Free All Good Children by Catherine Austen Page A

argues. He straightens up and takes his position on the line, eighteen yards from goal.
    â€œDon’t let him go home like this,” Brennan whispers as we head to our places.
    When the game resumes, Brennan throws long to Dallas, who smashes through the Devils that surround him. He shoves helmets, wrenches hands, nearly takes a kid’s arm off. He rushes the ball to the end zone and scores—wins— with one second on the clock.
    He doesn’t smile or slap shoulders, doesn’t prance for Pepper, doesn’t even play out the game and shake hands with the losers. He walks straight off the field into the showers.
    He’s still there when the rest of us arrive. He stands naked under a showerhead, hands against the wall, hair hanging black over his eyes, water streaming down his face.
    Kids who were on the bench when Dr. Richmond appeared squint and whisper in Dallas’s direction, but they taper off when no one joins in. We wash in silence while Dallas stands there, unmoving. He takes occasional shuddering breaths, but I can’t tell if he’s crying or fuming. I exchange “What the hell do we do?” looks with my teammates, but they have no answers.
    I dress and sit on a bench by my locker until they all leave. Dallas is still in his own private waterfall, blazing white and way too naked. He’s bleaching pale as a corpse, and the whole place reeks of chlorine.
    I walk up beside him, tap his arm. “Hey hey, we have to go. Brennan said I should take you home.”
    He clenches his jaw but doesn’t open his eyes. Hot water bounces off his shoulder into my face. He sucks in a slow breath.
    I can’t leave him here, but I don’t want to touch him again. I don’t know how to manage this, so I fall back on a joke. “Brennan stared at your fat white ass for twenty minutes and then he said, ‘Max, if I was you, I would take that big boy home.’”
    Dallas breaks a tiny smile, snorts quietly. He peeks at me from under his hair and lisps, “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
    I laugh. His blue eyes are bloodshot pools, but he’s better than I feared. I swat his arm. “Come on. Let’s go paint graffiti on the old Home Reno or something.” I cringe as I realize that’s the lumberyard we pilfered from years ago to make our backyard fort. “I don’t know why I said that. I just meant let’s go do something constructive. We could do anything you want.”
    He sighs and raises his head, wipes the water off his face. “I know why you said that.” He turns off the tap and grabs his towel.
    Outside, the grounds are empty. Even Pepper is gone. Coach Emery waits by the trailer, holds the door open while we store our pads. “Good game,” he says.
    Dallas tries to smile. Then he sees his father and brother in the parking lot. Brennan and Kayla wait beside the bike rack. We have to pass them all to get to the road.
    We avoid eye contact, pretend we’re strolling on our own. “Come to my place,” I say.
    â€œSure. Maybe we can order chili.”
    Dr. Richmond staggers over and shouts, “You know Maxwell and his mother can’t afford a restaurant. It takes all their money just to send him to school.”
    Brennan and Kayla stare at me like I’m an armless dwarf who’s been beaten up by kindergartners. The only way I could be more pitiful is if I had an asshole for a father.
    Dr. Richmond tries to drape an arm around Dallas, but Dallas steps away, knocking into me, shaking with fury.
    â€œWhy don’t you all come to our place?” Dr. Richmond shouts. He looks at Kayla and winks. “Come have some fun.”
    Brennan shakes his head in disgust. “We have things to do.” Because he’s kind and generous, he adds, “Sorry, Dallas.”
    â€œYou played well today,” Kayla says before she climbs on her bike.
    Dr. Richmond leans forward to ogle her