Bruiser

29) SURREPTITIOUS

Lacrosse,
Soccer’s angry cousin,
Football’s neglected stepchild.
No cheerleaders, band, or stands,
Games are played on the practice field
If you want a chair you bring your own,
Bronte waves,
She’s saved me a spot,
It’s Raptors versus Bulls,
Dinosaur against beast of burden,
I’ve never seen the game played before.
We turn to the match, which has already begun.
Tennyson
Is a starting attackman.
He’s very good, but not great,
He’s a fast runner, but not the fastest,
Still, he makes up for it in bullheaded aggression.
“He’s always bucking for MVP,” Bronte says, “but never gets it.”
A pass,
He catches it
And moves downfield,
Cradling the ball in the net of his stick,
He shoots for the goal and misses by inches.
Then the Bulls power through the Raptor’s defenses;
Goal.
Disappointment.
I feel Tennyson’s frustration,
And I know that Bronte is right:
He’ll be a team captain, but never the star,
Unless he has something to make him invincible.
I’m breathless
As I watch the game,
Then I suddenly realize why;
Tennyson does have a secret weapon
That can make him the star of the game.
I wonder what he’ll do when he figures it out!
Stealing
The thunder
Of a stick check
To his right shoulder.
I bear the pain in silence
For fear that Bronte might see,
Scraped knee
Hidden by my jeans,
I could leave but choose to stay,
To surreptitiously sustain the blows,
Because if I am now Tennyson’s project,
It’s my right to make him my project as well.
Final whistle,
A Raptor victory!
Tennyson scored three goals,
And barely broke a sweat while doing it.
I kiss Bronte in the excitement of the moment.
Can she tell that I’m drenched beneath my Windbreaker?
And what if
When I get home,
Uncle Hoyt sees me,
Notices all the fresh bruises,
And knows that I’ve taken things,
From far beyond the bounds of our family?
I shudder
At the thought of him
Knowing about my secret life.
I could tell myself it would be all right,
That he could do no worse than he’s already done,
But there’s a pit in my uncle’s soul, and I’ve never seen the bottom.
I hope I never do.

CODY

30) STUFF

Brewster said I should always be the rag doll, but I never liked that much. I told him I’d rather be Plastic Boy instead, cuz that’s a good name for a superhero.

“You’re no superhero,” Brew told me, “and don’t go thinking that you are. Think rag doll, not superhero.”

He says that cuza the time I jumped off the roof and broke his arm. Maybe he’s right, though, on accounta I can’t be Plastic Boy since I don’t stretch. Still, I wish I could have myself a cooler secret identity for the times when Uncle Hoyt goes foul.

I wanted to tell Bronte-saurus about all that stuff, but Brew said, “A secret identity’s gotta stay secret.”

“Even from her?” I asked.

“Especially from her,” he said—although I can’t see why cuz they had been talking so much, it’s like they’re inside each other’s brains.