The League

by Thatcher Heldring

  “Well, a marathon on grass,” Dad admitted.

  Mom began clearing the dishes. “You’re going to have so much fun at golf camp, Wyatt.”

  That made me wince. Every time Mom or Dad mentioned golf camp, it was like being pricked by a pin. When I thought of my double life as an adventure in which I had to outsmart everyone to stay alive, it was exciting. But when I remembered that I was flat-out lying to my friends and family, it felt a little less fun. I just hoped Mom and Dad wouldn’t find out the truth before summer even started.

  I looked across the table at Aaron. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t say anything. After all, I knew a secret about him too. And Kate wouldn’t talk either. Not after the mermaid oath.

  “There’s more good news,” Mom announced, coming back to the table with a plate of cookies. “Kate and Dad are going shopping tomorrow for golf clubs.”

  “What?” Aaron asked, looking more outraged than ever. “Why? What did she do?”

  “She got a B-plus on her math test,” Dad said, tousling Kate’s hair as he passed by her chair. “Your mom was so proud she even had it framed. Show ’em, Ellen.”

  Smiling, Mom reached under her chair and revealed a framed sheet of paper. It had a giant B+ on the top next to Kate’s name, and a dozen completed math problems. “Great job, sweetie,” said Mom, hugging Kate.

  “Wyatt helped me a little,” Kate admitted.

  “You’re a good big brother,” Mom said, reaching across the table to pat my hand.

  I hoped she’d remember that if the truth about this summer ever got out.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Summer vacation was finally here. I had survived the school year, but only because Mr. Groton had threatened to ruin Spencer’s football career if he bothered me. Now I was on my own again. If Spencer found me over the summer, I would have to protect myself. Luckily, it was also the time for the League of Pain—and if that wasn’t going to make me tough enough to face Spencer, nothing would. Aaron had already told me we’d play every weekday between now and the Fourth of July, the day of the championship game. That meant thirteen days of football and then, fireworks.

  Brushing my teeth after breakfast, I noticed Aaron was wearing beat-up cargo shorts and a T-shirt with dirt stains. I found clothes in my room that looked like his, threw them on, and went out into the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” Aaron asked. “You can’t go downstairs dressed like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be going to a golf course,” he said, slapping me on the side of the head. “You have to wear something nice.”

  Looking down at my grass-stained clothes, I realized Aaron was right. For a guy who didn’t know a right triangle from a trapezoid, he sure could think through a lie. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll go change.”

  “But bring those with you,” he added. “Or you’ll trash your golf clothes.”

  “Obviously,” I agreed, grabbing a wad of money from the peanut butter jar in case I got hungry after the game.

  In the driveway a few minutes later, I tied the laces of my golf shoes together, threw them over my neck, and said goodbye to Mom.

  Dad was starting up his car in the driveway with Kate in the backseat. “You sure you don’t want a ride to the golf course?” he asked. “It’s not far out of my way.”

  “I’ll ride my bike,” I said.

  Dad started to drive away, then stopped suddenly and looked back. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t I need to sign you in?”

  “Francis said if you’re over fourteen you can sign yourself in,” I said.

  “Okay,” Dad replied. “Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it tonight. You know where to pick up your clubs when you get there?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  He pointed to the shoes as he drove off. “Take care of those.”

  I forced a smile as I strapped the shoes carefully to the rack of my bike so I wouldn’t have to tell Dad I’d lost them on my first day.

  “See you at the club,” Kate called, her head sticking out of the window as Dad drove away.

  The wind rushed over my helmet as I sailed down the hill toward the park. In my head I went over the directions to the field Aaron had given me last night: go in the main entrance and follow the gravel trail until it turns into dirt. Stay on the dirt trail all the way through the ravine. Look for the break in the blackberry bushes. Listen for voices.

