Invited to practice with the baseball team after school on Friday, Bryce stood on the pitcher’s mound and shook his arm before going into his last windup. He had the coach’s full attention. No matter. He was loose, confident, and when he let the ball go, he knew it was a good pitch. Right on the edge of the strike zone. The batter went for it and missed. He’d struck out five of the eight batters they put up against him. The coach walked him back to the gym at the end of practice.
“I wish you’d come to us last year, Bryce,” Coach said. “You’ve got a good arm and we could sure use it. But rules are rules and if I let you do anything more than practice with the team, we could get disqualified. I’m sorry.” Coach left him in the locker room with a pat on the back.
Bryce frowned as he took off his cleats on the bench. Stupid rules. Stupid Academy. Why didn’t they just tell those parents who complained to shut up? He tied the laces of his everyday sneakers, lifted his backpack onto his shoulder, and headed out into the gym.
The bounce of a basketball echoed in the cavernous room. Shoes squeaked against the polished wood floor as guys battled it out in one-on-one pickup games. Bryce walked along the side of the court on his way out, paying little attention to the jeers and boos from the guys on the court. He looked up just in time to catch a ball before it slammed into his head. Eric grinned at him from half-court.
“Hey, Batboy! Show us what kinda game you got.”
Bryce shifted the ball from hand to hand. With everyone’s eyes on him, this might be his chance to earn some respect. It was worth a shot. He dropped his cleats and backpack and walked toward Eric.
“What are we playing?”
“First to eleven. Make it, take it. One bucket, one point.”
The other guys backed off along the sidelines. Bryce threw the ball to Eric, but Eric tossed it back to him and stood on the free-throw line with a sly grin.
“You first, Batboy.”
Bryce dribbled the ball outside the three-point arc. Make it, take it meant whoever controlled the ball the most would win. Eric’s height and weight gave him the advantage. Speed and maneuverability were crucial if Bryce hoped to beat him. He faked left, went right but Eric blocked him. Whirling, he switched directions and shot a jumper from the three-point line. The ball swished through the net, prompting jeers for Eric from the sideline.
Eric’s grin disappeared as he retrieved the ball and tossed it back to Bryce. This time, Bryce dribbled to his right and put up a shot, but Eric swatted it away and the ball rolled out of bounds. Now it was Bryce’s turn to defend. He caught the ball from a sideline pass, took up his position between Eric and the basket, and threw the ball to Eric.
Dribbling, Eric turned his back to Bryce and forced him to back up all the way to the basket. Bryce tried to reach around and steal the ball, but Eric was too big. He shot the ball over Bryce’s head, banking it off the backboard for a point.
Back to the top of the key, Eric dribbled. A joke from the sideline distracted him enough for Bryce to swipe the ball away. Three steps to the outside of the three-point line, turn and shoot. The ball rolled around the rim but finally went in. It was met with raucous laughter and a grim expression from Eric.
The score bounced back and forth between them: 4-5, 7-6, 9-10. Bryce tied it up at ten when he ducked under Eric’s raised arms, ran underneath the basket, and made a reverse layup. The sidelines cheered the move and when he faced Eric once more at the top of the key, sweat glistened on Eric’s face. Jaw set, his narrowed eyes glowered at Bryce.
One more point, one more basket was all he needed. Bryce wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his face and started his dribble. He faked, whirled, switched hands, advanced, backed up. Eric guarded him close, too close. He tried again, but the ball hit his foot and rolled toward the sideline. Eric chased, grabbed it just before it rolled out of bounds. Now Bryce stood between Eric and game point. He set his feet, ready to block Eric’s advance.
Eric started toward him, picked up speed, and hit like a locomotive. Bryce fell back. His head slammed to the floor. He blinked up at the caged lights on the gym ceiling. Laughter, clapping, and a few groans rang from the sidelines. He rolled to his side, away from the crowd gathering around him, and pushed himself to a sitting position. Cradling his head in his hands, he waited for the pain to subside and his vision to clear.
“You okay?” A couple of guys squatted in front of him, while others stood in a circle around him.
“I think so.” Bryce rubbed the back of his head. He’d be aching tonight for sure. The voices around him all ran together.
“Man, that was bad. You need the nurse?”
“Is she still here or did she leave for the day?”
