Strange Country Day Read Online Free

advantage, I could have come down with it easily. Play after play, I was ignored. So was Dex. I could feel this anger building up inside me bit by bit.
    With my team down by a few touchdowns (no thanks to blown coverage by yours truly) and with about two minutes left in class, I had hit the tipping point. “I’m QB!” I announced to whoever would listen. Everyone groaned and protested, but I told them, “Just one play, okay?” Eyes rolled in unison.
    I turned to Dex and mouthed, “Go. Long.” He nodded. We lined up, with most of the kids on both sides looking apathetic. No one cared since it was the end of class, the end of the school day, and the game was already decided. But this was my chance. I felt myself get nervous as I began the play. That’s when I noticed Coach Schmick strolling over with a whistle in his mouth. All that nervousness turned into total fear. The football coach was watching me. He hadn’t looked at us once all game long and now here he was, staring at me.
    That’s when it hit me. For the second time that day. Marshmallows. Blurriness. Water running through my veins.
    Squeeeeeeeee
    I stumbled back and heard myself yell, “Set- HUT !”
    My eyes re-focused, and I could see that nobody was doing anything, except for Dex. He was darting down the field as fast as I’ve ever seen anyone run. I felt myself automatically go through the motions. Right hand with football by my ear. Follow through with hips on the release. Let go.
    I heard Coach’s whistle start to blow to signal the end of class, but he stopped mid-tweet as the pass sliced through the air. It was a perfect spiral. I couldn’t believe it myself as I watched it fly. To my horror, I had thrown it at least twenty yards past Dex. But he streaked toward the little orange cones that delineated our endzone. The ball was definitely headed way over his head and out of bounds.
    That’s when Dex did something shocking. Still in stride, he crouched down and leapt up. He looked like a much smaller version of Michael Jordan, going higher and higher for what seemed like forever. At the top of his jump, which must have been at least ten feet in the air, he reached out and the ball landed right in his hands. As if he had wings to help him, he floated down and hit the ground nimbly on two feet, just inside the back of the endzone.
    No one moved. I turned to see Coach Schmick’s reaction. The whistle had dropped out of his mouth, which remained open. I heard someone scoff, “Lucky.” That’s when Coach snapped into action. “Game over. Hit the showers! You!” He pointed at me. “And you!” Then at Dex. “Come here!”
    I walked up to him slowly as Dex, looking smug, bounded over.
    He peered down through those opaque shades, and what came out of his mouth next blew me away.
    “Gentlemen,” he began in the quietest voice I’d heard out of him yet. “Let’s talk football.”

Chapter Five
     
     
    WHAP!
    That’s the sound of a twenty-three-pound object as it hit the floor of the locker room. Assistant Head Coach Jerry Carson had just handed me the team’s playbook, and I dropped it on the clammy concrete in my shock at its heaviness. Carson was tasked with teaching me the ins and outs of quarterbacking. He had a haircut and a build that made him look like he’d just retired from the Marines. He gave me a dirty look and pointed at me to pick it up. “Ptuiac, I don’t ever want to see you treat the playbook like that again. You have to respect it. It’s your baby. And I expect you to have it memorized by next Friday.”
    I quickly changed into my pads and uniform in front of a gleaming locker. Everyone else had a nameplate on top of his locker ( So that’s where all the donor money goes , I thought); I figured I would get one if I worked my way from being “on trial” to a place on the team.
    I took a deep breath, grabbed my helmet, and walked out. Right before the exit, there was a bathroom with a row of mirrors. I stepped inside,