by Tim Green
“I’ll make the pros,” Harrison said.
“You never know,” Coach said.
After lunch on the deck out back, Harrison changed his clothes and cut lawns with Justin, who couldn’t stop talking about the game. Harrison was just happy he didn’t talk about the dance. The third job on Justin’s list was Doc Smart’s.
“I thought he didn’t like you to do it on Sundays,” Harrison said.
Justin shrugged. “Not when he’s around. He likes the peace and quiet, but he said they’ve got two weddings to go to today, and the grass grew fast this week. We’re good, just like last time, as long as we’re done before he gets back home.”
“Well, I’m glad they won’t be there,” Harrison said.
“She looked miserable, you know,” Justin said.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
“All everyone talked about was you and us beating Clayborn. I think Varnett was drinking or something. He got sick in a trash can by the door. They left early.”
“Drinking?”
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s crazy. Maybe he wasn’t. That’s what people said.”
Harrison could only shake his head. That only made it worse, worse that Becky would go to a dance with someone that stupid, someone that out of control. If he’d been caught, Varnett would have been kicked off the team. Becky certainly wasn’t what she first appeared to be, that was for sure. Either way, Harrison wasn’t happy to see Doc’s Suburban roll into the circular drive before they’d finished the job. He kept his head down, focusing on the last bit of trimming as Doc’s family piled out of the SUV and went inside. He was just putting the weed-eater away when he heard them leaving again. After the sound of the engine disappeared down the driveway, he snuck a peek at the big white house with its unblinking black shutters, empty windows, and proud brick chimneys.
Until yesterday, he never thought he could belong in a place like that. His place was outside with the dirt, grass, and weeds. Now, though, with the sound of the crowd still ringing in his ears, it didn’t seem impossible that one day he would live in a house like Becky’s, the house of a doctor, a lawyer, or a pro football player.
Back home, Coach invited him to go fishing. They did, and as the sun sank low in the sky, Coach steered the boat toward the end of the lake where a pier jutted out from a busy public park. The noise of barbecues and happy people floated toward the cloud-ribbed sky.
Coach hopped out onto the dock and pointed to a cluster of huge old trees where a large white tent dressed in pink and white bunting sat like a birthday cake. The sound of violins drifted from the tent. “Look, a wedding or something.”
Harrison helped tie up the boat.
Coach offered to buy ice-cream cones at a concession stand not far from the pier, and Harrison’s stomach rumbled at the thought. As they waited in a short line, Coach gave Harrison a ten-dollar bill and excused himself to use the bathroom.
Harrison stood alone, studying the flavors on the board. He ordered a triple chocolate with sprinkles for himself and a single butter pecan for Coach. He stuffed some napkins in his shorts pockets, then paid for the cones. After taking one in each hand from the woman behind the counter, he walked out into the slanted sunshine and scanned the crowd in the direction Coach had disappeared. When he felt a tap on his shoulder, he spun around too fast, bumping into someone and knocking the triple ice cream off his cone. It landed with a splat.
Flustered, Harrison looked up, only to be shocked by who he saw.
Chapter Forty-Seven
BECKY WAS WEARING A pink dress with flat white shoes that looked like ballet slippers. Her hair was pulled up in a band of tiny white flowers. A smear of chocolate ran down the front of the dress, leading to the rapidly melting ice cream on the hot concrete.
“I’m sorry about your ice cream,” she said.
“Sorry about your dress.” Harrison wiped his forehead on his arm, carefully balancing Coach’s butter pecan, and looked away. “What are you doing, anyway? I thought you were afraid of me.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Why?” Harrison spit the word out.
“That’s right.” She crossed her bare arms and tilted her head. “Why?”
Harrison turned to face her, dazzled by how pretty she looked. The sun tinted her face red, a wisp of blond hair escaped the flowers and framed one side of her face, and her eyes were like frozen emeralds.
“You were so afraid I’d ask you to the dance. That’s right. I heard your father talking to Coach.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty.” Harrison scooped up the fallen ice cream with a napkin and dumped it in a trash barrel.
“I asked my father to stay out of it,” she said.
“After you told him I scared you.”
“I didn’t. He heard me talking to Rachel. I was crying, but not because I was afraid of you. It was because I didn’t want to say no to you.”
“You’ve got a boyfriend. Go tell him.”
“I don’t.”
“So you’re a liar on top of it all? You’re going to tell me that Adam Varnett isn’t your boyfriend?”
“No, he’s not. He’s my friend. Our families are friends. He asked me before you even came here. My father said I had to go, because I made a commitment. Trust me, I wanted to go with you.”
Harrison’s heart skipped a beat. He wiped his fingers on another napkin and kept the sour look on his face.
He handed her a napkin. “Here. Can I help?”
Harrison dabbed at the worst of the chocolate mess. Becky took his hand and hugged him before stepping back.
Coach appeared and cleared his throat. “Becky.”
“Hi, Coach. We had an accident. I was just telling Harrison that it’s okay.”
Harrison couldn’t speak, and his face felt hotter than the sun as he handed Coach his cone.
