Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,43
and emotionally and morally, I need a parent?”
“Why don’t you call your friends? Take a bike ride. Take a shower. You need to re-engage, Andrew.”
“Shut up.”
“That sounds like Jerri, right? I’ll be your mother. Go do something with your summer, kid!”
“I need my mom, not yours.”
“And I need to get my sweats on.”
“I won’t take this sitting down, Felton.”
“You are sitting down, Andrew.”
“Only so I can figure out what to do when I stand up.”
“Fair enough! Great! Get busy! Go get ’em, son!”
“You’re an assface.”
I ran inside and changed clothes as fast as possible. I honestly didn’t have time for the crap, which is harsh, I know, but I wasn’t sure anything really bad was going on—Jerri might snap out of it at any moment—and my paper route had taken tons longer with Aleah in tow. Not that I minded. Plus, I started seriously late. Cody would be at the house any second. It did worry me that Andrew might do something stupid like overreact and call the police on Jerri, tell them she’d decided not to be a parent anymore and then we’d get carted off to some home just when things were getting good for me. I did feel bad for Andrew too. No piano? What the hell?
I figured we’d better have a family meeting or something. I decided to tell Andrew we’d talk sincerely and seriously later in the day.
As I was about to leave, Jerri yelled, “Felton?” She was obviously in the living room upstairs.
I paused for a moment and thought…Should I answer? I did.
“Yeah, Jerri?”
“Tell your brother to take a chill pill.”
“Okay. You bet, Jerri.” Chill pill? What’s a chill pill?
I ran out the door into the garage. Just in time. Cody was pulling up the driveway in his truck. Andrew’s chair sat empty. He was nowhere to be seen. This made me feel bad. Andrew was just a little kid after all. I wanted to tell him we’d have that family meeting, and I wouldn’t have told him to take a chill pill. I opened the truck door and jumped in.
“Everything okay?” Cody asked.
“Other than my family going totally ape shit loony tune, it’s great,” I said.
“Yeah, Dad told me during supper that he found your mom sleeping in her car. Did you get my email?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Did you see the Rivals.com stuff about Ken Johnson?”
“Yeah. Pretty cool.” Not that cool.
“Coach Johnson will get that set up for you too.”
“Okay.” Then I thought, Why? I had to ask.
“Hey, why would colleges be interested in me before I’ve even played football? There’s no video of me of breaking people’s necks or running or stomping heads or doing anything.”
“Pretty obvious.”
“No.”
“Yeah. Would you rather have a raw talent with huge speed and size that might totally make a difference on the next level or someone experienced like me who’s short and slow and, no matter how much I know, won’t be able to compete with big, fast dudes? You’re a wet dream to a recruiter. Someone huge and fast who nobody’s talked to yet. Plus, your track times are already out there, so people know who you are.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
At the corner of the main road, Cody stopped. He looked at me.
“Really, man. You okay?”
“I think.”
“Your mom okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“You know Dad talked to her yesterday?”
“I heard something about it.”
“She seemed okay to him.”
“Okay,” I nodded. I seriously hoped Officer Frederick wouldn’t tell anyone else about what happened. I changed the subject.
“Hey, what’s a chill pill?”
“I don’t know. Is it some kind of drug?”
“Maybe. Jesus Christ.”
“Seriously, Reinstein. Let me know if you need anything, man,” Cody said.
Then we drove to weights, stopping briefly at the junior varsity baseball practice so I could pick up pamphlets and paperwork from Coach Jones that might earn me my driver’s permit.
At weights, that jerk Ken Johnson said some snide stuff to me, but I can’t even remember what it was. He’s like dandelion fluff. He’s nothing. I pumped iron like an angry gorilla. They had to throw thirty pounds extra on the bar every time it was my turn. The weight room didn’t smell to me. The weights’ heaviness just made me want to fight harder, so I lifted more. I shouted, pressing up the final lifts. Between lifts, I thought: Check this out, Jerri. Eat my crap, Ken Johnson. Don’t worry about chill pills, Andrew. Nobody better mess with me.
***
You know what? I’d been a D-I prospect for only forty-eight hours. In that time, my life had turned completely upside down. Seriously,