First Team Read online

  “So, until your daddy lives in a mansion on the hill, you just settle into your place on the bench.”

  Brock blinked and Van Kuffler suddenly broke into a wicked smile.

  “That’s all, boy. That’s all.”

  43

  Brock slogged into the locker room. Most of the players were gone already, and it stunk from so many boys and so many sweat-soaked pads that simmered day and night in the stuffy room. Brock shed his pads and crammed them into the locker. He changed into regular clothes, stuffed his dirty jersey and pants into a duffel bag he slung over his shoulder, and got out of there as fast as he could. Mak sat waiting on a bench in the shade near the bike rack.

  “Hey.” Mak stood up slowly. “Get some good extra work in?”

  “Even less than I got in team period.” Brock removed his bike from the rack.

  “Man, that Van Kuffler better watch it. Everyone heard what Coach Spada said. You gonna tell him?”

  “What? Me? Go tell Coach Spada?” Brock shook his head. “I can’t see that.”

  “Well, you can tell Taylor.” Mak got his bike too.

  “I don’t know,” Brock said. “I’d have to be going to them every ten minutes with Van Kuffler.”

  The two of them started to slowly pedal toward town.

  “Too bad this isn’t the Old West,” Mak said.

  “Old West?”

  “Yeah. I could see your dad slapping Van Kuffler across the face and having a duel or a bar fight or something. Your dad’d wallop him.”

  “How do you know that about my dad?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, the guy looks at me and I’m scared. Everyone else too, I bet. He’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something dangerous about your dad,” Mak said. “Maybe you don’t see it, because he’s your dad.”

  “No. I see it. But we’re not in the Old West, are we?” Brock said.

  “Well, there’s gotta be something you can do,” Mak said.

  “Maybe,” Brock said, and left it at that.

  Brock stopped by the library with Mak. Laurel was in the back and couldn’t come out. This made Brock nervous, but when he texted her to ask if they were still on for tonight, she replied that she couldn’t wait, and that they had a surprise. When Brock expressed his excitement as they rode toward home, Mak rolled his eyes.

  “Girls,” Mak said. “You gotta be kidding me. My dad says girls are a slippery slope.”

  Brock turned his bike onto the bridge. Tar bled from seams in the road. Their tires made a sticky sound as they went.

  “Laurel’s different,” Brock said.

  “That’s what they all say,” Mak said. “That’s what my dad says.”

  “I gotta meet your dad, Mak. He says a lotta things.”

  “You will.”

  “Just not tonight,” Brock said.

  “Yeah, tonight is all mushy mushy.” Mak laughed and made kissing noises.

  “Whatever,” Brock said.

  “I guess, at least it got you out of being a lineman,” Mak said. “No matter how much of a jerk Van Kuffler is to you, you’re still a quarterback.”

  Brock bit his lip and nodded without smiling.

  They hung out that afternoon until Brock’s dad got home.

  “You gotta take a shower, Dad.” Brock sniffed the air.

  “I will. What are you worried about?” Brock’s dad took off his shirt. His skin was tan from their time at the beach and stretched so tight over his muscles they might have been stone.

  “And we gotta dress nice.” Brock slipped in front of the mirror and patted his hair.

  “Kim said jeans were fine,” his father hollered from his bedroom.

  “But nice shirts and new jeans. Come on, Dad.” Brock stared into the mirror until his father agreed and bumped him out of the bathroom so he could shower.

  When they arrived at Laurel’s house they drove right past the caretaker’s house. When they reached the opening, the place looked just as big as it had before, maybe bigger. There was a black Volvo SUV in the circle and Brock worried a bit if there’d be other guests. Their tires crunched the gravel as they pulled to a stop in front of the big stone steps. This time, they walked right up. Laurel swung the door open and yelled back into the house.

  “They’re here!” She grinned at Brock’s dad and took Brock by the hand. “Wait till you see the surprise.”