“I can go see.”
“No,” Bryce protested. “I don’t need the nurse. I’m fine. Really.” He shook his head and immediately regretted it.
“Come on, man.” The guys in front of him extended their hands to help him up. Others lifted under his arms as Bryce took hold of their hands and felt himself pulled to his feet. He swayed a bit before finding his balance.
“Y’sure you’re okay?”
Bryce nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” He received several claps on the back as he walked toward his backpack and cleats.
“You got game, man. Take it easy, ’kay?”
The ache in his head throbbed by the time he turned into the parent pick-up at the junior high. Maddie and he being at different schools complicated things. It took a lot more time getting home than when they were both at the Academy. He’d barely have enough time to change clothes, eat something, and get to work. Bryce swerved around several cars still waiting for students and stopped at the curb where Maddie stood. She threw her backpack onto the seat and climbed in after it.
“I’m so glad it’s Friday. This has been the longest week ever.” She clicked her seat belt into place as Bryce exited the driveway. “You doing anything tonight?”
“Working. The extra hours I asked for means I don’t get any weekends, at least until I get this paid for.” He tapped the steering wheel. “Don’t tell Mom but after I get off, one of the guys from work invited me over to hang with some of his friends.”
“I thought you were grounded.”
“Why do you think I told you not to tell Mom?”
“I won’t be home anyway. Cassie’s having a slumber party tonight. I can’t wait to see all my friends from the Academy.” She wrestled her backpack around and used it as an armrest. “Do kids kind of avoid you because of what Dad did?”
“Pft. Yeah. Hardly any of my old friends want to hang out.”
“What about at the new school?”
He’d be happy if Eric avoided him. Bryce half frowned and lifted his shoulder. “I mostly keep to myself. It’s not worth making friends if I’m only there until May.”
Maddie sighed and settled back against the seat. “Sometimes it feels like I have a disease or something the way kids act around me. I wish I knew why Dad did it.”
“You think he did it?”
“I guess. I mean, all the evidence points to him. Why? You don’t think so?”
“It goes against everything he stood for.”
“Maybe he was having a hard time but didn’t want us to know.”
“Or maybe someone drove him to it, pushed him so hard he felt like he had to do something drastic.”
Maddie faced him, eyebrows drawn together.
“Who would do that?”
If he told her his suspicions, she’d blab it to Mom. Instead, he shrugged and said, “Makes about as much sense as anything else they’ve come up with.” Maddie sank back in the seat, sniffling and wiping her eyes.
When they got home, she pulled her backpack out and slung one strap over her shoulder. “What time do you have to be at work?” she asked.
“In about forty-five minutes.” Bryce slammed his door and headed into the house. “Fix me something to eat, will ya? A sandwich or something. Thanks, Mad.”
“Wait, did I say I would?” She raced to catch up with him.
He gave her arm a light punch, dodged the slap she aimed his way, and hustled out of range. Up in his room, he stashed his backpack, changed into his uniform then checked his wallet. He’d need to buy some chips for Cole’s party tonight and pay him back for the beer he’d been supplying. Good thing payday was next week. It would take him longer to pay off his truck if he kept drinking like this, but for now, the occasional liquid escape kept him going. And this headache simply would not quit. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes. If Maddie was fixing him a sandwich, he could rest a few minutes now and eat on the way to work.
Twenty minutes later, he entered the kitchen, stomach growling. He smelled something chocolatey and peeked into the oven.
“You made brownies? Sweet.”
“They’re not for you.” Maddie sat at the puzzle table. She held a puzzle piece and tipped her head back and forth studying the puzzle. “Besides, they won’t be done before you leave.”
Bryce checked the counter and the table. “Did you make my sandwich?”
“Make it yourself. You’re not helpless.”
“Maddie, I don’t have time to fix something and eat. That’s why I asked you to do it.”
“You didn’t ask. You told me. If you’d said please, I might have.” She fitted the piece into place, pumped her fist, and picked up another piece.
“I said thanks,” Bryce grumbled. “Now I’ll have to pay for something to eat at work.”
“Hey, I’ll fix something if you pay me for it.”
“You’re too late.” He gave a throaty growl, yanked open the door to the garage, and slammed it behind him. “Thanks for nothing.”