Strange Country Day by Charles Curtis Page A

or kidnapped, it was nagging me that a day would come when Coach Schmick called my name and I’d have no powers to lean on, no great throw, no pinpoint accuracy, no strength, no arm. Nothing.
    At least I had Homecoming to look forward to. The Friday night before our fourth game, the town sponsored a big bonfire and celebration in the park and everyone—the mayor, parents, alumni, students, and, of course, the fire department—attended. We’d all wear our varsity jackets, stand up in front of the local TV cameras, and listen to the mayor say how great we were.
    The night of the bonfire, Dex and I met up and waited for Sophi to join us before walking over to the village park.
    “Do you think Denny Deaner will interview me?” Dex squeaked. Deaner was the local sportscaster who always reported on high school sports.
    “You know exactly who he’s going to interview.”
    “Sure, but we’ve got a cooler story. The two nobodies who made the team on one throw-and-catch during gym.”
    Little did he know how much of a story that really was.
    “Hey guys!” Sophi arrived and gave me a big hug. She did the same to a very surprised Dex.
    We walked slowly to the park in the middle of town at dusk and saw an orange-yellow glow in the distance. I let Sophi and Dex do most of the talking—they mainly discussed school. She told him how ridiculous it was that he got booted from their gym class just because he clawed someone’s face after getting bullied. (So that was how he ended up in my class that day!) He told her that he saw one of her sculptures in the art building and liked it a lot. From there, it was like they’d been friends for a long time.
    Soon, we stood at the entrance to the park, dazzled by the sight of the Homecoming celebration. In the center of the grassy quadrangle, a fire burned about twelve feet high. Members of the fire department fed and guarded it. There were vendors hawking hot dogs, hamburgers, and huge cones of cotton candy. A few local news cameramen were already filming, while members of the team stood around in their jackets, trying to look cool, tough, and nonchalant at the same time. Naturally, everyone ignored my presence.
    The three of us stood near the fire, trying not to be so obvious while we talked about everyone who walked by. We saw teachers and imitated them as they walked by in their weekend clothes, except for Mr. Crowley, who was still wearing a dusty beige blazer with elbow patches over a turtleneck.
    Dex made a snide comment about our team’s running back and how he bragged about making out with every good-looking girl at school. I’d opened my mouth to retort about how he’s probably lying when I heard a familiar ringing in my ears.
    Squeeeeeeeee
    Oh, no. Not here. Not in front of everyone. I inhaled the familiar aroma of toasted marshmallows. Was this really about to happen again, in front of the entire town?
    “Sorry, folks!” a voice said over the loudspeaker. I looked to the stage where one of the workers setting up the mayor’s podium had knocked over a microphone, sending loud feedback through the amplifiers.
    A few feet away, a father was holding a long stick with three marshmallows on it, showing his small daughter how to toast them on the bonfire.
    False alarm.
    “You okay?” Dex asked. “You look freaked out.”
    “Fine.”
    “Feedback bothers you that much?”
    “It hurts my ears,” I said. A decent excuse.
    Coach Carson showed up and asked us to join the rest of the team standing near the mayor. Beyond discussing my throwing technique or the intricacies of the playbook, he and I hadn’t said anything about the locker room invasion. But there was some comfort in knowing the face of one of my guards.
    The mayor got up in front of the cameras to talk about how proud he was of our winning start to the season and how he’d already made a bet with the mayor of a nearby town, whose high school was a long-time rival—the loser of our upcoming matchup would have to