were in alphabetical order, so my seat was right next to Young’s.
“Wow, an assembly,” she said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t a big assembly type, unless it was quiet enough to allow me to catch up on my Z’s.
“Hey, you weeg, scram!” I looked to see ALL-PRO bending menacingly over the kid who had the seat next to me.
“Howdy, pardner,” he said, settling in. He looked over at Young. “Who’s this?”
“My sister,” I said. “Young, this is Mikko.”
“You guys are twins? Cool.”
“Actually, I’m really thirty-one,” Young said. “I flunked a lot.”
“Really?” ALL-PRO looked amused all out of proportion to Young’s remark.
“Really. Of course we’re twins. Can’t you tell by the way we look alike?”
Mikko laughed. Young has a long, narrow face and high cheekbones, while my face is as round and formless as a wheel of cheese. About the only thing we have in common is Abogee’s cowlick, over the left eye for Young, right eye for me. Mirror images.
“So what is this all about?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” ALL-PRO’S eyes grew comically wide. “Like, really? It’s only the most important event of the school year.”
“So why don’t you tell us?”
“You wait and see.” He winked.
The lights went down and the heavy velvet curtains opened. Behind them was the principal—ALL-PRO’S dad—and Coach, and Coach Kearny. The cheerleaders stood behind a table that displayed a row of shining black helmets.
“Ready?” ALL-PRO’S teeth almost glowed in the dark.
It couldn’t be. The varsity team results were supposed to be announced today—but after school, at practice, I thought.
“Welcome, welcome,” boomed ALL-PRO’S dad. “Here’s the day we’ve all been waiting for, to find out who will be the representatives of the Miners for the upcoming football season. Let me turn the mike toMike—har, har—head coach of the varsity team, Mike Thorson.”
As the audience cheered, ALL-PRO whooped like an Indian. Young gave me a look, like who
is
this guy?
Coach took the stage.
“This will be our most exciting season in years,” he said, his tan washed out a bit by the strong stage lights. “The last time we went to the state tournament was ten years ago!”
“Bo-ring,” whispered Young. “Can you believe we get out of class for this?”
“Shhh.” I was engrossed.
“With this year’s lineup, we’ve got a record number of seniors returning, a junior who played varsity last year, lots of talent. This team is
experienced.”
A titter rose from the audience. Ever dignified, Coach ignored it.
“Let’s start with the captains. Returning senior quarterback, Leland Farrell.”
From the audience, the senior QB climbed onto the stage amid cheers, shook hands with the Ripanen-Thorson-Kearny triumvirate, took a helmet, and stood with it tucked under his arm. The cheerleaders’ pompoms made a sound like rain.
Monster Rom Kreeger was the other captain. Young jabbed me with her elbow and whispered “That’s Pigpen” when he got called.
“Our junior quarterback, Mikko Ripanen.”
“Hmm,” said Young.
“He
made the varsity team.”
ALL-PRO got out of his seat leisurely and sauntered to the stage. He was all solemn shaking hands with the coaches, but when he was supposed to shake his dad’s hand, he reached out and pinched his cheek—to loud roars of approval.
Mr. Ripanen put his hand to his cheek and pretended to swoon.
“People in this school are weird,” Young remarked.
More roars, laughter while other names were called.
“And last but not least is our kicker, Jann Kim!”
Jann, Chan—close enough. He could have called me Jennifer, for all I cared.
Young’s mouth was open, moving slightly, as if she was saying, “It couldn’t possibly be you!”
I floated all the way to the stage. One helmet winked under the lights. I grabbed it. I did my best to look stern, tough, like everyone else in line—but I just smiled
“Wow, an assembly,” she said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t a big assembly type, unless it was quiet enough to allow me to catch up on my Z’s.
“Hey, you weeg, scram!” I looked to see ALL-PRO bending menacingly over the kid who had the seat next to me.
“Howdy, pardner,” he said, settling in. He looked over at Young. “Who’s this?”
“My sister,” I said. “Young, this is Mikko.”
“You guys are twins? Cool.”
“Actually, I’m really thirty-one,” Young said. “I flunked a lot.”
“Really?” ALL-PRO looked amused all out of proportion to Young’s remark.
“Really. Of course we’re twins. Can’t you tell by the way we look alike?”
Mikko laughed. Young has a long, narrow face and high cheekbones, while my face is as round and formless as a wheel of cheese. About the only thing we have in common is Abogee’s cowlick, over the left eye for Young, right eye for me. Mirror images.
“So what is this all about?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” ALL-PRO’S eyes grew comically wide. “Like, really? It’s only the most important event of the school year.”
“So why don’t you tell us?”
“You wait and see.” He winked.
The lights went down and the heavy velvet curtains opened. Behind them was the principal—ALL-PRO’S dad—and Coach, and Coach Kearny. The cheerleaders stood behind a table that displayed a row of shining black helmets.
“Ready?” ALL-PRO’S teeth almost glowed in the dark.
It couldn’t be. The varsity team results were supposed to be announced today—but after school, at practice, I thought.
“Welcome, welcome,” boomed ALL-PRO’S dad. “Here’s the day we’ve all been waiting for, to find out who will be the representatives of the Miners for the upcoming football season. Let me turn the mike toMike—har, har—head coach of the varsity team, Mike Thorson.”
As the audience cheered, ALL-PRO whooped like an Indian. Young gave me a look, like who
is
this guy?
Coach took the stage.
“This will be our most exciting season in years,” he said, his tan washed out a bit by the strong stage lights. “The last time we went to the state tournament was ten years ago!”
“Bo-ring,” whispered Young. “Can you believe we get out of class for this?”
“Shhh.” I was engrossed.
“With this year’s lineup, we’ve got a record number of seniors returning, a junior who played varsity last year, lots of talent. This team is
experienced.”
A titter rose from the audience. Ever dignified, Coach ignored it.
“Let’s start with the captains. Returning senior quarterback, Leland Farrell.”
From the audience, the senior QB climbed onto the stage amid cheers, shook hands with the Ripanen-Thorson-Kearny triumvirate, took a helmet, and stood with it tucked under his arm. The cheerleaders’ pompoms made a sound like rain.
Monster Rom Kreeger was the other captain. Young jabbed me with her elbow and whispered “That’s Pigpen” when he got called.
“Our junior quarterback, Mikko Ripanen.”
“Hmm,” said Young.
“He
made the varsity team.”
ALL-PRO got out of his seat leisurely and sauntered to the stage. He was all solemn shaking hands with the coaches, but when he was supposed to shake his dad’s hand, he reached out and pinched his cheek—to loud roars of approval.
Mr. Ripanen put his hand to his cheek and pretended to swoon.
“People in this school are weird,” Young remarked.
More roars, laughter while other names were called.
“And last but not least is our kicker, Jann Kim!”
Jann, Chan—close enough. He could have called me Jennifer, for all I cared.
Young’s mouth was open, moving slightly, as if she was saying, “It couldn’t possibly be you!”
I floated all the way to the stage. One helmet winked under the lights. I grabbed it. I did my best to look stern, tough, like everyone else in line—but I just smiled
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