Stupid Fast (21 page)

“I’ll deal,” he said.

“You can always hang out with Peter Yang and the debaters.”

“I guess I’ll take my chances with the honkies.”

Before he left, he promised to come to the game, even though he thought it was ridiculous. And I got some very good news out of him.

“Mom says I have to take my paper route back.”

“You mean tomorrow?” I asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, you don’t.” I stood and raised my hands over my head “I’m done!
I’m done!
” I’d been staring at my dad’s crazy lover in a nursing home all summer. She’d been screaming at me all summer. “
I’m done!
” Then I thought about Aleah in her tiger-striped bike helmet and wished I could do the route with her forever.

“You done celebrating?” Gus asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m out,” he said and biked away.

I got even better news later in the evening. I called Aleah, and before she even said hello, she shouted, “Daddy and I are driving up to your game!”

“What?”

“We’re leaving at noon! We’re staying all weekend!”

I was totally dumbstruck, overcome like an emotional donkey.

“Tell Ronald thanks,” I swallowed hard. “Really. Seriously, Aleah. Tell him thanks.”

“I can’t wait!” she shouted.

I’ll be honest. I had a hard time going to bed. I’m jumpy. Have I said? And there was a game, and Gus was home, and Aleah would be here, and Jerri did rock climbing, and Andrew played piano again. I really couldn’t sleep. But I couldn’t run, you know? I had to conserve energy. I had a game to play. There was a killer! A killer! On that team! Jay Landry,
killer!
I seriously couldn’t sleep. Not at all. Then I thought about Jerri and just repeated, “Om shanti shanti shanti shanti.”

I fell asleep and slept until beautiful noon this morning (I mean, yesterday morning).

It’s 7:06 a.m., and I can smell Grandma’s coffee. Andrew just got up. Now he’s plinking the piano. Okay. Grandma will start cooking soon.

I spotted Aleah in the stands right away (she’s still in town, and I didn’t sleep all night—aahh!). She waved and jumped up and down. I waved back. I wanted to go up there, but you can’t go into the stands before games. I asked Karpinski. “Are you kidding me, Rein Stone? No.” I completely would have otherwise. I waved. Ronald waved too.

Bluffton High School plays games at the college stadium. It’s pretty big. But as it got closer to the kickoff, the stands got totally packed, completely packed. Football is apparently a big deal in Bluffton. I had no clue. I’d never even been to a game before.

While we did pregame stuff, ran pass routes, stretched, ran a few plays, I made sure I spotted Grandma and Andrew too. They were sitting near the front. They waved and smiled. Andrew brought this little pendant thing from his room that says
BEETHOVEN!
on it. He waved that. He’s gutsy. I also found Gus. He was with Peter Yang and the debaters in the student section. He spread his arms and nodded and smiled. He really looked better with the hair wad. Poor guy. I pointed at Aleah, but I don’t think Gus got the message. Then I thought, better concentrate. Warm up.

I breathed deep. The moon was up. Those big stadium lights were on. So bright. The field was so green too. The air smelled really good. It was Bluffton air, but different.

“Can you smell the food stand?” I asked Cody.

“You freak, Reinstein,” he smiled. “I don’t know.”

As the St. Mary’s Springs players ran out on the field, they said a bunch of jerky stuff, told us to get ready for an ass-whipping, etc. They were big for sure. Jay Landry, number 18, was easily my size. I watched him. He looked around, scanning our side of the field. He locked in on me. He wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He pointed. “You ready for this, 34?” he shouted. 34? My number. Donkey adrenaline surged in my veins.

In the locker room before kickoff, Coach said, “Don’t back down. They’ll try to intimidate you. Don’t back down.” I had to jump up and down. “Don’t back down.”

We won the toss. We elected to receive. Cody, our captain, ran to the sideline after the toss, pissed off. “These guys think they’re going to run over us.”

“Run it back, Rein Stone. Let’s show ’em right away,” Karpinski said.

I was deep for the kickoff, but the ball went to the right to Jamie Dern. He caught it, ran five yards, and was totally creamed. Their guys piled on. Jay Landry pointed at me. “You’re next,” he said. Squirrel nut donkey adrenaline.

We huddled up. Cody ran from the sideline with the play. “Toss left, Reinstein.”

We jogged into formation. Cody began calling the signal. From across the line, Jay Landry pointed at me. “Watch toss to 34,” he shouted. “Watch toss to 34.”

Cody took the snap. I stepped left. Cody swiveled and tossed me the ball underhanded. I caught it and tucked it under my left arm. I took small steps, under control. The defensive end reached for me, but I bent around him. Karpinski fought the cornerback. I slid by. I looked for my tackle. I looked for Reese. I found Reese. He cracked the linebacker. The sea of green opened. I exploded with all my donkey speed. Jay Landry accelerated toward me. One stride. Two strides. Jay Landry dove at air. I was gone.

I’d like to say I thought of Jerri on a mountain or Andrew in the stands with Grandma or Aleah pounding on piano keys or my force of nature dad pounding a tennis ball, but there was no thought, just this field in slow motion, teammates and fans like the blurry grass waving in the main road ditch as I ride my Schwinn Varsity faster and faster in silence except for the wind whistling, down the hill so fast, down the field so fast, that I’m surprised to find the end so soon.

I slow, stop, all is silence. I look into the stands, and it all explodes like Chinese New Year.

Listen. I’m stupid fast. Seriously.

As always, I am in debt to a big wad of people and places. First, thanks to Jim McCarthy, my agent, for caring about good books. Thanks to Dan Ehrenhaft for caring about this book. Thanks to the effervescent Leah Hultenschmidt for her excellent shepherding. That goes for the whole Sourcebooks crew too. (Thank you!) My mom, Donna, actually copyedited the manuscript before I turned it in (apparently copyeditors don’t like ellipses as much as I do…still, thanks, Mom—I love you). A big thanks to Platteville High School in the great state of Wisconsin. I can’t believe the opportunities this school afforded me: sports, music, theater, serious academics. Thanks to my whole hometown, Platteville, come to think of it. Thanks to the fantastic English Department at Minnesota State, Mankato. Thanks to the Class of 2k11. Thanks to Dustin Luke Nelson for encouragement and support. Thanks to my pal Sam Osterhout for writing so funny he makes me want to write. To Stephanie Wilbur Ash, whoa, so, so, so much for a thousand things. Finally, to my dad, Max Herbach, for warmth, for enthusiasm, for curiosity, for action, and for the fantastic sense of the absurd that ripples through my sense of humor. Thank you. I love you.

Geoff Herbach writes novels, hosts funny and sad radio shows, collaborates on indie rock musicals that may or may not be produced, and teaches in the creative writing program at Minnesota State University, Mankato. He is the father of two great kids, Leo and Mira. He is partnered to a very tall girl from Iowa named Steph. He loves big cities but feels most comfortable on dark quiet streets in the rural Midwest. He grew up in Platteville, Wisconsin, where he was both a dork and a jock.