Gracie Read Free

Giant,” Mike reminded him. The Giant is what they called a kid named Albert McCann, Kingston’s biggest, toughest player. He was well over 6 feet and must have weighed at least 200 pounds.
    â€œHe doesn’t play soccer—he just knocks people down,” Dad insisted.
    â€œThis is our year,” Johnny assured everyone.
    Mom had gone out to the kitchen to get more bread. “Let’s talk about something else, please,” she said as she came back in.
    Dad leaned in and whispered loudly. “There is nothing else,” he said, pretending it was a joke. Of course, it wasn’t. To him, there really wasn’t anything else. He went to pour Granddad some milk but the carton had only a drop left, so he went into the kitchen to get more. “What could be more interesting than soccer?” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen.
    My family went to every one of Johnny’s soccer games. We were all super into them, even Mom, who knew the game pretty well after all her years cheering for Dad and then Johnny. I’d watched closely at the final fiasco with Kingston last year, and I had some thoughts on how they could win this year. “We should play four-four-two and double-team that guy McCann,” I offered.

    â€œYou read that on what cereal box?” Daniel asked. Lately sarcasm had become his favorite style of communication. It was incredibly annoying.
    â€œDaniel!” Johnny scolded him for being such a little brat.
    At that exact moment, the spaghetti bowl reached me, completely empty. Johnny snapped it up and shoved it at Daniel. “Fill this up for her, now!”
    Daniel shook his head. “We played. She didn’t.”
    Peter tried to be helpful by stabbing two of his meatballs and dropping them on my plate. I appreciated the thought but it was a little awkward, as though the meatballs were some kind of pathetic love offering.
    â€œHow cute,” Daniel jeered at him. “Why is it you eat here every night? Is it because the food is so good? I don’t think so.”
    Peter began to blush. Had he started eating here every night? I guess he had. Was it because of me?
    â€œDo you even have your own house?” Mike taunted him.
    â€œHe just likes ours better,” Daniel kept going, looking at me. He was getting to be a real little snot lately. I was about to smack him, but Dad came back from the kitchen with the milk and we always got into trouble if we hit one another at the table.
    Peter took the opportunity to bolt before my brothers could embarrass him any further. “Thank you, Mrs. Bowen, for another great dinner,” he said as he hurried past her.

    â€œOh, I washed that sweatshirt you left here,” Mom remembered, and trailed Peter into the kitchen.
    Dad noticed that the spaghetti bowl was empty. He and I were the only ones who hadn’t gotten any yet. “Is there more spaghetti?” he called to Mom in the kitchen.
    â€œJust what’s out there,” Mom called back.
    Dad sighed and headed back into the kitchen to look for something else to eat. “She gets to pick from your meatballs,” Johnny told Mike and Daniel.
    They wouldn’t disobey Johnny. Now it was my turn to make them squirm. “I’ll take this,” I said as I stabbed a meatball from Daniel’s plate, “and a little more. I do so enjoy meatballs, don’t you?”
    I had intended to leave them each one meatball but Daniel gave me such an angry stare that I had to prove he couldn’t intimidate me, so I took his last meatball. “I’ll need that, too,” I said with a smirk.
    I thanked Johnny as he was feeding some of the Italian bread to his hawk. “That bird’s never going to fly,” Daniel said sulkily, angry about his lost meatballs.
    Johnny turned on him sharply. “Tell him that and he never will,” he said.

Three
    After-supper cleanup was never a good time for me. I