CHAPTER 3
“Look at that,” Marcus said. He was leaning forward on the ratty basement couch, holding tight to the video game controller. His mouth was hanging open in a smile, and his eyes were glazed over. “Ooh, check this out.”
Andrew leaned back in the corner of the couch. He watched the TV screen as Marcus tried to beat the last team in their new video game, Soccer Championship.
“Goal!” Marcus shouted. He dropped the controller and jumped off the couch. Then he spun to face Andrew. “Who is the champion?”
“Man, sit down,” Andrew said. “It’s just a video game.”
“Ha,” Marcus said. “You’re just jealous.” But he dropped back down to the couch and flipped off the game.
“Yeah, I am jealous,” Andrew admitted, “but not of that dumb soccer game. I’m jealous because I’m too slow on the football field.”
“What?” Marcus said. “Who told you that?”
“No one has to tell me,” Andrew said. “I know it because I see you out there, like a bolt of lightning. I can’t do that.”
“Does Coach French work on speed with you?” Marcus asked.
“Not really,” Andrew replied. “We spend most of the time going over plays, until everyone has them memorized.”
Marcus nodded. He said, “The coach’s top priority is to build a winning team. He can’t focus all his time and energy on just one player. He’s not trying to make stars of you kids. Just football players.”
Andrew sighed.
“Don’t feel bad,” Marcus added. He slapped his brother on the knee. “Remember, it’s you that needs to make sure you’re the best receiver you can be. It’s true for you, and for me, and for every great receiver ever, at every level of the game.”
Andrew shook his head. “At least the high school coach helps you with speed drills,” he said.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, shrugging. “I got some help along the way, no doubt. But it’s my legs that take me down the field like a rocket, you know?”
He got up and struck a pose like the Heisman Trophy, and then laughed.
“I don’t have your legs,” Andrew said. “I have mine.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Marcus said. “It’s not just about legs, man.”
“So what do you mean?” Andrew asked.
But Marcus just shook his head. “Let’s get upstairs,” he said, then sniffed the air. “I think dinner’s ready.”