The Perfect Secret Page 10

  The guys around me started mumbling and whispering, wondering what was going on. None of us knew.

  “That little punk sprayed my helmet with Stickum!” Nicky cried.

  “Mine too!” Adam whined.

  Oh, man. He’d done it again. Chalk this up as another one of Scott’s classic brilliant terrible ideas. Stickum was the stuff wide receivers and running backs sprayed on their hands and gloves so they wouldn’t drop the ball. It was ultra-wicked sticky. That musta been what was in the old can he had thrown out. Whoa! This was crazy bad for Nicky and Adam, but I loved it.

  “Take the helmet off. Let me see,” Coach Holmes said. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Ahh!” Nicky yelled louder. “I can’t take it off. It’s going to rip my scalp!”

  “We’ll deal with it later, then. We’ve got a game to play.”

  “No!” Nicky whined. “It’s ripping my hair. Ow. My skin. Ow!”

  Coach Frazier was trying to help Adam but was having no luck. Superstar Nicky was on the verge of tears. Go ahead, ask me if I was feeling sorry for them. No way!

  “Argh!” Holmes growled. “Get into the coaches’ room. Both of you. Frazier, take the team out to the field.”

  I grabbed Scott and shoved him to the front. “Lead us out,” I whispered. Knowing him, he’d want to stay back and make sure Nicky and Adam were okay. It wasn’t a good idea. They’d never believe the Stickum had been an accident. I’d have to make sure Scott was never alone with those two losers after this.

  I tried.

  Everyone was hanging out in the quad area outside the dorms on Saturday night. We had finished a full day of workouts, and to celebrate, the coaches had a bonfire and an outdoor movie going. There were even concessions and different camp merchandise for sale. All the campers from the various camps were out and about, mingling. It was chilly, so I chose to wear my hoodie, the one that had my home gym on the front and my last name on the back.

  I was standing in line to get some food when I heard someone behind me say, “Hey, what’re you doing wearing his sweatshirt?”

  “Shut up,” someone else hissed.

  I looked around but couldn’t tell who they were talking to.

  “Hey, Cunningham. What’re you doing in his sweatshirt?”

  “Shut up,” the other voice hissed again.

  Cunningham? Are they talking to me? I wondered. Slowly I turned around.

  There was an older high school boy smiling at me. The friend standing next to him had his hand over his mouth and was snickering.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Little man here thinks you’re cute,” the high schooler said, nudging a younger boy who was beside them, “but we want to know why you’ve got his sweatshirt on.”

  “His sweatshirt? This is mine.”

  “ ‘Cunningham’ is his last name, too,” the first high schooler said.

  “Oh,” I replied.

  “You could marry him and not even have to change your name,” the snickering friend added.

  I shook my head. I saw what was going on. The high schoolers were teasing the younger boy. They were obnoxious, especially the snickering one, but the boy with my last name was kinda cute, especially with the way his face was turning red. “Whether I change my name or not is up to me, not the person I marry,” I told the high schoolers.

  “Whoa, you’re messing with a tough one,” the first high schooler said to the younger boy. “Good luck with her.” They paid for their candy bars and left. Guess they’d had their fun.

  “Do you have to put up with those two all weekend?” I asked the boy.

  “Yeah, but they’re cool. They were just giving me a hard time because…What’re you here for?”

  “Gymnastics,” I said. “And you?”

  “Wrestling.”

  “Is your last name really Cunningham?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s your first?”

  “Kyle. How about you?”

  “Randi.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Randi Cunningham.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kyle Cunningham.”

  We shook hands and got our snacks. Popcorn for me, nachos for Kyle. Then we walked over to a bench and sat down. We ate and chatted about our different sports. He was younger than me but didn’t look it. He was also easy to talk to, especially for someone I’d just met.

  “My dad’s one of my coaches,” Kyle said. “He was a high school standout when he wrestled. Everyone knows him and remembers him…and wonders if I’ll be as good as him….” His voice trailed off.

  “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “There are banners hanging in our gym with the names of past champions and record holders. I see my dad’s name every day at practice. Tom Cunningham. It’s up there more than anyone else’s.”

  “Did you say ‘Tom Cunningham’?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “That was my dad’s name, too,” I said.

  “What do you mean ‘was’?”

  “My dad left when I was a baby,” I explained. “I’ve never known him.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My mom said he was a jerk.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. My mom doesn’t say much.”

  Our conversation that up till now hadn’t slowed one bit suddenly stalled. A crazy idea burst into my head. I turned and looked closely at Kyle. He was doing the same with me. We studied each other’s features. His eyes were my eyes. His nose and chin and the shape of his face looked like mine.

  “You don’t think?”

  “Gross,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I know. I was thinking you were hot. I mean, you still are hot, but if you turn out to be my half sister, that’s gross.”

  “Eww. Stop it.”

  We laughed together.

  “Do you really think—” he started.

  “No way,” I said. “Do you know how crazy that would be?”

