Free The Great Quarterback Switch by Matt Christopher

1
    T -forty-three drive!” Michael Curtis yelled, pressing his hands against the sides of his wheelchair in order to push himself
     up as far as he could. “T-forty-three drive, Tom!”
    The Eagles had the ball on their own twenty-eight-yard line, and the T-43 drive was an effective play to try now, Michael
     thought. He hoped Tom thought so, too.
    Rick Howell, the Eagles’ substitute end, turned around on the bench next to Michael and smiled.
    “Louder, Mike, and maybe Tom will hearyou,” Rick said kiddingly, his blue eyes squinting against the late afternoon sun.
    Michael blushed as he returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said, “and so will the Colts. Why didn’t you punch me?”
    Rick shook his head. “Not me, kid. Tom told me about those biceps you’ve developed.”
    Michael’s smile broadened. Ever since he had purchased a set of barbells, he had been kidded by his brother, Tom, about his
     bulging biceps. A few months ago Michael’s arms had been as round and soft as uncooked sausages, but he’d firmed them up by
     working out.
    Michael’s attention shifted back to the game. He heard Tom calling signals, saw center Jack Benson snap the ball, then Tom
     take it and hand it off to fullback Vince Forelli, who charged straight ahead through the line. In the next play Tom handed
     the ball off to left halfback Jim Berry, whoplunged through the right side of the line for a six-yard gain.
    “Hey, how about that?” Michael cried, turning and slapping Rick on the shoulder. “Tom
did
call it!”
    “Well, being twins, you guys could be tuned in on the same wavelength,” Rick replied.
    “You mean like ESP?” The dimple in Michael’s chin deepened as he grinned. “Hey, that
would
be great, wouldn’t it?”
    “Well, you both know all the plays, don’t you?” said Rick.
    “Right.” Michael sure did, having learned them all while helping Tom study and memorize them.
    His eyes twinkled as Rick’s words rolled over in his mind. In many ways Michael and Tom were a lot alike. Michael was born
     about six minutes later than Tom a little over twelve years ago. He was named after thegrandfather on his mother’s side, and Tom after the grandfather on his dad’s side. It was the mutual wish of their mother
     and father that the boys be named that way.
    Both boys had coal black hair, with tufts of it sticking up near the back of their heads. They both had brown eyes, wide eyebrows,
     and flat cheeks. The difference was the dimple in Michael’s chin. Tom didn’t have one. And then there was the sparkle in Michael’s
     eyes, which seemed to be there constantly but which was only present in Tom’s eyes when he had been complimented for something
     he’d done.
    That was one thing Michael didn’t understand about his brother. Tom had so much going for him, but sometimes he lacked confidence
     unless someone praised him. Michael couldn’t figure out why Tom lacked confidence like that.
    The game grabbed Michael’s attentionagain, and he tried to remain quiet this time as he watched the Eagles go into a huddle. A moment later they broke out of
     it, and Michael’s heart began to pound as he tried to put himself in Tom’s place.
    If Rick only knew how much Tom and I work on this ESP thing,
Michael thought, smiling to himself.
If he only knew that we are even considering a step
beyond
ESP, he’d think we’ve gone crazy.
That next step was Thought-Energy Control, or TEC, which Ollie Pruitt, the old man who lived next door to the twins, believed
     in and had told them about. And Mr. Pruitt was no dummy, or crazy, either. He used to be a science professor before he retired,
     and was in complete control of his senses.
    Michael heard Tom bark signals. The ball was on the Eagles’ forty-three-yard line, and it was first down. The score was still
     0-0 after five minutes into the first quarter.
    The ball snapped from center. Michael saw Tom take it and fade back, knew Tom was looking for a receiver. The ends, Bob