Page 23 of Off Sides

Finally, he releases me, and we head into the dining room, both of us taking our seats. We eat pretty early, so as soon as practice is over, my mom has everything on the table. My dad, grandfather, and Curtis wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work. My grandfather isn’t as hands-on at the rig as he used to be, but that doesn’t mean he misses a day of work.

“There you are, boy,” my grandfather says, his face wrinkled with time, mostly time out in the hot sun, but he still looks a little younger than his seventy years.

“Hi,” I say dumbly, knowing it won’t end the conversation. I can see it on his face. The irritation.

“Your mom made some pretty good meals this week. Damn fine.”

“I’m sorry I missed them,” I say and then look at my mother as she takes the seat next to me. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know I wouldn’t be home for dinner.”

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie,” she says, brushing it off as she hands the bowl of mashed potatoes to Curtis, who takes them, piling a heaping mound on his plate.

He takes a bite but doesn’t even wait to swallow before he looks at me. “Where were you anyway? You don’t have any friends.”

“Curtis,” Mom scolds, but there’s laughter in her voice. Her oldest can do no wrong.

I shrug. “Just hanging out with someone from school. He’s new.” I say it, taking the bowl of potatoes from him and scooping some out before handing it to my father.

My father eyes me suspiciously. “Who?”

All eyes are on me now as I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I could lie—but what’s the point. They probably already know. Probably heard it from a neighbor, who told their neighbor, who told one of them at the grocery store or some shit. That’s the way it works around here. “Jonah.”

“Jonah?” my mom says, tilting her head curiously as she passes a plate of fried chicken around. “I don’t know that name.”

“Well, he’s new,” I say but get a sharp look from my grandfather, and I shrink back. “Sorry.”

“Jonah Zimmerman?” my father asks.

“Uh, yeah.” I try to keep my tone light, like it’s no big deal. Please let us talk about anything else.

But of course, that’s not what happens. “Oh, is he nice? Is he on the team?” my mother asks because she really is a good mom who cares. She’s wondered many times aloud over the past year why I’m always home and not with my friends. Why I don’t have a girlfriend. Why I don’t go to parties after the game.

She asks a lot of questions, and since I don’t have any answers for her that I can say out loud, I just shrug it off. But she looks hopeful now, and I hate it.

“That new coach’s little brother he gave a spot to on the team,” my grandfather answers with disdain.

“He’s not that bad, Grandpa,” I try, but my voice is shaky. “Coach was right. He’s good, actually. He could take us to state.”

Which is something that seems to be oh, so important to them. My grandfather’s team went to state twice while he played, and my dad’s went three out of four years. Curtis’s went once. I’ve been once, but while Coach is very good, the transition has been a challenge.

I believe we’re on track for it this year too, but my grandfather doesn’t seem as thrilled as normal. “It’s bullshit nepotism is what it is.”

As if I didn’t already make the team before they even saw me play. Just the name Duke around here opens doors, but I wisely keep my mouth shut. My father grunts, “That fucking pussy. I don’t know why the hell they put him in charge in the first place.”

Curtis sneers, “He’s not even from here.”

I want to roll my eyes so hard right now, but I don’t. I keep control of my face. “He’s a good coach, and Jonah is a good quarterback.”

I may have controlled my face, but apparently not my mouth. My grandfather is glaring at me now. “And what have you and this boy been doing after practice?”

I know he’s always seen something in me—something different. Something that pisses him off, but I’m not sure if he knows exactly what it is. And still, I’m sweating bullets over that question. I take a bite of mashed potatoes and swallow before taking a drink of water and then answering, “Mostly playing Fortnite, but we’re in a lot of the same classes, so we do homework too.”

“Oh, well that’s nice you have a friend, sweetie,” my mom says, squeezing my shoulder.

“Aw, Calvin finally has a friend,” my brother taunts, but I don’t care because no one seems to pick up on anything else. Not that there’s anything else to pick up on, of course. But still, thankfully, the conversation moves toward Kensley football.

Their team has been shit since Little Bates and Zachary Olson graduated from high school, but apparently, they have a shot this year with Ty Easton as starting quarterback. He’s a sophomore and apparently, really damn good.

But he’s no Jonah Zimmerman.