Cure for the Common Universe by Christian McKay Heidicker Page B

thought you said this was just for kids with health troubles.”
    The coach shrugged. “Maybe they all have asthma too.”
    I looked at the Cheefs, sweaty from the basketball court. Dorothy spit, Tin Man cracked his knuckles, Lion tied his locks into a ponytail, and Scarecrow blew me a kiss. My confidence evaporated into the summer sky.
    The coach patted my back and whispered , “You think I’m gonna give you points without you working for it?” His whistle screeched into my ear. “We’re changing today’s tournament because one of our players has asthma.”
    â€œLame,” Lion said.
    Soup touched my love handle. “Miles? Do you have asthma? Do you need me to get you water?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay, if you pass out, I can do mouth-to—”
    â€œDo not finish that sentence, Soup.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Scarecrow stepped up to Sir Arturius. “Get out of there for a second.”
    The kid happily obeyed, and Scarecrow moved into his square.
    â€œMind if I step in?” Dorothy asked Devastator, squeezing his arm.
    â€œOkay,” he said, and exited, arms fixed to his sides.
    Tin Man slapped the back of my arm. “Move.”
    I gazed up at all six foot three of him. “No.”
    Tin Man seemed confused. Like no one had ever said no to him before. He looked at the coach, then back at me, huffed, and then rejoined the line.
    â€œ My square,” Lion growled at Soup.
    Soup hugged the ball to his chest. He looked at me, then back at Lion’s red face. “No,” he said.
    I smiled and decided to let Soup sit next to me during the next assembly.
    The coach put his whistle to his lips. “The tournament will begin—”
    â€œActually?” I put my hand into the air. “We already started. I have eleven points.”
    He snorted. “There are no points in Four Square.” And he blew the whistle.
    â€œWhat we playing?” Scarecrow asked, punching the ballout of Soup’s hands and spinning it between his own. “Bus Stop? Tea Party? Around the World? Shark Attack? I say Shark Attack.”
    Shark Attack implied blood. Tea Party didn’t sound too bad. I was about to say so when Scarecrow lifted the ball into the air, his other fist behind it. “No fake-outs. No cherry bombs. We good?”
    My stomach nose-dived right to my feet. No, we weren’t good. I needed sports experience. I needed to have joined the basketball team instead of the AV club. I needed a Red Bull. I needed to win .
    Soup raised his hand. “How do you play?”
    Scarecrow sighed and dropped the ball to his side. “Four squares.” He pointed to the roman numeral in the corner of each of our respective spaces. “If someone’s eliminated, everyone else cycles toward the one square. Winner is whoever spends the most time in this square. Don’t know why you guys didn’t take it, but too late now.”
    Damn. Scarecrow was in square one. I was in square three. Scarecrow had to be eliminated and I had to survive two rounds to even have a chance at scoring.
    Scarecrow spun the ball. “The ball can only bounce into your square once, and then you have to hit it into another square. We keep going like that till someone screws up. Like this.” Scarecrow dropped the ball, let it bounce once, and then punched it into my square. My knees pinched together a second too late as the ball flew right between my legs. The crowdgiggled as someone tossed the ball back to Scarecrow.
    â€œFilthy casual!” Lion secretly called into his hand.
    Why do you hate me? I wanted to ask Scarecrow. I stood there like an idiot instead.
    â€œWe cool?” Scarecrow asked.
    â€œCool!” Soup said.
    â€œCheefs get a handicap,” the coach said. “Minus fifteen seconds for every minute spent in the serve square. Sefs get plus fifteen.”
    At least I wasn’t in the Cheefs.
    â€œForty-five minutes,” the