The Big Game

by Tim Green

  Cupcake thrust Markle away from him. Markle massaged his throat and coughed a few times. “You coulda killed me.”

  “That’s right.” Cupcake folded his arms and stood his ground. “I coulda. Remember that before you think about getting cute with my friends next time.”

  Markle grumbled but faded away with his gang.

  “Thanks, Cupcake,” Danny said.

  “Yeah, you did good.” Janey tossed her head and her ponytail flew from side to side. “What was that? Some special jujitsu choke hold?”

  “Nah.” Cupcake shrugged. “Just a farmer’s grip.”

  The stands above erupted with screams of joy and cheers and clapping. Jericho had scored its third touchdown.

  “What happened, Danny?” Janey asked. “One minute you’re cheering with us, the next you’re running away.”

  “I got sick.” He looked down. “Some of it got on me.”

  “Was it something you ate?” Cupcake narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I just—all of a sudden—got sick.”

  Danny’s mom appeared with worry all over her face. “Danny?”

  “Hey, Mom. Sorry, I just . . . got sick. I barely made it to the bathroom and I got some on me.” He looked down at his soiled shirt.

  “Oh, Danny. Let’s get you home,” his mom said.

  “I don’t want to ruin the night for you all,” he replied.

  “I can get a ride with my brother,” Cupcake said. “He drove my mom and dad. Janey, you can come with us.”

  “That’s all right,” Janey said. “This’ll probably be a blowout anyway.”

  “Yeah, but those are the best ones.” Cupcake glanced in the direction of the field.

  Janey laughed. “I’m good. I had it covered, but thanks again, Cupcake.”

  “Anytime.” With a smile and a wave, Cupcake disappeared.

  “Had what covered?” Danny’s mom asked.

  “Um, just finding Danny. I had it.”

  “I got sick all over the place in the bathroom.” Danny looked in the direction of the men’s room and saw some unhappy faces on their way out. Some held their noses. “So I wanted to get out of there, but then I got sick, and then I saw this grass, so . . .”

  “And I . . . just followed my nose,” Janey said.

  Danny’s mom waved a hand in front of her own face. “I got it. Whew! C’mon, Danny. Let’s get you home and into the shower.”

  They rode with the windows down and Danny in the back seat. Janey gave him a worried look when she got out in her driveway. He watched her walk toward the front door without looking back. Her parents didn’t go to football games. Her dad was in dental sales and traveled most of the time, and her mom had to watch Janey’s two-year-old twin sisters.

  Danny’s mom pulled into their own driveway and got the hose from under the deck. “Let’s get those clothes off before you walk through the door.”

  Danny stripped to his boxers and headed inside as she sprayed down his clothes in the grass. As he showered, Danny tried to remember what had made him so sick. He remembered cheering for Jericho and then stumbling into the bathroom and the mess and the embarrassment and Markle. He finished and dried off, then dressed and found his mom in the living room.

  “Hi.” She muted the TV. “Better?”

  “Yeah. Lots.”

  “Good.” She tilted her head. “What do you think happened? Those pork chops I made for dinner were fresh, I know that.”

  Danny sighed and shook his head. “I’m tired.”

  “Get some sleep. Give your mom a kiss first.”

  Danny kissed her.

  As he lay awake in his bed, he worried about many things. Football. Markle. Janey. Reading. Ms. Rait’s exam. Also, Mr. Crenshaw.

  Lately, the counselor had been probing Danny’s mind. Where he’d once let Danny be, he now asked a lot of questions. Somehow Danny just knew his getting sick was going to come up. Mr. Crenshaw had a way of getting inside his head, and last week Danny had given up trying to fool him. There was something comforting about telling things to Mr. C. He listened. He nodded. He said kind things in a quiet voice that made Danny feel better.

  The thing about him getting sick was that Danny had a pretty big feeling it was important. Mr. C was going to sniff it out and ask him. He knew he’d answer, and he couldn’t help feeling that, come Monday morning when that happened, it was going to change everything.

