The Accidental Quarterback

by Charles Curtis

  First, dinner.

  Dex and I stepped off the bus after practice and walked to his house, which actually wasn’t too far from mine. The outside was a grayish color, and it only had one floor. Dex opened the door that led right into the kitchen to find his mom, who was just a few inches taller than him, putting a steaming bowl of something smelly in front of three place settings.

  “Hi there, you must be Alex. Dex talks about you all the time,” his mom said. She had a tight-lipped smile that looked put on for the occasion.

  “Mom!” Dex rolled his eyes.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. At least someone spoke about me positively.

  We sat down and dug into the pungent dish that was some kind of fish stew over rice. I managed to swallow some of my portion as Dex went to town on his. For a little guy, he ate a lot. I spent most of dinner fielding questions about school from his mom. Yes, it felt like Strange teachers gave us hours of homework. No, I still hadn’t adjusted quite yet. And “sort of,” when asked if I’d made many friends, avoiding the truth that Dex was about it in the friend department.

  We spent the rest of the meal talking about playing football. She was worried about us getting hurt, but I told her we were just in training and probably wouldn’t see any real action this season. It didn’t seem to help. She spent the meal nervously talking about how she and “Mr. Harrison” spent most of their life trying to keep their son from getting hurt. Dex shook his head and kept his eyes on his stew as he scarfed it down while she lectured.

  “So when’s Mr. Harrison coming home?” I tried to change the subject.

  “Business trip. And what does your father do, Alexander?”

  “He’s an inventor.”

  Mrs. Harrison sat up straighter in her chair and cocked her head at me. She didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows went up. I looked down at my plate during the awkward silence. But she wouldn’t stop looking at me.

  Dex jumped in. “Mom, we’re going to go throw by Alex’s house. I’ll be back later.” He got up and pulled at my sleeve.

  “Okay, boys. A pleasure, Alexander,” she said distractedly.

  We dashed out the door—I practically didn’t have time to grab my backpack—and began the walk over to my street. Dex apologized profusely, explaining that she was under a lot of stress lately after the move, that his father had been making some long trips recently.

  I started apologizing back, though I wasn’t sure for what. I was still confused, with no idea what had triggered his mother’s odd reaction. I also didn’t get a chance to ask her how Dex had learned to jump so high or climb bookcases in a matter of seconds.

  Minutes later, we were tossing a football around, two on nothing, running real plays with Dex as the slot receiver. He ran crisp routes every time, while I struggled to figure out how fast he really was. We took a break after a good two-dozen plays to catch our breath.

  “You’ve never played football before?” I asked as Dex sat down on the curb.

  “No. Everybody always thought I was too small.”

  “But nobody’s faster than you. You should run track too! You’d kill everyone in the hundred meters!”

  He sighed.

  “Are your parents really that scared you’ll get hurt?” I said.

  “It’s been like this my whole life. They always think something bad is going to happen to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Overprotective, I guess.”

  He sounded like he was about to continue but stopped when we caught sight of something that made us freeze immediately. Flab was here.

  Two other humongous blobs in Strange football jackets joined him, offensive tackles from our team. We stood up and started to back away.

  “Fellas, you may think you can outrun me,” he said as he got closer. “But there’s no way you can move faster than all of us.” Dex and I turned around to see other players headed our way. The five ninth graders who made up the entire Strange Country Day starting offensive line had us trapped. I swallowed hard. Come on, weird special power. Kick in so I can kick butt.

  Despite the sweat pouring out of me and my pounding heart, nothing happened.

  Flab and the four others stood over us, looking pleased they had cornered us somewhere with no teachers, coaches, or headmasters.

  “I warned you, Ptuiac. I told you not to talk to her. I don’t want a teammate going behind my back. Plus, I still owe you and Harrison over here for your sins on Fresh Meet Friday. I will, however, give you a chance to walk away without any of us throwing a punch. For now, at least, if you tell Coach you’re both quitting tomorrow.”

  “He’d never let us,” Dex said boldly. I wasn’t sure that was true.

  “It won’t matter,” Flab said with a grin. The four ninth graders held us down as Flab cracked his neck, readying himself.

  As I gazed up into his face, I saw three red dots shimmering on his forehead, like from one of those laser pointers my friends back home bought to point at movie screens.

  “Pardon me, guys,” I heard a voice call out. The dots disappeared.

  Everyone froze in his tracks for a second. The hands holding us to the pavement let go. I looked up and saw, with as much relief as I’ve ever felt, a man in a tracksuit.

  “Is there a problem here?” he said

  “What are you going to do about it?” one of the other players said.

  We all heard a low growl. Mr. Tracksuit was walking the biggest dog I’d ever seen.

  “Seriously, Jared, you don’t want this kind of trouble,” Mr. Tracksuit responded. “I know your parents. Time for you to head on home.”

  The five stood up at the same time and began shuffling away, eyes on the dog. “See you at school,” Flab said through a clenched-teeth faux smile.

