The Fast and the Furriest (8 page)

Kevin wiped the sleep from his eyes and prepared to meet his doom. Breakfast was unsatisfying, and so was pre-camp TV. Maggie offered to drive Kevin to Scherzer, but he declined.

Where I go now
, he thought,
I must go alone
.

The walk to camp was long, slow, and gray. The skies were dark. Rain was expected, but sadly, not enough to cancel football. Cromwell stayed home, due to the weather and a grooming appointment. Kevin groaned when Scherzer field came into view. Brad Junior was already there, and already surrounded by his groupies.

Kevin looked at the ground and noticed that he’d forgotten his cleats.

“Gee,” he said to himself. “Might not play my best today. Bummer.”

With Coach Glussman out of town, the assistants collaborated on a short introductory talk, then made the campers run the usual lap—and that’s when Coach Z’s method of convincing Kevin to quit began to reveal itself.

“Pugh!”
he yelled, just as Kevin was finishing. “You call that running?! Because I call it lollygagging!”

Kevin said nothing.

“Everyone take another lap!” continued Coach Z. “And please encourage Mr. Pugh to take this one seriously.”

And so they all ran again.

When passing Kevin, most of the campers took the opportunity to insult him, and everyone urged him to hustle.

“Okay, men!” shouted Coach Dombrowski when Kevin finished the lap. “Let’s play!”

Kevin began limping toward the field, completely drained.

“
Hustle
, Pugh!” yelled Coach Z.

Kevin broke into a trot. His coach soon ran alongside him.

“Have you had a chance to think about the conversation we had last week, Pugh?”

“Coach,” said Kevin, “I still can’t quit.”

“Didn’t I give you another option?”

“Well … I can’t promise that I’ll start enjoying myself, either. There’s no fire.”

The coach eyed him for a moment. “Then it’s going to be a long summer for both of us, Pugh.”

Coach Z sprinted ahead, blew a whistle—though not quite with the authority of Coach Glussman—and huddled quickly with Alex before the first game.

Alex walked away from their conversation nodding, then jogged over to Kevin.

“Coach wants you inside,” he said.

“Um … okay,” Kevin said. “It’s supposed to rain today, so I guess that’s cool. But I think the school is locked. Is there a key? What am I suppo—”

“No, Kev,” said Alex. “On the line. On defense. He wants you on the inside of the line. Over the center.”

“Right, sure.” Kevin nodded. “Of course. Got it.”

“Just do your best,” said Alex.

Coach Z whistled again, and Kevin’s team began to arrange itself on the field. A light rain began to fall. Alex stood a few steps behind Kevin at linebacker. Brad Junior huddled with his team just a few feet away, whispering instructions. Kevin stood directly over the ball. He stretched, then hopped in place. Kevin was jittery, despite the fact that no one expected him to do anything.

When the opposing team approached the line, Brad Junior winked at Kevin.

“Hey, Pugh,” he chirped. “Did you say hey to your sister for me?”

Brad smiled.

“Sure did, champ,” said Kevin. “She wanted me to tell you that you’re a flaming bag of …”

“Down!”
screamed Brad Junior, still smiling.

Kevin glared.

“Set!”

Brad’s linemen were frozen in place, statue-still. None of them seemed particularly concerned with Kevin.

“Hut …”

Kevin continued his hopping. The rain fell harder.

“Hut!”

The ball was snapped to Brad, who darted to his right.

“Run! Run!”
yelled Alex.

Kevin wasn’t sure if that comment was directed at him or not, but he took off in pursuit of Brad just in case. None of the blockers chose to interfere with Kevin, which wasn’t unusual.

Brad sprinted toward the sideline, but Alex cut him off. The quarterback turned upfield, flashed Kevin yet another smile, then danced around an attempted flag-pull … and scampered toward the end zone.

Several defensive players chased him, but Brad had a sizeable lead.

Well, that didn’t take long
, thought Kevin.

“Pugh!” screamed Coach Z from the sideline. “Don’t give up on the play!”

Kevin did not.

He dipped his head and ran as hard as he could, although Brad was clearly pulling away. The quarterback crossed the goal line well of Kevin and the rest of the defense. Coach Z blew his whistle and raised his arms, signaling a touchdown. Only then did Kevin stop running.

Or rather, only then did he
try
to stop.

