The Big Game Page 6

  And so it went. Danny’s practice became a series of mistakes and mishaps, each one sending his mind further and further off course. After sprints and a pep talk, Coach Kinen turned his team loose before calling Danny back.

  Danny stood huffing and sweating while his coach seemed to study him. Finally, Coach Kinen said, “Danny, we open the season in three days and I gotta know where your head is at.”

  Danny looked away. Some heavy white clouds, stacked miles high, advanced on Crooked Creek like an armada of tall ships.

  “Danny? Are you with me? Did something happen?”

  Danny bit his lip to keep from getting emotional. “My English teacher hates me. I have no idea why; I think it’s a football thing. I don’t know . . .”

  “Rait?” Coach looked like he had tasted a lemon.

  “Yeah.” Danny explained everything that had happened, leaving out the part about her accusing him of not being able to read. “I’m terrible in English, Coach. Last year Mrs. Morgan helped me out. With this lady, I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

  Coach Kinen frowned. “Well, let me see what I can do. We can’t have her failing you. The marking period ends the week before the championship. It’d be a crime if you couldn’t play in the big game just because we’ve got some new teacher who doesn’t know what’s what. You let me work on this. Just make sure you do that Crenshaw thing—see him every day—without any trouble, okay?”

  “Sure,” Danny said. “He’s okay.”

  “Good. Okay, get out of here.”

  Danny felt instantly better. The heat didn’t seem so hot and the sweat stopped stinging his eyes. He changed in the locker room. When he slammed his locker shut, he turned and bumped into Bug, the huge offensive lineman who played right tackle next to Cupcake. Bug still had his football pants on beneath his big naked belly.

  “Hey.” It was more of a grunt than a greeting. “I liked that pancake you had.” Gabriel scratched his belly. “Making a bonfire Saturday night. You can come.”

  Danny didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. The enormous lineman was walking away.

  “Thanks,” Danny said.

  He headed outside with Cupcake, telling him about the invite as they went.

  Cupcake stopped and took Danny by the arm. “Bro, he’s called ‘Bug’ for a reason. He’s as weird as a three-dollar bill, but man can he drive block.”

  “Why ‘Bug’?”

  “Like Firebug. He never saw a pack of matches he didn’t want to light. He does these bonfires in the woods behind the old concrete factory just outside of town. Works on them all week, stacking branches and wood as high as he can.”

  “Lots of kids make bonfires,” Danny said.

  “Yeah, or light brush piles or old sheds and stuff; I know. We live in the country. But they say when Bug lights his fires, he just stares at the flames. Doesn’t say a word, but his lips move.”

  “Now, that’s weird.”

  “Yup.”

  They kept going to the parking lot where Cupcake’s brother, Herman, picked them up in a dirt-covered pickup. There was a sports bus that took kids home after practices let out, but it took so long to bring Cupcake home that his dad sent his older brother to get him so he could make an early dinner before helping with evening chores on the farm. Herman took after Cupcake’s dad, skinny as a beanpole with a beard wider than his hips. Cupcake was like his mom’s side, big boned and built like a barn. Danny’s house was right on the way to Cupcake’s place, and Herman was always happy to drop him off.

  Danny got out in his driveway and waved at Cupcake as they drove away in a cloud of dust. He smelled liver the instant he opened the door. His mom stood over a frying pan with a cigarette in one hand and a spatula in the other. The air was warm and heavy even though the AC was on full blast.

  “Pour us some iced tea.” By her tone, Danny could tell there was something she wanted to say. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  The plates and silverware had been laid out. There were three places. Danny didn’t want to ask if they were having company or if she’d just forgotten his father was gone. She’d done it before. He scooped some ice and filled two glasses. If a guest was coming she’d say so now, but she didn’t.

  Danny sat and waited until she carried the fry pan over to the table and unloaded the liver and bacon and onions onto their plates in a swirl of steam. They rarely ate liver. Danny and his mom loved it, but his dad hadn’t cared for it much and it usually caused a fight.

