Chapter 3

"Think fast!" I said and tossed the football underhand to Mom. She was sitting on the sofa and had to lean forward to catch it.

"What have I told you about playing ball in the house?" she asked as she brought the ball up by her ear and fired a soft pass at me.

"Let me see..." I said as I tossed it to Dad. "Something about don't."

The ball went off the tips of his fingers and bounced against the wall.

"Especially with your father," she said with a nod and a sigh.

"Hey, I'm not that bad," he protested.

Mom and I looked at each other and grinned. Then we looked at Dad. "Of course you're not," we said in unison.

"Well just who taught Tony to throw a perfect spiral?"

"I did," Mom said.

"Who taught you to throw a baseball? Answer me that."

"Mom did."

"Maybe Traci will let me play Barbies with her," he grumbled.

I stepped over to his chair. "Jim Thorpe you're not." I reached up and ruffled Dad's hair the way he used to do to me. "But I wouldn't trade you in on anybody."

"Remind me to raise your allowance."

"You just did, dear. After he built the awning last week," his wife reminded him.

"Well, I can raise it again, can't I?"

"Not unless Bill Miller plans to give you a raise. We'll have to trade him in on a cheaper son." Mom grinned at me, making sure I knew she'd never trade me in. "Good game tonight. You guys humiliated the Badgers."

"So how come my all-star son, who is Jim Thorpe reincarnated, spent most of the night receiving instead of throwing," Dad wanted to know.

"Uh, sore arm." I reached up and started rubbing my left shoulder to emphasize the point."

"Anthony, you're right handed," Mom reminded me.

"Oh yeah." I grinned and switched to rubbing my right shoulder while my parents exchanged a look.

"Well that new guy did a great job at quarterback. I would have thought that with Jake sick and Tyler's broken finger, and then you with your sore arm, the Rebels would be in trouble. But that new guy throws better than you."

I had a feeling that Mom was trying to get a rise out of me with that last crack, so I decided to ignore her. "Almost as good," setting the record straight. "By the way, Mr. Parker would like to see one of you on Monday."

My parents exchanged another look. Mr. Parker was the vice principal at the school.

"Why?" they said together.

"He seems to think I have an attitude."

"You've been here half a year and he's just figuring that out?" Mom sounded amazed.

Dad was less amused. "What kind of attitude?"

"He said something about thinking that rules didn't apply to me."

"And just what gave him that idea?"

"I would like to point out that a wise man once told me that rules were a guide not an absolute." Mom shot dad a very dirty look. "And a pretty woman explained her eight arrests for civil disobedience in very similar words."

Dad grinned and Mom laughed.

"I saw a show on TV about a great boarding school. They'll let him shoot guns and run through obstacle courses," she said.

Dad shook his head. "Honey after what our military has been through in Afghanistan and Iraq, I just don't think it's fair to inflict Tony on them."

"I am still in the room," I reminded them indignantly.

"So what happened?"

"Mr. Parker's version is probably shorter."

"Any less biased?"

"Both versions are probably biased," I said after a few seconds thought.

"Well the game's over and there's nothing much on TV, so let's hear the long version," Dad said. Mom moved over and sat on the arm of his chair.

I sat down on the sofa facing them. Court was in session.

"Would I hurt my chances if I pointed out that when I sit on the arm of a chair..."

"Yes!" Mom said.

"It all started last week when we got a new student."

"Wouldn't happen to be a quarterback would he? Arm like a cannon?" Mom asked.

"If you want the abridged version, wait for Monday."

"Point taken. Honey shut up." Mom glared at dad and clamped her mouth closed.

I grinned and continued my story. "HER name was Roberta Tate, but anybody who plans a long life calls her Robbie."

"Robbie. That's cute. Is she?"

Dad pulled Mom down onto his lap and put his hand over her mouth before nodding to me to go on. Parents could be such a trial.

"She started here on Thursday and went to see Mr. Feldman. She wanted to play football."

Mom's eyes got big and she must have bitten Dad, the way he jerked his hand away, but she didn't interrupt.

"Mr. Feldman has some set ideas about girls in sports and..."

"Mr. Feldman is a male chauvinist pig."

"Mr. Feldman is a male chauvinist pig with some old fashioned ideas about girls in sports and told her no."

"I thought there were some federal laws about that?" Dad asked. "Title three or six or something."

"I think it's title nine, but Mr. Feldman had an out. The season's already started. The team's set.

Dad nodded. "And next year... I assume she's an eighth grader?" I nodded. "Next year she's Branson's problem at the high school."

"Got it in one," I confirmed.

"So how did you get involved?"

"Robbie went to Miss Calloway, the girls P.E. teacher. Miss Calloway told her she couldn't interfere but suggested that she talk to me, since I'm the quarterback and the leader of the team."