Two-Minute Drill Read Free Page A

was.
    “We gotta get some other guys from school back here as soon as possible,” Chris said, his voice excited. “Have you had any games yet?”
    “I don’t know anybody yet,” Scott said.
    “Well, that’s gonna change now,” Chris said, like it was easy.
    Maybe everything came easy to him, even being friends.
    They had been so busy talking that Chris hadn’t noticed Casey standing next to him, the football hanging from his mouth.
    “He returned the ball?” Chris said.
    Scott nodded.
    Chris said, “Tell me he doesn’t do that every time somebody chucks it somewhere.”
    “Pretty much,” Scott said. “Unless he gets distracted by a squirrel or a rabbit. It’s a good deal, if you don’t mind a little drool.”
    “You throw it, and the dog goes and gets it?”
    “Well, sometimes I kick it, and he goes and gets it.”
    “You’re lucky,” Chris said. “If I even try to get Brett to fetch a ratty old tennis ball, he gives me this look, like, ‘You want me to get that?’ ”
    Chris and Scott started light-tossing the ball to each other then, and Casey figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t needed at the moment, so he and Brett went running off for the woods.
    After a few minutes, Chris said it was time for them to cut loose a little bit and for Scott to go long.
    Scott did that, running as fast as he could, feeling slower than a tractor with Chris watching him.
    Chris waited until he was far enough away and put the ball right into his chest.
    Scott dropped it.
    “Good try,” Chris yelled.
    Yeah, Scott thought, maybe it’s a good try if you’ve never played football before.
    For the next few minutes, he was lucky if he caught anything. Chris kept putting the ball where he should have been able to catch it, even started taking something off his throws, lofting them a little more until they were practically like pop flies in baseball.
    But the harder Scott concentrated, the harder he tried to will the stupid ball into his hands, the worse it got. He felt clumsier than he ever had before in his life.
    And more embarrassed.
    The one kid in class he wanted to impress, the one kid in the whole town he wanted to impress, and he was making a total and complete idiot of himself.
    It wasn’t much different than if Chris had been trying to get Casey to catch the ball out of the air.
    Scott thought, I should be bringing the ball back to him in my teeth.
    “Sorry,” Scott said when another pass ended up on the ground.
    Chris said, “Sorry for what?”
    Sounding exactly like his dad.
    “I have the worst hands in the world!” Scott finally yelled.
    He’d been running a pass pattern right at the goalposts, Chris had made another perfect throw, and the ball had gone off Scott’s fingertips.
    Casey was back now. He started to go for the ball, and Scott stopped him with, “Case? Don’t even think about it.”
    Chris jogged over to where Scott was standing and said, “You’re just trying too hard. My dad’s not the greatest athlete in the world, but he always says that the thing you’ve got to try hardest at in sports is relaxing.”
    Scott managed to squeeze out a smile. “You don’t understand,” he said. “All I’m good at in football is trying.”
    He wasn’t ready to tell Chris about kicking. The way things were going today, he was afraid to even put the ball on the tee, because he probably wouldn’t be able to kick the ball in the water if he was standing right near the edge.
    And Scott knew it was more than that.
    Kicking a ball wasn’t close to being as cool as what Chris could do on a football field, what he could do with a football in his hands. It was almost a different sport.
    “Speaking of trying,” Chris said, “are you going out for the team?”
    They were standing in the middle of the field in front of the goalposts now, only a few yards apart, soft-tossing again as they talked.
    But each time they did, without saying anything, Chris would take a step back. When he did, so