The Healing Power of Sugar: The Ghost Bird Series: #9 (The Academy Ghost Bird Series)

by Stone, C. L.

  North started with mostly all children plus Silas, one adult, and himself.

  I reached for Victor’s sleeve and tugged on it. “Why is he using Silas now if...” I stopped, realizing that it wasn’t Victor beside me; I was tugging on Mr. Blackbourne’s sleeve. I let go of him quickly, my breath catching in my throat as a hot blush crept up my face.

  Mr. Blackbourne caught my hand before I could pull it back. He held onto it, palm against palm. “Go on?” he said quietly.

  “I...” I started to say, the heat in my cheeks rising. “I was just wondering why he’d throw Silas in the beginning. They said he was the worst player.”

  “You’ll see,” he said. “The kids love this part.”

  All this anticipation had me eager to watch the game. The crowd around the sidelines seemed enthusiastic as well. Moms held onto babies. Grandparents held onto children too little to play, or talked with other adults. A couple of teenagers, too cool to participate, sat together on one of the porches, but even they seemed excited to watch.

  Kota and North took their time positioning little kids, trying to get them to stand still, and directing their attention. They may as well have been coaches themselves, and in a way, it seemed they spent more time guiding kids than they did actually playing.

  The teams faced off in two lines, with Kota facing off with North in the center. Kota, with his white shirt and slacks, funny enough looked smaller than North, who only wore his black tank shirt now, his wide shoulders bare. Just by looking at them like this, in the moments before it started, I couldn’t picture Kota winning.

  A man on the sidelines was designated the scorekeeper, and another the timekeeper. The timekeeper looked at his watch, held up a hand. “Three!” he shouted. “Two…”

  And the others around him joined in for a noisy: “One!”

  “Go!” Everyone shouted.

  Distracted by all the players moving at once, I didn’t know who had the ball at first, but Kota emerged with the ball in hand and threw it right at Silas.

  I gasped in surprise. Kota was openly helping Silas to win for his opposing team?

  Silas caught the football and started to run toward their goal, when a mob of little kids rushed at him. He threw the ball to North right before someone touched him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Once Kota’s team’s little kids started his way, the ones on North’s team started in on it, too, and the game was temporarily forgotten. It was an all-out dash for the kids to race after him.

  Silas turned, like he was trying to run away, but he wasn’t really going anywhere. All the kids jumped on him, tackling, obviously forgetting that this was supposed to be touch football, and not noticing that he didn’t even have the ball. One of the kids managed to grab his arm and Silas lifted her off the ground in one pull. It was the blue princess—their co-coach who had run in with the other kids. She squealed, but held on.

  Silas played it up, and pretended the little kids were slowing him down. Eventually, he carefully sank to his knees, avoiding most of the kids, and then gently collapsed on top of one of the little boys, like he couldn’t help it.

  The little boy squealed with delight and tried to crawl out from underneath. Most of the little kids continued to sit on top of Silas, clapping and hooting in victory at their felled giant. Two tried to pull the little boy from underneath him, but Silas, coolly put an arm around his stomach, holding on while at the same time, pretending to be out cold.

  I laughed as hard as everyone else around me and tears filled my eyes as I had to clutch my stomach. North held the ball at his hip, looking amused. Kota was nearly on his knees, laughing and wiping at his eyes behind his glasses.

  Mr. Blackbourne leaned in to whisper. “The rule is, if the kids can get Silas down, the opposing team gets a point.”

  I was still giggling. “Even his own team?”

  “Doesn’t matter what team they’re on. All the kids get to jump on him, eventually,” he said. “They love it. Silas has a rough Thanksgiving Day every year, but secretly, he loves it, too.”

  Silas slowly lifted to his hands and knees and began to crawl away. The boy underneath tried to get up, thinking himself free, only Silas followed him and collapsed on him again as another kid, this one running in from a sideline, crashed into him and sat on his shoulder. The boy underneath laughed again, his small fists punching Silas in the arm as he begged to get up.