  “Yeah. But…”

  We grew quiet again. It was crazy, but it was also possible. Kyle and I exchanged addresses and promised to write to each other if we discovered anything after we did some sleuthing back at each of our homes. Texting would’ve been much easier but was out of the question. We didn’t want our parents to know what we were up to, and his mom was always checking his phone to make sure he wasn’t doing anything inappropriate. What was one more secret to keep, anyway?

  Going to sleep that night, I didn’t know if I was supposed to be excited or scared. Digging into the past meant bringing up the father I didn’t know, the man my mom wanted to bury and forget.

  After we hit the field without Coach Holmes, Nicky, or Adam, football became everything it was supposed to be. We received the ball to start the game. Coach Frazier was more than a little freaked about his son and being the one calling the shots, but never fear, Stats Man was there to tell him what to do, and that started with putting me in at quarterback. Frazier didn’t like it, but he had no choice. I got the nod. I wanted to hug Scott.

  I knew all the plays. Even though I hadn’t run them in practice, I’d rehearsed all of them with my pretend teammates in my backyard, and I’d gone over them in my head countless times. I stepped into the huddle and took charge. I was ready. I’d been ready for a long time.

  After every play I smacked my linemen on their shoulder pads and a few times on the butts. “That’s how to block!” I praised them. “Keep it up!”

  “Way to run hard!” I encouraged our backs.

  Part of being QB and the leader is getting those in the huddle to believe in themselves and each other. We marched the ball down the field. And then Stats Man got Frazier to dial up our first pass play.

  I rolled to my right and spotted Mark ru
nning a shallow drag across the middle. I threw a perfect ball that he caught in full stride and took all the way to the end zone—my first career touchdown pass. I ran down the field with my arms in the air. It was the best feeling, one I had thought I’d never experience and had almost given up on.

  As I jogged to the sideline, I looked into the stands and saw my mom and dad and Meggie waving. I saw Grandpa, Coach, Magenta, and even Woods. They weren’t together, but they were there cheering us on. Could something like football help unite them? Was it that simple? Hard to say, ’cause we didn’t give them much to cheer about after that. Holmes and Nicky and Adam came running out of the gym and joined the team.

  “Your day is done, Pablo. Your kind will never be the star,” Holmes hissed.

  That was it. My game was finished. I didn’t see the field again. Nicky and Adam got the call and didn’t play that great, but they had excuses, and the team still hung on for a 7–6 win. We were 1–0 to start the season, but I felt like we’d lost.

  Mom and Dad were thrilled for me, though. I hadn’t just played; I’d shined out there. The fact that I’d gotten benched seemed like it was just so the other guys would get a chance to play. In my parents’ minds I was the starter. It was all fair. But nothing was fair when dealing with Coach Holmes. Mom and Dad might see the truth as the season wore on, but I wasn’t gonna say anything. I wanted to handle this on my own. Like a man.

  The only one to ask me about something other than football that night—you guessed it—was Meggie. “Gavvy, want to read with me?”

  “Okay.” I followed her into her room and sat on her bed. She plopped down next to me with a new stack of books. “Where did these come from?” I asked.

  “The library.”

  “The public library?”

  “Yup. Mommy took me there,” Megs said, all proud.

  “Really?”

  “Yup. I saw your hungry caterpillar drawing on the wall.”

  I smiled. “How come you haven’t asked me to read these books until today?” I asked her.

  “I’ve been reading them by myself,” she said.

  “You can read them?”

  “I make up the words when I don’t know them. Want me to read to you?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She opened the first book and began telling me a wedding story that went along with the pictures. Meggie could read more than I’d expected, which made me feel both proud and relieved. She wasn’t going to struggle like me. She was also really good at adding in her own words. Tell you the truth, the ones she came up with were better than the ones in the book. I liked her story better. Maybe she’d grow up to be a writer.

  “Do you remember Mommy and Daddy’s wedding?” Megs asked when she closed the book.

  “No. They got married before I was born, goofball.”

  “Oh. But did they ever tell you what it was like?”

  I sat there thinking, and realized I’d never heard them talking about it. “No,” I said. “It’s not the sort of thing a boy asks about, I guess.”

  “Well, I’m gonna ask Mommy tomorrow,” she decided.

  “You do that,” I said. “Good night, Megs.” I messed her hair.

  “Good night, Gavvy.”

  I turned off her light and walked down the hall to my room. A wedding wasn’t the sort of thing a boy asked about, but Meggie’s question got me wondering why there weren’t any pictures of the big day anywhere in the house. It was probably ’cause hiring a photographer cost too much money.

  The thing I couldn’t explain was why Randi woulda missed my game. I’d spotted Kurtsman with her parents, but Randi was a no-show. Some best friend.

  I was missing football practice because Mrs. Magenta’s program got started up again, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I was happy about it. Happy about restarting her program—and even more happy to be missing football.

  Yeah, I loved football, but I didn’t love Coach Holmes. And I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Who wants to play for a guy that is all about his son? I was sick and tired of hearing about how great Nicky was. Gavin was better, plain and simple, and I’m not just saying that because he was my friend. The rest of the guys were beginning to talk. At first it was only the seventh graders coming to his side, but since our game, I’d been hearing some of the eighth graders mumbling the same thing. If I were Gavin, I would’ve been fine with missing practice, but he wasn’t.

