Read Online Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher - Free Book Online

through the window to those samewoods, where he shot his first and only squirrel when he was fourteen. Granddad taught him to shoot the .22 and even sprang for the license and his first box of ammo. What Petey didn’t count on was running over to gather the furry trophy only to discover the triumphant moment turn hideous as he stared into the dead animal’s eyes. “Shootin’ things ain’t for everybody,” Granddad said when Petey returned in tears, and helped with a proper burial.
    “Johnny’s okay,” Petey says finally. “He just doesn’t know about humiliation. Probably because it’s never happened to him.” He smiles. “Or he didn’t recognize it when it did.”
    Granddad offers Petey more coffee, which he accepts. It is black and bitter and tastes like a boiled stick; but his stomach has begun to consume its own lining, and it is the nearest thing to food that won’t add weight. He needs to drop one more pound before this week’s JV match. “You know,” Granddad says, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up on his nose, “you’re the one puts the value on your friendship.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just that sometimes a guy like Johnny Rivers needs to know he can’t do any old damn thing at your expense.”
    “Johnny’s got lots of friends,” Petey says. “He doesn’t need me.”
    “Does he like you?”
    “I think so. I mean…”
    “Well, if he likes you, what I said is true. If he don’t like you, you’re wastin’ your time hangin’ out with him. But that’s for future reference. Seems like right now the problem you got is with this Chris Byers girl.”
    Petey winces, remembering. “Yeah.”
    “I got a rule,” Granddad says. “When there’s a problem, don’t do me much good takin’ it to anybody but who it’s with.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You got a problem with Chris Byers, take it to Chris Byers.”
    Granddad easily dodges the spray of coffee Petey chokes on. “What do you think it’s like for her?” he continues. “Bein’ a wrestler and all, if she’s pretty as you say?”
    Petey stares again out at the forest. He can’t imagine. “I don’t know, Granddad.”
    “That’s right. You don’t know. An’ when you don’t know, it’s ’cause information’s missin’. You think she don’t take hard a time bein’ a girl wrestler as you do wrestlin’ a girl?”
    “Yeah, but it’s her choice.”
    “But you don’t know why she made it. You want to maybe give yourself a chance to miss out on two weeks of pure anxiety hell, you drive over to Silver Creek and talk to her. And leave Johnny Rivers at home.”
    In his wildest imaginings Petey Shropshrire can’t see himself pulling up in front of Chris Byers’s house, placing his finger on the doorbell, and finding the strength to push it.
     
    “Hi,” Petey chokes, then grimaces. “Remember me?”
    “Not like you’re going to remember me,” Chris Byers says, standing in cutoff jeans and a loose white sleeveless blouse, one hand on her front door. Her look says she’s ready to give it a hard shove and jam Petey Shropshrire’s nose an inch or so into his face. “What do you want?”
    Petey’s mouth opens, but only air escapes, followed by a high-pitched eep.
    “Who is it, dear?” A woman’s voice from deep inside the house.
    “Just a boy,” Chris calls back, emphasizing boy . She turns again to Petey. “Did you come here just to chirp at me?”
    Petey opens his mouth again to speak; but histongue and cheeks burn like the driest of hot desert sands, and his throat closes over his larynx like a noose. The door slams, and he’s staring into fresh white paint. He breathes deep. It was a fifty-mile drive over broken snow floor conditions.
    Well, he tried.
    What will he tell Granddad?
    He walks to the edge of the porch, ready to retreat down the freshly shoveled steps to his waiting Dodge Dart, then stutter-steps back toward the door. Granddad was right, if he leaves now, he may well die within the