  44

  “It’s one of my favorite things,” Laurel said. “Oh, I better not say that. It’s not Splash Mountain at Disney World or anything, but it’s just fun. First dinner though, anyway.”

  Laurel led them through the house and out the back. A table draped with a white cloth had been set out on the terrace under a billowing white tent. Candles burned in the middle of flowery centerpieces.

  Brock nudged his father. “Your collar.”

  “Right.” His father felt for the collar of the polo shirt Brock made him wear and he straightened it.

  In a small circle of padded wicker chairs Laurel’s mom stood up, along with Taylor and a very pretty girl with long dark hair. Laurel’s mom took his father’s hand and kissed his cheek. “Well, hello. Don’t you look sharp? This is Taylor’s girlfriend, Gracie.”

  “Hi.” Gracie extended her hand. “I’m Gracie White. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Brock’s dad said, before shaking Taylor’s hand as well.

  Laurel’s mom sat back down in a love seat and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit, please.”

  They all sat down like three couples.

  “You’re blushing.” Laurel poked his arm.

  “No, I’m not,” Brock protested.

  A young man dressed as a waiter brought around trays of appetizers while another took drink orders from everyone. Brock followed Taylor’s lead and asked for a grape soda, then leaned back into the thick cushion of his chair, took a deep breath, and let it out. The evening was cloudy but with enough breaks in the sky for the sun to cast an occasional beam on the nearby woods, hills, and river, lighting up patches of green like discarded emeralds.

  At first, they talked about all the colleges recruiting Taylor—including Ohio State—and the outlook for the Calhoun varsity team, then the three couples broke off into conversations of their own.

  Laurel beamed at Brock and leaned close to whisper. “So, my brother got that first-team thing back on track today?”

  Brock hesitated, but quickly recovered. “He did. Yes.”

  Brock turned to Taylor. “Thank you for today.”

  Taylor smiled and hugged his girlfriend closer. “Hey, my pleasure. You made me look good. That’ll straighten that Van Kuffler out good, huh?”

  “For sure.” Brock turned to Laurel. “I’m second-team QB. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  “Sorry about the library today. We got a shipment of books in and Mrs. Hubble won’t stop in the middle when she’s unpacking a new shipment.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Laurel looked around at her brother and then her mom and his dad. “So, this is kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

  “It’s great. You must love living on the river.”

  She looked out at it, wide and green, and as she did, a beam of sunlight made the surface dance with a golden light. “It’s always different. I like it even in the winter when it’s dark like licorice and the trees are frosted with snow. Sometimes it smokes like it’s burning underneath. Sometimes it’s so still I swear you could walk on it.”

  “You’re lucky,” he said.

  “I am.” She turned her blue eyes on him and everything inside him shifted. It made his throat tight and he coughed and looked around for one of the waiter guys and held up his empty glass with a questioning look that sent the waiter on his way for a fresh one.

  “I feel kind of bad,” Brock mumbled, and looked at her apologetically. “I can get my own drinks, right?”

  Her laugh was soft as the breeze. “It’s okay. Everyone likes to work for my mom. She fe
els bad too, so she overpays by a lot, and she treats everyone like an old friend.”

  “She’s really nice.” Brock looked over. Her and his father sat leg to leg, and she had a hand on his near shoulder.

  “She likes your dad,” Laurel said.

  Brock tried to keep cool. “My dad’s tough to get to know.”

  Laurel stared at their parents, who didn’t even notice. “My mom’s tough not to know.”

  “Opposites attract, right?” Brock said.

  “You think we’re opposites?” Laurel raised an eyebrow. “I thought you and me were kind of the same. We both like sports and books, right?”

  “You’re rich and I’m not,” Brock said.

  “We’re both nice.”

  “Everyone knows you, and I got one friend who’s a crazy man,” he said.

  “Neither of us has both parents. That’s a big one.”

  “You look at the bright side, and I’m always worried,” he said.

  She pinched his arm. “You’re right. We are opposites.”

  “Is everyone ready for dinner?” Laurel’s mom stood and motioned then toward the billowing tent. “Shall we?”

