Fouling Out
Fouling
Out
GREGORY WALTERS
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Text copyright ©
2008
Gregory Walters
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Walters, Gregory, 1964-
Fouling out / written by Gregory Walters.
ISBN 978-1-55143-714-9
I. Title.
PS8645.A49F68 2008Â Â Â Â jC813'.6Â Â Â Â C2007-907385-9
First published in the United States,
2008
Library of Congress Control Number
:
2007942401
Summary
: Faced with the realities of his friend Tom's home life, Craig must determine the boundaries of their volatile friendship.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover and text design by Teresa Bubela
Cover artwork by Margaret Lee
Author photo by West Coast Photo
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For Doug, wherever he may be.
Contents
I am grateful to my editor, Sarah Harvey, for patiently helping streamline my words. Less is more!
I must also thank my dogs, Lincoln and Hoover. They are the ones that sacrificed the most. More than anything, they provided me with plenty of distractions when I simply needed to enjoy the moment.
N
othing much happens when you're twelve. Too young to work, too young to run in the Olympics, too young to drop out of school. Of course, being “too young” has its advantages. I don't have to go to work, and I don't have to listen to oldies radio stations.
The bad part is that you can really get in a rut at my age. With school at the center of everything, I don't see how it can be any different. At least there's summer to look forward to, but that's not much of a consolation in October.
I suppose anyone can be in a rut at any age. In fact, when you think about it, most people live pretty routine lives, but either they don't even notice it or they don't want to call attention to it. Nobody wants to admit he leads a dull predictable life, but I was never good at pretending. Being Craig Trilosky is a mundane existence. My teacher, Miss Chang, would kick up a big fuss over how great it is that I used the word
mundane
. She gets all excited about really dumb things. Unless you're a brain who gets straight As, school's just a place where teachers get to point out all the things you can't do. Miss Chang's not really like that, but it's still early in the school year. She'll end up being like the others. She may have noble intentions, but she's got Tom and me to shatter all that. There isn't a teacher on the planet who wouldn't crack.
You can't get any more mundane than my family. I don't think there could be a more boring group of people on Earth. My dad's an executive for a big electronics company in Vancouver. I don't know his exact title. It changes every month or soâmanager, senior manager, vice president of this, vice president of that. I bet there's even a vice president of job title creations. I don't see why we have to “celebrate” each of his promotions. It never increases the amount of my allowance.
Mom's a professional volunteer. She works with Meals on Wheels, the Red Cross, the Easter Seals Society,
AIDS
Vancouver and the hospital. She used to be a nurse. I once asked her why she didn't quit all the volunteering and take a paying job with some worthy cause, and she acted all hurt. Add that to the unwritten list of things that cannot be discussed in the Trilosky household.
I guess it's okay that she does that stuff. I just hate Thursday afternoons. That's when she volunteers at my school. Usually she's helping in the library, which is all right because I never go there, but sometimes she's in the halls putting up notices on the bulletin boards or walking with some kindergartener. She has no idea how embarrassing it is having her at school. When my class sees her on the way to
PE
, everyone sings out, “Hi, Mrs. Trilosky,” just to make me turn red. She thinks they're being friendly.
My sister, Margo, is in grade eleven. She says it's pretty hard and there's a lot of homework. (I think someone forgot to tell Miss Chang that she's teaching grade seven, not grade eleven.) Anyway, my sister's all right. We used to fight all the time, but now she's preoccupied with talking on the phone and text messaging. She's got her own cell phone because my dad has fits about needing the landline for business calls, even though he's got a cell phone and a Blackberry. I think talking on the phone's boring and kinda gross. How do you know the person you're talking to isn't going to the bathroom in the middle of the call?
My sister's on the track team at school; I run with her on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Sometimes I do a solo run on Sundays. It's actually a lot of fun. You don't have to depend on anyone else and you don't have to worry about letting your team down. I like that part best. When it's just me, I'm fine. The group stuff never seems to work out.
I don't really have a lot of friends at school. I spend too much time hanging out with Tom Hanrahan. When we moved here five years ago from Toronto, he was the first one to welcome me and ask if I wanted to play soccer after school. We've had a lot of good times, but he always gets me into big trouble. The vice principal, Mr. Skye, gets to see me at least once a week, and you should see the look on Mrs. Neuman's face every time I walk by the library. It's like she thinks I'm going to take a geography book and shelve it in the sports section. I'd go in and do it just to tee her off, but she's so old I'm afraid she'd have a heart attack.