  Danny held his knife and fork, but he paused before eating. “You wanting to say something?”

  “Put your napkin in your lap,” she said, showing him how like he’d never done so before. “Eat your supper, then we can talk.”

  Danny hesitated, realizing two things: First, his mother had that mulish look on her face that said she would not be changing her mind. Second, the smell of the food was making his mouth water.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She butted out her smoke in the ashtray and picked at her food. Danny cleaned his plate in short order before pushing it away from him and leaning back.

  “So?” He eyed her cautiously.

  “So.” She pulled the garbage can out from under the sink so he could see it.

  Then she headed to the fridge.

  He watched her take a half-empty vodka bottle out of the freezer and pour it down the drain. Then she reached behind a stack of frozen vegetables and pulled out another bottle.

  She emptied that, too.

  Looking at him, she lifted each bottle ceremoniously and dropped it in the garbage.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “What are we doing, you mean,” she said. “We are taking control of our lives.”

  “So why don’t you throw out the cigarettes, too?”

  “Danny, you gotta work on one vice, one day at a time. They’re next, though.”

  She tied up the garbage bag and carried it to the back door, tossing it with a crash before returning to sit. “I got a call from Coach Kinen.”

  Danny nodded.

  “He told me about the counselor, and about the issue with your teacher.” She tilted her head. “You’re making your mark, I’d say, but not the way I’d like you to be.”

  “Mom—”

  She held up a hand to stop him, but he wanted to explain how the whole thing was nonsense. Markle got what he deserved and his teacher was a crab who Coach Kinen would set straight.

  “No. Listen. This is my fault as much as yours,” she said. “I need to get better, and you need to get better, and that’s what we’re going to do. No more smoking. No more drinking. No more fighting. And no more cheating.”

  She paused dramatically and delivered a bombshell.

  “Danny, the teacher thinks you can’t read.”

  Danny’s face heated up and he looked at his plate.

  “You’re a smart boy, Danny.” His mother sweetened her voice with kindness. “You can do your own work. You don’t have to be like Janey. Not many people are. Just be you. Maybe a little more studying and a little less Xbox, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He needed to get out of Rait’s class, and he hoped Coach Kinen could make it happen. He’d already heard that the other seventh-grade English teacher was a pushover. She was ancient, old enough to be a grandmother. She wore thick glasses and had hearing aids that needed constant adjustment.

  “I think Coach Kinen is going to get me into a different English class and everything will be fine.”

  “Okay, but no copying on tests, right?”

  “Okay,” he said, wanting to believe he meant it.

  “And this Mr. Crenshaw, let’s give him a chance. He seems nice, and he likes you, Danny.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Yes. I wanted to know what it was all about, and I’m glad they’re trying to help you. After your father—” She paused before continuing. “Well, I know you must be feeling things. Look, everyone’s on your side, Danny. Especia
lly me, even though I haven’t showed it. We’re going to see the principal tomorrow. And we’ll show them we’re okay.”

  “Mom—”

  “Don’t argue. We’re going.” She sighed deeply and looked around. “So let’s clean up the kitchen and go to town for some ice cream. You can ask your girlfriend.”

  “Janey is not my girlfriend, Mom.” Danny didn’t know if he was more embarrassed or angry.

  “Well, she’s a girl and a friend, and she’s welcome to join us.” His mom began clearing the table and Danny joined in.

  In order to prove what he had said to his mom, he refused to invite Janey even though he would have liked to. Scoops Ice Cream was spilling its customers out onto the sidewalk. It was in the corner of an old brick building with a law office and a nail place. Bugs swarmed the halo of the streetlight above in a way that reminded Danny of the townspeople below.

  They got their ice creams after a twenty-minute wait and stood eating them on the sidewalk. They were arguing about the best flavor ever invented when a familiar voice came from behind Danny.

  “Hello, Mrs. Owens.”

  Danny spun around and nearly dropped his cone.

  Ms. Rait appeared to be alone, and she smiled at Danny’s mom like they were old friends.