In the rain and without cleats, Kevin found that stopping himself was more difficult than stopping Brad. He slid along the wet grass like a skater on a sheet of ice. After three yards, he began to yell.

“AAAAAHH!”

He waved his arms, but nothing slowed his momentum.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

Brad Junior was directly in front of Kevin, but his back was turned. Brad was holding the ball aloft in the end zone, and seemed to be considering his touchdown dance options.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Kevin’s eyes widened as he neared Brad. He crossed the five-yard line … the four-… the three-…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Brad spun around—not in reaction to the noise, but as part of the TD celebration—just as Kevin crossed the goal line.

In the milliseconds before they collided, Kevin saw Brad’s expression change from delight to terror.

WHOOOMP!

Brad was like a mosquito on the windshield of a speeding truck. When the pair hit the ground, Kevin heard a small expulsion of air from Brad, followed by a crunch. Every player on the field gasped.

“Pugh!”
yelled Coach Z, running toward the scene of the collision.

Brad’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged at first. His nose was bleeding. He spat a tooth—or a significant piece of tooth—at Kevin.

Coach Z reached the fallen players.

“Puuu …!”

He looked at Brad.

“
… eeeeeeew
. Yuck!”

Kevin picked himself up and brushed wet grass off his T-shirt.

“Um … my bad,” he said.

Brad spat a little more. After several seconds, he sat up and regained his voice.

“Thtupid Pugh never thtopped! He thmashed right inta me!” Tears ran down Brad’s face as he lisped. “I think I broke my nothe! And my mouth! I’m thpitting a tooth!”

Coach Z handed Brad a yellow penalty flag and told him to hold it to his nose.

“Try to relax, Ainsworth. It was an accident. Kevin tried to stop, but he was …”

“No I didn’t,” said Kevin flatly.

A powerful idea had hit him—nothing quite as powerful as what had just hit Brad, but powerful nonetheless.

“What?” asked Coach Z. “Kevin, I saw the whole thing. You tried to stop, but since it was raining, you …”

“No,”
said Kevin firmly. “I did
not
try to stop.”

He and Coach Z exchanged a long look.

“I tried to hit Brad. And I did it.”

Kevin pounded his chest, because that’s something he’d seen NFL players do.

“Then that’th gotta be a penalty!” cried Brad, spitting a little more.

Coach Z continued to stare at Kevin, puzzled.

“Oh, it’s more than a penalty, buddy,” said Kevin. “I should probably get kicked out of camp. Expulsion is the only thing for a rule-breaker like me.”

“Yeah!”
yelled Brad, pressing the penalty flag to his face.
“Thuthpended!”

“Yeah,” said Coach Z softly, his eyes still locked on Kevin, clearly beginning to understand his plan. “Maybe this does call for discipline.”

Kevin nodded at his coach.

“Dithipline!”
wailed Brad.
“Dithipliiiiiiinnnne!”
Tears continued to flow.

The rain above slowed, and sunlight broke through the clouds.

W
hen Kevin’s parents were told of the incident, they clearly had a difficult time processing the details. That evening, Howie, Maggie, and Kevin sat around the kitchen table, listening to Coach Z on speaker-phone.

“I’m sorry,” said Kevin’s mom, “but you’re saying that Kevin
—my Kevin—
actually broke the nose of another boy?”

“And a tooth,” said Kevin quietly.

“That’s correct, Mrs. Pugh,” said Coach Z.

“And it was the Ainsworth kid’s nose, eh?” asked Howie, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes, sir,” said Coach Z.

Howie nodded. Maggie swatted him on the arm.

“We’re mortified, Coach,” she said. “We don’t
want
anyone’s
nose broken. We feel terrible for poor Bradley.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Howie studied his son from across the table.

That’s right
, Kevin thought.
I’m a baaaaad dude
.

Maggie continued.

“And your recommendation, Coach Zalenski, is that Kevin should not be allowed to return to camp?”

“For the safety of the other children,” said Coach Z. “And so that he can learn that his actions will have consequences.”

Kevin could barely hide his grin.

Maggie repeated Coach Z’s words slowly.

“For … the … safety …”

“… of the other children,” said the coach. “That’s right. He really needs to control that temper. Manage the competitive drive. Kevin’s not tiny.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Howie, a hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

“You’ll be fully refunded, of course.”