I'm tired of everyone thinking Tom and I are a team. Most parents around here have forbidden their kids to have anything to do with Tom. The Hanrahans are the source of endless gossip. People say Mrs. Hanrahan is a weak woman who can't control her kids. Mr. Hanrahan showed up drunk at last year's Christmas concert, and he was arrested a couple of years ago for getting in a fight with a police officer. Tom's sister is supposedly deep into drugs, and he has two brothers, but no one has seen the oldest brother in years. The rumors about him are wildâ most have something to do with prison. My parents don't like me hanging out with Tom, but I can't seem to connect with anyone else. I want to hang out with other guys, but nobody will have anything to do with me because nobody likes Tom. I'm finally starting to feel that way too. I definitely need to get out of my rut.
O
n the soggy soccer field at McKenna Park, Tom squishes a couple of wet worms and curses the fact that there are no slugs to be found.
“Heyâ¦who do you think I should go for?” he says. “Erin Patterson or Tracey Lin?”
Why is he asking me for advice? Don't they have to like you first? I stare off at a parked car to avoid eye contact. “I don't know.”
“Well, Erin's cool 'cuz she's tall and good at basketball and she knows players' names and all, but Tracey's got a real good smile. I mean, she must be the only girl in seventh grade who doesn't have braces. Her teeth are perfect.”
How can I argue with that? I've never examined Tracey's teeth. I've never even thought about who wears braces.
“Well, c'mon, stupid.” Tom flings a moist worm from a small stick and watches it sail several meters. “Who should I go for?”
“Whoever you like best.” I sure hope the worms are already dead. They certainly aren't meant to fly.
“What kind of lame answer is that? I like them both so just tell meâ¦Erin or Tracey?”
“If I pick one of them, that would be it? That's who you'd go after?”
“Sure.”
“I think you should make up your own mind.”
“Stop trying to weasel your way out of it.” Tom crouches close to the ground, searching for his next victim. “You're my friend so you have to decide.”
A man and his bouncy beagle approach the parked car. Oh, please, save me! I need a getaway! “I don't want to decide. I don't like either of them.”
“Don'tcha see? That's perfect! That means you're not biased. If you liked one of them, you'd tell me to go for the other one so you could have the one you liked.”
“Who says you get who you want?”
“Wellâ¦
you
can't, but I can get either of them. Girls like me. I just gotta take my pick.”
Wow! What planet is he living on? Where is he getting his information? All the girls think Tom is loud, disgusting and annoying. Come to think of it, that's what everyone in school thinksâboy or girl. And I'm beginning to think they're onto something.
“Hurry up! Stop all your stupid thinking and just pick for me. You're my friend, so you have to.”
“Who says? Where'd that come from?”
“From me!” Tom barks, sounding as exasperated as I feel. He zooms in on another worm, scoops it with the stick and lets it fly. Maybe I should start a Save the Worms campaign.
“Well, what happens if I don't pick for you? Then what?” He continues to stir up dirt, but comes up wormless. Maybe worms have some kind of high-frequency warning system we can't hear. Maybe now the torture will stopâat least for the worms.
“You have to pick or I'll beat you up.”
“Yeah, right. After you supposedly beat me up, do I still have to decide for you?”
“Yep.”
“That's crazy.”
“Pick. Tracey or Erin.” Tom drops the stick at his feet, giving up the hunt. I wish he'd give up on this girl-hunting thing tooâor at least leave me out of it. I'm feeling like a hunting dog responsible for bringing some pitiful dead duck to his master. Hey, I think I just compared girls to ducks. Obviously, I've got my own dating dilemmas.
“Didn't you hear me?” Tom shouts. “I told you to pick. Does Erin get to have me or is it gonna be Tracey?”
That's it. I'm tired of his nonsense. I don't care. I want to move on and talk about something else before the whole Saturday afternoon gets away from me.
“Fine, I'll pick. Eenie meanie miney moe. Erin.”
“Really? Why not Tracey?”
“You're kidding, right?”
“No.” Tom picks up a rock and scans the sky. Great. He's moving on to targetting birds. Yep, this is the guy all the girls want. Poor Erin. I really don't have anything against her. Tom stops gazing at the sky and continues his interrogation. “Why'd you say Erin instead of Tracey?”
“I don't know. You told me to pick one, so I did.”
“Yeah, but now you have to explain it.”
“No, I don't. You said you'd go after whichever one I picked. I picked and that's that.” Tom searches the sky again. I really don't want any bird to fly within target range, but it'd be a nice surprise if one somehow manages to poop on his head. He's got it coming.
“You can't just pick and not explain. What's wrong with Tracey?”
Quick. Make up a flaw and get it over with.
“She's too giggly.”
“I like her laugh. She laughs at things I say.”