  “Here we go,” Victor said behind us. I turned, finding him holding three of the folding chairs. The others sat along the sidelines on the ground, and the rest of our team in the corner of the end zone. I hadn’t realized they were all sitting.

  Victor positioned the chairs for Mr. Blackbourne and me, and then sat on the third one on my other side. I sat delicately in the middle, on the edge of the seat. When Mr. Blackbourne joined us, I nervously glanced at both of them, delighted, and yet nervous. What if Victor reached for my hand? What was Mr. Blackbourne thinking sitting so close, with Victor nearby?

  It was part of the problem I had with the plan. I didn’t know how to behave around them when we were all together. I wouldn’t have attempted anything in public, but it forced me to think of what would happen if we were alone in a house.

  That thought vanished as another round of football began. Silas was out of the game for now. He was pretending to be injured, lying on his back in their end zone, while two children sat on his stomach, watching the game.

  “Does he stay out for the rest of the game?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Victor said with a laugh. “He’ll come back in next quarter.”

  “And he always collapses?” I asked.

  “He’ll score a point back for his team,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “And then another point in the third, and in the fourth, they’ll lose one. Keeps the score even to be fair. It’s more to entertain the kids.”

  “So his points don’t matter?” I asked.

  “I’m not really sure if any of the points matter,” Victor said.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant until the game continued. Once the kids stopped giggling and trying to be part of the lineup, things settled down and the game officially really started. North threw the ball to one of the little boys on his team, but then the boy was ‘touch tackled’ by one of the girls on our team.

  In the next round, one of our girls got the ball. Before she could move, Luke dashed in, picked her up and carried her, tearing around teenagers and adults, until he could get to the end zone and put her down. The girl spiked the ball on the ground and held up her hands in victory. Luke pumped a fist and held up his own hands behind her.

  “Is that allowed?” I asked as everyone clapped and hooted. I hoped it was, because it was adorable.

  “I don’t know,” Victor said, shaking his head as he clapped his hands together. “I don’t even remember all the rules anymore—not that they matter much. I guess if they change the scoreboard, it counts.”

  The game went on like this for several rounds. For the first quarter, the score seemed to have both teams within four points. I lost track of points amid the chaos. It seemed as if the really small kids got the ball, it was one of the adults’ jobs to pick the kid up, and carry all the way to the end zone. If an older kid got it, it turned into a chase, with the adults trying to block too many of them from piling up on each other. Despite what Mr. Blackbourne said about no violence, a lot of the smaller ones seemed to forget not to tackle.

  If an adult or teenager got the ball, it was like regular touch football. The boys played seriously, avoiding all the little kids when possible.

  Kota was fast and sharp. He could rush after the adults or the teenagers and touch to force them all to stop. Then they’d do the same line up, something they called a down. He directed his little kids to run to the edge of the goal line, and he would either throw to a teenager that made it that far down, who would then pass to a little kid who would run for the goal, or he’d fake everyone out, pretend to throw, and then run, and later pass to another adult.

>   North, however, took a different approach, and threw his little kids at Kota every single time. He told them whoever had the ball, run after him, but always go after Kota. This seemed to slow the first quarter down a lot, and the game would pause while the whole team had to set up again for the ball.

  When kids got tired, they were switched out with other kids. North, however, always kept only three or four teenage to adult people, so there were more little kids on his side.

  The number of people around started to make me curious, and I started to count off people, as well as the houses. “All of these people don’t live here, do they?”

  “They might have come over from the next neighborhood,” Victor said. “Some are visiting relatives.”

  I was going to say something else about it, when I heard a piercing cry erupt from the game.

  The whole game stopped. Kota, who had the ball, dropped it to the ground where he stood. Some of the little boys, who weren’t paying attention, jumped on top of the ball, piling on each other while the rest of us tried to figure out what had happened.

