friends, a tough-looking bunch, each one a frequent visitor to the principal's office. They all wore red Converse sneakers, the old canvas style, with black laces.
"Where?" Jamie asked, folding his arms and frowning.
"I left it at my grandfather's," Troy said, the lie flowing effortlessly from his mouth. "I went over to his house after our game the other day and forgot to bring it home. I'll get it."
"The last goober that welched on me got bumped around in the hallways pretty good," Jamie said, smirking.
"I'm no welcher," Troy said. "You'll get your ball."
He'd seen Jamie and his red-sneaker bunch bullying kids, dumping their books in the halls, tripping them, and poking them in the back with pencils. Troy got ready with his tray, figuring if they tried to get tough with him that at least Jamie was going to get what was left of his mashed potatoes right in the mouth. As if they sensed this, the group parted and Troy walked through them with his tray.
After he got his tray on the conveyor belt, Troy looked around and ducked out the side door.
Troy got to football practice late. So, even though Coach Renfro barked at him and made him run two penalty laps, at least he didn't have to stand around and listen to Jamie. Coach Renfro treated every minute of practice as serious as if it were the final two minutes of the Super Bowl. Once practice began, even Jamie didn't get to chatter or fool around.
After stretching, they went to individual drills. The running backs and quarterbacks worked together on handoffs, then short passes. Troy got to take one turn for every five of Jamie's, but still he was smoother and quicker than the coach's son and the runners never fumbled the handoffs he tucked neatly into their arms.
Jamie's father pretended not to notice, but Troy would catch him looking, especially when they started passing the ball. Whereas Jamie's passes were wobbly and inaccurate, Troy's throws were crisp and precise, hitting the backs right in their hands. When the receivers joined them and the passes got deeper, Troy's throws would whistle through the air. He had the knack for leading his teammates so they didn't have to slow down. They just kept running full speed and the ball would be there.
But after three or four miserable attempts by Jamie to complete the longer passes, his dad blew his whistle to start the team drills. That's when Troy was told to learn by watching.
Halfway through practice, Troy was surprised to see another team arrive in half a dozen cars and vans. They had orange helmets and blue practice jerseys, and after piling out of their vehicles, they regrouped on the sideline of the Tigers' practice field. When Coach Renfro noticed them, he blew his whistle and called everyone in to announce that he'd arranged a scrimmage with the Norcross Knights.
Troy's team cheered. A referee even showed up wearing his stripes, and all the kids and coaches migrated from the dug-up practice field onto the pristine field where the games were played. The thick green grass had just been cut and the air was heavy with its smell. Jamie and a couple of his buddies started talking tough. That's when Troy noticed that Jamie was wheezing just a little at the end of his sentences. Troy stood on the sideline by the bleachers with the rest of the second-string players, watching the Knights beat the stuffing out of his team. He forgot all about the wheezing until Jamie dropped to the ground and began rolling back and forth on the grass.
Coach Renfro ran out onto the field, pulled his son's helmet off, and loosened his shoulder pads. When he found out that Jamie hadn't taken his allergy medicine, his face turned purple and he growled at Jamie. While Coach Renfro and one of his assistant dads helped Jamie off the field, Troy heard Jamie's dad tell the Knights' coach that they couldn't scrimmage anymore.
"You gotta have another quarterback," the Knights' coach said, rumpling his brow.
Troy didn't hesitate. He jammed his helmet
"Where?" Jamie asked, folding his arms and frowning.
"I left it at my grandfather's," Troy said, the lie flowing effortlessly from his mouth. "I went over to his house after our game the other day and forgot to bring it home. I'll get it."
"The last goober that welched on me got bumped around in the hallways pretty good," Jamie said, smirking.
"I'm no welcher," Troy said. "You'll get your ball."
He'd seen Jamie and his red-sneaker bunch bullying kids, dumping their books in the halls, tripping them, and poking them in the back with pencils. Troy got ready with his tray, figuring if they tried to get tough with him that at least Jamie was going to get what was left of his mashed potatoes right in the mouth. As if they sensed this, the group parted and Troy walked through them with his tray.
After he got his tray on the conveyor belt, Troy looked around and ducked out the side door.
Troy got to football practice late. So, even though Coach Renfro barked at him and made him run two penalty laps, at least he didn't have to stand around and listen to Jamie. Coach Renfro treated every minute of practice as serious as if it were the final two minutes of the Super Bowl. Once practice began, even Jamie didn't get to chatter or fool around.
After stretching, they went to individual drills. The running backs and quarterbacks worked together on handoffs, then short passes. Troy got to take one turn for every five of Jamie's, but still he was smoother and quicker than the coach's son and the runners never fumbled the handoffs he tucked neatly into their arms.
Jamie's father pretended not to notice, but Troy would catch him looking, especially when they started passing the ball. Whereas Jamie's passes were wobbly and inaccurate, Troy's throws were crisp and precise, hitting the backs right in their hands. When the receivers joined them and the passes got deeper, Troy's throws would whistle through the air. He had the knack for leading his teammates so they didn't have to slow down. They just kept running full speed and the ball would be there.
But after three or four miserable attempts by Jamie to complete the longer passes, his dad blew his whistle to start the team drills. That's when Troy was told to learn by watching.
Halfway through practice, Troy was surprised to see another team arrive in half a dozen cars and vans. They had orange helmets and blue practice jerseys, and after piling out of their vehicles, they regrouped on the sideline of the Tigers' practice field. When Coach Renfro noticed them, he blew his whistle and called everyone in to announce that he'd arranged a scrimmage with the Norcross Knights.
Troy's team cheered. A referee even showed up wearing his stripes, and all the kids and coaches migrated from the dug-up practice field onto the pristine field where the games were played. The thick green grass had just been cut and the air was heavy with its smell. Jamie and a couple of his buddies started talking tough. That's when Troy noticed that Jamie was wheezing just a little at the end of his sentences. Troy stood on the sideline by the bleachers with the rest of the second-string players, watching the Knights beat the stuffing out of his team. He forgot all about the wheezing until Jamie dropped to the ground and began rolling back and forth on the grass.
Coach Renfro ran out onto the field, pulled his son's helmet off, and loosened his shoulder pads. When he found out that Jamie hadn't taken his allergy medicine, his face turned purple and he growled at Jamie. While Coach Renfro and one of his assistant dads helped Jamie off the field, Troy heard Jamie's dad tell the Knights' coach that they couldn't scrimmage anymore.
"You gotta have another quarterback," the Knights' coach said, rumpling his brow.
Troy didn't hesitate. He jammed his helmet
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