  Dex and I turned back to thank our hero, but he had already begun walking away. Dex called out, “Thanks, sir!” His response was a barely visible hand up over his shoulder, as if to say, “Don’t mention it.”

  We looked at each other in disbelief at what had gone down.

  “Alex!”

  That sounded like my dad. I turned around and looked down the block to see him jogging up to meet us.

  “Dad?”

  “You okay?” he asked, out of breath as he stopped next to us.

  “We’re fine.” But he wasn’t listening to me at all. He was staring at Dex.

  “Dad, this is Dex.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Dex squeaked. He put his hand out. Dad continued to stare. Wasn’t he the one who taught me it was impolite to stare? After a few moments, he shook himself out of it, grabbed Dex’s hand, and gave it a few vigorous pumps. “It’s nice to meet you. Really.”

  He was fawning over my friend. I needed to get him out of here. “I think I have to head in and do some homework,” I said.

  Dex nodded. “See you tomorrow!”

  As Dex walked away, I started to pull my dad toward our house.

  “What the heck was that?” I asked him.

  “Nothing, Alex,” he replied, a weird half-grin crossing his face. “Just nice to meet your friends, that’s all.”

  Nothing made sense anymore.

  Chapter Eight

  ALEX.

  As tests were handed out row by row in math class, I saw a folded paper with my name on it on top of the pile when it reached me. I took the test, quickly put the note underneath it, and passed the pile. I looked over at Sophi to confirm I’d received it, but she was already working on the exam. I did the same and tried to forget about the note waiting for me.

  With five minutes left in the period, I handed in the finished test and went back to my desk. I opened the folded note as discreetly as possible. Sophi’s neat handwriting greeted me.

  Alex,

  I didn’t tell Jared and his friends to come after you.

  I’d spent the last few days completely ignoring Sophi, figuring she’d angrily told Flab I was talking to her. I guess sh
e figured out why I was giving her the silent treatment pretty quickly.

  Over the summer, my next-door neighbor heard about a party someone was throwing in his basement and asked her to come. I went with her and saw the entire football team there.

  Just fifteen minutes in, I wanted to leave. My friend convinced me not to and someone suggested a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Whoever is picked has to go into a closet and spend seven minutes in there with the other person.

  My name was picked. And so was Jared’s.

  I felt myself getting nauseous.

  He high fived all of his friends and led me into the closet.

  He was actually nice. He told me he remembered playing with me during recess at Strange lower school. We reminisced about teachers we both had.

  When there was a minute left, he said it was fun to talk and that we should do it again sometime before giving me a hug.

  And I don’t want to gross you out or anything …

  I skipped the next sentence. I didn’t want to read about Flab kissing her.

  I know that’s weird, but I want you to know the truth. The door flew open to catch us in the act, and everyone at the party started jumping around, screaming about how awesome he was. Jared ran out and started high-fiving everyone. So, he’s just being protective of someone he thinks he’s dating.

  But we are not dating! I thought you should know so you’d stop ignoring me.

  The bell rang, and I quickly pocketed the note. As everyone in the room began leaving, Sophi came over to my desk.

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I understand now. If I get beat up, it’s not your fault.”

  She smiled right back. “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Are we cool?”

  I nodded and picked up my backpack. But Sophi didn’t budge. Her expression turned serious.

  “Now it’s your turn to tell me something.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  She looked around and waited until Mr. Crowley left. She still lowered her voice. “Last week, when I came out of the science building, I saw your throw to Dex during gym class.”

  “I didn’t know you were watching.”

  “I wasn‘t spying, but I saw something weird happen.”

  I felt another knot tying in my stomach.

  “Right before you threw the ball, your whole body … it’s almost like all your muscles flexed at once. Like a body builder, for just a second.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, looking away from her gaze.

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, but that throw was amazing.” She shook her head dismissively. “Maybe I was just seeing things.” She held out her hand. “Truce?”

  I reached out to shake it. SNAP. A static shock made me pull my hand back.

  I followed her out the door with my fingers still tingling and my stomach still churning. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my hand felt the same way it did in the art building when I fainted a few weeks ago.

  Chapter Nine

  I stood in front of Sophi’s house for what seemed like ten minutes. I was about to hang out with a girl on a Saturday night for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing.

  Her house had a huge garden in the front yard that was filled to the perimeter with flowers, shrubs, and what looked like tomatoes, peppers, and squash. I slowly stepped up to the door and rang the bell. Instead of the usual “ding-dong,” I heard what sounded like a stringed instrument being plucked.

  “I GOT IT!”

  She was wearing a flowery skirt and another pair of those long, dangly earrings, and her red-streaked hair was straight. Those dual-colored eyes stared at me for a second, waiting for me to do something. I didn’t budge.

  “Hi!” Now she was reaching out to hug me. Okay, that’s doable. I hugged back. Snap. Just like that first time she shook my hand, static electricity from her black sweater shocked me.

  “Sorry! We’ll get going now,” she said, sitting down on a bench near the door that looked like a tree trunk to put on knee-high boots.

