LIKE TALKING TO A BRICK WALL
After I got hugged by Mom, crushed by Dotty, and congratulated by a bunch of people (even though I noticed Marley didn’t come around this time), there was one other thing I wanted to do while I still had the chance.
See, if you hadn’t noticed, Miller gets in a good mood about once a century. I figured that if I ever wanted to ask him a favor, now was the time. So I told Mom I’d meet her in the parking lot, and then I went to look for him.
I know—kind of like looking for a speeding bus to walk in front of. But this was important.
When I found him, he was standing behind the snack bar, which was good. It gave me a tiny bit of privacy to ask him what I wanted to ask.
“What?” he said.
When he looked me in the eye, I lost a little of my nerve. But I couldn’t stop now.
“You know our little deal, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. You score, you get to live,” Miller said.
“Right,” I said, “Well, I was thinking—”
“I’m bored already. Hurry up,” he said.
“Let’s say I score again next game,” I said. “How about if you start leaving Maya, Jonny, and Dee-Dee alone too? Not just me.”
Miller laughed right in my face, like he actually thought that was funny.
“What are you trying to do, renegotiate your contract? This isn’t the NFL, Khatchadorkian,” he said.
“I know,” I said, “but—”
“I have a deal with you. Not every loser in this school,” Miller said. “And the only reason I’m being so nice is ’cause I want to win games.”
“Will you just think about it?” I said. “Please?”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Thanks,” I told him.
“I’m done thinking,” he said. “Now get out of here. I’ve gotta whizz.”
“On the snack bar?” I said.
“GO!” Miller said, in that voice that usually comes right before something more painful.
But then the back door of the snack bar opened, and Jeanne was standing there, holding a bag of garbage.
“Oh!” she said. “Hi, Miller. Hi, Rafe.”
“Hey, Jeanne,” I said. I could tell she hadn’t seen the game because she didn’t say anything about it.
“Can one of you guys you do me a favor and put this in the Dumpster?” she asked, and held out the garbage.
“Um…” I said.
“Rafe can do it,” Miller said. “He was just leaving. Weren’t you, Khatchadorian?”
So much for asking favors.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I was.”
Or impressing Jeanne, for that matter.
Because that’s what football heroes do after the game, right? They take out the garbage.
