The Healing Power of Sugar

by C. L. Stone

  I knew they wouldn’t hear, but I turned to Victor again and leaned in to whisper. “He does know about the plan, but I think he’s having a hard time of it. He seems to be into it, but keeps disappearing. I don’t know if you heard about the masks. I don’t know what they mean.”

  “I heard something about that,” Victor said. He kept his head close. We were inches apart, whispering, but it might have looked like we were trying to listen to each other with all the loud talking. “Do you think he’s going to go for it?”

  “I need to talk to him alone,” I said. “I didn’t get much of a chance.”

  “I have the same issue with talking to you, it seems,” he said. “I hope the changes at school will fix that.”

  I didn’t know how it would. I wanted to ask about it, but I needed to bring the conversation back. “Have you heard from Luke about the plan?”

  “I haven’t heard from anyone except about school and Academy things,” he said. “You’re still good with it, right?”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. I recalled my conversation with Mr. Blackbourne. “We need to try,” I said. “I hope you’ll help me convince the others to at least try.”

  His eyes brightened until the flames were like bonfires. He reached up, catching a bit of hair that framed my face and traced it down my cheek. “Princess, all you need to do is ask.”

  I was grateful for him. Maybe Mr. Blackbourne was right. Maybe I just needed more courage.

  FOOTBALL

  I ate my dinner and then went up for some dessert: a small piece of pie with whipped cream. I thought that would be the end of it, and then we’d start on the cleanup, when a football soared over my head. I followed the ball with my eyes to see Silas catch it and then turned to see who’d thrown it: the Native man. He’d tied his pony tail into a bun at the nape of his neck and had removed the shirt he had been wearing until he now simply wore a tank top.

  Silas stood and laughed as he bounced the football between his hands. “Are you ready to get creamed by Kota’s team again this year?” he asked, his voice deep and loud, carrying over everyone at the tables.

  There was an uproar of voices at his challenge, people pointing at each other with delight in their eyes. The bustle of comments floated past me, and I tried to keep up, but it was difficult because of everyone talking at once.

  “Uh oh,” Victor said and tugged at my arm to get me to stand.

  I hesitated, not wanting to leave my plate, but everyone else did as most of them rose from the table.

  “Did you want to play?” Victor asked as we weaved around the tables and into the street

  “Play?” I asked.

  “Football. We play every year,” he said. “Two teams.” He held onto my hand as he edged me toward the grassy front yard of one of the homes. “You could help coach, play, or be on the sidelines and just watch. Whatever you want; I don’t want to pressure you.”

  “Coach?” I asked. How could I coach? I didn’t know the rules of football very well. And I didn’t think I could play in a skirt anyway. “I might just watch.”

  Victor started to undo the tie at his neck, slipping into his pocket. “They might get me to play, or at least join a team to even out the numbers. I’m not very good.”

  I was going to tell him he could sit with me, when Mr. Blackbourne approached, along with Kota beside him. Mr. Blackbourne had only removed his jacket, keeping on the white shirt and maroon tie, while Kota had loosened his and was unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What do you know about touch football, Miss Sorenson?” Mr. Blackbourne asked me. He draped his jacket over his arm, and then put his hands on his hips as he talked.

  “As little as I know about actual football. I’ve seen a couple of games. I’m more familiar with baseball.”

  Kota slipped his tie from around his neck and hung it over my shoulder, before he tugged the shirt loose from his body. “I could try putting in more of the younger kids this year,” he said to Mr. Blackbourne.

  “We tried that two years ago,” Mr. Blackbourne said, shaking his head. “All the older kids were too gentle, and those younger ones took advantage of it. You’d win for sure.”

  I tugged Kota’s tie from my shoulder, holding it in my hands delicately. “You’re trying to lose?” I asked.

  “Kota’s team wins every year,” Victor said. “It doesn’t seem to matter who is in the other team.”