  “So, how was your weekend?” Mr. Crenshaw jumped two of Danny’s checkers with his only king.

  “Yesterday, I cleaned the garage and hung out with Janey and Cupcake at the tree fort. Saturday, I watched practice. Bored out of my mind.”

  Mr. C tapped the board to remind Danny it was his move. “That leaves Friday night.”

  Danny shrugged and began a retreat with one of his two kings.

  “That means something happened.” Mr. C made a move to cut off Danny’s retreat.

  Danny sighed. “Here we go.”

  “Here we go what? Am I going to beat you?” Mr. C pointed at the board.

  “No. You. Inside my head.” Danny looked him in the eyes and realized for the first time what a deep blue they were.

  Mr. C smiled. “That’s my job. So, what happened?”

  Danny looked at his hands. “I lost it. Bonkers.”

  “Bonkers how? Can you tell me what you did?”

  Danny moved a checker to protect his king. “It wasn’t like usual, me shouting or hitting something. It was like . . . inside. I got sick. My guts twisted. I ran to the bathroom. Puked everywhere. I don’t know why. I was just watching the game. We scored and I puked.”

  Mr. C moved, keeping the pressure on Danny’s king. “Do you remember what you were thinking? When they scored?”

  Danny reached for a piece, then paused. “About how I’d be out there one day. That Jericho football is this thing that’s bigger than . . . I don’t know, bigger than life.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, you’ve got the present, and I’m the future, and the past. It’s, like, eternal, right?”

  Mr. C’s voice got soft. “Tell me about the past. What does Jericho football in the past make you think of?”

  Danny moved his king into the open. He kept his finger on the piece for several moments. He knew this time was coming. It was like a long line for a water slide. It took so long it seemed you’d never get there. Then, there you were, in the tube. Then you let go. It was dark and you didn’t know how it would end, but it was too late to go back.

  “Tell me,” Mr. C said gently. “What?”

  Finally, Danny took his finger off the king and looked up at Mr. Crenshaw with tears flooding his eyes. His face twisted and his voice broke. “My dad.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Crenshaw said, nodding the way you’d greet a long-awaited guest, “your dad.”

  A primal howl boiled up from Danny’s center. He tilted his head toward the ceiling and let it out, sobbing and moaning in complete anguish. “I hate him! I hate him!”

  Danny pushed back his chair and stood up. “Mr. C, why did he do it? Why?”

  Mr. C stood up and circled the table, still speaking softly. “Do what, Danny? What did he do?”

  “He died! He died, and I killed him . . .” Danny threw his arms around the counselor and sobbed into his shoulder. “I killed him. He was training me. He wanted me to be ready for the big game. He wanted me to have a great season and he took me running and if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be . . . dead.”

  “Oh, Danny.” Mr. Crenshaw hugged him. “You didn’t kill him . . .”

  “I did. I did.”

  “No, Danny. No.”

  “He . . .” Danny sobbed. “He just fell and I watched and I couldn’t do anything. I just stood there!”

  “There was nothing to do, Danny. Your dad was gone. It’s not your fault. He loved you and he wanted to help you, but it wasn’t your fault. You have to believe me.” Mr. C had Danny in a vise grip.

  Dann
y cried until he ran out of tears. Mr. C got him a box of tissues. He blew his nose and sat back down. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Danny pointed at the stack of used Kleenex.

  “It’s good to cry, Danny. You kept that in for a long time. Too long.”

  “What do you mean?” Danny kept his eyes on the board.

  “Did you cry at your dad’s funeral?”

  “No!” All he remembered were the people, all the people, and his mom in a black dress. He looked up so Mr. C would know it was the truth.

  “Did you cry another time? Late at night? Before you went to sleep? Taking a walk in the woods?” Mr. C looked at him doubtfully.

  Danny let loose a tattered sigh. “I guess not.”

  “That’s why this is good. You needed it. You might need more of it. Don’t be upset if you find yourself crying. It’s normal. It’s how we heal.” Mr. C spoke with such confidence and authority that Danny believed him, and it made him feel much better.

