The Crazy Horse Electric Game by Chris Crutcher Page A

run earlier. He envisions the neighbors looking out their windows at the Weaver cripple stumbling by; shaking their heads, telling each other what a shame, he had so much potential. No way. Willie will run in the dark.
    The so-called “run” takes him nearly half an hour. Nothing about it feels athletic, nothing pleasing. Used to be Willie ran and his whole being fell into a cadence; a rhythm in which he dreamed his dreams of glory for miles. Now he only wants to get it over with, get intothe safety of his bathroom; turn out all the lights and let the hot water wash over him. He lives his days from sanctuary to sanctuary: his dark shower, the back room in the school library, even the toilet stalls in the rest room. Sometimes between classes he goes there to sit, pretending to be constipated so he can just have that time. Within a week of the day his dad shoved him back into the world, Willie had scouted out all the caves.
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    â€œI was wondering if you’d be interested in taking over the team-manager position for girls’ basketball.” Mr. Walker has called Willie into his office during study hall. “Allen Silver has to quit because his dad wants him to work after school. Coach and I thought you might like to get around sports again.”
    Willie pauses before speaking. He’s learning he has to hear himself inside his head first; sometimes even see the words. “I don’t…know. I’ll…have to…think…about it.” It’s embarrassing, especially around adults, to be so slow . He thinks fast enough…
    â€œWell, Willie, it’s certainly up to you, but consider you’ve been around athletics all your life. It might be just what you need.”
    Up to now, Willie thinks, athletics was a friend. He doesn’t try to say it; just nods his head. “Thanks,” hesays, and limps back through the outer office, banging his leg against the paper cutter on the counter; feeling his blood flush to his face as Mr. Walker’s secretary smiles. God, if people would just quit smiling at me all the time , he thinks. What the hell do they think I want to see anyone smiling for? He pictures himself wiping the smile off the secretary’s face with his fist, and gives a little satisfied snort. In these three months, anger has built to rage inside him and there’s no release.
    Johnny catches up to him in the hall, slows his pace to match Willie’s. “Up for a party?” he says.
    Willie looks at him as if Johnny were cat poop in the middle of his bedspread.
    â€œC’mon,” Johnny says. “What’re you gonna do, never go to another party?”
    Willie’s eyes get big and he nods vigorously. “That’s…right,” he says, and thinks: You turd. That’s exactly right. I’m never going to another party. What the hell is the matter with you? But he only nods faster.
    â€œBullcrap,” Johnny says. “I’m having a party at my place on Friday night. Parents will be in Helena. All people you know; ball players and stuff. Jenny’s going to pick you up.”
    Willie breathes a big sigh and sets his jaw.
    Tears well in Johnny’s eyes. “Weaver, you’re still theguy that put it to Sal Whitworth. Every guy on the team knows why he has a championship ring. It’s not your fault you got hurt.” He wipes his eyes furiously. “I’m your friend, man. I wanna stay your friend, but I don’t know what to do . Really. Just tell me what to do. I been running around being careful and trying to make it so you don’t have to talk and backing off just like everyone else. But if I were you and everybody treated me like that, I’d hate it, and I’m supposed to be your friend and I don’t want to be like that. So just tell me what to do, God damn it.”
    Willie looks at Johnny and leans against the wall, shaking his head; takes a deep breath and lets it out. His anger