  “I’ve been really trying to give them a win for two years,” Kota said. “So far, it hasn’t worked out at all.”

  “Should I try coaching Mr. Taylor’s team this year?” Mr. Blackbourne asked.

  Kota shrugged and took off the shirt, leaving on his white T-shirt underneath. “Didn’t seem to matter when you tried that three years ago.” He pulled at the T-shirt, untucking it, and then handed his folded button up shirt to me before turning to Mr. Blackbourne. “Are you going to play this year? Or do you want to work for the other team?”

  My mouth fell open. Was he asking if Mr. Blackbourne would play? I couldn’t imagine it.

  “Might be too late,” Victor said, nodding toward the other side of the street.

  Everyone turned looking toward where North and Dr. Green were standing, calling for people who were going to play to come forward and asking everyone else to move back.

  Kota and Victor approached the circle, sharing looks.

  Mr. Blackbourne leaned into me, whispering. “It’s okay if you just want to stand back and watch. I coach, but I’ve never joined in the game. I prefer to not get directly involved.”

  “Maybe this year I’ll just watch? I don’t really know the rules.”

  “Most of the kids don’t know the rules either,” he said. “Some get changed during the game, especially with the younger ones making them up as they go.”

  I started to smile at this, thinking he was kidding, but his were serious. He gestured at me to follow him closer to the group.

  Kota move ahead to the middle of the circle of people, as did North. At first, everyone was talking, and then suddenly Kota and North raised their hands, waving for everyone to be quiet.

  “Okay,” Kota said loudly, the power in his voice carrying over the breeze and the murmur of people still whispering around him. “It’s time for annual touch football. North versus Kota. How do we want to pick teams this year?”

  I looked over at Mr. Blackbourne. He noticed my curious gaze and leaned in. “Yes?” he asked.

  “It’s North against Kota every year?” I asked.

  Mr. Blackbourne nodded and motioned to the group where North was suggesting new rules, and a few other people were trying to overrule. “It started when they were younger, from the first football game they ever played. Kota was the leader of one team, North the other. Kota’s team won. North asked for a rematch the following year, and it’s been going on ever since.”

  “And Kota won last year?”

  “Kota wins every year,” he said.

  They had said so, but I’d thought they just meant the last few years and were exaggerating. I looked back at the group and shifted from foot to foot, wondering how Kota managed to always win, and how in the world North allowed it to happen.

  North, however, didn’t seem at all angry or vengeful as he addressed the group. His expression was amused, his dark eyes wide and his arms folded over his chest, as he observed the people around him. After some debate, it was determined that the coaches would be picking teams this year.

  “Mr. Blackbourne?” Kota said, directing his attention.

  Mr. Blackbourne looked at me, silently asking how much I’d like to be involved.

  I wasn’t sure about playing, but I’d help him with whatever he needed. I gave him a tiny nod.

  He turned toward the group. “I believe Miss Sorenson would like to help and be my co-coach.”

  Coach? I’d told him I didn’t know the rules. I just thought he might want me to stand next to him.

  “She can’t coach!” Nathan shouted from the other sid
e of the circle. He had his hands on his hips and then laughed. “She’ll cheat.”

  “Good!” Mackenzie shouted, her yellow bandana ends flapping a bit against a breeze. “She’ll fit right in. There’s never not been a cheating team in this ridiculous game.”

  Everyone laughed. Kota waved his arms, asking for attention again. “Everyone okay with Sang coaching my team this year?”

  My throat closed up a little, completely nervous about the attention as almost every hand in the group—even among the children—went up. I was worried that my lack of knowledge would cause Kota’s team to lose. They had to be joking about me coaching.

  But perhaps that’s why he, too, had his hand up. And North did, too; did he see me participating as an advantage to his team?

  “Seems like they want you to coach, Sang,” Kota said. “So you’ll have to help pick teams.”