  They got up and started to move toward the table, and Laurel whispered to him. “I guess that’s why I like you.”

  Brock looked around. No one else could have heard Laurel, but his face felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t look at her, and when she sat next to him and poked his leg under the table, he could only stare down at the shiny plate and bite the inside of his mouth.

  “Yup.” She giggled. “Opposites.”

  45

  Dinner was served by two older waiters, dressed in black jackets and ties. They served each of the four courses from fancy silver trays. Everyone, even Brock’s dad, acted like that’s how they ate every day, using the big silver serving utensils to fill their plates while the waiters . . . well, waited with gloved hands firmly supporting the massive trays. The food also made Brock nervous, until he tasted it. There was a squash soup that tasted of cinnamon, soft-shell crabs over a bed of lettuce, small handmade raviolis in a cream sauce with mushrooms, and thick slabs of poached salmon dressed in colorful sautéed vegetables.

  For dessert, one of the waiters brought out a soufflé crested with blue flames. It tasted like vanilla from heaven.

  Brock felt like a king.

  The grown-ups had coffee and then Laurel’s mom tapped her water glass with a spoon and cleared her throat. “So, one of the great summer traditions in Calhoun is Three B’s. Laurel’s been counting on the fact that you haven’t heard of it. Have you?”

  Brock and his dad looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Wonderful. Laurel?”

  Laurel put her napkin down on her plate. “Three B’s are the Brass Bank Band, and we go by boat! So for us, it could be the Four B’s, or five I guess: Brass Bank Band by boat.”

  Laurel stood up at her place and looked around. “The Bank is the park in town that’s right on the river. Have you seen it?”

  “I think so,” Brock said.

  “With the gazebo?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Brock had a vague image.

  “So, every Friday in the summer, the Brass Bank Band plays in the gazebo. It’s like a big party. Everyone goes! It’s so fun. Come on.” She started away from the table and down the steps that led to the lawn.

  Everyone followed her to the stone boathouse, a smaller version of the main house. They went down the stone steps and into the boathouse where a rich wooden boat rumbled and filled the air with blue smoke. A man in a white captain’s hat stood at the wheel in the open cockpit. He helped them down into the boat where two long leather-cushioned seats faced each other inside a cabin with an open roof. As they backed out onto the river, Brock could see the stars. In the very back of the boat was a seat facing front. Laurel’s mom motioned to Brock’s dad and that’s where they sat.

  “I’d like to drive this thing, but Vincent won’t let anyone touch his baby.” Taylor sat down heavily on the seat across from Brock and nodded toward their captain.

  “It’s so much fun just to ride,” Laurel said. “I love to see the town from the river, especially at night. It’s all little lights, like the stars. Don’t you love it, Gracie?”

  “I do,” Gracie said.

  “You see?” Taylor leaned over, put a hand under Gracie’s chin, and gave her a kiss. “The perfect girl.”

  Laurel nudged Brock. She winked at him and rolled her eyes. He ran his fingers along the smooth wood. The engine droned like a monster bee. They surged through the water and Brock saw that there were other big homes on the water, but only on Laurel’s side of the river.

  “Why isn’t anything on this side but trees?” he asked.

  “When it floods, that’s where the water goes,” she said. “It’s mostly woods and farm fields.”

  “The Flatlands,” Brock said.

  “Well, when you get closer to town, there’s the bank where the old factories were built and beyond them, yes, that’s the Flatlands. It used to flood pretty regularly, but they built a levy in the thirties.”

  “No more floods?”

  She gave him a confused look. “I don’t think so. Look, there’s the Kents’ place. Their great-great-grandfather and mine started the timber company together.”

  Brock studied the mansion that was built in a much different style than Laurel’s place. The Kents’ place looked like a southern plantation with a big brick body, towering white columns, and a wide flat roof.

  “Wow. Nice.” Brock didn’t know what else to say.

  They rode for a couple of minutes, chugging along, the drone of the motor drowning out the other conversations.