  One of the little girls on our team was sitting on the ground, holding her foot. Her sandal was several feet away.

  “Player down!” Nathan shouted. He jogged over to her. Another teenager was nearby and the two of them talked to her, asked if she wanted to go home. She shook her head, face red.

  Everyone watched. North eventually went over, and bent down, saying something. Dr. Green started over, eyebrows up.

  “I tripped,” she said. “I lost my shoe. There’s a rock.” She sobbed a little bit, still holding onto her foot.

  Kota marched over quickly, beating Dr. Green to her. Kota kneeled down, easing her little hand away from the foot. He looked it over and then said something. She nodded.

  Dr. Green stopped a few feet away. Kota looked at him, saying something. Dr. Green nodded.

  Kota put his hand to his mouth, licked his palm, and then glided his palm over the little girl’s leg.

  The girl instantly stopped crying. Her face was still red and she sniffled a few times, but she held herself together.

  “What was that?” I asked. “He licked his palm...”

  “It’s a psychology trick,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “He probably asked if he could make her leg feel better. Children don’t understand medicine or how the body works, but if he told her licking his palm and touching her leg would make it feel better, kids will believe it, and the pain goes away.” He nudged my elbow a little, directing my attention to him. “I should take you to a lecture. It’s an interesting study on the human body’s ability to heal itself and even alleviate pain. It’s called the Placebo effect.”

  I nodded as I turned back to watch. I hadn’t had much interaction with little kids. No one questioned Kota’s method. Even Dr. Green nodded his head in approval, giving the little girl a thumbs-up. I was impressed with Kota and wondered if maybe it was something he’d done on his sister, learned from Dr. Green.

  Nathan carefully picked up the little girl and carried her to our side of the field while North picked up her shoe and followed. People clapped to show support.

  Nathan brought her over to the edge of the end zone where we were sitting and held on to her. “Who do you want to sit with?” he asked.

  It was then I realized it was the same girl who had crashed into our legs earlier. She looked at Victor, at Mr. Blackbourne and then at me, before pointing in my direction.

  My eyes opened wide in surprise. Didn’t she want her mother? Wouldn’t her parents want to come over and comfort her?

  Nathan put the girl down and she carefully crawled into my lap. I hesitated at first, sure that her parents would protest.

  She turned herself around to watch the game, snuggling in with her back to my front.

  I gently patted her shoulder, and then held onto her hips to keep her balanced. When no one approached us to take her, I had to assume no one minded.

  North handed the shoe to Mr. Blackbourne. “We’ll have to watch out for those rocks.”

  Nathan poked the girl in the nose gently. “Want me to win a point for you?” he asked.

  The girl nodded enthusiastically.

  “You can’t just award points for the injured like that,” North said. “That’s cheating.”

  “You did it last year,” Nathan said. They both jogged off toward the field again, discussing the point.

  I sighed and held on to the little girl. “Where’s your mom?” I asked her. I wasn’t going to feel comfortable holding to someone’s child when I was a complete stranger. I wanted at least confirmation from them that it was okay.

  She pointed at the sidelines. I followed her gaze to a woman sitting amid the crowd. The woman waved shortly and smiled. She had a little baby in her arms, probably one of the reasons she hadn’t gotten up. She had trusted the boys to take care of a stubbed toe. She seemed to be okay with her staying with me for now.

  I returned her wave. The girl seemed comfortable in my lap, so I sat back and watched the game over her head.

  Victor leaned into me and chuckled. “Watch out,” he said. “Once you get one of the injured, they start to pile up when they get tired.”

  “I only have so much lap,” I said.

  “That’s never stopped them,” Victor said. “Look at Silas.”

  I peered out toward the other edge of the end zone, where Silas was sitting on his butt on the concrete, his legs spread out and a pile of kids gathered along his legs, talking and trying to balance on his legs without falling off. He was like their personal playground equipment. Silas didn’t seem to mind, watching the game over their heads.

