Free The Fast and the Furriest by Andy Behrens

Brad Junior, still smiling.
    Kevin glared.
    “Set!”
    Brad’s linemen were frozen in place, statue-still. None of them seemed particularly concerned with Kevin.
    “Hut …”
    Kevin continued his hopping. The rain fell harder.
    “Hut!”
    The ball was snapped to Brad, who darted to his right.
    “Run! Run!”
yelled Alex.
    Kevin wasn’t sure if that comment was directed at him or not, but he took off in pursuit of Brad just in case. None of the blockers chose to interfere with Kevin, which wasn’t unusual.
    Brad sprinted toward the sideline, but Alex cut him off. The quarterback turned upfield, flashed Kevin yet another smile, then danced around an attempted flag-pull … and scampered toward the end zone.
    Several defensive players chased him, but Brad had a sizeable lead.
    Well, that didn’t take long
, thought Kevin.
    “Pugh!” screamed Coach Z from the sideline. “Don’t give up on the play!”
    Kevin did not.
    He dipped his head and ran as hard as he could, although Brad was clearly pulling away. The quarterback crossed the goal line well of Kevin and the rest of the defense. Coach Z blew his whistle and raised his arms, signaling a touchdown. Only then did Kevin stop running.
    Or rather, only then did he
try
to stop.
    In the rain and without cleats, Kevin found that stopping himself was more difficult than stopping Brad. He slid along the wet grass like a skater on a sheet of ice. After three yards, he began to yell.
    “AAAAAHH!”
    He waved his arms, but nothing slowed his momentum.
    “AAAAAAAAAHHHH!”
    Brad Junior was directly in front of Kevin, but his back was turned. Brad was holding the ball aloft in the end zone, and seemed to be considering his touchdown dance options.
    “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
    Kevin’s eyes widened as he neared Brad. He crossed the five-yard line … the four-… the three-…
    “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
    Brad spun around—not in reaction to the noise, but as part of the TD celebration—just as Kevin crossed the goal line.
    In the milliseconds before they collided, Kevin saw Brad’s expression change from delight to terror.
    WHOOOMP!
    Brad was like a mosquito on the windshield of a speeding truck. When the pair hit the ground, Kevin heard a small expulsion of air from Brad, followed by a crunch. Every player on the field gasped.
    “Pugh!”
yelled Coach Z, running toward the scene of the collision.
    Brad’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged at first. His nose was bleeding. He spat a tooth—or a significant piece of tooth—at Kevin.
    Coach Z reached the fallen players.
    “Puuu …!”
    He looked at Brad.
    “
… eeeeeeew
. Yuck!”
    Kevin picked himself up and brushed wet grass off his T-shirt.
    “Um … my bad,” he said.
    Brad spat a little more. After several seconds, he sat up and regained his voice.
    “Thtupid Pugh never thtopped! He thmashed right inta me!” Tears ran down Brad’s face as he lisped. “I think I broke my nothe! And my mouth! I’m thpitting a tooth!”
    Coach Z handed Brad a yellow penalty flag and told him to hold it to his nose.
    “Try to relax, Ainsworth. It was an accident. Kevin tried to stop, but he was …”
    “No I didn’t,” said Kevin flatly.
    A powerful idea had hit him—nothing quite as powerful as what had just hit Brad, but powerful nonetheless.
    “What?” asked Coach Z. “Kevin, I saw the whole thing. You tried to stop, but since it was raining, you …”
    “No,”
said Kevin firmly. “I did
not
try to stop.”
    He and Coach Z exchanged a long look.
    “I tried to hit Brad. And I did it.”
    Kevin pounded his chest, because that’s something he’d seen NFL players do.
    “Then that’th gotta be a penalty!” cried Brad, spitting a little more.
    Coach Z continued to stare at Kevin, puzzled.
    “Oh, it’s more than a penalty, buddy,” said Kevin. “I should probably get kicked out of camp. Expulsion is the only thing for a rule-breaker like me.”
    “Yeah!”
yelled Brad, pressing the penalty flag to his