  Danny sniffed and pointed at the board. “It’s your move.”

  “Oh. Right.” Mr. C jumped the king Danny had had his finger on for so long and smiled weakly. “Sorry. You can’t win them all.”

  “No.” Danny kept his smile in check. “You can’t.”

  In the hallway after English, Janey asked him about his puffy eyes. Danny told her his allergies were acting up.

  “Oh,” she said, and then she waved the review packet Ms. Rait had given them in the air. “How are you coming with Ms. Rait? You got all this down?”

  Danny frowned. “I don’t know. She said it’s gonna be close. I swear though, it’s like there’s this little part of her that’s still hung up on me missing a few days back in the beginning.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re texting like a fiend.”

  “That’s easy. I’ve read books, too. Only chapter books, but still.” Danny shrugged. “Anyway, she said she’s gonna give me a practice test to take. Then, we’ll know.”

  “I can help you study.” Janey smiled apologetically. “We spent half the day yesterday at the creek when we probably should have been studying.”

  He waved a hand. “I can’t study all the time. I think I heard somewhere that’s not good for you.”

  “From who? Cupcake?”

  “Probably.”

  They both laughed.

  “This weekend, we’ll study,” Danny said. “Next weekend, maybe we’ll go to the bonfire.”

  “What bonfire?” she asked.

  Danny told her about Bug and how Cupcake said the bonfire was great.

  “I’ve seen that kid.” Janey stopped where she’d peel off to her next class. “He’s scary.”

  “Yeah. All the guys go, though. Think about it.”

  “Okay. See you at lunch.”

  That afternoon at football practice Danny felt like he was losing his mind. Markle ran for his third touchdown in a live goal-line period, and he exploded up from the pile of bodies in the end zone.

  “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” Markle screamed, his ugly face red and contorted behind the facemask, his fists clenched. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Let the big dog eat!”

  When Markle did that thing where he pretended to be spooning food into his mouth from an imaginary bowl, Danny had to turn away. He couldn’t block out the sounds of his teammates joining the fray with Markle, though.

  “Yeah, Markle!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Go Big Dog!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Eat!”

  Unfortunately for Danny, turning away meant he also heard Coach Willard talking with Coach Kinen.

  “Wow. Kid can carry the rock, Coach,” Coach Willard muttered to Coach Kinen. “Where’d we find him?”

  Coach Kinen shook his head in disbelief. “He was here all along. Right under our noses. He didn’t run anything like this in camp. Sure stepped up his game though.”

  Coach Willard turned toward the huddle to give the offense the next play. Danny looked away quickly and kicked at the turf with his toe.

  “Danny,” Coach Kinen barked. “Come here.”

  Danny looked up and tried to read Coach Kinen’s face as he approached. It told him nothing. When he got close enough, Coach Kinen put an arm around Danny’s shoulder and turned him away from the action.

  “How’s that foot?”

  “Hundred percent, Coach.” Danny put as much positive energy into his voice as he could.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Cuz you look like you’re favoring the other foot to me.” Coach Kinen’s look penetrated Danny’s soul.

  Danny blinked. “I don’t think so.”

  “Hmm.” Coach Kinen stopped and turned them both around so they could watch Markle burst through the line, break to the outside, and snag a bullet pass from Jace for another touchdown. The players went crazy.

  Coach Kinen scratched his leathery neck. “Well, I’m not sure if it makes sense to rush back and take a chance that it’s still not healed.”

  Danny’s stomach heaved. He tasted vomit burning the back of his throat but swallowed it down. “But Coach. You said . . .”

  Coach Kinen looked at him in the unfriendly way coaches look when being questioned by a player. “I said what?”

  Danny’s tongue froze.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “You said . . .” Danny swallowed again, then raised his chin.

  “Yeah?” It was a challenge.

  “Coach, you said you needed me to win a championship.” Danny tried to stop the tremble of his lips by biting down hard on the bottom one.

  Coach Kinen looked off in the distance for a moment before he said, “Football’s a funny sport, Danny. It’s a lot like life. Things change. Things happen that you don’t expect.”

