Free Kid Owner by Tim Green Page B

with the napkin, then suddenly stopped and stared over my shoulder. I turned around and saw Bethany Bracewell standing there with her diamondearrings glinting and her freckled arms folded across her chest, staring down in disgust. “Izzy, don’t even think you’re coming back to our table again.”
    I looked back at Izzy and watched the surprise on her face turn to something else. This time she didn’t dab her mouth, she just laughed out loud at Bethany and her stupid lunch table. I held out my fist and Izzy gave it a bump.
    â€œDo you like football?” I asked.
    â€œNot at all.” She shook her head, still grinning.
    â€œWell, you’ll have to start liking it, because this is the . . .” I pulled the first thing that came to mind out of my head. “. . . football superstars table.”
    â€œThis is the sports superstars table.” She stuck a thumb into her chest. “And I’m the best athlete we’ve got.”
    I looked at Jackson to see what he thought of that, but all he did was nod.
    â€œI was kidding,” she said. “Not about being the best athlete part, but about football. I love football, especially the Cowboys, and not just because you own them.”
    â€œFinally, you say something about it! I’ve been waiting for you guys to talk about me owning the team.” I grinned.
    Izzy shrugged. “It’s cool and all, but what does it mean? What’s even happening?”
    I gave them a recap of when I found out about my dad, of the will reading, and how my mom was trying to schedule a press conference. “It’s really still all with the lawyers to get things worked out. At least, that’s what my mom says.”
    â€œI’m sorry about your dad,” Izzy said.
    â€œYeah, me too.” Jackson paused, then said, “So what changescan you make, you know, to the team or players and all?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know! I haven’t even thought about it!”
    â€œWell, don’t you think you should?” Jackson laughed.
    And as we started talking about which players were good, we moved on to the ten all-time greatest players in a friendly argument that took us to the bell. We got up and moved through the halls together, ignoring the rest of the world. It felt good to have our own small group, just like the three best friends in Izzy’s book.
    At practice later that day, we headed out onto the field and Coach Hubbard divided us up, telling me I should go with the wide receivers during passing drills. It frustrated me that the fact that I was the kid owner of the Dallas Cowboys didn’t seem to have any impact on him. He wasn’t treating me that much better than before and I wondered if he somehow might not have heard the news. It didn’t seem possible. He was probably just being a football coach, focused on coaching our middle-school team. That’s how they were, especially in Texas.
    But now I hesitated, fearful that the change back to receiver was going to be permanent. “Coach, I’m really good with reading defenses and stuff. You might need me at QB when things get going.”
    â€œGet going?” Simpkin muttered under his breath, even though he kept throwing the football back and forth to Estevan Marin. “Take a walk, shrimp.”
    I looked hard at Coach Hubbard, pleading with my eyes because I knew my hands weren’t much to talk about, small and hard as stones. Even the passes I got during warm-ups withother quarterbacks seemed to bounce off my hands. It was all I could do to take the snap, make a handoff to a runner, or throw a pass that didn’t wobble. Catching wasn’t in it for me.
    â€œWell . . .” Coach Hubbard seemed to be thinking about it.
    â€œZinna, seriously? You don’t question the coach!” Simpkin stopped throwing and stared at me, faking outrage and taking a step toward me as if to emphasize my lack of height. “Ever! Part of