  Minutes later, we were at the train station.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked.

  “You’ll see. Nowhere touristy. I want to show you the real city.”

  “I’m in. I can’t believe I’ve never been there.”

  “It lives up to the hype. Trust me.”

  Oh, right. The plan was to go to what everyone called “The City.” My parents thought I was going to play video games at one of my teammate’s houses.

  When we boarded the train, we encountered a bizarre mixture of passengers, from a group of older girls wearing skimpy clothes and caked-on makeup to spiky-haired boys watching them while adjusting their tight jeans and button-down shirts. Sophi and I sat down in the only free seats and continued chatting before we were rudely interrupted—a man jumped into a seat facing ours, talking loudly on his cell phone. I noticed a patch in his shoe-polish-black hair was completely white, almost like a stamp on the side of his head. It sounded like he was arguing with someone. Loudly. Sophi rolled her eyes as the train sped toward the City.

  Forty-five minutes later, in the huge station, I tried to take in the scene of what seemed like thousands of people heading in thousands of different directions. But it was all a blur accompanied by the collective hum of everyone talking at once.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked again.

  “The subway. I’m taking you downtown.”

  On the first Saturday night of every month, she told me, the art galleries that lined the nearby streets opened their doors to the public. Older men in blazers sipped wine out of plastic cups and scanned the walls, while younger twenty-somethings with countless piercings and tattoos nibbled on cheese and crackers, smirking at what they saw.

  Each gallery had a different style of work on its walls or sitting on pedestals. In the first space, we saw nothing but photos of animal tails. The next had enormous sculptures meant to look like insects, but they were made out of recyclable materials like bottles and cans. Another one had modern takes on classic paintings.

  “I don’t get it,” I said softly to Sophi, as we stared at a Barbie doll coming out of a seashell instead of Venus.

  “It’s supposed to be a take on our consumerist culture,” she said.

  “Right.” What?

  I heard a gravelly voice behind me comment: “Fascinating.” I glanced to my left as he walked past and did a double take. The side of his head looked like it had a white patch in it … just like the man on his cell phone on the train. But the lights were dimmed, so I couldn’t tell. Creepy.

  We stepped out the door and across the street to a place where EDM music was thumping. The gallery was the oddest thing I’d ever seen: there was a ladder leading up to a smudge in the ceiling with a magnifying glass hanging next to it (I found out later the smudge was one word in tiny print: “THINK”). A stuffed lion with a missing jaw crouched, ready to attack. There was so much to take in and a huge crowd to wade through.

  “I read about the artist. She’s a twenty-year-old woman from Japan. So cool,” Sophi said above the music. I just nodded.

  We elbowed our way to the back wall, where there was a giant neon sign in fluorescent pink script: LAUGHTER.

  “This would look great in my room,” I cracked. Sophi chuckled, right before she was bumped by someone trying to get by.

  She put out her hand against the wall to stop herself from falling over. The sign started to hiss, pop, and blink as the light faded in and out, and the music stopped momentarily. When Sophi steadied herself and took her hand away, the sign returned to glowing and the techno returned to thumping.

  “Sorry, I must have hit a wire in the wall or something,” she said. “I think that’s enough art for one night.”

  Sophi headed toward the door as I stood back for a moment. I saw a dozen dirty looks shoot her way as she pushed through the crowd to the door. What just happened? I shook my h
ead and followed her.

  We stood outside near the cobblestone-lined street. “What now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. How can I match all the cool stuff you’ve shown me?”

  “Try. I don’t know that much about what you like to do, so you’ve got to show me.”

  We could head back home and throw around a football? Lame. We could watch a college football game somewhere? Quadruple lame. Was I really that shallow that all I knew and liked was sports? Or …

  I had an idea. I grabbed my phone and typed in a search. Instantly, an address popped up. I handed the cell to Sophi. “Can you get us there?”

  “Sure!”

  One fifteen-minute subway ride later, we arrived in the middle of the touristiest place on Earth, at least by Sophi’s estimation.

  The skyscrapers surrounding us were covered in advertisements, blinking lights, and high-definition screens. Once again, I heard the sounds of thousands of people talking at once, multiple cars honking, and the calls of street vendors. “Two for ten dollars! Two for ten!” There was an instantaneous smell of cooking street food and live animals, probably because we stood about ten feet away from a pair of policemen sitting on horses.

  “My phone says the arcade is three blocks away,” Sophi said, trying to get me to pay attention as I watched a bearded man on a bicycle with a cart attached ride by with a couple in the back.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re like all the tourists. You can’t stop looking at all the pretty lights,” she said as we weaved our way through the foot traffic.

  “You have to admit, this is incredible for someone who hasn’t been here before.”

  “I guess.” We stopped at the corner and waited for a green light.

  Sophi looked down the block at the scene, the endless colored lights dancing on her face. She stared up at one of the signs, which featured a massive cup of soup with actual steam rising out of it.

  “I can sort of see it. Just imagine how much energy it takes to keep everything running,” she said, as she put her hand against the streetlamp.