Read Online Stand-Off by Andrew Smith - Free Book Online Page A

him Bags—played backup winger last year. I liked him. He was a good guy, a junior, who was still more than a year older than me. I just figured this meant Coach M would put me over on the right wing—number fourteen.
    No big deal, right? Except, as I thought about it, the right wing doesn’t get the ball as much as the left wing, at least not according to my calculations, because since most guys are right-handed, the passes out from backs under pressure tend to go to the number eleven guy—the left wing—which was MY SPOT.
    I swallowed. “Oh. Okay.”
    â€œMy plan is to pull up Timmy Bagnuolo to play on right wing.”
    Now that was a shock. Timmy, Mike’s sophomore brother, had played varsity a couple times in relief last year. The guys called him T-Bag—what else? But it all only meant one thing to me: THERE WAS NO PLACE FOR ME.
    I felt flushed and sweaty, kind of like I was trapped in after-class detention, all by myself with Mrs. O’Hare, and she was lecturing me on the proper way to use dry rubs on meat—and WHY AM I THINKING ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW, WHEN COACH M IS BASICALLY CUTTING MY ASS FROM THE TEAM?
    â€œNaturally, this all means, what are we going to do with you, Ryan Dean?”
    I tried to play it off like I was okay with anything Coach M wanted to do, but then my voice cracked like a handful of uncooked spaghetti when I said, “Okay,” and I felt like such a monumental crybaby loser.
    â€œOf course, I’d want to have some input from the captain,” Coach M said, but, to be honest, my head was so gunked up between thinking about being off the wing and thinking about being in detention with Mrs. O’Hare talking about rubbing meat that I couldn’t even begin to think rationally, as though that was something I’d be good at anyway.
    Coach M clearly noticed I was zoning out. He said, “You know. The captain?”
    I suddenly realized I didn’t know anything about cooking—and how was I ever going to get through Culinary Arts, especially with Sam Abernathy, who could probably poop out perfect soufflés in the time it took me to read the instructions on a frozen pizza, paired up with Annie?
    â€œRyan Dean?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œDo you even know what I’m talking about?”
    â€œI’m thinking it isn’t about cooking?”
    â€œI’m asking you to be team captain this year.”
    What?
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause the players all love you, Ryan Dean. You have a good head for the game, and you set a good example for everyone on the pitch.”
    â€œAre you talking about me ?”
    Coach M laughed.
    â€œHow can you ask me to be captain if I’m not even in the first fifteen?” I said, trying to sound manly but coming off terribly undercooked.
    â€œThat’s the other part of the proposal,” Coach M said. “Look at you now. The team would be best served moving you off the wing, so you can have more influence in the game. I saw you kicking the ball today. You’re tough, you’re a match to anyone on the team,you can take anything anyone hits you with, and your passes are strong to both sides. Having you on the wing is a waste of the man you are.”
    God no, I thought, please don’t move me to the pack, please don’t move me to the pack, please don’t move me to the pack.
    â€œBut I want to stay on the wing, coach.”
    â€œI want to move you inside the line, to number ten.”
    â€œNo,” I said flatly. “I can’t do that.”
    He didn’t know what he was asking me. Joey played number ten last year. I could never play that spot.
    â€œI think you can,” Coach M said.
    â€œThat’s Joey’s spot. I couldn’t be fly half, Coach. Please.”
    â€œIt’s a number, a job, Ryan Dean. It isn’t the person. I’m not asking you to be Joey, or to somehow erase what he means to