  “I’m Martha Rait, Danny’s English teacher.” She extended her non-crutch hand. She wore a loose T-shirt and cutoff shorts, although her leg with a brace had some kind of sock that went up over her knee.

  Danny’s mom looked at the teacher’s hand, confused and apparently angry, before she remembered her manners and shook it. “Yes, I’ve heard about you.”

  “Not all bad, I hope.” Ms. Rait laughed lightly and looked from Danny to his mom.

  “You’re new here,” Danny’s mom said. “Strangers always get the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Doubt?” Ms. Rait tilted her head.

  “Sometimes small towns have different ways of doing things is all.” Danny’s mom licked around her ice cream. “I’m sure you’ll figure how to fit in.”

  Ms. Rait chuckled. “I’m not sure what you even mean, but . . . oh, here’s my ice cream.”

  She turned to the side and accepted a small vanilla cone from none other than Mr. Crenshaw.

  Mr. Crenshaw passed off the cone with care, making sure Ms. Rait had a good hold before he turned to Danny and his mom. “Hi, Danny, is this your mom? Hi, Mrs. Owens. Bob Crenshaw. We spoke on the phone.”

  Danny’s mom seemed as surprised and suspicious as he was. What was the counselor doing with the teacher who was giving him a hard time?

  While Ms. Rait seemed like she had something to say, Mr. Crenshaw cut her off. “It’s always nice to put a face with a name, isn’t it? You two have a good night.”

  Crenshaw took Ms. Rait’s arm and gently led her away down the sidewalk. They hadn’t gone far before he said something to her that made them both laugh. Danny and his mom watched them until they turned the corner.

  “Strange,” his mom said.

  Danny finished his ice cream in the car. The teacher and the counselor made him uneasy. He couldn’t say why, until early the next morning when he and his mom walked into the principal’s office to find the two of them together again.

  Coach Kinen held out a chair for Danny’s mom. She took it. Danny sat between her and Coach Kinen. Across from them were Ms. Rait and Mr. Crenshaw. Mr. Trufant was at the head of the table, and he cleared his throat.

  “So,” he said. “We have a situation, and I’d like to work it out without too much of a fuss, but—in the best interests of Danny and our other students—we do need to get things straight. Ms. Rait, Danny has struggled with English, and the teachers before now have understood and made accommodations. I don’t want to simply pull some kind of power play when a nice discussion could set things straight. Am I being clear enough here?”

  Ms. Rait sat with her hands folded in her lap. Her dark eyes seem to shine. “Danny can’t read.”

  “Now, wait a minute . . .” Mr. Crenshaw looked at her in disbelief. “Martha, we talked about this.”

  Ms. Rait held up a hand to silence him and she looked around the table. “Everyone’s talked to me about this. ‘Push him through English.’ ‘Don’t make waves.’ ‘Danny’s special. He could make it to the big time.’ Well, I’m a reading teacher, and I want to teach him to read.”

  Coach Kinen pointed a finger at Mr. Crenshaw. “You said she was on board.”

  “She was.” Mr. Crenshaw glanced at Ms. Rait. “She is.”

  “No,” Ms. Rait said with a bitter smile. “I’m not. Not like that. What I will do is work with him.”

  They all sat in the stunned silence before Ms. Rait addressed Coach Kinen. “I’ll work hard, and Danny will have to work hard, but if we work together, I think he can pass the first marking period so he can play in your precious championship game.”

  “And what if he doesn’t pass?” Coach Kinen asked with a snarl. “You have no idea what’s at stake for this young man. The county title is the game the varsity coaches will see. The big game could put him on a track that ends with him maybe even being a first-round draft pick. That’s what he wants, and his momma, too.”

  She shrugged. “If he doesn’t pass, he gets an F. After that, it’s up to you all. I could care less if you want to make an exception that allows him to play football. Those aren’t my rules. My rules are: a student has to meet minimum requirements for me to give a passing grade. Anything less and I wouldn’t be doing my job, and I promise you that just won’t happen.”

