Dairy Queen by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

Author:Catherine Gilbert Murdock
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2011-06-29T16:57:26.462000+00:00

18. D.J. Goes to Town

Wednesday morning I decided that if I was really going to spend the next two weeks training for preseason, I should probably figure out if I would even, you know, be allowed to play. So after Brian worked through his weights and stretches, I said we could quit for the day. He gave me this long look but I wouldn't look back because I'm such a bad liar, so eventually he left and I took the pickup to Home Depot to track down Jeff Peterson.

Jeff Peterson works in the flooring department there, but his other job, his real job if you ask anyone including him, is coaching Red Bend football. He's been doing it for three years and he was assistant coach for a long while before that. He and Bill were really close when Bill was in high school, and he really helped Bill with all the scholarship stuff and getting his grades in order. He has a little mustache, and whenever he's thinking hard he'll chew on it, sort of pull his upper lip down and gnaw on it a little. I bet he doesn't even notice when he does it. Bill and Win used to have a great time imitating him. He's a good guy. He doesn't yell. I like that.

Sure enough, there he was in the flooring department, growing out his mustache for football season. He was helping some lady decide between four identical colors of carpet until finally she went away without buying anything and he turned to me.

"Hey there, Coach," I said.

"Well, hey there, D.J. What can I do you for?"

I took a deep breath. "Coach, I want to play football for Red Bend this fall." I figured it'd be best to get it over with fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.

"Huh," he said, probably chewing his mustache right off but I was too busy studying the floor to see. "I thought you had some scholastic problems last semester."

Which, if you'd asked me the hundred things I thought he would say, wouldn't even have made the list. Also, how did he even know?

"Yeah," I said. "English."

"Because you need a clean transcript to play. You know that."

Which I did know but I guess I'd forgotten. "We're working on it, me and Mrs. Stolze." Which wasn't a complete lie because I'd talked to Mom about it once and gone through the file. "She said if I got her the papers I could turn it around."

"You need to work on that then, don't you?"

"Yeah. I guess I do."

"Okay then." Jeff turned to help a customer.

"But—Jeff? If I did that could I, you know, play?"

"I'll have to do some asking around. Don't know what the rules are." He turned away, smoothing his mustache, and started talking to a guy about subfloors, which would be fascinating if you had nothing else to think about for the rest of your life.

"Should I, you know, keep training?" I managed finally, sounding like a total moron I'm sure. The subfloor guy seemed to think I was, anyway.

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