Free Brightside by Mark Tullius Page A

this time, Corey.”
    Corey held out his arm, kept Steven back without touching him. “No way, Hong Kong. One more play.”
    Steven pointed at the classroom way on the other side of the school. “The bell rang.”
    Corey kept his arm out. “No shit, Sherlock.”
    “Come on, Corey, let him go,” I said. “It’s either a tie or we’ll finish next week.”
    “Stop being such a muff, Joe” Corey said. He walked to the line of scrimmage and backed Steven up behind the ball.
    Gilbert, in his Columbus Conquerors’ t-shirt and matching shorts, got in the special stance he’d learned at camp. “Yeah. Mr. Mosley’s always late.”
    The blacktop was covered with kids, only a teacher or two. “We still got time,” I said. “Come on, Steven. It’ll be quick.”
    Steven pulled at his baggy shirt, the Luke Skywalker iron-on so faded it almost wasn’t there. It sounded like he might cry, something a fourth grader should never do. “I have to change.”
    “Change later, chinker-dinker .” Corey squatted down and grabbed the ball. “Last play.”
    Steven finally shut up, his thoughts shouting into my head:
    Fucking Pecker! If you get near me I’m going to kick you in the balls. Make it so Corey could never make fun of him again.
    But I knew if Steven tried it, he’d miss. He was the most uncoordinated kid in class, his belly round and jiggly because his mom made him pork dumpling nearly every night. I knew Corey would beat the piss out of him.
    Corey squished up his face so his eyes were almost closed. “ Ohhhh , me so a scared.”
    Steven made a noise, almost sounded like a growl. Corey laughed and I knew what Steven was going to do. That’s what made me do it. What made me become the cheat Dad always warned me not to. I asked Gilbert, “ Whatcha ’ running?”
    Gilbert smiled, thought there was no way I’d be ready for the flea flicker.
    Corey hut, hut, hutted and hiked the ball. Gilbert pretended to run forward, put on his best fakeout face. He was supposed to come back behind the line, catch the lateral, throw it back to Corey.
    So clear. So goddamn easy. I jumped in front of the pass, picked it off and hauled ass for the blacktop.
    Corey shouted a super loud, “Fuck!”
    The race was on.
    The other goal line was between the swings and monkey bars, still half the field away. Gilbert and Corey were both faster than me, but I had a lead, pumping my arms as fast as I could.
    I didn’t need to look back to know Gilbert was just a few feet away, thinking about diving for my legs. Corey was next to him, wanting to teach me no one beat him. Especially some little white pussy.
    I zigged to the left. Gilbert dropped, face-planted. I zagged and Corey tripped over Gilbert. The goal line was less than twenty feet away, Corey stumbling to grab my shirt. I spun. Corey fell. And I backpedaled into the end zone.
    That spike was the biggest Fuck You I’d ever delivered. I slammed it hard, yelled, “Touchdown!” loud enough that even the kids sick at home would hear.
    Corey popped off the grass and ran over. “No way. It doesn’t count.”
    Steven slapped me a high five. “Yeah, it does,” he said. “We win.” He did this ridiculous robot dance, the one he’d been perfecting at home in front of the mirror. He looked like a spaz, but I’d never seen him happier.
    The kids were filing into the school. I told Steven we needed to go. He finally stopped dancing, bent over to pick up his notepad and school clothes.
    Corey charged and pushed him to his knees.
    Steven got up and brushed off the grass, saw the stain he wouldn’t be able to explain to his parents.
    “What the hell, Corey? Why’d you push him?” I said.
    “Cause he’s a crybaby and a cheater. You both are. The touchdown didn’t count.”
    “It counted and we won. End of story.” I told Steven, “Come on.”
    Steven held up his perfectly folded shirt that almost matched his cheeks. “I have to change.”
    “What’s wrong?” Corey asked. “Hong