  “Have you thought about having a job?” Mr. Trufant’s face had gone from red to redder as she spoke. “You don’t even have tenure, young lady.”

  Ms. Rait set her jaw and narrowed her eyes at the principal. “I was a unanimous selection by this school board, and unfortunately for me, I am also protected by the Americans with Disabilities Act. With all due respect, you don’t want to fight that fight with me, sir.”

  Mr. Trufant’s entire bald head had turned purple now, but he wasn’t finished. He pushed his steel-rimmed glasses up on his nose and then patted a folder on the table in front of him before removing a sheet of paper with some official-looking writing on it. He took out a pen and signed it before pushing it toward Danny’s mom along with his fancy pen.

  When Mr. Trufant looked up, Danny could see the strain in his face. “I somehow anticipated you might prove to be a problem, Ms. Rait. Fortunately, I know how to work around problems. Mrs. Owens, this is a class transfer form. You just sign it alongside my signature and we can end this charade.”

  Danny’s mom blinked and picked up the pen, which was nearly as thick as her index finger.

  “Mrs. Owens, do not sign that paper. I will teach him to read.” Ms. Rait looked like a woman possessed. She thumped her fist on the tabletop, and she spoke in a low, authoritative voice. “If you sign that, you’re signing Danny’s whole life away.”

  Danny’s mom looked over at him and he silently begged her to sign.

  “I . . .” Danny’s mom looked around the room. “I—I need to think.”

  The first bell rang and everyone, including Ms. Rait, jumped up. “I have a class. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Her crutch complained like a small metal mouse as she made her way to the door. Mr. Crenshaw sprang up and opened it for her before she disappeared. Coach Kinen reached across Danny and rested a hand on his mom’s arm. “Go ahead, Sharon. You go think about it. You’ll do the right thing. Ms. Rait has no idea what’s at stake. She never met someone like your Daniel. She doesn’t even know the future he can have in football.”

  Danny’s mom stood and gathered the paper, gazing down at Danny. “You all set here, honey?”

  “Mom, you—”

  “Stop, Danny. I need to think. We can talk tonight.” His mom’s hands shook and sadness seemed to smother her. “I need some space.”

  “Okay,” Danny said, and they watched her go.

  “You’re gonna be fine.” Coach Kine
n patted him on the back. “See you at practice, Danny.”

  “I believe you two have a counseling session.” Mr. Trufant was still stiff and angry as he left the room.

  “Want to wait here till the final bell?” Mr. Crenshaw asked. “So no one sees you going into my office?”

  “That would be great,” Danny said.

  When the second bell rang, he followed Mr. Crenshaw into his office and slumped down on the couch next to the bookshelf.

  “More reading today?” Mr. Crenshaw pointed at the books, and Danny searched his face to see if he was making fun of him. It didn’t look that way, and Danny relaxed a bit.

  “My friend Janey said I should talk to you.”

  “Only when you’re ready.” Mr. Crenshaw went to the game shelf, took down a box, and sat at the table. “Yahtzee?”

  “I have no idea what that is,” Danny said.

  “I can teach you.” He removed a small red cup from the box and loaded it with five dice before rattling them around and dumping them out. “Look, three sixes. That’s an awesome first roll.”

  Danny actually enjoyed the game. He quickly saw how calculating the odds could guide a smart player. With that and a little luck, he won by just three points on his final roll. “Yes!”

  “Haha! Well done,” said Mr. Crenshaw. “Played like an expert.”

  “Yeah, math is my thing.” Danny grinned.

  “Unlike reading.”

  Danny stiffened. “That’s how this works? You get me off balance, then throw a zinger?”

  Mr. Crenshaw sat back in his chair. “Why is that a zinger?”

  “Whose side are you on here? Hers? Is she your girlfriend?”

  “My personal life is off-limits.” Mr. Crenshaw’s eyes went briefly cold. “As far as a side, we’re all on your side, Danny. If we didn’t care, there’d be no problem.”

  “Really?” Danny huffed. “You try to fail someone and wreck his football career before it even gets started? That’s not being on my side.”