I was knocking on his front door at eleven.
“Hey Ryan!” he said as he stepped out on the porch.
“You ready?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m going to have to pass. I called Jamaal Wilsey. We’re going to work out at school. I’d like to get Santos over there too, but he’s Ruben’s best friend. I don’t know if he’ll come.” He paused. “Sorry about the Seahawks.”
“No problem,” I said, hiding my disappointment. “It’ll probably be a lousy game anyway.”
I returned to my own house. My father was hosing the dogwood berries off the sidewalk. He stopped when he saw me. “I thought you and Josh were going to the game.”
“Josh can’t make it.”
I went up to my room, sat at my desk, and started reading Walden, the next book for Ms. Hurley. I was on page two when my dad knocked on my door. “Can I come in?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, even though I didn’t feel like talking.
He took off his glasses, sat down on my bed, and started cleaning them with his handkerchief. I closed my book and turned my chair to face him. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing, really.”
“There must be something,” I insisted, “or you wouldn’t be here.”
He stopped polishing his glasses and looked at me. “Okay, Ryan. Here goes. I’m delighted that you finally have someone your age in the neighborhood.” He stopped.
“So what’s the problem?” I asked.
“Well, how to put it?” He breathed deeply, sighed. “Ever since football season started, you’ve been a lost soul. You’re always looking across the street, hoping to see Josh. You’re totally wrapped up in him, but he’s got no time for you. It’s not healthy.”
“Is all this because Josh backed out on the Seahawks game?” I said angrily. “Because I can explain that.”
His eyes went right to mine. “It’s deeper than that, Ryan. It’s always been there, right from the day you met him. There’s something in your voice when you talk about him—something I’ve never liked. It’s like . . . like you think he’s above you. Like you think he’s doing you a favor by being your friend.”
I could feel the blood pounding in my head. “Listen, Dad,” I said, my voice rising as the words spilled out. “I am lucky he’s my friend. Josh has greatness in him. Do you understand what I’m saying? Greatness.”
My father tilted his head a little and looked at me. “From what you tell me, he’s got talent. That doesn’t make him great, though. That’s nothing but good luck. It’s what you do with what you’re given that makes you great.” He paused. “You might find some greatness inside yourself, you know.”
My mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Me? You’ve got to be kidding. There’s nothing great about me.”
A little smile came to his face. “I don’t know about that,” he said. Then he stood, and left the room.
He’s my father and he loves me, but I hate it when he tries to boost me up. Only little kids fall for that. When you’re ordinary, you know it. And nothing your parents say can change it.