The League (17 page)

Dad looked me in the eye. “Is that it, Wyatt?”

I managed to nod. “I’ll be there,” I said.

“Great,” Dad said as he got into his car. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Meet me by the first hole.”

“Block it out,” Aaron said after Dad had driven away. “There’s nothing you can do about it now, so forget about it and think football. We need to beat the Morons today.”

I did my best to put golf out of my mind. I figured I’d have plenty of time to make it to the golf course by four o’clock.

As soon as the game started, football was the only thing in the world. All I had to do was get open
and wait for José to hit me, just like he’d done last Friday.

Except it wasn’t that easy.

“Do you know what this is?” Julian asked the first time we had the ball. He curled his fingers and thumb together to make a zero with his right hand.

“The size of your brain?” I said.

“This is how many times you’re going to catch the ball today.”

“Just try and stop me.”

That was just what Julian did. He stuck to me like superglue. It wasn’t too difficult, since José didn’t call any plays for me.

When he did, Spencer always watched me out of the corner of his eye while he did his ten-Mississippi count.

We had a chance to win the game, but our final drive stalled at midfield when we couldn’t get two completions.

After the game, I overheard my teammates complaining. “We can’t move the ball unless everyone on the team is a threat,” I heard Ox say to José.

I knew he was talking about me.

“I know,” José said. “I’ll come up with something for tomorrow.”

“At least we’re playing good D,” said Aaron.

That started a conversation about defense. I would
have stayed to listen, but I had to get up to the golf course so I could practice before meeting Dad.

It was a little after three when I locked my bike in front of the main entrance to the Pilchuck Golf and Tennis Club. Golfers in carts rolled past me on their way to the first tee, while other people sat on the deck soaking up the sunshine. Besides the sound of balls being smacked on the driving range, it was as quiet as a library. Maybe a nice place to visit, I thought, walking to the clubhouse to check out golf clubs, but I needed more noise and action.

Inside the clubhouse, I went to the counter, where a lady in a plaid sweater was folding shirts. Her name tag said Jo.

It was the woman I’d spoken to on the phone the day I called to say I wasn’t coming to golf camp.

“Can I help you?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously, like I didn’t belong.

“Yeah, um, can I go to the driving range?”

“You need to be a member,” Jo explained sternly. “Are you a member?”

“My dad is. His name is Alan Parker.”

As soon as I mentioned Dad’s name, Jo gave me a wide smile. “Are you Wyatt?”

I was glad to see Jo was warming up to me, but I hoped she and Dad weren’t too tight. What if she asked him about space camp? I decided to answer cautiously. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Wyatt,” Jo said. “How is your dad? He hasn’t been around much lately.”

“He’s been busy with work.”

“And tell me, how is space camp?”

“Space camp is, um, out of this world,” I said, figuring a little humor would keep Jo from asking too many questions.

Jo thought that was hilarious. “The driving range is right through there,” she said, pointing out the glass door. “You can borrow a club. Just take a bucket of balls and choose any tee you want.”

I found a tee far away from everyone else and set up a ball. I gripped the three-wood like Dad had showed me. Bringing the club back, I drove it forward, swiveling my hips as I swung—right over the ball. I tried again and the head of the club bumped the ball off the tee.

By the time the bucket was empty, I was getting them in the air. I wasn’t hitting anything two hundred yards like Francis, but it would be good enough to impress Dad.

I had hit about half the balls in my second bucket
when Dad arrived. “Jo told me I’d find you here,” he said.

“Did she say anything else?” I asked.

Dad gave me a funny look. “Well, she did ask me if you were enjoying space camp. Any idea what that was about?”

“Space camp?” I said.

Dad took the cover off his driver. “That’s what I thought. But maybe I misunderstood. It was pretty busy in there and Jo can be a little, you know.” Dad twirled a finger by his ear.

“What did you tell her?”

Dad punched me softly in the shoulder. “I told her you were having a blast.”

“Good one.”

He winked at me. “I thought so.”

It felt good hanging out with Dad. Playing golf wasn’t too bad either. The more I hit, the better I got. And the better I got, the more fun I had. After a while, we decided to play a few holes. I didn’t come close to par, but at least I didn’t have to pick up my ball.

We ended the day drinking lemonades on the deck. “You know what I see?” Dad asked. “I see someone playing with a lot more confidence.”

“Me?”

