fine.”
Lynne lives in a newer house. The sign says INNISBROOK. It’s smooth white stone with wood trim. Becky and I get there at the same time. My stomach sinks. I should have figured Becky was going to be here, but it makes me nervous right away. We nod at each other and walk up to the front door together silently. I’ll have to be really careful, go slow, and keep my jaw and lips loose. Lynne’s mom brings us into the kitchen and gives us frozen pizza. I say hi, but that’s about it.
After we eat, we go outside and it’s already dark. It’s getting dark very early around here.
We play what Lynne calls “Goalie Blast.” You put one person in goal, and the other two get balls. Then you basically bombard the goalie. You take turns being the goalie. It’s pretty wild. Especially in the dark.
After an hour of that, Lynne’s dad comes out. “Okay, girls. Time to get in the tent.”
We crawl inside our sleeping bags. Her dad hangs a camping light on the center pole and her mom brings in extra blankets. Then they say good night. After running around so much, and with sweats on deep in the sleeping bag, it’s warm enough. Becky immediately says, “Le’s play Truth or Dare.”
Lynne shakes her head. “No. I have—”
“Owwwooooo!” A really weird howl from outside the tent freezes us.
Suddenly something comes leaping through the flaps of the tent! It smashes down the center pole and the light goes out. The tent collapses. The thing is howling and grabbing and snarling! Lynne screams at the top of her lungs, “Daddy!”
The thing growls, “Shet up, stupid.”
Lynne stops. It’s completely quiet. The thing starts laughing hysterically. Lynne punches it. “Roddy, you ass!” she yells.
Becky turns on a flashlight. Lynne puts the pole back up. The thing peels off this big brown sweater it has over its head. “What are ye dweebs doin’?” It’s a boy. He has long blond hair, past his collar and down his back.
Lynne says, “Nothin’, eejit.” She punches him in the arm, but he just laughs. Then she looks at me. “This is my dorky older brother, Roddy. He’s in upper school, believe it or not. This is Andy.”
Roddy says, “Charmed. Ah’m sure.” He doesn’t wait for an answer but reaches over and pushes Lynne on the shoulder. “C’mon, Ah’m off to the Spar. I’ll give yis a ride.”
Lynne says, “Forget it. Get out o’ here.”
Roddy sa
ys, “C’mon. What are ye? Infants? Can’t come out at night?” He pulls Lynne’s sweatshirt over her head, gives her a ton of noogies, and runs. Lynne yells, “I’ll kill ye!” She quick pulls on her sneakers, so Becky and I do, too. We run around to the front of the house, and there’s Roddy sitting on a big old-style, banana-seat bike.
“Le’s go. Bus is leavin’!” he says.
Lynne says, “Yeah, right. We’re all gonna go down Suicide Hill on that thing.”
“Can’t take a little bike ride at night, little Lynney?”
Suicide Hill? Lynne’s street did seem kind of steep on the drive over. But then Lynne laughs. “Right,” she says and slides in behind Roddy on the banana seat. Becky gets on behind Lynne. Then she turns and eyes me.
Here it is. Do I have the guts to hang out with girls like Lynne and Becky and do stupid, temerarious stuff like this?
I slide in behind Becky.
Roddy pushes off and we begin coasting down the driveway. Lynne and Roddy are holding on to the handlebars and steering. I hang on to Becky, my arms around her waist, and suddenly we are flying down the hill. I scream, “Slow down! SLOW DOWN!” I never have trouble yelling anything. Yelling is always very smooth.
Roddy howls, “Oooooowwwwoooo!”
We reach the bottom in about five seconds. The longest five seconds of my life! He does this big curving, sweeping turn and brakes crazily in front of the Spar. The front tire wobbles all over the place. He straightens it up, but then inches from the wall, we go over and spill onto the sidewalk. He is laughing like a nut.
Becky rolls over with a huge grin. “What a flippin’ rush!”
I can’t help laughing with relief. I am alive!