  “This only gives Holmes a reason to keep me on the bench,” he said when we were on the bus. “It’s not helping.”

  “It’s not helping me, either,” Scott complained. “Who’s going to get the equipment out and keep the stats? I’ll never win over Coach Holmes this way.”

  “You need to stop worrying,” Gavin said. “I already told you, this could be a good thing for you. Maybe after some of the other guys have to help with the equipment, they’ll start to appreciate you more.”

  It was funny how Gavin could see missing practice as a potential good thing for Scott but not for himself.

  “Dude, you shouldn’t be worrying, either,” Mark told Gavin. “I hate to break it to you, but if leading our team down the field for our one and only touchdown doesn’t help your case, nothing will. Face it, Coach Holmes has it out for you. You’re a threat to his precious Nicky, so he’s going to keep you off the field, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I can win the team,” Gavin said. “That’s why I need to be there. I’ve got to keep working hard.”

  “You’re already working harder than everybody else,” I said. “Mark’s right. Coach Holmes has it in for you.”

  “We could miss our blocks on purpose and watch precious Nicky get creamed,” Mark offered. “That would be fun.”

  “Sabotage!” Scott exclaimed.

  “No!” Gavin snapped. “Don’t you dare. My problem is with Holmes, not Nicky.”

  “Nicky’s a punk, and you know it,” I countered. “He deserves to get flattened.”

  “No,” Gavin said, leveling his eyes at me. “I’m getting the spot fair and square.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. But just so you know, it’s definitely not fair.”

  The bus came to a stop outside the Senior Center, and we filed off. It was time to forget Coach Homes and football and focus on the task in front of me. I had a job to do.

  It was nice seeing the old people, and even nicer to hear them calling Mark and me “the TV Boys” and thanking us for the new theater all over again. But I needed to find Mrs. Ruggelli. The last time we’d visited, she had mentioned getting a new computer for the place. We needed to make that happen. Mark was in on this with me. We had to get Mrs. Ruggelli to make another trip to Best Buy. Not only did I want to get a computer for the Senior Center, but I had all of my savings with me to buy something I needed. I’d thought about taking some of Dad’s money, but I wasn’t a thief, even if he didn’t believe me—and neither was my brother. I was going to prove it. I was going to catch our crook red-handed.

  The guys kept telling me not to worry about missing practice, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially since Coach Woods started talking football as soon as Gavin and I walked into his room. “Heckuva game, Valentine,” Coach said. “That was a beautiful pass you threw for that touchdown.”

  Gavin shrugged. “Thanks. That was Junior’s play call.”

  Coach winked at me, and Grandpa patted me on the shoulder. Gavin walked over and started petting Smoky.

  “What’s the matter?” Grandpa asked him.

  “Nothing,” Gavin lied.

  “He’s mad about not playing much,” Coach said. “And he should be.”

  Gavin looked up.

  “I’d be concerned if you weren’t upset,” Coach continued. “Good sportsmanship doesn’t mean giving up and not caring. You were the better quarterba
ck, but it’ll take more than one good showing to change your coach’s mind. Why was he late getting out to the field with those other boys?”

  My eyes got big, but Gavin didn’t tell on me.

  “Ah, never mind,” Coach said, waving his hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

  I sighed, and Grandpa smirked. “You can tell me later,” he whispered.

  I nodded. I couldn’t fool Grandpa, and that was okay. I knew he’d get a kick out of my story, but he would need to keep it our secret.

  “Valentine, things like this have a way of working themselves out,” Coach went on. “That’s one of the beauties about sports. Good things happen to people who work hard.”

  “My dad likes to say that,” Gavin said.

  “Well, it’s true. You’ve got to trust that and keep giving your best. How was practice today?”

  “We’re missing it right now,” I exclaimed.

  “What!” Coach yelled. “That’s not okay. You’re not going to win the spot that way. We’ve got to do something about that. Where’s that teacher of yours?”

  “You mean your daughter?”

  Grandpa’s eyebrows jumped, and Gavin’s head yanked in my direction. Gavin shot me a hard look. Oops. The words had fallen out of my mouth before I’d even realized it.

  “Olivia,” Coach said. “Where is she?”

  Gavin looked at me again, and we both got wide-eyed. Was Coach remembering? There was no time to waste. I ran out of the room and down to the Community Hall.

  “Mrs. Magenta, your da—I mean, Coach wants to see you. He’s asking for you,” I said.

  “He is?” Her face lit up just like mine does around cupcakes.

  Natalie and Randi also perked up, but I didn’t have time to explain. I ran with Mrs. Magenta back to Coach’s room.

  “Olivia,” he barked as soon as we got back. “These boys can’t be missing football.”

  “I know. I feel bad about that, too, but there’s no other way.”

  “Sure there is. You need to start bringing them after they’re done with practice. Some call it happy hour, but we’ll call it visiting hour. That’s the perfect time of day for slowing down and catching up, anyways.”