Between the drama with Sophi and seeing Flab every day at practice, I needed someone to hang out with and talk to. After a long practice on Friday, during which Coach Carson tried to teach me the correct way to hand the ball off at least eight times (it still didn’t quite stick—it’s not my fault the seventh-grade third-string running back has such tiny hands!), I pulled Dex aside and asked, “Want to hang out tonight?”
He looked at me through the bottom of his helmet—seriously, they couldn’t order a Peewee version for him?—and squinted at me with those slits for eyes.
“I guess. Where?”
“Somewhere between our houses.”
“That’s cool. What do you want to do?”
“I could use some practice,” I replied and held up the pigskin in my hands.
He grinned and nodded. “You want to come over for dinner?”
“Sure, yeah,”
“Okay, cool.”
Dex had turned some heads with his play in third-stringer practice with Carson. He had small hands for a receiver, but his speed and leaping ability were unmatched. No one could guard him, but he only caught one out of every six or so passes thrown his way. Some extra practice might help convince Coach Schmick to keep us on the team permanently.
First, dinner.
Dex and I stepped off the bus after practice and walked to his house, which actually wasn’t too far from mine. The outside was a grayish color, and it only had one floor. Dex opened the door that led right into the kitchen to find his mom, who was just a few inches taller than him, putting a steaming bowl of something smelly in front of three place settings.
“Hi there, you must be Alex. Dex talks about you all the time,” his mom said. She had a tight-lipped smile that looked put on for the occasion.
“Mom!” Dex rolled his eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. At least someone spoke about me positively.
We sat down and dug into the pungent dish that was some kind of fish stew over rice. I managed to swallow some of my portion as Dex went to town on his. For a little guy, he ate a lot. I spent most of dinner fielding questions about school from his mom. Yes, it felt like Strange teachers gave us hours of homework. No, I still hadn’t adjusted quite yet. And “sort of,” when asked if I’d made many friends, avoiding the truth that Dex was about it in the friend department.
We spent the rest of the meal talking about playing football. She was worried about us getting hurt, but I told her we were just in training and probably wouldn’t see any real action this season. It didn’t seem to help. She spent the meal nervously talking about how she and “Mr. Harrison” spent most of their life trying to keep their son from getting hurt. Dex shook his head and kept his eyes on his stew as he scarfed it down while she lectured.
“So when’s Mr. Harrison coming home?” I tried to change the subject.
“Business trip. And what does your father do, Alexander?”
“He’s an inventor.”
Mrs. Harrison sat up straighter in her chair and cocked her head at me. She didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows went up. I looked down at my plate during the awkward silence. But she wouldn’t stop looking at me.
Dex jumped in. “Mom, we’re going to go throw by Alex’s house. I’ll be back later.” He got up and pulled at my sleeve.
“Okay, boys. A pleasure, Alexander,” she said distractedly.
We dashed out the door—I practically didn’t have time to grab my backpack—and began the walk over to my street. Dex apologized profusely, explaining that she was under a lot of stress lately after the move, that his father had been making some long trips recently.
I started apologizing back, though I wasn’t sure for what. I was still confused, with no idea what had triggered his mother’s odd reaction. I also didn’t get a chance to ask her how Dex had learned to jump so high or climb bookcases in a matter of seconds.
Minutes later, we were tossing a football around, two on nothing, running real plays with Dex as the slot receiver. He ran crisp routes every time, while I struggled to figure out how fast he really was. We took a break after a good two-dozen plays to catch our breath.
“You’ve never played football before?” I asked as Dex sat down on the curb.
“No. Everybody always thought I was too small.”
“But nobody’s faster than you. You should run track too! You’d kill everyone in the hundred meters!”
He sighed.
“Are your parents really that scared you’ll get hurt?” I said.
“It’s been like this my whole life. They always think something bad is going to happen to me.”
“Why?”
“Overprotective, I guess.”
He sounded like he was about to continue but stopped when we caught sight of something that made us freeze immediately. Flab was here.
Two other humongous blobs in Strange football jackets joined him, offensive tackles from our team. We stood up and started to back away.
“Fellas, you may think you can outrun me,” he said as he got closer. “But there’s no way you can move faster than all of us.” Dex and I turned around to see other players headed our way. The five ninth graders who made up the entire Strange Country Day starting offensive line had us trapped. I swallowed hard. Come on, weird special power. Kick in so I can kick butt.
Despite the sweat pouring out of me and my pounding heart, nothing happened.
Flab and the four others stood over us, looking pleased they had cornered us somewhere with no teachers, coaches, or headmasters.
“I warned you, Ptuiac. I told you not to talk to her. I don’t want a teammate going behind my back. Plus, I still owe you and Harrison over here for your sins on Fresh Meet Friday. I will, however, give you a chance to walk away without any of us throwing a punch. For now, at least, if you tell Coach you’re both quitting tomorrow.”
“He’d never let us,” Dex said boldly. I wasn’t sure that was true.
“It won’t matter,” Flab said with a grin. The four ninth graders held us down as Flab cracked his neck, readying himself.
As I gazed up into his face, I saw three red dots shimmering on his forehead, like from one of those laser pointers my friends back home bought to point at movie screens.
“Pardon me, guys,” I heard a voice call out. The dots disappeared.
Everyone froze in his tracks for a second. The hands holding us to the pavement let go. I looked up and saw, with as much relief as I’ve ever felt, a man in a tracksuit.
“Is there a problem here?” he said
“What are you going to do about it?” one of the other players said.
We all heard a low growl. Mr. Tracksuit was walking the biggest dog I’d ever seen.
“Seriously, Jared, you don’t want this kind of trouble,” Mr. Tracksuit responded. “I know your parents. Time for you to head on home.”
The five stood up at the same time and began shuffling away, eyes on the dog. “See you at school,” Flab said through a clenched-teeth faux smile.
Dex and I turned back to thank our hero, but he had already begun walking away. Dex called out, “Thanks, sir!” His response was a barely visible hand up over his shoulder, as if to say, “Don’t mention it.”
We looked at each other in disbelief at what had gone down.
“Alex!”
That sounded like my dad. I turned around and looked down the block to see him jogging up to meet us.
“Dad?”
“You okay?” he asked, out of breath as he stopped next to us.
“We’re fine.” But he wasn’t listening to me at all. He was staring at Dex.
“Dad, this is Dex.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dex squeaked. He put his hand out. Dad continued to stare. Wasn’t he the one who taught me it was impolite to stare? After a few moments, he shook himself out of it, grabbed Dex’s hand, and gave it a few vigorous pumps. “It’s nice to meet you. Really.”
He was fawning over my friend. I needed to get him out of here. “I think I have to head in and do some homework,” I said.
Dex nodded. “See you tomorrow!”
As Dex walked away, I started to pull my dad toward our house.
“What the heck was that?” I asked him.
“Nothing, Alex,” he replied, a weird half-grin crossing his face. “Just nice to meet your friends, that’s all.”
Nothing made sense anymore.