After our breathing gets normal again, we go in and buy some root beer and snack cakes. Roddy pays for it all, and we go outside. He leans against the wall eating a fruit pie. “Hey, Lynney. When are ye gonna get yer boyfriend Stewart to play for Tristen Green again?”
Lynne’s head jerks back like she was hit. “Shut up! I hate his guts!”
Roddy shrugs. “We could use him though.”
Lynne narrows her eyes. “He’s not old enough fer yer team.”
“He could play up with us. He’s good enough.”
Becky says, “Nobody wants that pansy.”
Roddy laughs. “Well, Thistle are on top o’ the league ’cause a that pansy.” Then he looks back to Lynne. “And it’s yer fault he’s not even with Tristen Green anymore.”
“It is not! I’ve nuthin’ to do with it.”
Roddy looks at his watch. “If you say so.”
Becky says, “He went over to that squad ’cause he’d rather play with a bunch o’ posh pansies.”
Roddy crumples up the fruit pie wrapper. “Ah, never mind.” He tosses the wrapper at a trash can and misses. He suddenly glances over at me and something seems to occur to him. “Anyways, this is yer year, yis little twerps. Don’t forget that.”
Lynne tosses her hair back. “What?”
He has an evil grin on his face. “Initiation.”
Becky snorts. “Tha’s nothin’.”
Roddy says, “We’ll see.” Then he stuffs the rest of the fruit pie in his mouth and says, “I’m off. See yis munchkins.”
He rides off down the road, popping wheelies. I wonder where he’s going at ten o’clock at night. I’m wondering, too, about Stewart and why he’s playing for a different team, but I don’t dare even mention his name. I haven’t said anything since I yelled on the bike though. I have to show I’m just one of them. We’re just hanging out, talking. I formulate the sentence. Rehearse it mentally. Sometimes stressing words helps keep things smooth. I ask Lynne and Becky, “What—did he mean—initiation?”
Becky is peeling rubber strips off her sneakers. “Ton of crap. Afore ye go te upper school there’s some sort o’ initiation, but it’s nothin’.”
Becky is talking to me, which is a good sign. Lynne says, “If Roddy could do it, anyone can.”
Then Becky and Lynne start laughing and talking about the ride, over and over again as we walk back up the hill. Back in the tent we have some more root beer. I figure I have to say something else. Let them know I’m normal. So I ask something I’ve been wondering anyway. Slowly, carefully. “Do you—ever eat—haggis?”
Becky says, “What?! Are ye kiddin’ me? Ah’d sooner eat a plate o’ dog barf!”
I burst out laughing. Unfortunately, I have a mouthful of root beer. I press my mouth closed with my hand, and the root beer gushes out of both nostrils. When they see me, the same thing happens to Lynne and Becky. Root beer is all over the sleeping bags and we can’t stop laughing.
After we calm down, Lynne says, “Hey, Andy. Would ye wanna to be on TGFC?”
“You mean the team?” I am so loose from all the laughing, it just comes right out. Nice, natural speech.
Becky scowls. “No, the planet.”
Do I want to be a “tough girl”? I think so!I straighten up. “Oh. Yeah.”
Lynne says, “All right. Me da tole me te tell ye that yer on. He had to wait to get some kind o’ approval, but yer on now official-like.” She puts out her fist. Becky taps it with her knuckles. I put mine out. They both tap it together and say, “T-G-F-C!”
16
COMPELLED
To be urged forcefully, irresistibly, or by overwhelming pressure.
IT’S snowing. It’s felt cold enough to snow since September, but this is the first snow of the year. We woke up at 6:30 with the phone ringing—no school! There’s already like half a foot of snow.
At 9:00 the phone rings again. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Andy, it’s Lynne.”
I can feel myself smiling. “Hey.”
“Hey. We’ve no TGFC game or practice this week till the snow’s gone.”
“Right.”
“I’ll git ye a schedule. By the way, Becky and me are goin’ sleddin’ down Suicide Hill in ’bout an hour. Ye know, the one we went down with Roddy.”
One word will do here. “Wow.”
Lynne says, “Ye should meet us there, y’know?”
