Kick by Walter Dean Myers Page B

asked.
    â€œI got into fights when I couldn’t avoid them,” I said. “But this kid has an exaggerated sense of right and wrong. This team they were playing outsized them and they were going to use their muscle to win. Nothing wrong with that as long as they kept within the rules. Kevin’s coach was yelling at his team to use their speed. But when this one player got a little dirty, Kevin went right after him. It wasn’t pretty.”
    â€œMaybe it was because of all the tension he’s under.”
    â€œWhy do women always have to make excuses for children?” I asked. “If he was wrong he was wrong. Period.”
    â€œNow who’s being belligerent?”
    â€œIf you say so,” I answered.
    I wasn’t going to let Carolyn draw me into an argument. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t budge off her position and we both knew it, so there was no use in even continuing the conversation.
    â€œDid you at least leave him on good terms?” she went on.
    â€œCarolyn, I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
    â€œWas your father as stubborn as you are?”
    I picked up the remote and clicked on the news. I saw there was a traffic tie-up on Route 4 near Teaneck. They had an officer explaining how some college kids had rigged a motor to a couch and tried to drive it along the highway.
    â€œIt broke down a quarter of a mile before they got to Fairleigh Dickinson,” he explained. “That’s apparently where they were headed.”
    â€œYou have an excuse for those idiots?” I asked Carolyn.
    â€œNo, your honor!” she answered.
    We sat around for an hour watching television, and she was clearly being stubborn by not speaking to me. I was thinking of going up to bed when the doorbell rang. Carolyn answered it and came back quickly.
    â€œThere’s a contrite young man to see you,” she said.
    I got up and went to the door. Kevin was sitting on the top step.
    â€œHow did you get over here?”
    â€œBike,” he said, pointing to my front lawn. “Twelve and a half minutes.”
    I looked and saw his bicycle on its side. “What’s up?”
    â€œI know you were mad at me for fighting today,” he said. “And I guess I was pretty mad, too. But I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Christy called when I got home. She said the transmission on the car wasn’t working and her father thinks I messed it up. I don’t think I did, but he was saying that he hoped I got five to ten years.”
    â€œYou won’t get that long as a juvenile,” I said. “Not with a clean record.”
    â€œI thought maybe . . . you know, if you talked to him, you could convince him that I’m not that bad a guy,” Kevin said. “Christy thinks he’s mad at her, too.”
    â€œMaybe when your team is playing again and you can’t play, we’ll go over to his house and talk to him,” I said.
    He looked down at his hands. “Sergeant Brown, it’ll kill my mom if I have to go to jail,” he said.
    â€œDid you ever talk to him yourself?” I asked. “Tell him you’re sorry?”
    â€œHe won’t listen.”
    I sat down next to Kevin.
    â€œDid he ever hit the girl?”
    â€œChristy? I don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know or you don’t know if you want to tell me?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t think he hits her,” Kevin said.
    â€œI’ll have to check with my commanding officer about speaking with him again,” I said. “It can’t look as if I’m putting any pressure on a citizen not to press charges if he wants to do it.”
    â€œOkay. I’m just pretty worried,” he said. “And I don’t really know anyone else to turn to. I don’t think the lawyer is going to impress him.”
    â€œYou need to be getting home,” I said. “And call me so I know you’re home