  “Hey.” Laurel nudged him again. “I’m sorry. I don’t care about all that stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Brock thought he knew.

  “The Kents. The lumber company. Big homes. It’s fun, but it’s not what’s important. People are important. Like you.” She tapped his knee.

  “Why do you say that? About me?”

  46

  Laurel shrugged. “My mom always said I was a good judge of people. I can see right into them.”

  “Oh yeah? What do you see?” He looked into her blue eyes.

  Her face got serious and she spoke that way too. “I see quiet. Secretive . . . I’m not the first girl you ever liked, but I scare you. You love your dad and you respect him a lot. I think you’re playing football to fit in, but you’re excited because you also know that you could be really good.”

  Brock’s mouth lagged open. “Wow.”

  “You asked.”

  “What’s there for me to say? I can’t tell you anything about yourself except you’re nice and you’re the prettiest girl I think I’ve ever seen.”

  It was her turn to blush.

  “Hey. What’d you say to her Brock?” Taylor laughed and spoke over the motor. “Laurel doesn’t blush for anyone. Now you? Looks like they got sunburned, don’t they, Gracie?”

  “Stop. Leave them alone.” Gracie laughed and tugged on Taylor’s arm.

  “Look.” Laurel pointed as they passed under the bridge. “Town.”

  Yellow lights sparkled through the trees. The hum of music from the band floated on the breeze. Brock smelled cotton candy and popcorn. People milled about on the grass, many of them spread out on blankets. Colored balloons bobbed on strings tied to children’s wrists. It was a giant party. The long L of a concrete pier jutted out into the river. They weren’t the first boat to arrive, but there wasn’t another one quite as nice as their shiny wooden craft.

  The captain pulled up alongside the pier, tossed some bumpers over the side and with expert precision nudged the edge. He hopped out, lashed the boat, then helped them off. Brock’s dad offered his arm to Laurel’s mom. When Taylor did the same to Gracie, Brock felt his face burning, but offered up his arm to Laurel. She grinned and took it with a squeeze. Brock straightened his back and was very aware of the looks people gave the si
x of them as they walked off the pier and into the park, moving among the people and making their way toward the concession stand to buy ice cream cones.

  “You want a balloon?” Brock licked his cone and pointed to a man dressed in red and white stripes with a tank of helium and a bundle of colorful balloons who bobbed his head to the tune of the brass band.

  Laurel laughed. “My dad used to buy me balloons and I’d set them free on the river on the way home. He said the angels would watch me especially hard when I sent them balloons. He said angels love balloons.”

  Brock dug into his pocket and came up with some rumpled bills from the allowance his dad always gave him. He bought two balloons, a red and a blue, and tied them to Laurel’s wrist. Laurel’s mom had a blanket under her arm and they found a place on the grass where she spread it out with one hand, balancing her ice cream cone in the other.

  As they sat down, Laurel turned to Brock. “You want to walk around a little?”

  “Sure.” He offered his arm again.

  “Don’t be gone all night.” Laurel’s mom turned her cone around and around.

  “We’ll come back,” Laurel said. “Promise.”

  Brock had Laurel’s arm, but it was she who led him toward the shops on Main Street. Most of the people were in the park, so only a handful of other people also wandered the street, looking into the shop windows. They reached the end of the shops where the sidewalk turned from brick to concrete and people’s homes began, then crossed the street and started back down the other side. Brock scanned the faces of the people they saw, just wishing for Wentzel or Wally Van Kuffler, or even Coach Van Kuffler himself, to see him walking arm in arm with Laurel Lehman. That would give them something to think about. They were halfway down the street when the wooden door to a place called Young’s Irish Pub flew open and two men spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  They nearly tripped over Brock and Laurel, excusing themselves as they walked on past. Brock took only two more steps before he stopped and looked back. They talked funny, and something about one of the men reminded him of someone. He couldn’t place who or where, but when he turned around, the man was staring coldly at Brock and it hit him.