The Extra Yard by Mike Lupica Page B

just thinks he’s so cool he can win everybody over, including me.”
    â€œMaybe,” Cassie said. “But you don’t know that yet.”
    â€œI still think he’s an idiot for leaving my mom and hurting her.”
    â€œIs that what this is about? Or that he left you? And hurt you?”
    â€œAnd now I’m just supposed to let it all go, is that what you’re saying?”
    â€œYup,” she said. “Let . . . it . . . go.”
    â€œAre you ready to go?”
    She jumped to her feet. “I am!”
    â€œBefore we go, can I ask you one serious question?” he said, trying to make his face serious.
    â€œSure,” she said.
    â€œIf you do get on television, which Simpsons character do you think you’ll be?”
    This time she chased him.

NINE
    I t was the morning of the first game of the season, and the first official game of Teddy’s life, against the Hollis Hills Bears, eleven o’clock, Holzman Field.
    Teddy had to stop himself from putting on his uniform before he went down to breakfast.
    He had laid out everything neatly before he went to bed, everything except his number 13 jersey, which was hanging in his closet. His mother had washed his pants after practice on Thursday night, and they were draped over the reading chair next to his desk. His socks were on the chair too, and the gray “Wildcats” T-shirt he would wear under his jersey. His shoulder pads were on his desk.
    Everything still looked brand-new. He hoped that none of the guys noticed he had even polished his black spikes.
    His helmet was on the nightstand.
    Teddy had been awake since six thirty but waited until eight to go downstairs, messing around on his laptop until then, trying to calm himself down, knowing how long it was until kickoff. There was always a lot of nervous excitement before big baseball games, especially once they’d made it to Williamsport and ESPN began televising them.
    He knew those games, played in front of the whole country, should have made him more nervous. They hadn’t. He liked baseball. But he had always wanted to be a football player, and today he finally was.
    When he got to the kitchen, his mom was at the table, glasses at the end of her nose, reading the morning paper. She looked at him over the glasses and smiled.
    â€œAny big plans today?” she said.
    â€œI thought I’d start by cleaning out the garage,” he said. “Then move on to those boxes of my stuff in the basement you’ve been wanting me to sort through, before I do all my homework for the weekend.”
    â€œWhat about mowing the lawn?”
    â€œWell,” he said, “I thought I should save something for after lunch.”
    She asked him what he wanted to eat. He said just cereal; his stomach felt too jumpy to try anything heavier.
    â€œI actually read that cereal and some yogurt is good for a football player before an early game,” his mom said.
    â€œYou heard , Mom? Where?”
    â€œI might have read something on the Internet.”
    â€œYou always have been so curious about the dietary habits of football players.”
    She got out the milk and cereal, some yogurt, and a banana to go with the cereal. As she laid everything out she said, “So how are we looking?”
    â€œI wasn’t this scared on my first day of school,” he said. “But Jack’s always telling me this is a good kind of scared.”
    â€œYou’re going to do great.”
    â€œI would settle for not stinking up the place,” he said. “Or not dropping a pass that would’ve won the game, or not fumbling. Or committing a dumb penalty.”
    She grinned. “Well, it’s always good to think positively.”
    â€œDid I mention that I’m hoping not to run out on the field without my helmet?”
    â€œYou know, I heard some players call helmets ‘hats,’ ” she said.
    â€œAnother thing