million dollars to play football,â Sam said, grinning. âBesides, Barnhart wouldnât let a girl on the team, anyway.â
âEven if she was the best player to try out?â
âYeah, but you wouldnât be, because Iâd be the best player to try out!â
âYou wish.â
âOkay, enough,â Mom said, holding up her hands.
âWhat position will you play?â Dad asked.
âMaybe wide receiver,â Sam said. âCoach watches me a lot when we practice passing and receiving.â
âWhoâll quarterback for your first game?â I asked.
âMaybe Al Pickering,â he said. âOr Tom Luther.â
âWhen is it?â Mom asked. âWe want to come.â
Sam pulled a piece of folded paper out of his pocket. âHereâs the schedule.â
He handed it to Mom, who leaned over and studied the dates with Dad.
Now was my chance.
I pulled the dish out of my shirt, cut a huge piece out of my buckwheat cakes and scooped it into the dish.
I pushed the dish under the table. Bob was sitting in the corner of the dining room. I drummed my fingers on the side of my chair to get his attention.
Then I looked up. Sam was staring right at me. Uh-oh, I thought.
Sam started to speak, then closed his mouth. He got a funny look in his eye and gave me a tiny smile.
Bob trotted over to me and sniffed the cakes. In a minute, he had devoured all of them. He slobbered a little on my bare leg, but that was okay. Better to have prune whip on my leg than in my mouth. Bob trotted back into his corner, licking his chops.
Sam continued to watch me. âWhoâs your locker partner, Lizard?â His voice was super-casual.
âA girl named Ginger Flush,â I said. âSheâs a nincompoop.â
Mom and Dad were still looking over the schedule and murmuring about the dates.
âOther than that,â Sam said, âwhatâs she like?â
âSheâs stupid,â I said. âWhy do you want to know?â
âJust wondered. She talked to me in the hall. She said you two were locker partners.â
âSo whyâd you ask?â I said. âBy the way, she has a crush on you. She says youâre a hottie.â
Sam shifted in his chair and looked away for a minute.
It was fun watching him squirm.
âShe wanted me to put in a good word for her.â
âYeah?â Sam said. He grinned. âCool.â
â What? â
âThatâs cool, she thinks Iâm a hottie.â
âAre you nuts?â I said. âGinger Flush is a grade-A, blue-ribbon airhead!â
Sam shrugged. âShe seems okay to me.â
Mom turned to us. âWhoâs an airhead?â
Sam glared at me.
I ignored him. âSam wants to know about this girlââ
âWhat girl?â Mom asked.
âHere, Bob!â Sam called out. He whistled. âLizard has a treat for you!â
Bob came running right to me under the table.
âWhat girl?â Mom asked again. âWhat are you giving Bob, Lizard?â
At the same time Sam said, âNever mind,â and I said, âNothing.â
Sam and I glowered at each other.
Truce. We didnât have to say it out loud, but we both knew it. I wouldnât tell about Ginger; he wouldnât tell that I gave my dinner to Bob.
âOh, Lizard,â Mom said, smiling. âYouâve nearly finished your pancakes already! Would you like some more?â
âNo, thank you,â I said politely.
âSam,â she said, looking at his plate, âyouâve got a ways to go.â
Sam hadnât even touched his plate.
He scowled at me, and I smiled back very sweetly.
âYour mom makes the best chocolate cake on the planet,â I said.
âShe sure does,â Zach said.
We sat on the top step of his back porch in the fading light, devouring humongous slabs of cake and piles of ice cream. My mom wouldâve had plenty to say
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