  GAMES

  Silas eventually rejoined the field in the second quarter. The ball got passed to him, and this time instead of going down, he carried at least eight kids around his legs and holding onto his elbows and back all the way down to their goal. The kids groaned, and got after him for cheating, but the point was tallied for North’s team.

  At halftime, the players scattered and took a break. When everyone returned, players were changed out, although Victor stayed beside me.

  “You’re not going to play at all?” I asked him.

  “I might,” he said quietly and with an amused smile on his lips. He looked at me. “If they need someone else. I’m usually pretty bad at this, though. Did you want to play?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t so sure the kids wouldn’t pile up on top of me. “Maybe next year,” I said. “I won’t wear a dress then.”

  “Good point,” he said. “Even the little princesses wear shorts underneath.”

  Once play started again, the girl in my lap eventually wandered off to play with some of her friends, drawing on the sidewalk at the end zone. A little boy took her place on my lap, having run head-first into someone’s knee. Victor took on his own tired little girl from the other team, who looked ready to go to sleep.

  Even Mr. Blackbourne eventually found himself with his own little three year old who had wandered over from the sidelines. At first, Mr. Blackbourne played a quiet game of trading pebbles with him that he brought over from the small side garden. But when the little boy got tired, he crawled into Mr. Blackbourne’s lap holding onto his rock collection while Mr. Blackbourne watched the game.

  I stole glances at Mr. Blackbourne, sitting casually with a kid in his arms. It was fascinating to me, seeing this other side of him, though I didn’t really understand why.

  Silas won another point for North’s team and then Nathan scored two for ours. North pulled his team ahead by putting nearly every four year old on his team, including one I was sure had been on our team but got switched somehow at half time.

  “One,” Luke cried out in a happy huff. “Two.”

  He never got to three. One of the girls started to run toward the line on Kota’s side, made up of mostly adults and teenagers now, with Kota, Nathan and Luke. The other little kids started to follow. The barged after the guys, hanging onto as many as they could, taking a
leg each, wrapping their bodies around them. If they were going to walk, they would have to carry them. If anyone with a kid caught the ball, it was an immediate down for the team.

  Kota was going to race after the dropped ball Luke had thrown in a hurry, but midway, he had to slow, as a little girl crashed into his leg and held on tight. He stopped, dropped his hands, and waited where he was, shouting at anyone without a kid on his leg to keep moving and get the ball.

  The ball, however, was picked up by Gabriel. He carried it for a little while, but then when he realized nearly everyone else on Kota’s team was occupied by little kids in a fray of grabbing legs, he waltzed over to a sideline. There were a few toddlers there, amid laps and chairs. He said something to them and one of them walked out. He gave the ball to him, held on to his hand, and escorted him the entire way to the goal.

  The two adults who had been able to free themselves from kids started to run after Gabriel, although by this time, they were faking chasing after him since he had a kid in tow. Gabriel told the little kid to look behind him. The kid did, saw the approaching adults, and squealed. He let go of Gabriel, lifted the ball over his head, and ran head-first toward the goal line without looking. Once he got over it, he took a curve in his running, and headed straight for us in the chairs.

  Mr. Blackbourne reached out quickly, catching the boy in the chest to stop him, while protectively covering the boy in his lap. The ball got close to Mr. Blackbourne’s face. I reached out, blocking it with my hand. It smacked right into my fingers, and then bounced away.

  The toddler squealed with delight and laughed. The boy in Mr. Blackbourne’s lap dropped his rocks, but was very curious about this new friend who had suddenly arrived.

  “Uhof…” Mr. Blackbourne said. He sighed, picked up the ball, and threw it toward Gabriel.

  Gabriel came over, holding on to it with a big grin. “Oy,” he said. “Sorry. He crossed the goal line and just kept trucking. Want me to take him back?”