Read Online Crackback by John Coy - Free Book Online

comes in threes, but this is terrible. I don’t want to think about Stahl being head coach. I soap myself and piss. It’s a small release after all the bad news.
    â€œC’mon, Miles.” Zach is dressed. “Let’s go.”
    In the truck we ride in silence. Finally, Zach says, “Coach Stahl’s a good coach. He’s got a lot of energy, new ideas. We can use that.”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
    â€œWhat kind of attitude is that?” Zach swerves to avoid a dead squirrel. “Coach Stahl deserves a chance. Give him a break.”
    â€œWhy can’t he give me a break?”
    â€œListen to what he says. And don’t talk back.” Zach turns up the CD. “You taking those pills?”
    â€œYeah.” Why am I lying to Zach? He wants me to be a better football player. So does Dad. They have different ways. I’ve got to find my own.
    â€œTyson’s ordering some new stuff, better gear,” Zach says. “We’ll get it this week.”
    I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t like lying to Zach.
    September’s garden time at our house. At dinner we have corn, eggplant, zucchini, basil, potatoes, cucumbers, and tomatoes that Dad grew. The only thing not from his garden is the bread, and if I mention that, he’ll probably start growing wheat and make me grind the flour. “I’ve got some bad news.” I set my fork down.
    â€œWhat?” Martha says. “You’re not going to the dance?”
    â€œNo, it’s
real
bad.” Mom looks worried. “Coach Sepolski has cancer. He’s going to have surgery. He’s stepping down as coach.”
    â€œWhat kind of cancer?” Mom asks.
    â€œProstate.”
    â€œWhat’s prostate?” Martha looks to Mom.
    â€œPart of the male reproductive system,” Mom says. “Did they catch it early?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Coach says he’s going to beat it.”
    â€œWho’s the new coach?” Dad stops buttering his corn. “Coach Stahl.”
    â€œHe’s been waiting for his shot.” Dad frowns. “But this is a bad time to take over.”
    A week ago Dad was all over Sepolski, but he doesn’tlook pleased now. “Coach Stahl’s walking into a tough situation,” he says. “Make sure you listen to him. Make sure you respect him.”
    My stomach twists in knots and I can’t eat. I’m sick of bad news.
    After dinner, Martha invites us to the front lawn for a science demonstration. “You fill a bucket with water and swing it around in a circle, and even when it’s upside down, not a drop spills. That’s because of centrifugal force.”
    â€œCentrifugal force,” Mom says. “That’s impressive.”
    Martha fills an ice-cream bucket three-quarters full and starts spinning it like a human windmill. She’s right; not a drop spills out.
    â€œBrava!” Mom claps.
    â€œCool trick.” I pat Martha on the head.
    â€œWhat did you think, honey?” Mom asks Dad.
    â€œBig buildup for such a simple demonstration.” Martha’s smile disappears. “But it’s good. Good science.”
    The Villareals, neighbors from down the street, ride by on their bikes. They wave and we wave back. I try to imagine what we look like—a happy family together on the lawn. What a small part of what happens in a family other people see.
    I’m floating like a bird, gliding above trees along the river. I can tell from the land that I’m above Confluence, but there are no buildings or people. I glide past the spot the rivers come together and continue north along the Clearwater. Then I realize I’m flying. I panic. How am I going to stay up? How do I avoid crashing? I drop lower. Trees come closer, darker, full of sharp branches.
    My arms flap faster and faster. That doesn’t help. I’m plunging down. There’s nothing to