Despite several minutes of negotiation, Maggie couldn’t get Kevin’s punishment reduced. She offered multi-week suspensions and elaborate apologies. She offered Howie’s unlimited camp services, too, but Coach Z wouldn’t budge.

Well played sir
, thought Kevin.
Hold your ground, Coach
.

Expulsion was the perfect resolution. And because of Howie’s relative amazement at his son’s new aggressiveness, Kevin escaped serious punishment at home. His parents called the Ainsworths to discuss the incident, and Kevin and Brad Junior were required to speak:

“Sorry about your nose, man.”

Silence.

“And your tooth.”

Continued silence.

“Brad?”

“It’th fine, Pugh. Hurtth a little, but I’m fine. You’re not that tough.”

“That’s great, Brad. Again, very sorry.”

“Thure thing, Pugh. Thay hi to your thithter, Ithy.”

CLICK
.

Kevin could forgive the sister comment that time, given the unfortunate state of Brad’s face. After a lecture from Kevin’s parents about learning to channel his emotions, the official period of punishment had ended.

Kevin retreated to the basement with Cromwell. He sat on the sofa, content. The dog curled into a ball of brown fur on Kevin’s lap.

“Crom, my schedule has suddenly opened up.”

The phone rang. Kevin saw Zach’s number on the caller ID.

“Hey, Za—”

“DUDE!”
yelled Zach, forcing Kevin to remove the receiver from his ear. “Is it true!? You broke Ainsworth!?”

“Well, it wasn’t qui—”

“Because I heard you
obliterated
him!”

“Kind of, yeah,” said Kevin. “It was ugly. But it wasn’t intentional—there’s no way I could ever catch that little guy on purpose. The silver lining here is that I’m kicked out of camp. I’m being punished—no football!”

“You must be heartbroken,” said Zach.

“Indeed.”

“But you’re not grounded?”

“Nope, not grounded.” Kevin smirked. “In fact, I think my dad was kinda impressed. Which is kind of psycho, but there it is.”

“So this means …”

“Paw Patch gets the green light,” said Kevin. “If you’re still willing to sponsor us.”

“Kev, I’m here for you. I’ve actually got a few different designs for the ‘Team Cromwell’ logo that I’d like to discuss. There’s an apparel line that I’ve been sketching. And partnership opportunities with sports drinks. I’ve thought of an ad campaign that would be a great fit for a car manufa—”

“Okay,” laughed Kevin. “Good to know we have your support.”

“Oh, you’ve got it.” Zach paused. “But you can’t quit on me and Cromwell once we start this, Kevin. This
cannot
be like Boy Scouts. I got stuck in that little blue-suited cult for a whole year. Remember, when we sign up for agility classes, you’ll be working …”

“… I’ll be working for Team Cromwell,” Kevin said.

The dog grumbled in his sleep. Kevin scratched him lightly behind the ears.

“We’re not running these agility classes by your parents, I assume?” asked Zach.

“Oh, no. Not yet, anyway. They might smell a setup. And I’m not sure I can sell them on the idea that you’re paying for it.”

Kevin couldn’t wait for Wednesday morning, when they would return triumphantly to Elka’s class. He considered e-mailing her that night, but the whole reply-to-dog aspect of her communication bothered him—or intimidated him, maybe. Coaches like Zalenski and Glussman didn’t seem too frightening to Kevin. He’d encountered whistle-blowing hustle-mongers before. But he’d never been around anyone quite like Elka Brandt. She seemed slightly mystical.

It was two more nights of uneasy sleep for Kevin, but this had more to do with eagerness than dread. On Wednesday, he, Zach, and Cromwell arrived together at Paw Patch early, well before class, just to guarantee a
solid second impression. They again used the bike stroller for the dog, which Cromwell seemed to enjoy. With football camp behind him, a serious weight had been lifted from Kevin’s shoulders. Somehow, when they entered Elka’s giant, AstroTurf-covered training facility, she didn’t seem even remotely surprised to see them.

“Um … Ms. Brandt?” said Kevin tentatively.

Elka was arranging obstacles. Her back was turned to the door.

“Ms. Brandt, um … Cromwell and I would like to enroll in your class. If that’s okay with you.”

She placed a windmill on the ground, then stepped back to examine it. She said nothing.

“Dude, I don’t think she can hear so well,” Zach whispered to Kevin.

“Only my dogs and their handlers in the room, Zachary!” declared Elka, rattling the boys.