  I followed Aaron’s directions to a grassy area hidden between a row of pine trees and the side of a dusty hill. I stood alone in the middle of the field, staring all around me. It was impossible to see the outside world. It was like being at the bottom of a bowl. At one end of the bowl, two oak trees about fifty feet apart reached toward each other with their longest branches. Turning around, I saw two boulders on the other end about the same distance apart sitting in front of a thick mess of blackberry bushes. I bet those were the end zones.

  But where was everyone else?

  Then I heard a noise from the other side of the hill. Like a flock of birds mixed with a stampede of horses all in the middle of an earthquake. As it got louder, it began to sound more human and I could make out voices. Well, not voices exactly. More like deranged yelling and screaming.

  A dust cloud formed at the top of the hill as heads began to appear. A second later the heads were whole bodies. Big bodies racing and tumbling straight down the dirt hill toward me with their arms in the air. As they reached level ground, I picked up only one word coming from the pack: “FOOOTBAAALLLL!”

  Suddenly I was surrounded by ten, maybe fifteen heavyset guys with jerseys, arms as big as my thighs, and cleats. None of them seemed to notice me. They jumped into one another, stomping across the field and beating their chests.

  As they stormed around me like wild things, I could see that some of them had streaks of mud painted under their eyes.

  I was never going to get out of Boardman Park alive.

  Soon they had stopped moving long enough for me to make out a few faces, and the first person I recognized nearly sent me running for the golf course. Standing before me, with his pasty, jiggly arms hanging out of a sleeveless shirt, was the last guy I wanted to see: Spencer Randle.

  “I don’t believe it,” Spencer said. He was out of breath, red in the face, and already sweating. Streaks of dirt lined his cheeks. “You’re not here to play football, are you?”

  I looked up at Spencer, too shocked to speak. He had a gleam in his eye like he had just won a million dollars in the lottery. What he had really won was a chance to hurt me every day without any chance of getting in trouble. What coach would get mad at a player for injuring someone in a football game?

  Aaron appeared beside me. Was this the moment when my brother would finally do something to protect me? Looking Spencer in the eye, he said, “If you get a shot at him, take it. But keep it clean. You know the rules.” Then he walked away.

  “There’s nobody here to protect you,” Spencer said, pointing back at Aaron. “Out here, it’s every man for himself.”

  “Aren’t we on teams?” I asked.

  Spencer didn’t answer right away. “Just be ready for pain,” he said finally.

  A moment later a loud voice rose above the others. “Game time!”

  I couldn’t see over the bodies that stood like trees all around me. So I just listened.

  “Same teams as last year,” I heard. “Same rules as always. Right?”

  “Right!” everyone shouted.

  “Cool,” the voice said. “Rookies up front.”

  I saw three or four guys make their way toward the front of the pack. Then I felt two hands shove me from behind.

  “That means you,” Aaron said.

  I made my way to the open space where the other rookies were standing. I recognized three of them from my baseball team: Julian, Luther, and Shane. Those three had picked on me all spring. Now that we were all rookies in the League of Pain, they didn’t seem so scary. In fact, they look
ed more scared than I was.

  Nearby was a guy who towered over everyone. He stared at me. “Are you kidding?” he said to nobody in particular. “Is this a joke? Who brought the hobbit?”

  Everyone laughed.

  “He’s with me, Herc,” Aaron said to the big guy.

  Herc shook his head. “He’s too small. He’s gonna get hurt and then someone’s gonna find out about us. He’s out.”

  “He’s just a sub,” Aaron said.

  Wait a minute, I thought. Did he just call me a sub? What was that about?

  Herc gave up. “Fine, let the little guy stand on the sideline,” he said to Aaron. “But he’s on your team. Go with José.”

  Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but Herc had turned away. Luther and I were put on Aaron’s team. Julian and Shane went to Spencer’s team. Then it was time to play.

  I walked with Aaron to the other side of the field for the kickoff. We followed José, who had the biggest muscles I had ever seen in real life. They looked like grapefruits popping out of his arms.

