Whale Talk Read Online Free PDF Page B

sat down and explained it to him once, told him how ugly I get when people start yelling and telling me what to do, but he said I was immature, that someday I would look back and regret not giving what I had to my school. He’s not the real enemy here. You have to admire the consistency in his life. He played three sports here at Cutter, was a standout defensive back at a small college in Montana, and came right back here to coach. He married his college sweetheart, and they’ve been together since. He goes to church, takes charge when any family in town experiences a crisis. I mean, you can’t dislike the guy, even when he blurts out his “zero-tolerance” policy on letter jackets. On the other hand, what kind of person has time to dream up a zero-tolerance policy on letter jackets?
    After school I catch up with Chris again. Actually, he catches up with me hanging out in the journalism room trying to outsmart the Internet controls the school puts on to keep us on the straight and narrow as we travel the information highway. I’ve just typed in “chicken breasts,” hoping the browser will spit back a little bit about chickens and a whole lot about breasts.
    “What are you doing?”
    I swivel in the computer chair; Chris is staring at the screen. “Medical research,” I say, clicking Exit. “What are you doing?”
    He shrugs, glances uneasily at the door.
    “You worried about Barbour? The football guys?”
    He glances at the door again. “A little bit.”
    I tell him this is the safest part of the day. “This is when we know exactly where all those gorillas are. They’re out on the football field.”
    Chris laughs. “Gorillas.”
    I say, “Big hairy gorillas in shoulder pads,” and he laughs louder. “In jock straps,” and he squeals. It’s like playing with a little kid. I say, “Look, Chris, I have an idea. Your brother was a pretty big guy, right?”
    “Yeah, he was big. Way big. He played football. And baseball. He gots drafted….” He hesitates, and tears of remembrance rim his eyes.
    “I know, Chris. Everyone remembers your brother. They have his picture in the trophy case so we won’t forget.”
    He launches into all the statistics next to Brian’s picture, but I stop him. “I know, Chris. I read it every day, just like you do.”
    He looks around the room and moves closer and ina near-whisper says, “I don’t really read it; some of the words are too hard.”
    I say, “Yeah, but you know what it says, right?”
    He smiles. “Right.”
    “Okay, here’s my idea. Your brother was big, and you’re not quite so big.”
    He smiles.
    “So actually the jacket doesn’t fit you very well. I mean, when you wear it, I can’t even see your hands.”
    “I think I’m not going to wear it. Those football guys said they was gonna burn it.”
    I say, “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. Listen, now that you’re going to be a swimmer—”
    He smiles. “I’m gonna be a swimmer in the soft water.”
    “Right. Now that you’re going to be a swimmer in the soft water, we’ve got to have a way to identify you; you know, like let everyone know you’re a swimmer. I’ve got a great jacket at home that doesn’t fit me anymore. It has a big Speedo emblem on the back. Speedo is a company that makes swimming suits and goggles and stuff that swimmers wear. How about I give you that one, and you keep your brother’s jacket safe at home? You could put it someplace in your room where you can look at it every day. And then you can come to schoolin the Speedo jacket and everyone will know you’re a stud swimmer.”
    He laughs again, as if he’s never considered the idea of Chris Coughlin, the stud.
    He isn’t alone.

CHAPTER 3
    Boys’ sports at Cutter High School are driven by the downtown alumni, who call themselves “Wolverines Too,” almost as much as it’s driven by the athletic department, or by Mr. Morgan, the principal. That bothers me because the power behind Wolverines Too is a guy I never