“No sled.” I am a cool girl of few words. It fits me perfectly.
“Ye can use Roddy’s. He never uses it anymore.”
“Okay.” This friend thing with Lynne and Becky is really rolling. We are talking together. We are going sledding together. Woo hoo!
When I meet up with them at Lynne’s house, there are probably fifteen or twenty kids sledding. I lie down on the sled and push off. In seconds I am zipping and dragging my boots behind to slow down. You really fly down Lynne’s hill on a sled. At the bottom you have to turn sideways really hard to stop. Kids yell if a car is coming, but there’s like no cars because it’s a dead end at the top.
On one of my runs, I end up at the bottom exactly at the same time as two other kids. We skid to stops in opposite directions so we don’t collide. They get up off their sleds and wave. I give a wave back. But then under the hats and scarves I see I’m waving at Stewart and Gordon. I walk back up the hill on my side of the street. I begin to feel all warm and nervous.
On the next run down, Gordon starts doing this thing where when he goes down the hill, he tries to bump into us with his sled and knock us off to the side—like bumper cars on sleds. Pretty soon we’re all doing it to one another. Everybody’s yelling, but laughing, too.
I’m pulling my sled back up the hill for another run and glance to my right. There’s Stewart pulling his sled right across from me and looking right at me. I look back down quickly.
He wasn’t just looking, like you look at a sign or a car going by. He was looking. When I get back to the top, Becky says to Lynne, “I oughta run over those two twits, Stewart and Gordon.”
Lynne says, “They’re not worth the trouble. Except the nerve o’ Stewart wearing Thistle colors around here.”
I look at Lynne blankly and she explains further. “His scarf. Stupid Thistle colors.”
Now it’s like I have a
reason to look over at Stewart. The scarf is maroon and gold, same as his soccer uniform. It’s long and wrapped several times around his neck.
Becky says, “I’d like choke him with it.”
As we stare at Stewart and Gordon, a tall blonde girl from Mrs. Lyle’s class walks up to them and starts talking.
Becky rolls her eyes and groans. “Oh, look who they’re chattin’ up.”
“Katrina Singleton. She lives on my block,” Lynne says. She shakes her head. “Aren’t girls who fall all over boys disgustin’?”
I nod seriously and keep my eyes on her. All of a sudden, I dislike Katrina Singleton. “Yeah.”
Lynne gives me the TGFC tap.
It is so cool going sledding and doing normal stuff again. And this one-word/tough-girl thing is excellent for keeping the stutter out of the picture. I can’t wait to play some snow soccer today at lunch recess. Girls are even allowed to wear pants now that there’s snow. They’re stupid gray elastic-waist pants, but it’s better than a skirt. As I hang up my coat, in walks Stewart. “Hallooo,” he says and bows.
I stand there. He smiles. His blue eyes crinkle up. “Good sleddin’ yesterday,” he says.
I nod. I can’t look. He shrugs. He walks to his desk and I stumble after to mine, where I sit staring at the board. The mind blindness strikes again. I’m just stunned.
At recess, Lynne and Becky and I play soccer. Stewart’s playing soccer too on the far field. When I can manage it, I take a casual look over. He is just zipping in and around kids out there with the ball. He runs so quick. He’ll be flat on his feet and then suddenly he darts to the ball. Like one of those birds that swoop in and out and between stuff. A swallow! Like a swallow. Zip! Zip! Zip! Coach Tom would say, “He’s a player.”
And every once in a while I can see him look up this way over at our game. At least, I think I can.
According to Word Power, compelled means “to be urged forcefully, irresistibly, or by overwhelming pressure.” This is the sickest thing I’ve every contemplated doing, but I’m compelled. I have to say hi back to Stewart. Why? I don’t exactly know. He’s a nut, for one thing. I mean, it should not be a big deal. Sometimes you say hi to total strangers. Like to waiters in restaurants or checkout people. And Hi is an easy word. I have no trouble with h. I’m just being polite, really. It’ll just be a little casual hi. Tomorrow. When Lynne and Becky aren’t around.
