The Obstacle Course Read Free

enough, because if the people here ever found out what kind of family I’ve got I could kiss my chances of getting in goodbye.
    “Had your breakfast yet?”
    I jumped up and fell in step with this midshipman. He was second-year, what they call a youngster, walking along all by his lonesome. I could tell his rank by the stripes on his uniform, I know all that shit, I’ve memorized it.
    “Breakfast,” I repeated. “Had yours yet?”
    “On my way,” he answered, glancing over at me.
    “Take me in with you, will you?” I asked, trying to keep the whine out of my voice. Sometimes when I want something real bad my voice goes up so I sound like I’m about ten years old. I hate it when that happens. “You can bring guests in on the weekend,” I told him, in case he didn’t know.
    “Only family.” He knew.
    “So tell ’em I’m your brother.” He was walking fast, the way they do, but I kept up, matching him step for step.
    “Don’t have a brother,” he told me.
    “Bet you always wanted one.”
    “Not today, kid. Take off.”
    I waited near the entrance, biding my time. You’ve got to be patient when you’re trying something like this. A few minutes later three first-classmen headed towards me. They had officers’ epaulets on their uniforms, which meant they were very big deals. They were laughing and talking, real confident laughs and booming voices, like they owned the world.
    I stopped one as he passed by me. He was a big guy, pleasant-looking, kind of like a hick with a coat of polish on him. A lot of these guys are just hicks from the sticks when they come here, but they’re men of the world when they leave. This one looked like a pretty easy mark, one of those nice big guys who’s everybody’s friend.
    “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I asked him, talking fast.
    He looked at me for a second.
    “You talking to me, kid?”
    “You’re on the football team, right? I saw you play against Maryland last year, didn’t I?”
    You always ask a big guy if he’s on the football team. Even if he isn’t it makes him feel good, like he’s this big stud jock.
    “No,” he answered, like the question embarrassed him almost. Maybe he’d tried out and hadn’t made it.
    “You look like a football player to me,” I told him. “A good one.” A little flattery never hurts, I learned that early on.
    “I play lacrosse,” he said, trying to come on real modest-like.
    “Bet you’re good, too,” I said.
    “Good enough. I start.”
    He was smiling. Everybody likes to brag on himself.
    “I knew it,” I crowed triumphantly. “I saw you play against Hopkins last year, didn’t I? You probably scored a mess of goals.”
    Wrong move. His face clouded up right away.
    “I missed the Hopkins game,” he said. I could hear the anger rising in his voice. “Lousy demerits. Cost me my letter.”
    “Hey, you’ll get it this year, no sweat,” I told him. I was getting nervous—we were almost at the front door.
    “Shake it, Maguire,” one of the other ones said to my mark, “the bus for the Colts game leaves in half an hour.”
    “Take me in with you,” I pressed, hearing the begging tone in my voice. Maybe he’d take pity on me, as long as he got me inside I didn’t give a shit how.
    “No.” He walked faster, trying to get away.
    “Listen, I’m not kidding, it’s simple, just tell the checker at the door I’m your brother, I do it all the time, nobody cares.”
    “Forget it.” He pushed me away as he walked through the door.
    It was that damn Hopkins game. I’ve got to learn to keep my stupid mouth shut once I’m ahead.
    “Fuck off, lardass,” I yelled after him, “the only team you’ll ever get a letter from is the beat-your-meat team.”
    He spun on his heel like he was going to chase me, but I was already gone. He couldn’t have caught me if he’d chased me clear to Baltimore. He really did have a fat ass, he was probably called lardass all the time, he didn’t want some kid