  The coach peered at Danny. “I’m thinking of you. I mean, does it make sense to rush back and risk making it worse, when . . .”

  The offense ran their play. Pads popped like a gunshot. Markle stood over the linebacker he’d flattened and let out a battle cry.

  “Wooooo! You do not take on Markle! Not ’less you want a mouthful of shoulder pad! Chump!”

  Coach Kinen looked from the knot of players swarming Markle back to Danny. “When you might not even play, Danny.”

  Coach Kinen wore a pained expression. “I can’t just stick you back into the starting lineup. Markle has played too well, and we’re on a roll.”

  “I’m not asking you to stick me back in, Coach. I’ll earn my job back. I just need a chance.” Danny tried to sound strong and confident, and he thought he was doing a pretty good job.

  “You’re a seventh grader, Danny. You’ve got all next year,” Coach Kinen said.

  “Coach, I’ve done everything everyone’s asked me to do. Crutches for five weeks. Ice, ice, ice. Working the leg machines. Sitting or standing here like a ghost so I know all the new plays. Working in school—and after school—so I can pass Ms. Rait’s class, just so I can play. And now I’ve got clearance from the doctor—”

  “Not yet, you don’t have it.”

  “Well, I will have it. And you’re saying ‘wait till next year’?” Danny paused for a moment, staring at his coach, wanting to say something he couldn’t have dreamed of saying until today, and still not sure if he could say it.

  “Coach.” Danny lowered his voice and took a deep breath. “What happened to my dad taught me that you don’t know what next year is gonna be. I might not be here. You might not. We don’t know. We know about now, though. We know I’m gonna be back and ready to go, and I still think I’m the guy who’s gonna help you win that championship. I just need a chance.”

  Coach Kinen held his chin. “Well, I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no either. We’ll see what Doc Severs says on Friday; then I’ll make a decision.”

  Without giving Danny a chance to respond, Coach Kinen blasted his whistle and shouted, “Okay! Line with Coach Willard for
one-on-ones! Backs with me for seven-on-seven!”

  Off he went, leaving Danny to chew his lip.

  “You look pretty morose.” Ms. Rait sat at her kitchen table with her hands folded.

  Danny wrinkled his mouth. “What’s that even mean?”

  “Glum. Upset. Sad. A good vocabulary word for you.” She wrote it out on the scrap paper in front of her. “You can use it on your friends.”

  “Perfect,” he said, slouching down into the chair opposite her. “Where’s Mrs. McGillicuddy?”

  Ms. Rait took a sip from her glass of iced tea. The cubes clinked. Her face glowed. “I think she had her kittens!”

  “What? Really?” Danny stood up and went to the window to look out at the old chicken coop.

  “I think so. The door is painted shut, so I can’t get in there, but she’s in there most of the time, looking slimmer, and acting funny, so . . .”

  “How will you get them out?”

  “They’ll come out when they’re ready. I imagine it’ll be a couple weeks before you can take one home.”

  Danny returned to the table and sat down. He hadn’t gotten an answer from his mom yet. He planned to just show up with a kitten and hope her heart melted. “Ready?”

  “Always.” She took out her first sheet and they began to go over it.

  They worked hard for an hour. Danny felt good. He was getting it, and Ms. Rait praised him.

  “Let’s do the practice test,” Danny said.

  “Um . . . you might want to wait until the weekend. We’ve got more to do.” Ms. Rait tapped her pen on the side of her glass.

  “I can do it. C’mon, Ms. Rait. You always say, ‘reach for the stars,’ so I’m reaching.”

  She paused and looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded. “Oh, okay. But call your mom and tell her we’ll be an hour late. I don’t want her to worry.”

  Danny called his mom, who said it was fine.

  Danny took the test. It was harder than he thought. There were words he didn’t know and couldn’t guess. They left gaping holes in the paragraphs he had to answer questions about. Still, he told himself he only needed two out of every three to be correct, and some answers were easy. He kept his spirits up and handed it over when she said, “Time.”