Girl's Got Game

Part 13

We get to the restaurant five minutes later.

I am slowly starting to hate dresses. No that I liked them before. But every time I try to step, I trip over the hemline. Clumsy people problems.

The restaurant is one of those fancy too-rich-for-you places. I have no clue how David got the money for this. He doesn't make a lot to begin with. All of the sudden, I feel special.

We sit down at the window booth. It looks out towards the intersection by the high school. Wow, what a nice view.

We all are quiet until the waiter comes. David ordered us some type of fancy breakfast that I have never heard of. When I asked him what the heck he was ordering, all he said was, "Just try it. You'll love it."

It turned out to be oatmeal. With a fancy French name. It was good for oatmeal, I guess.

You could feel the awkwardness in the air by this time. Quinn is sitting there fiddling with his silverware, and David is just looking out the window like there's something actually interesting there. I've had enough.

"So how much did Mom pay you to do this?"

He looks up abruptly.

"She didn't pay me anything."

"But it was her idea."

"Not actually."

"Jo's?"

His eyes trail off to the side.

"Aha." I say triumphantly. Quinn makes a whip sound with his mouth.

"It's not like that. She just gave me advice."

"On what? How to tame your younger siblings?"

"No!"

"Why don't you just hire the Dog Whisperer?"

"Toby, it's not like that."

"Then what is it?" I stand up. I don't care if I'm making a scene.

"I'm just trying to figure out why you hate me."

That kinda hit me hard.

"I...I... it's complicated!" I can't take it. How could he be so ignorant? He is the reason why I'm not comfortable with my athletic ability. How can he not know that?

"Oh? How complicated is it? Just go and say it! I-HATE-MY-OLDER-BROTHER!!!"

"Maybe because you hurt me!"

"How did I hurt you?"

"FOOTBALL!" I turned my back and walked out. I can't do this anymore.

There's a bench outside. I don't want to even try walking home in these shoes. I sit there and call Mom to come and pick me up.

After a few minutes of angrily staring at the pavement and making angry faces at the world, I hear the door open. I don't even want to look up. I know it's him.

He sits down next to me and slides something into my hands. It's an old photograph from about ten years ago. It shows a boy about my age with almost white-it's-so-blonde hair. He's holding out a football to a young little girl with blonde wavy hair and a missing front tooth that she is showing the camera. It's captioned "one way to lose a tooth" in my mom's handwriting.

"Remember this, when you ran into the middle of a football scrimmage with my friends and accidentally, I knocked your first tooth out?"

Truth is, I do remember. It was a short pass to his left received that ended up hitting me square in the mouth. I caught the ball, though.

I still say nothing.

"Well, when you caught that ball, I knew you were destined to play. It's kind of in your blood."

I still say nothing.

"Just know, I don't doubt anything about you. I think you maybe could be a good addition to the varsity team."

I look up. Nobody ever told me that. That I could actually play with and against guys ON A REAL TEAM. I mean, I've wanted to, but nobody agreed with me.

"The JV team is playing a spring league. I think you should try out"

I finally look him in the eye and say, "David Michael, I no longer hate you."