  “Hey,” North said. “If Mr. Blackbourne and Sang are co-coaches, then Dr. Green needs a co-coach, too.”

  “Okay,” Kota said. “Pick one.”

  A ton of little kids started jumping up and down, waving their hands and bouncing for attention.

  North looked through his selection of applicants and picked a particularly bouncy girl who looked to be about six. She had long blond hair tied back into two braids and was wearing a blue princess dress, seemingly oblivious to the cold.

  North curled his finger at her, and she scuttled up beside him in her flip-flops. North redirected her toward Dr. Green.

  Dr. Green reached out his hand and the little girl joined him. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, making her smile and nod as she looked up at him.

  Mr. Blackbourne put a smooth hand to my back, drawing my attention from them. “Don’t let them fool you. North’s looking for sympathy. He doesn’t think you or Kota will want to take the win from a little princess coach.”

  I studied the girl, who seemed oblivious to what was actually going on, more interested in Dr. Green who was obviously making a big deal out of her dress, and the thumbs-up approval from North. It was a warming moment to see the boys acting so sweet to a little girl.

  I leaned in to whisper to Mr. Blackbourne, “Shouldn’t we let them win?”

  “We don’t play to lose,” he said. “Otherwise North will request an immediate rematch.”

  So he wants a true victory, I thought. Kota tries to give advantages but still plays fairly. So what was I supposed to do?

  “Okay,” Kota said loudly, getting everyone’s attention again. “Given we won last year...”

  “Don’t rub it in,” North said with a grumble, making everyone laugh.

  Kota went on. “North’s team gets to begin choosing players first. Everyone who isn’t going to play needs to go ahead and get on the sidelines.”

  There was a great movement of people then. Some moved out of the way and grabbed chairs to set up around the grassy play area, either on the porches of the homes, or along the road, creating a far sideline.

  While everyone who wasn’t playing moved away, I was left with Mr. Blackbourne to pick a team. The goal was to lose to North without letting him know we were trying to, so I started looking for players who I thought might not be good.

  But how could I know who was good, especially when the little kids changed the rules?

  Dr. Green encouraged the little girl to pick teammates. At first she started with her friend, another little girl in a yellow fairy costume. At least she was wearing tennis shoes on her feet and not flip-flops. Would it still be okay for her to play in a costume?

  North smirked, amused by her selection. Was he pleased? Maybe his plan was to pile on the little kids.

  “Now it’s our turn,” Mr. Blackbourne said.

  “Right,” Kota said. “Who wants to be on my team?”

  Many hands went up, including from some of the parents.

  “I want to be on the winning team,” one of the adults said.

  “I said don’t rub it in,” North grumbled.

  The little yellow fairy, who was standing next to him, reached up for his hand, tugging at it. He frowned, bent down. She whispered in his ear.

  He sighed, and stood upright. “Don’t rub it in, please.”

  Everyone laughed again and then turned back to us, waiting for our pick.

  I checked in with Mr. Blackbourne, who leaned in to whisper. “We start with the younger ones, so they aren’t left at the end to get picked last. The grownups are aware and will wait.”

  I didn’t know who to pick, so I pointed toward the smaller children in the crowd, singling out a little boy who stood alone, looking anxious.

  He jumped up and clapped his hands as he zoomed over. Without warning, he crashed into my knees, hugging around my thighs, nearly knocking me over. “Yes!” he cried out. “I never get picked first.”

  I grinned, unable to help feeling good at my choice. He was a cute little kid. I patted him on the head and looked up at Mr. Blackbourne.

  Mr. Blackbourne smiled and then his expression changed. One of his perfect eyebrows went up. “Send him on to Kota,” he said.

  I took the hands of the little boy, and gently squeezed them to get his attention. His bright eyes focused. “Do a good job,” I said. “Help Kota.”

  He nodded in such a fierce way, that I was sure his head would rock off of his neck. He released me, running to Kota, crashing into his legs. Kota laughed, grabbing the boy’s hand and tugging him to stand beside him.