  “Why did you say I was a sub?” I asked Aaron.

  “You didn’t think you were going to show up and play on the first day, did you?” he answered. “You gotta wait for your spot.”

  “But you said I was in the league.”

  “Yeah, as a sub.”

  “When do I get to play?” I asked, feeling a little relieved, but also annoyed. I’d gone through a lot of trouble to get there, and even though I was genuinely scared for my life, I still wanted to be a part of the action this summer.

  “When someone else stops playing,” Aaron replied, kicking rocks off the field as we followed José and the rest of our team.

  “So how does this work?” I asked, jogging behind Aaron. “Do we pick different teams every week?”

  “No,” Aaron answered. “This is your team. You’re an Idiot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s our team name. We’re the Idiots. They’re the Morons. Don’t ask me who came up with those names because I have no idea and nobody does.”

  “We just play each other every day?”

  “Yup.”

  “What are we playing for? I mean, is there a trophy or anything?”

  “Trophy? No, there’s no trophy. There’s just knowing you were league champions.”

  “But there’s only two teams.”

  “So you’re either first or last. Now quit asking me questions.”

  I didn’t really see what was so special about being the champions of a league nobody had ever heard of that had only two teams anyway.

  “What are the rules?” I asked.

  “The rules are the rules of football,” Aaron said. He looked over at me as the Morons lined up, ready to kick off. “Go stand over there with the other rookie,” he ordered, pointing at Luther. “The game’s about to start.”

  I stood on the sideline with Luther and watched as Aaron caught the kickoff and started running upfield. José and a couple of other guys formed a wall in front of Aaron, but Spencer and his team ran through it like it was made of paper. Aaron disappeared under a pile of bodies. One by one, players from both teams jumped on the stack. When Aaron crawled out from the heap, his shirt was torn and his face was bright red. He was shaking out his hand and grimacing.

  “Someone stepped on my fingers,” he said. He looked up and smiled. “Man, I love football.”

  José pulled the team together into a huddle close to the sideline. There were five guys on the field: Aaron, José, Derek, and two guys who looked like they each weighed more than my whole family.

  I saw José glance around the huddle. “All right, here’s the play. Twenty-two falcon on three. You Idiots know what to do?”

  Everyone said yes and José seemed satisfied. He slapped his hands together; then the guys all got into position. One of the big ones crouched in front of José.

  “Hut, hut-hut, hike!” he barked.

  And it was on. The Idiots and Morons crashed into one another like two herds of elephants. It was nothing like the two-hand-touch games with McKlusky and Raj. I heard grunting, growling, and cries of pain rising above the sound of bodies colliding. Now I could see why Spencer was so happy to see me. Anywhere else, this would have been a crime. Here it was just part of the game.

  Luther and I sat in the dirt on the sideline and watched the Idiots and Morons crash and bash, play after play, until they were filthy with mud, sweat, and blood. The longer I watched, the more comfortable I was with being a spectator. I had come to the field to play football, but now I wasn’t so sure. Secretly, a part of me was relieved to be a sub.

  “Man,” Luther muttered. “I hope someone comes out soon. I’m getting bored.”

  But I couldn’t see anybody who seemed ready to come out of the game. For every skinned knee, bloody knuckle, and jammed finger, I also saw a lot of laughing, smiling, and high fives. I couldn’t tell if they were ignoring the pain, or enjoying it.

  As it turned out, Luther got his wish a few plays later when Derek had to leave the game, and not by choice.

  Derek, who was my age but almost as tall as Aaron, caught a short pass from José in the middle of the field. He took two steps before running into Herc’s shoulder, nose first. Derek wobbled backward, stumbling over his own feet, and landed on his butt. He sat, squinting so hard his eyes nearly disappeared under his forehead. Blood began to trickle out of his right nostril.

  “I’m okay,” he said, bobbing his head and wiping his nose with his sleeve.

  “Dude, you’re not okay,” José told him. “Take a break. Come back in when you stop bleeding.”

