The Great Quarterback Switch Read Free

he hadn’t been able to use his legs,
     and the doctor said he might never again.
    “No,” Tom said. “You’ve been super about that. It’s great you can swim, and you’ve beaten me a dozen times at Ping-Pong. But
     I know how much you’d like to play other sports. Football, for example.”
    Michael nodded. “I’d give anything.” Then he laughed. “Hey, I’ve already given my legs! Maybe they were the wrong things to
     give!” He made a face. “A stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?”
    Tom shook his head. “You have an attitude I can’t believe, Mike.”
    “Heck, you’re trying to say I’m bad off. I’m not. Legs aren’t everything. I just can’t walk or run, that’s all.” He was quiet
     for a moment, then looked his brother in the eye. “Still, I do miss playing football sometimes.
     So tell me: Have you been thinking the same thing I’ve been thinking? About Ollie Pruitt’s theory on TEC? Thought-Energy Control?”
    “Yes! Let’s talk with Ollie about it, okay? If anybody knows anything about it, it’s Ollie.”
    “Right.”
    Michael’s face brightened. “I bet we
can
do TEC, Tom. Wouldn’t that be great?”
    Tom smiled. “You bet it would. Come on. Let’s go over and see him right now.”
    Excited about the prospect, Michael started toward the door ahead of Tom. Suddenly he stopped, and looked around at his twin
     brother.
    “What now?” Tom asked, curious.
    Michael smiled. “Tom, you’re the greatest,” he said. “I’m sure glad you’re my brother.” Then he turned and continued toward
     the door.

3
    O llie Pruitt lived in the tall, two-story house next door. It was set farther back from the street than any other house, was
     painted a butterscotch color, and was the only one with a steep, wood-shingled roof. His front and back lawns were covered
     with plants and flowers, one of his two favorite hobbies.
    His other hobby was nobody else’s business, except a handful of friends who were interested in the same thing. Those included
     the kids next door, Michael and Tom, who figured that Ollie kept the hobby a secret from most people because it was prettyfar out. Some people might think that Ollie had gone loony if they knew— a good enough reason, the boys thought, why the old
     guy didn’t want to share his secret with everybody.
    He was watering a plant when the boys got to his place. They greeted each other. Ollie asked them about the outcome of the
     game, which channeled the conversation away from the boys’ more important topic for a few minutes.
    Then Ollie seemed to sense that the boys had not come to talk football; he lifted his faded brown hat, scratched his bald
     head, and looked at them with narrowed eyes.
    “Well, what’s on your collective mind?” he asked. “I can tell it ain’t football.”
    The boys grinned.
    “We’d like to talk with you about something, Mr. Pruitt,” said Michael.
    Michael was nervous, and he suddenlywondered if he and Tom were doing the right thing.
    Ollie Pruitt’s eyes shifted from one brother to the other. “Something personal?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay. Come into my inner sanctum.”
    The boys followed him into the house, slowly, because Ollie— being somewhere between seventy and ninety years old— never rushed
     into doing anything. His wife had died long ago. He had no children, just a brother and a sister, neither of whom he had seen
     in forty years. They were probably both dead for all he knew, he had told the boys once.
    His inner sanctum was a large room, lined with shelves of books, in the back of the house. Over a fireplace was the head of
     a ten-point deer. The carpet was worn clear through to the matting in some places, and the chairs looked like relics from
     GeorgeWashington’s day. All four corners of the redwood ceiling were laced with cobwebs. This was the fifth or sixth time the boys
     had visited him in here, and the room didn’t look a bit different.
    “Can I get you a drink?” Ollie asked.