Free The Farewell Season by Ann Herrick Page A

"Did you two have a nice time last night?"
    "Don't get excited." I gave Mom a narrow glance. "Glynnie's just interviewing me for that column she's been doing for the Crystal Lake Recorder."
    "Interviewing you?" Mom's voice was full of curiosity. "Tell me about it."
    "No big deal. Just football stuff."
    "Really? She's a sportswriter?"
    "She writes about all kinds of stuff." I was kind of surprised Mom had never read Glynnie's column.
    "Hmmm." Mom got a far-off look on her face. "She writes for the Crystal Lake Recorder. Your cartoons have been in the school paper. You two have a lot in com—"
    "Gotta go," I said, making a point of checking the time. "Hey, Rolf." I stood up before Mom's imagination went completely out of control.
    "Yeah, just a minute," Rolf said. "Kirstin's packing up a snack for us."
    "Uh, about that," I said. "I don't think Horton will want anyone chowing down at practice."
    "I'll probably eat before we even get there." Rolf laughed.
    "As I was saying," Mom said. "You and this Glynnie girl—"
    "Oh, hey! I forgot to tell you. I had sales of almost three hundred dollars yesterday." I jumped up and pulled the money and receipts out of the lockbox and I handed it to Mom. "Check this out."
    "Look at all the red-dot kitchenware sales!" Mom smiled. "And a ruler from that box of those tools I picked up at that auction last month. Seventy-five dollars, very—" The smile dropped off Mom's face.
    "What? Didn't I fill out the credit card slip right?" Crap . "I checked it twice."
    "No …," Mom shook her head. "No, it … it's fine. I, um, just got a sudden headache." Mom forced a small laugh. "Maybe I need glasses or something …"
    "Okay, I'm ready to go," Rolf said.
    "Huh? Oh, yeah." I grabbed my gym bag.
    As Rolf and I were leaving, Kirstin announced her menu for lunch. As soon as I heard the words "Swedish meatballs," I knew Rolf couldn't resist.
    "You should just plan on Rolf being here every day," I joked. "That way you can do your food shopping way ahead."
    "Well … since you brought it up, Eric … how 'bout it, Rolf?"
    "Okay. Freeloading is my specialty, anyway." Rolf gave Kirstin's braid a tug and she gave him a punch on the arm.
    Once we got in the truck, Rolf said, "So how did it go with Glynnie?"
    "Give me a break." I didn't know what to say. Rolf had been my best friend ever since we smeared each other with finger-paints in kindergarten. His humor gave me a lift when I needed it, and I knew he was always there for me. But when it came to losing Dad, I'd talked to Glynnie more in one evening than I had to Rolf in four months.
    With Rolf it'd been a hand on the shoulder, a sympathetic look, tossing a football to distract me. Not that Rolf wouldn't have listened if I'd wanted to talk, but he would never press me to talk either.
    "It was just an interview about football. That's all there was to it."
    "Too bad," Rolf said, offering a rare, if abbreviated, unsolicited opinion.
    True to his word, Rolf polished off the date-nut bread Kirstin had packed for him as soon as he pulled into a parking spot at school. Morning practice turned out to be a real drag. For some reason Coach Horton decided to half kill us. "You guys have to concentrate more on your conditioning. Most games are won or lost in the second half. You gotta have stamina in order to peak in the final minutes of the game. A step or two can make all the difference between success and failure."
    'Course, that was true, but it was hard to keep in mind through what seemed like endless toe touches, running in place, windmills, pushups, sit-ups and leg raises, not to mention running and skipping rope. For good measure, using our legs as the driving force, we had to try pushing back the wall of the school.
    "Pretend the wall is the opponent." Coach Horton pushed some imaginary bricks. "That'll give you strength to push away blockers!"
    I silently cursed him. Why did he have to be so hard on us? I pretended the wall was Coach Horton, and for a second it