  Derek didn’t argue with José. I had a feeling nobody did. He trudged to the sideline and sat down next to me and Luther.

  My heart began to beat faster as I realized what this meant. I might be going into the game after all!

  José pointed at Luther. “You!” he called. “You’re in.”

  “Yes!” cried Luther, leaping to his feet and dashing onto the field, momentarily losing his footing halfway to the huddle.

  Phew, I thought. Luther would be the first rookie in the game. I’d watch what he did, and whatever he did wrong, I’d do the opposite. If someone else needed a break later in the day, I’d step in, ready to play. Until then I’d cheer for Luther and the rest of the Idiots.

  Except Luther wasn’t heading into the game. He was hobbling back to the sideline.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Looks like you’re in,” said Luther, pointing to his ankle. “Twisted it pretty bad.”

  I looked over at Derek, who was reclining against a log, staring at the trees, waiting for his nose to stop bleeding.

  “Let’s go, rookie!” José yelled.

  I stood up, shook the dirt off my shorts, and hurried to the huddle.

  “Welcome to the game,” said José. “I’m José, the quarterback.”

  “Call me Planet,” said one of the big dudes.

  “Ox,” said the other. “We’re the offensive line,” he added, gesturing to himself and Planet.

  “You know me,” said Aaron. “I’m the wide receiver. I catch passes and score touchdowns.”

  “Only because I get the ball in your hands, pretty boy,” said José.

  “And only because we block for José,” said Planet, gesturing to himself and Ox.

  “So what can you do?” Ox asked.

  “I’m pretty fast,” I said. “Maybe I can be the running back.”

  “You think you can run through them?” Aaron asked, pointing to the other team.

  I took one look at Spencer and Herc and realized Aaron had a point. Julian was the smallest guy on the Morons and even he was bigger than me.

  “I tell you what,” said José. “Why don’t you run some slant routes underneath? Maybe the defense will lose you in the crowd. Cool?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “In that case,” said José, “it’s twenty-one falcon on two. Got it?”

  Plan
et, Ox, and Aaron nodded confidently as we broke out of the huddle.

  “Where do I go?”

  “Just stand here,” José said, walking me to a space a few feet to the right of Aaron. “When Ox hikes it to me, run diagonally and look for the football. If I throw it to you, catch it.”

  José jogged back to the center, leaving me face to face with Julian.

  “Looks like I drew the short straw,” he said, with a familiar look on his face. It was the look that said he knew he was bigger, faster, and stronger than me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I used to see it every day when we were on the same baseball team.

  But now it was different. Because compared to Spencer Randle and the other Morons, Julian was a shrimp. It almost made me laugh to think that I was ever afraid of him.

  A few seconds later, Ox snapped the ball to José, starting the play. I darted ahead five feet, pushing past Julian before turning in toward midfield. Julian tried to follow me but got screened by Aaron coming in the other direction.

  My worst fear had come true on the first play. I was wide open. I looked back at José. He spotted me. I saw his arm go back and he released the ball. It was coming toward me like a bullet, but so was something else, something bigger. I glanced up to see Spencer charging at me with his head down. I forgot all about the football. I hit the deck like I was ducking a fireball.

  When I opened my eyes, Spencer was staring at me. “Boo,” he said, laughing. Then his face went cold. “Next time I’m going to let you catch it,” he whispered. “So I can blow you up.”

  I got a lot of dirty looks back in the huddle. José didn’t pay attention to me after that. Even if he had thrown it to me, I don’t think I would have caught it. I was too worried about Spencer. I always knew he was out there, waiting for a chance to lay me out as soon as I had the football.

  The Morons won that day, 35–28. I walked away from the field wondering if I should just quit. But Aaron caught up to me. “You better find a way to play better,” he said. “Because that was embarrassing. I can’t believe you intentionally fell down so you wouldn’t get tackled.”

  “Gimme a break,” I said. “It was my first play.”