Coach licked melting butter pecan around the edges as his eyes followed the chocolate trail down the front of Becky’s dress. “Your father’s not going to be happy when he sees that mess. Are you in the wedding?”
“They already had the ceremony and the pictures, so it’s okay.” Becky’s smile made the ice-cream stain seem smaller. “Congratulations on the win, Coach.”
“Thanks. Come on, Harrison, let’s get you another. Bye, Becky.”
Harrison stared at Becky. She tilted her head and gave a small wave. He waved back and turned to go, catching up with Coach as he got into the back of the line. Harrison snuck a look at Becky as her blond hair and pink dress wove through the crowd before disappearing into the big tent.
“You don’t have to get me another one, Coach,” Harrison said, his mind automatically adding up the money it was costing the Kellys to support him, despite the big win.
“They’ll give us one if we tell them it fell off the cone. Don’t worry.”
The two of them didn’t speak until they were back on the boat. Harrison worked hard to keep the rapidly melting ice cream from dripping on his hand. He used his free hand to untie a mooring line while Coach got the other one. They climbed aboard, Coach fired up the engine, and they chugged away from the pier. Out in the middle of the lake, Coach cut the motor. Even from there Harrison could still see the tent and catch wisps of its music.
Coach took a bite of his cone and asked, “Can we talk?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
THE SUN SAT LIKE an orange Buddha on a bed of heavy clouds. Its light gave Coach’s face a golden glow. Waves lapped the boat’s aluminum skin.
“Sure,” Harrison said.
“About girls?”
Harrison looked at his feet in the boat’s bottom and scuffed at a stray piece of fishing line.
Coach hesitated before speaking. “It’s better to wait for that stuff, Harrison. It complicates things. That’s all.”
Harrison couldn’t look up. “I like her.”
“I like her
too. She’s a pretty girl. Be friends. Don’t get involved. Trust me. I’ve been teaching eighth grade for a long time, and before that I was an eighth grader myself. Trust me.”
“I do trust you . . .”
“But?” Coach asked.
“I . . . she . . .” Harrison shook his head. “I really like her, Coach.”
“Like her, like how?”
“It’s like a bomb went off in my chest.”
Coach let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure her father would appreciate that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Harrison looked up. “You can get hurt playing football.”
“Not like this you can’t. It’s worse . . . but it happens. I just wanted to warn you, Harrison. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just care.”
Coach tucked the last bit of his cone into his mouth and started the motor.
Neither of them talked to Jennifer about what had happened with Becky. She teased Coach about his fishing techniques while they ate, and by the time she served them chocolate cake and cold glasses of milk, Harrison wasn’t even thinking about Becky and the pink dress.
They watched Sunday Night Football until the third quarter. When Green Bay went up by thirty-five, Coach stood and said, “Big week this week, so let’s get you rested up. Me too.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Every week’s a big week to Coach.”
“Weldon has the best quarterback we’ll see all year.” Coach wore a serious face. “And a defensive end that we’ll be lucky to block with two guys.”
“Oh, football.” Jennifer waved her hand, put down her book, and got up off the couch. “Football on TV. Football in your brain.”
“Yeah, football, right, Harrison?” Coach winked at him. “We are on a roll. I can see the playoffs. I can see the championship.”
“I love it, Coach,” Harrison said.
Jennifer twisted her lips. “How about reading a couple chapters before you go to sleep?”
“I will,” Harrison said.
Coach said, “Well—”
“Uh!” Jennifer held up one hand to stop him. “School first. Books first. Next time, shut the game off at halftime.”
Coach knew better than to argue. Harrison felt warm inside just being around two people who were kind and affectionate and sometimes funny.
At breakfast the next morning, while Coach was in the shower, Jennifer moved the frying pan off the burner and turned off the stove. Instead of serving the eggs she’d scrambled, she sat down next to Harrison at the table and covered his hands with hers. She caught Harrison’s eyes, and for a moment he felt like he was looking at Mrs. Godfrey instead of her red-haired daughter, because their eyes were the same.
“Harrison, you like it here with us, don’t you?”
Harrison’s stomach turned over because he couldn’t help thinking that this was it, the bad news that would put his life back into the awful balance he was so used to. He nodded his head.
“Well . . .” She looked past him, out the window, and tears filled her eyes. “I hate to upset you, but I need to ask you a favor.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
HARRISON BRACED HIMSELF. “OKAY.”
She took a deep breath and held it for a beat before setting it free. “Harrison, I know you have a mom, and no one can ever replace her.”
He frowned and shook his head. “She’s gone.”
“But she’s your mom, and I don’t ever want you to think I don’t know you loved her, and you’ll always love her.”
“What do you want?”
She squeezed his hands. “I think you can see how much I care about you. You don’t have to do this, but I want you to start thinking about calling me ‘Mom.’ It would mean a lot to me, and that’s what I want to be.”
Harrison dropped his eyes. He let her hold his hands, even though his finger joints began to ache. He couldn’t look at her when he said, “What if something happens? What if I can’t stay here anymore?”
A short, puzzled laugh burst from her throat. “What? Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. “I never stay anywhere.”
“You can stay here as long as you want, Harrison. I promise.”
