Crackback by John Coy Page A

veryspecific. “So many people died and were thrown overboard that schools of sharks followed the ships. If the Atlantic Ocean were drained, there would be trails of bones indicating the major routes of the Middle Passage.” Why haven’t we learned this before?
    Walking back from the library I decide four things:
    One, I need to know more about things like the Middle Passage.
    Two, I’m sick of Dad running my life.
    Three, I’m not asking anyone else to homecoming.
    Four, I’ve always done things with Zach, but I’m not sure about steroids.
    At home, Mom’s gardening in the front yard. “Look, Miles, the monarchs love the meadow blazing star.”
    â€œYeah.” Orange butterflies flit among purple spikes.
    â€œMonarchs winter in Mexico,” Mom says. “They look fragile, but they’re resilient. They’ll be back next year.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œGrandma called. She’s eager to see us next week.” Mom weeds around the blazing star.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” She stands up.
    â€œWhy’s Dad got to be like that, always blowing up?” The words burst out. “Why do we have to walk on eggshellstrying to be perfect, trying not to make him angry?”
    â€œListen, Miles. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not the only one with problems.” Mom pulls off her gloves. “Your dad hasn’t had it easy. Don’t forget, he lost his mom when he was thirteen, and those boys had to look out for themselves.” She shakes her gloves at me. “Your dad’s father was difficult, very difficult.”
    â€œBut why’s he always on me?”
    â€œHe wants you to do better. He doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes he did.” Mom sits down on the front steps. “Your dad cares deeply, Miles. He loves you.”
    â€œWell, why doesn’t he show it?”
    â€œHe shows it in lots of ways. He always has. I remember in the delivery room when you were born. He was so excited. ‘Look at the size of this guy,’ he told the nurses. ‘He’s going to play football.’ The hours playing catch with you. Coming to your games. Your dad supports you in lots of ways. It’s not his way, though, to talk about how he feels. You have to accept that.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause that’s the way he is.”
    On Tuesday, Fox is running first offense and Coach Stahl is clapping. “Let’s go, men. Crisp blocks. Drive them. Look sharp.”
    Jonesy in his sling and Stillwell on his crutches stand by the bleachers. Fox floats a pass that begs to be picked off, and Jonesy shakes his head. It’s a huge drop-off at quarterback.
    On defense, we run drills, but the energy level is low. Everybody’s still in shock after losing two quarterbacks in two weeks.
    â€œWe’ll end with special teams. Punting team, line up,” Coach Stahl shouts. “Go live.”
    We haven’t hit in practice since Jonesy got hurt, so I’m ready to crack someone.
    â€œWe’ve made some changes,” Stahl says. “Defense, go all out to block the punt.”
    Zach jogs back to receive. Brooksy spots to prevent a fake, and I line up at right end.
    â€œDown, set, hit,” Adams calls.
    I charge out of my stance and cut the corner. Nobody blocks me, and I’ve got a wide-open shot. I dive and feel the solid thump of the ball on my arm.
    â€œGood block, Man,” Zach cheers.
    â€œYou’re holding the ball too long, Adams,” Stahl says. “Punt the damn thing. Do it again.”
    â€œDown, set, hit.”
    I rush off the line, and again nobody touches me. I dive and block it a second time.
    â€œDammit, Adams. Quit jacking off.” Stahl smacks him on the helmet with his clipboard. “Speed it up, or we’ll get a new punter.”
    When the offense comes to the line, Tyson points at me. “Don’t block