Free The Game Player by Rafael Yglesias Page B

Brian.”
    â€œOf course,” Mr. Stoppard said, his voice a deep, quiet version of Brian’s. “Brian and I,” he continued, “are discussing whether he should go to Staunton or Hills. What do you think?”
    Brian made a brief, restless motion and I got the message: a trap had been set for me. But the knowledge was useless, even destructive. “I don’t know.”
    â€œNo advice for him? I thought maybe you had already done so.”
    â€œDad!” Brian said sharply, with a hint of supplication.
    â€œWell, what’s your goddamn reason?!” The violence of this was unexpected. Mr. Stoppard’s voice still vibrated during the voiceless moment that followed.
    â€œI want to stay here with my friends. I want to be around girls.” Brian began to shake, first his hands, and then he wobbled on his legs.
    â€œJohn,” Mrs. Stoppard said. “It isn’t fair to talk about it in front of Howard. It isn’t fair to any of us.”
    Mr. Stoppard listened to her with his face calmly attentive as if she were saying something trivial and pleasant at a dinner party. He walked over to Brian when she was finished and grabbed his left arm by the wrist, pulling Brian to his side. Brian leaned awkwardly against him, stiff and avoiding his father’s glance. “If you’re scared that the school will be too tough just say so.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo, what? You won’t say, or no, it isn’t too tough?”
    â€œNothing is too tough for me,” Brian said in a pathetic voice.
    Mr. Stoppard thought for a moment and released Brian’s arm. He put his hand on Brian’s neck, his fingers massaging. “The minute your grades at Hills drop below what it’ll take to get you into Yale, you’ll be out of that school so fast it’ll make your head spin.” He moved his hand to Brian’s head and stroked him twice, his face softening and his voice smoother. “Now you and your friend are free to do what you’d like.”
    Brian nodded cautiously and broke the contact with his father, walking slowly out of the room. I was ready to follow, so Mr. Stoppard’s voice caught me by surprise. “Good to see you, Howard.”
    I nearly said, yes, sir. “Good to see you,” I mumbled. “Good-by,” I said to Mrs. Stoppard.
    â€œBye, bye,” she said.
    Brian’s sigh of relief and the whoosh of the screen door closing behind us came at once. He looked at me with the intimate stare of a friend and then stretched his back like a cat. “I’ll race you to the big elm,” he said.
    I laughed, “Okay.”
    â€œGo!” I fell behind quickly and watched the sun flicker over his billowing shirt. When I reached him, I was panting and I doubled over to gulp more air. We were on the edge of their land, looking down on the road and the property next door. Brian sat on the incline’s end, dangling his feet in the air. “Well, I’ll be going to high school with you,” he said.
    â€œI hope you can get some Jewish girls.”
    He exploded, laughing so hard that I tried rethinking the joke to understand how it could seem so funny. His laughter was full of pleasure and I could see it helped him overcome his unhappiness about the scene with his father. I was terribly flattered; and proud of this accomplishment.
    The school year began with a week of dreary, rainy weather. Our high school, though the student population was only six hundred, was laid out in five separate buildings and, despite, in the first year, having to use just three of them, it still involved a lot of ducking and short runs to stay dry. Since half of the students were known to me and to Brian, the real differences between this school and the last were its teachers and courses.
    For me, the most exciting distinction was its theater: large and modern, set on the second floor of the administrative building. Brian, to my