about how his mom had come to this country and everything that had happened to her once she got here was the most interesting student report she had ever read. And his gifted teacher next year was the nicest one in the whole school. Also, there were lots of museums and stuff in New York that he wanted to show his dad.
'You about ready?' Skeet said, getting up from the bench where they had been sitting.
'I guess.' Teddy noisily drained the last of his Coke and then got up to toss the empty cup into the trash can. 'I don't see why we have to make such a secret out of this,' he grumbled. 'If this wasn't such a big secret, we could come here more often.'
'Never you mind,' Skeet replied, shielding his eyes to look down the grassy slope toward the first green. 'We'll tell your dad about this when / decide we're going to tell him and not before.'
Teddy loved coming out on the golf course with Skeet, so he didn't argue. He took the three-wood from
a bag of old clubs that Skeet had cut down for him. After drying the palms of his hands on the legs of his pants, he set up the ball, enjoying its perfect balance on the red wooden tee. As he took his stance, he gazed down the grassy slope toward the distant green. It looked so pretty sitting there, all sparkly with sunlight. Maybe it was because he was a city kid, but he loved golf courses. He took a little sniff of
clean air, balanced himself, and swung.
The club head hit the ball with a satisfying thwack.
'How was it?' Teddy asked, peering down the fairway.
'About a hundred and eighty yards,' Skeet said, chuckling. 'I never saw a little kid hit a ball so far.'
Teddy was aggravated. 'It's not a big deal, Skeet. I don't know why you always make such a big deal
out of it. Hitting a golf ball is easy. It's not like trying to catch a football or hit a baseball or something really hard like that. Anybody can hit a golf ball.'
Skeet didn't say anything. He was carrying Teddy's clubs down the fairway and he was laughing too
hard to talk.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
