Two-Minute Drill Read Online Free PDF Page B

out and run with the ball himself. Chris would fight for every last yard, even when somebody managed to bring him down in the open field.
    Scott didn’t mind watching from the sidelines.
    Just being there, just being on the team, getting to wear a uniform, that’s what mattered.
    He knew he’d probably never leave the sidelines and do something to belong with these guys. And that was okay.
    It was still football.
     
    Early Saturday afternoon.
    Scott and Chris were lying in grass that had just been cut the day before, that cool, cut-grass smell all around them, a summer smell, watching the dogs chase each other around the goalposts, the sun warm enough on their faces that they really could still pretend it was summer vacation.
    Scott had been doing most of the talking, but only because Chris hadn’t been doing any talking at all since practice had ended. He’d tried to act like he was in a good mood in front of Scott’s mom when they were back at the house having lunch, but now he was like the complete opposite, as though he was barely listening.
    Like he wished he wasn’t there.
    Scott decided to ask him a question he’d been wanting to ask anyway. Just came right out with it.
    “How come you wanted to be friends with me?” he said, not looking at Chris, just staring straight up at the sky. Hoping Chris wouldn’t laugh at him. Or say something like “Who said anything about being friends?”
    Or get weirded out and just get up and leave.
    He didn’t do any of those things.
    “Dogs,” he said.
    “Dogs?”
    Chris rolled over, propping himself up on an elbow. “No lie,” he said. “It started when I saw you had that picture of Casey that day.”
    “Aw, man, that is so not cool.”
    “It was to me,” Chris said. “’Cause it’s the way I feel about Brett, even though I’d never tell any of the guys that.”
    “So we’re hanging out because we both like dogs?”
    “I’m not good at talking about myself,” Chris said.
    Scott grinned. “My mom says guys never are.”
    Chris rolled back over, like maybe he could find the right words in the sky. “When you talk about how hard you try, I could see that even before I knew you,” Chris said. “Does that make any sense? My mom says that the best thing anybody can have going for them is heart. And, I don’t know, somehow I could see you had heart even before we got out here.”
    He blew out some breath like even talking this much had made him tired.
    For a long time, nobody said anything.
    Then Chris said, “Can I ask you a question?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How come you didn’t tell Mr. D you could kick when he was looking for guys to kick off?”
    “Are you joking? Did you see how fast Big Nick went for that tee?”
    “You can kick, dude,” Chris said. “But Coach’ll never know that if you don’t tell him.”
    “I can kick here,” Scott said. “I can kick with only you and Casey watching. And you have to promise me you’re not going to tell anybody.”
    “Why?” Chris said.
    “Because I’m asking you to.”
    “I’m not promising until you tell me why,” Chris said.
    “Because I’m afraid, that’s why,” Scott said. He took a deep breath, wanting Chris to understand. “Because kicking is all I’ve got, and if I screw up, then I won’t even have that anymore. I won’t even be any good in my dreams.”
    “For a guy I said had heart, you can sound like such a baby sometimes!” Chris said.
    It came at Scott loud—and out of nowhere, like a clap of thunder you didn’t know was coming. Like something had been building up inside him since they’d gotten out here and now he had just popped.
    “What . . . ?” was all Scott could get out.
    Chris Conlan wasn’t through.
    He was on his feet, on fire.
    “You want to be afraid about something?” Chris was really yelling now. “How about somebody taking your whole stinking season away?”
    Then he picked up the ball and threw it as far as Scott had ever seen him throw it, toward the