He looked into those green eyes. “Your mom said she never broke a promise. She said she’s been lucky that she never had to.”
A tear spilled down the side of Jennifer’s nose. She sniffed and nodded. “I’ve been lucky too, and now I’m lucky because I’ve got you.”
“Mom,” Harrison said, testing the word. He smiled, and this time he used it to mean her. “Okay, Mom.”
His new mom hugged him tight.
Chapter Fifty
FIVE WEEKS WENT BY and in that time, Harrison not only got used to calling Jennifer “Mom,” he couldn’t think of calling her anything else. He also stopped worrying that he’d wake up and it would all be gone. On the football field, he kept getting better and the team kept winning. Mrs. Godfey came, as promised, and watched him play in their last regular-season game. Afterward they had dinner at home, just the four of them.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Godfrey said, “you really are quite the football player. I heard people talking in the stands. What were they calling him?”
Harrison’s mom wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Unstoppable, Mom.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Godfrey’s eyes sparkled and she nodded with approval. “Unstoppable.”
The word “unstoppable” got printed next to his name in the local paper, and more than once. Most of his teammates began to admire him openly. Those who didn’t—like Varnett and Leo Howard—were too nervous about his viciousness on the practice field to say anything at all.
Harrison worked hard off the field as well, with Justin. Even though cutting lawns had ground to a halt because of the changing weather, Justin had lined up an endless supply of odd jobs they performed in the evenings and—when they had time—on the weekends. Harrison had a wallet fat with over two hundred dollars in it, more than he ever could have imagined.
In school, he sat with Becky every day at lunch. They texted each other when they weren’t together, and sometimes they even held hands under the table at Subway. Her father seemed okay with the two of them being good friends. He even complimented Harrison’s growing statistics of touchdowns and rushing yards.
When Becky had a birthday dinner at a Japanese steak house with her mom and dad and ten other friends, including Justin, Harrison got to sit right next to her. When she opened the present he bought with his lawn money, she sniffed and wiped the corner of one eye as she fastened the necklace around her neck. Harrison blushed and had a hard time getting to sleep that night.
Harrison wasn’t the only one soaking up the football glory. People began talking openly to Coach about how obvious it was that he’d get the varsity job next year. Brookton Junior High won its first two playoff games. If they could win the semifinal game against Larsonville, they’d be in the championship and play at a nearby college stadium where thousands were expected.
To get ready for the semifinal game, Coach decided to have a live scrimmage at the end of Thursday’s practice. Harrison ran all over his teammates, but Coach was careful to call some pass plays and other plays that let Harrison’s teammates in on the action as well. Late in the scrimmage, the quarterback completed a pass down to the two-yard line.
Coach blew his whistle. “Okay! Defense, you hold them on this play and you don’t have to run sprints. Offense, you score and you watch the defense run ten cross fields.”
The defense groaned because they all knew they’d likely have to stop Harrison.
“Let’s go!” Leo Howard screamed. His face turned purple. He slapped the shoulder pads of his teammates to urge them on.
Coach called a simple off-tackle run play, giving the ball to Harrison. The other players in the huddle chuckled with glee. Harrison lined up and bolted forward at the snap of the ball. He took the handoff and lowered his shoulder. A defensive tackle shot through the hole Harrison was supposed
to run through. He blasted the defender and sent him flying, but more defenders were on his legs.
Harrison churned forward. A cornerback darted in from the outside and jumped on his back. Harrison kept going.
With three defenders on him, he plowed into the end zone. Just as Coach blew the whistle to signal the touchdown, Leo Howard launched himself low—helmet first—and smashed into the side of Harrison’s knee. Harrison went down. Coach’s whistle shrieked again, signaling for the second time an end to the hitting.
The defenders climbed off him, and Harrison sprang to his feet and bounced on his toes, delivering the ball to Coach.
“You okay?” Coach asked Harrison, then scowled over at Leo.
“Fine.” Harrison wasn’t going to admit that he felt a sharp twinge in his knee.
Chapter Fifty-One
HARRISON KEPT THE WORRY off his face. Hiding his true emotions reminded him for the first time in many weeks of his life with the Constables, people with whom he hid his true feelings on a daily basis. It made him uncomfortable to revert back to his old habits, but Harrison had heard Coach scolding the other players often enough to know that football was a game that required one to get over the discomfort of little bumps and bruises.
He kept as quiet as he could at dinner, but when Coach or his mom asked a question, he was careful to reply with a flowery enthusiasm that disguised his concern. He knew how much Coach was counting on a win, so he waited until his mom was taking a bath and Coach was in his office, lit by the ghostly light of his video screen, before sneaking into the kitchen to fill a plastic grocery bag with ice from the freezer. With the covers over his legs, Harrison sat in bed, reading and icing his knee.
The cold made the joint ache even more, until after about fifteen minutes, when everything went numb. He got lost in his book, and when his mom came in to kiss him good night, he made a tent of the blanket with his other knee so she wouldn’t notice the lump from the ice bag. When everything was quiet, he slipped into the bathroom and dumped the melted ice into the toilet before flushing it down and stuffing the wet bag into the bottom of the garbage.