Chapter 4

A BIZARRE LESSON IN ROMANCE

The start of school can be a nerve-racking time for a kid. While my first couple of days probably surpassed anything experienced by my classmates, I can’t say I was surprised. Trouble knows how to find me. For instance, how many people get thrust into the role of football savior on a team where half the players want to tackle them? Or find three cheerleaders flirting with them—right when they’re trying to win back their girlfriend? Or worst of all, witness their dad running around school with a jock strap in his hand?

Well, you get the idea. It was all pretty much business as usual for me. But by the end of the first week, I began to realize my life had taken a turn that even I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. I looked around one day and saw that things were . . . good. Thanks to the incident with Bart and Bruno, I was barely getting threatened in the halls and without Josh by his side, Toby was keeping his distance.

The place where I really noticed a difference was at football practice. I was doing all right and starting to enjoy it. I figured the best thing to do was run right behind Josh as much as possible. And it had been working. He was able to handle Trevor and the middle linebackers, hammering them so hard that they toned down their ferocious assault on the field. Coach Laimbardi loved it. After practice one day he said, “You know, Rathbone, I’ve never had a running back that uses his lead blocker as well as you.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“Yeah, a lot of times players run away from protection and get tackled.” He certainly didn’t have to worry about me running from protection. “Keep up the good work, Rathbone.”

“I’ll try.”

“Yeah, Coach, he’s playing good,” Trevor’s voice sounded from behind me.

With my helmet on, I hadn’t seen him approach. Laimbardi nodded his head in agreement before turning his attention to Coach Manuel and walking off.

“Hey Josh,” Trevor called out, “someone was just looking for you. He said one of the janitors needed help exploding something.”

Josh immediately tore off in the direction of the school building. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. This wasn’t good. Trevor watched him disappear, muttering, “What a loser.” Then he slapped his hand down hard on my shoulder pad. “I wanted to have a little talk without Frankenstein around to protect you.”

Was Trevor really going to start something right in the middle of football practice?

“Listen, Mr. Football Star,” he began, “enjoy the ride, but don’t kid yourself into thinking that I’m not going to get ahold of you. I would right now, if Laimbardi wasn’t here. Trust me, we Tarantolas have no problem waiting for the best time to strike.”

“Actually, you kinda got me already,” I said. He looked confused so I continued, making it up as fast as I could. “It’s the suspense of waiting, you know. Just ask anyone who’s been killed. Waiting’s the worst part. It would be so much worse for me if you waited, um, say twenty or thirty years.”

Trevor shook his head before responding. “My brother Toby said you had a smart mouth. He wasn’t kidding. You know, part of me appreciates that, though. Really. But another part of me, a bigger part, can’t stop thinking of the joy your squeals of pain will bring me. Besides, you took my spot as running back and I’m not forgiving that!”

“Why not? You’re still the starting middle linebacker.”

“True, Rathbone, true. Coach says defense wins championships. But I know that offense gets the girls. I was this close to kissing Josie.” He held his fingers an inch apart in front of the bars of my mask. “Then you show up and she hasn’t spoken to me since. I’ve been really depressed.” He shook his head. “And you know, there’s only one thing that can get me out of this funk. Can you guess what that is?”

I had a pretty good idea, especially since he was twisting the front of my jersey and pulling me closer. He said, “You know, maybe now isn’t such a bad time after all, Rathbone. The school psychologist says I need to find an outlet for my anger issues. He advised me not to bottle up my feelings. . . .”

“Have you tried yoga?”

“Do you punch people in yoga?”

“No, but my mom showed me how to do the downward dog. Here, I’ll show you.” I attempted to pull away but Trevor only pulled me in closer. I watched his other hand form a fist. The coaches had conveniently wandered off. Josh was still back at the school. How had the field gotten so empty? Where would he punch? If he went for my face mask he would probably break his hand. Would he aim at my stomach instead?

Before I found out the answer to my last question, my chicken instincts took over. “What if I can get you a date with Josie?”

His fist lowered slightly. “I don’t need a slimy runt like you to land me a lady. She already went on a date with me during the summer.”

“What happened?”

“We had a great date. Super romantic.”

“Candlelit dinner?”

“Nahh, we went to see the demolition derby.”

“You think a demolition derby is romantic?” I asked.

“All right, maybe it’s not as romantic as professional wrestling, but that’s why I bought her dinner.”

“Well, that part sounds nice.”

“Yeah. The hot dog had a little dirt on it, but it gets dusty at the track.”

I almost pointed out his stupidity but decided to play along. “Certainly sounds like a special evening,” I lied. “The track dust is part of the ambiance. Besides, I’ve always felt that dirt adds a nice smoky flavor to meat.”

“Exactly!” he said, nodding. “You get it.”

“So after this clearly wonderful date, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” He let go of my jersey and put his hands into the air. “I texted her a couple of days later to see if she wanted to go cow tipping at the old Smith farm. She never wrote back and when I try to talk to her she avoids me.”

I had to ask. “What’s cow tipping?”

“You city boys don’t know nothin’ about a good time. Cow tipping is when you sneak up on a sleeping cow and push it over. They wake up mad and you run away. Good thing you moved here from the city. You’ve been missing out on the finer things in life.”

“So I see . . .” Afraid he might still need to unleash his anger, I added, “What about me getting you a second date?”

He looked at me for a moment, thinking.

“Tarantola!” Coach Laimbardi called from the other side of the field. “Bring in that tackling dummy.” I glanced down at the large red pad lying on the grass.

Trevor lifted the back of my jersey and hollered, “Don’t worry, Coach, I got the dummy right here!”

Then, so only I could hear, he added, “You get me that date with Josie and maybe you’ll avoid a date with my fists.” With that, he gave me a jarring shove to the ground and walked off the field.

After a pretty quiet week, my life had returned to normal.