  Dr. Green and the blue princess picked a bigger boy this time, one of the teenagers.

  This time, I picked a girl. She had to be at least ten, and was composed. She wore glasses and her long hair fell along her back. She walked over to join Kota, but waved quickly to me, a quiet thank you for picking her.

  This time, the princess pointed right at Silas.

  “Oh no,” Dr. Green said with a roll of his eyes, although his smile betrayed his amusement. “Not him. He’s the worst player here.”

  I didn’t understand how Silas, the biggest and probably more experienced at football—thanks to his time playing with the football team—could possibly be the worst player.

  Silas pulled away from the rest of the crowd and sheepishly moved in behind North and the other players.

  “May I pick this time?” Mr. Blackbourne asked.

  I nodded eagerly, relieved. If I’d wanted to really win, Silas would have been my first choice. With Dr. Green saying he was the worst, it simply confirmed that this couldn’t be any ordinary game of touch football. Did our choices matter?

  While Mr. Blackbourne scanned his eyes over the group of kids, some of them jumped up and down shouting, “Please!” or “Pick me!”

  He picked one of the smaller ones, a girl perhaps six. She cried out in eagerness and raced at us, slamming into both of our legs in an odd hug.

  I laughed, wondering if all this crashing into our legs was going to wear us out, and we weren’t even in the game. “Save it for the field,” I said, giving her a pat on the head.

  The little girl giggled a lot. She still had a bit of pumpkin or something else on her lip. She peeled herself away from us and started heading toward Kota, who held out his hand for her. She took it and stood beside him, opposite the little boy, who was still holding on to Kota’s other hand.

  “Interesting,” I heard Mr. Blackbourne say.

  When I turned to look at him, he was looking at me with a curious expression on his face. His lips and facial features didn’t give any hint as to what he was thinking. But his steel eyes had turned a shade of silver in the light.

  He held my gaze for a short while, and then broke away to look into the crowd. The moment was gone, but I was wondering what he was thinking.

  In the end, Kota’s team ended up with Nathan, Victor and Luke. Gabriel joined Silas and North. There was an even mix of little kids, teenagers at first.

  When the final adults were selected, the last one getting put on our team winked at us and got really pumped up, like he was e
njoying getting put on a team at all and not worried about being picked last. I got the feeling he was doing this as an example for the kids. “Best for last,” he said.

  The teams split up, one on each of the driveways at the ends of the playing field—the designated winning zones. Our team gathered on the right-hand driveway, waiting for instructions.

  Mr. Blackbourne had them all circle around so he could talk. “For the benefit of new players, I’m going to quickly explain the rules.”

  “No biting!” said one of the adults, causing the rest of the grownups to laugh.

  “Right,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “This is touch football. There’s no need to bite, pull hair or tackle.” He gave a stern look to the group, especially the eager little boys. “If you get caught in unnecessary violence, you’ll have to sit out of the rest of the game. Understood?”

  All the little kids bobbed their heads.

  “The game has four quarters of time. Only ten of you get to be on the field at a time. We’ll try to equalize your time playing.”

  “He means we have to take turns,” Kota said plainly, with a small smile. “We can’t all pile up on North.”

  “If you get hurt, come back and sit down. We’ll send in a replacement,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “The goal is simple, if someone on our team has the ball, get out of his way so he can race to the end zones.”

  “The driveways,” Kota said as he pointed to the opposite driveway from where we were standing. “If you have the ball, run for that driveway as fast as you can.”

  “If someone from the other team has the ball, try to touch him on the back or arms. For you smaller kids, try not to get in front and get tripped over.”

  Mr. Blackbourne went through the rules and how points were counted. I had a feeling they simplified it a lot for the little kids.

  After the explanation, ten people were selected to be on the field for the initial kick off: five children, Kota, Luke and Nathan, one adult and one teenage boy.

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