Betting Game by Heather M. O'Connor Page A

a bobblehead doll—my head just keeps nodding and nodding.
    “You go on while I get the lights.” He walks into the showers, and his voice is muffled. Light switches go click, click, click .
    I reach for the door handle but can’t bring myself to touch it.
    The guard is back. “Out we go.”
    He holds the door open, then turns out the lights. We look both ways, cringing at the hollow clang and the scrape of the key in the lock and the guard’s voice echoing through the halls. He doesn’t seem to notice.
    We turn the corner, and I see Mom and Dad waiting for us. Thank goodness.
    And then I see who they’re talking to. Blond hair. Mirrored shades. Luka.
    Mom sees us first, and her arms open wide. “The heroes of the day! What an exciting game. I’m so proud of you.”
    She hugs me first, then holds me out at arm’s length. “How’s the ankle? Does it hurt much?”
    I duck my head. “No, it’s okay. Or, at least, it will be. It’s all taped up.”
    Alex is next. “I was so worried when you went down.” She tips his head to look at his eyes. “Your pupils look okay. No dizziness?” she asks, feeling his goose egg.
    “Ow! Mom, it’s just a bump on the head!”
    Dad hugs us next, pounding on our backs a little too hard. “Way to go. Best game I’ve seen all season. Worth the price of admission! Isn’t that right, Luka?”
    Luka shakes Alex’s hand. “Good game.”
    Then he grips mine, and I feel the small bones crunch together. “Way to win it, Jack. I thought you were going to lose, but you pulled off a win, didn’t you?”
    He says all the right things, but I get his message loud and clear. When he releases my hand, I flex my fingers.
    “See you around, Jack.”
    Don’t bet on it.
    As we’re leaving the stadium, Dad takes Alex and me by the arm. “This calls for a celebration. What’ll it be, boys? Burgers? Pizza? Ice cream? Whatever you want, it’s on me.”
    Just the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. What I really want is sleep and a locked door. And a plane ticket to Peru.
    “Can I get a rain check, Dad? It’s been a long night.”
    “You sure?”
    “Rick, they just played a hard game,” Mom says. “They have another big game tomorrow. They need their sleep. Let’s go home.”
    “Yeah,” says Alex. “We don’t want any trouble with Coach.”
    We have enough trouble already.
    A black Stingray peels out of the parking lot, and I watch the red taillights until they’re gone.
    Mom takes another look at me. “You all right?” She hugs me again, and I’m afraid I’ll tell the whole ugly story.
    “I’m fine,” I tell her shoulder and myself. “I’m fine.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine
    Alex and I lie in our beds talking. I tell him about meeting Luka, and how cool it was to talk about soccer with him. How exciting it was to watch a game that I bet on.
    “He listened to me, you know? He asked so many good questions. About my system and the Lancers and sports medicine. But I guess he was just bleeding information. He was just setting me up.” I search Alex’s face. How can I make him understand? “I felt so smart. So cool. So…respected.”
    “You never figured it out?”
    “Not really.”
    But if I’m dead honest? I close my eyes. The phone, the questions. The car. Concert tickets to a band he doesn’t listen to.
    I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to figure it out.”
    “Dad never asked you about it?”
    I shake my head.
    He frowns. “And you don’t want to tell Mom.”
    “I didn’t even want to tell you.”
    “Why? I’m your brother. We’ve always—” He looks at his hands, and his voice gets quiet. “But not so much lately.”
    “No. But that’s not why.” I’ve been blaming everyone else so long that the words stick in my throat. Once I start, they pour out. “Look. I met Luka before Gil even got here. What happened…it was my own stupid fault.
    “If it means anything, I wish I had talked to you. Maybe I wouldn’t be in