Read Online All Good Children by Catherine Austen - Free Book Online Page B

ditch.
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” Dallas says.
    We sprint up the driveway and keep running till we’re at our school.
    â€œThat was damaged,” Dallas says. “I should have recorded it.”
    â€œThey must be teaching kids differently this year.”
    â€œYeah. Maybe it’s part of the drama program.”
    â€œThat reminds me,” I say. “You owe me ten bucks for the Freakshow elimination. Juice is history.”

    The football team gets off at lunch on Friday to prepare for the afternoon game. We rub our classmates’ noses in the announcement. They boo us as we leave. This is New Middletown school spirit.
    The primary colors are blazing outside—clear blue sky, severe yellow sun, blood red leaves on the distant maples. It’s dry and dusty and difficult to breathe. The field is hard as concrete and prickly with dead grass.
    Coach Emery works us easy but talks us to death. Do this. Do that. Grind those Devils into dust! The Blue Mountain Devils are the visiting team. They’re from the southeast quadrant— rich kids. They wrecked us in the playoffs last year because Brennan had pneumonia and no one else can throw a ball.
    The Devils descend from their bus in brand-new blue and beige uniforms. Some Devil’s daddy must be a generous football fan. We grumble in our faded black and white jerseys.
    Thirty students straggle out to watch our game. Pepper sits in the bleachers wearing a Scorpions hat and waving a clacker. Every time I look at her, she’s watching me. She’s almost never watching Dallas.
    The Devils left their cheerleaders at home, so ours relax in the absence of competition. Kayla leads three dull songs, then sits on the dirt with her friends while Montgomery shimmies and shouts, “Let’s go, team!”
    It’s a tough game from the kick-off. Two new Devils are as big as Bay and as aggressive as throwaways. We can’t get two yards with the ball before we’re taken down. They pile into Dallas wherever he goes, slam into Brennan each time he raises his arm. We give it right back to them, but they live up to their name and take one to the end zone.
    It’s 7–0 at halftime, and it stays 7–0 till there’s only five minutes left of the last quarter. We call a time-out and kick the crumbs of our mental stamina into a huddle. Kayla revs up her cheerleaders. Go, team, go.
    Coach Emery doesn’t waste time yelling. “We lose the play when the ball’s in the air,” he says. “Get the ball to Connors and help him clear a path. Do not throw it to him. He cannot catch. Just hand it to him and let him run, son.”
    Dallas and I wince at the word son —me because I have no father to call me that anymore, and Dallas because his father reserves the word for Austin.
    As if on cue, Dr. Richmond thumps down from the stands and breaks into our sacred team pep talk. He looks uniformed—black pants and vest, white shirt stained a wet yellow at the collar and armpits. He reeks of alcohol. It’s shocking—it’s barely four o’clock and school policy is zero tolerance. He drapes an arm over Coach Emery’s shoulder. “What these boys need is to pull off their goddamned pantyhose and start playing football!” he shouts. “I’ve never seen such pussies in my life, and, believe me, I’ve seen a lot of pussies.” He breaks into drunken laughter, wheezing and coughing, honking deep in his throat.
    Dallas stares at his father with his eyes and mouth gaping.
    â€œYou!” Dr. Richmond grunts. “You’re the worst one out there. You’re losing the ball to kids half your size! You want Austin to sneak into uniform and help you out?”
    Scarlet blotches bloom behind Dallas’s mask.
    â€œOr how about that pretty cheerleader?” his father adds, leering at Kayla. “I bet she could get you boys going.” He smiles around the huddle with his