“You bet,” Dad said. “It’s not just here either. I’ve noticed it at home too. You’re growing up, Wyatt.”

“You got all that from a round of golf?”

“Smart alec. I’m trying to give you a compliment.” Dad signed for the bill and we got ready to leave. “And listen, if you decide in the end that golf isn’t your thing, I’ll respect that and you can try any sport you want.”

I hope that includes football
, I thought, imagining how nice it would be to play a game without having to lead a secret life.

José drew up a trick play in the huddle. “We’re gonna run a flea-flicker,” he said. “You know how that works? I hand off to you”—he pointed to Aaron—“and you pitch it back to me. If the Morons bite on the run, someone should be open for a long pass.”

José started the play with a hand-off to Aaron, who took a few steps forward and pitched the ball back. José pumped his right arm, looking for an open receiver.

When Spencer got to ten Mississippi, José scrambled upfield, but the defense closed in and tackled him quickly.

It was second down.

“Okay, that didn’t work,” José said before the next play. “This time line up like usual. Receivers on the ends and backs behind me. Aaron, when I snap it, you follow my lead. I’m going to hand it to you.” José drew a diagram in the dirt. “When you get back to the line of scrimmage, you either hit someone downfield or keep running.”

José put the play in motion, but Aaron bobbled the hand-off. He didn’t fumble, but he had to slow down. By the time he turned the corner, the Morons were ready. They forced him out of bounds for no gain.

Third down.

José stayed cool, but I knew he was starting to sweat inside. We still had a chance to win the game, but if we lost, the season would practically be over.

“Forget the tricks,” he said. “Thirty-three falcon on two.” He looked at Aaron. “You line up in the slot, like a tight end.”

Turning to me, he said, “You’re the back on this one. Get ready, just in case.”

We got into position. Planet held the football in his hands and waited for José to call for the snap from the shotgun.

Suddenly José stood up straight. “Stampede, stampede!” he yelled just as Planet hiked the ball, sending it right into my hands. Just like that, I was the quarterback.

Seeing what had happened, José became a blocker. He, Ox, and Planet stood between me and the rushing Morons.

I knew I could either throw the ball or run it. I moved sideways across the field, trying to get a clear look at the receivers. I saw Aaron get open for a second, just as Spencer closed in on me. I raised my arm to throw the ball as Spencer jumped into the air, but I scooted by him. Bodies flew at me, but I dodged them, freezing Herc with a stutter step and spinning around Julian. I raced down the sideline toward the boulders. I was ten yards from the end zone when Julian hit me in the side like he was fired from a cannon. I landed ten feet out of bounds and skidded across a bed of tiny rocks.

I could feel the blood flowing out of my hands, arms, and legs, but it didn’t bother me. I jumped right up and carried the football back to the huddle.

“I got one word for you,” said José, putting his arm around me.
“Wildcat.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You’re gonna take the snap from Planet. I’m going to line up as an extra lineman. Aaron is your receiver. If he’s open, hit him. If he’s not, run it yourself.”

“I don’t know about this,” said Planet. “How do we even know he can throw?”

“He can throw,” said José. “Just do your job so Wyatt can do his.”

As we broke out of the huddle, I looked at the other team and saw five guys who were all bigger than me, but there was just one thought in my head:
You might knock me over, but you are not going to keep me down
. It was the same feeling that had hit me like a bolt of lightning in my baseball game and sent me charging into the catcher. Only this time, the feeling lasted a lot longer than a few seconds. For the rest of the game, snap after snap, drive after drive, I played football fearlessly. I got hit, clocked, smacked, and dropped, but I kept running, throwing, ducking. Whatever I had to do to move the ball closer to the end zone, I did.

And when I scored the winning touchdown on a sweep up the right sideline, the Idiots mobbed me the same way my baseball team had. I knew I was one of them—an Idiot and a football player.

On Saturday Evan and I had plans to see
Dr. Pirate
. My pulse was racing as I walked to the pool to meet her. It was the last weekend before the Fourth of July and things were getting hot. Today we were going to the movies and soon I’d be watching the fireworks with Evan on the hill, where who knows what could happen. But the more I thought about that, the more aware I was of how quickly it could all end. One slipup and Mom and Dad would bust me. I had to keep thinking like Aaron or Brian—be ready for anything and show no fear.

When I got to the pool, Brian Braun was there with his dumb muscles ready to save someone from drowning, but Evan hardly looked at him.