Free Yard War by Taylor Kitchings Page B

was
my
idea. I was the one who discovered him.
    Dee took off his red shirt and there was that same T-shirt that looked like it was about to come off in pieces. He took off his shoes, too, and said he couldn’t even
feel
stickers, like he wanted everybody to know how tough he was. I liked it better last time, when he didn’t seem so sure about everything. And he acted like he was just as happy to be on Andy’s team as he had been on mine. Didn’t he remember who called him a name last week?
    Even more cars drove by this time, and most of them slowed down. Mrs. Sitwell came out to get her mail and stopped and watched us like we were criminals. I wanted to yell, “Go back in your house, old sourpuss face!”
    The other reason I didn’t want anybody watching was because the Rebels were getting stomped by the Stompers. The Dee-to-Andy pass combo was impossible to cover. Andy ran long almost every time, and Dee threw it just far enough ahead so Andy couldreach out and pull it in without even slowing down. Nobody can defend against that.
    Whenever I tried to catch a pass, Dee would bat it away and grin at me like I was supposed to say congratulations. He intercepted two.
    The Rebels tried a couple of flea-flickers that would have worked against any other team, but the Stompers were always ready for it. Before things even got started good, the Rebels were behind 21–0.
    “Y’all ready to give?” yelled Andy, being a terrible sport like always.
    “It’s five touchdowns to win,” I told him. “Y’all have three.”
    “That’s three more than y’all,” yelled Dee, lining up for the kickoff. He was definitely feeling like one of the guys now, and I knew I should be glad, but the grin was really getting on my nerves.
    Before Andy could kick it, I jabbed my fingers into the palm of my other hand in the time-out signal. “Time! Time!” I had an idea.
    “What the heck?” yelled Kenny.
    I huddled up with Stokes and Calvin.
    “Look, y’all. A kickoff return might be our best chance. It’s time to run the juggernaut.”
    They said “juggernaut” on
Combat!
the other night. That’s one of mine and Daddy’s favorite shows. I asked Daddy what “juggernaut” meant, and he said, “It means you can’t stop it.”
    “Soon as I catch the ball, y’all come up on both sides of me and kind of cover me up and we all run together like a giant force that cannot be stopped.”
    “I can’t run as fast as you,” Calvin said.
    “I won’t be running that fast. It’s not about speed, it’s about power. Stokes is tall and you’re wide and with both of y’all blocking them off as we go, they can’t reach me. See what I’m sayin’?”
    “I see.” Stokes scrunched up his face like he didn’t think it would work.
    “We have to try
something.
”
    I stood way back because Andy had been booting it pretty good. When Kenny brought his arm down, Andy kicked a grounder that bounced into Calvin’s hands.
    I was yelling
“M-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!”
as hard as I could, but Calvin froze.
    Just when Dee was about to tackle him, he turned around and pitched it to an invisible player between me and Stokes. I tore over there and snatched up the ball and yelled “Juggernaut!” and tried to twist away from Dee and fell.
    “We’re not playing tackle!” I said.
    “It’s not my fault!” he said. “Maybe that’s why they call you Trip.”
    Everybody thought that was hilarious.
    And then, before I could stop myself: “Maybe that’s why they call you a…” I almost said it.
    The way Dee looked at me…like he didn’t trust me now. I turned out to be a typical white kid after all. I might as well have slugged him in the face.
    “A what?” he said.
    I tossed him the ball.
    “A what?” he said again. I wanted to tell him he
could
trust me, but how could I say that in front of everybody? I walked back to the huddle.
    “That jugger-thing didn’t work,” said Calvin.
    “ ’Cause you didn’t do it right, spazmo!” Stokes