AFTER-SCHOOL SPECIAL

That Friday, I was feeling pretty good. I’d done a picture of this painting called Arrangement in Grey and Black, No.1 and put it on one of the school bulletin boards during second period. The Vacu-Stricker 2000 didn’t even make it disappear until sometime during sixth.

Then school was over. Usually, hearing the dismissal bell on a Friday makes me happier than Junior in a hot dog factory.

But this Friday, the bell might as well have been an emergency alarm. I could have used a warning about the torture that was about to start, thanks to a one-two combo punch of torture from Mrs. Stonecase and Coach Shumsky.

It started with our full-team detention. Mrs. Stonecase gave us a whole lecture to get things rolling. She said this was punishment for our “deplorable, pernicious, yet predictable stunt in the cafeteria.” I don’t know what pernicious means, but I’m pretty sure it’s not about being awesome and hilarious with chocolate milk.

After that, she put us to work. She divided us up and got us washing desks, sweeping the bathrooms, mopping the halls, and organizing the supply closets in the office. The whole thing was about a zero on the fun scale, except for five minutes there when Flip got creative with the school’s tape supply.

And it wasn’t over yet. As soon as we got out of there, Coach Shumsky was waiting for us. He wasn’t too happy about the whole team getting in trouble, so he made us stay late for a full football practice on top of detention. He even threw in a little extra suffering for good measure.

And by a little extra suffering, I mean A LOT OF SUFFERING, of course.

We started off with our usual one-mile warmup. Then we had to do a truckload of wind sprints, a boatload of drills, and a full scrimmage after that.

Plus, the whole time, Coach kept telling us about what it meant to be “good representatives” of the school, “on and off the field.”

“Football isn’t just a sport,” he yelled at us. “It’s a way of life!”

“Yeah, and a way of death too,” Flip said, right before we stumbled through our hundred and forty-eighth wind sprint.

“If that doesn’t mean anything to you, it should,” Coach kept going. “You boys need to carry the Falcon name with pride, do you hear me? I said… DO YOU HEAR ME?”

I heard him, I heard him. But right then, it was either run or talk. He couldn’t have both.

The good news was, we had another game coming up, and everyone thought we had a decent shot at winning. It was against the Belleville Middle School Raiders. Coach said he was going to make sure we were in “peak form” by the time the Raiders rolled into town. But I’m pretty sure that was just code for “Detention Part Two.”

Still, even though I’d rather have been anywhere else in the world than on that field right then, some little part of me was getting excited about that game. I’d gotten a taste of being good at something that I never in a million years thought I’d be good at, and I wanted more. Maybe I’d get to score another touchdown… or two… or three. And maybe Jeanne would get to see it happen this time. Then the Falcons would get on a roll. We’d just keep winning and winning… and winning… until we were state champions. No, WORLD CHAMPIONS! And if I played it right and got really lucky, it could all be thanks to me! So when I got up there to accept my Heisman Middle School Trophy at the internationally televised World Sports Banquet, I’d look right into those cameras, I’d smile wide, and I’d say—

“THIS ISN’T A PLAYDATE, KHATCHA-DORIAN! PICK UP THOSE KNEES AND KEEP UP! DON’T SLOW DOWN NOW, BECAUSE WE’RE JUST GETTING STARTED HERE!”

If Coach Shumsky didn’t kill me first.