Boomerang by Noelle August Read Free Book Online Page B

and partly because I can’t resist the chance to touch the ball.
    “Yo, Vance!” Rhett yells as he trots into the goal. I don’t know when he did it, but he’s gone to his car for biking gloves and a bright yellow, tight—even for spandex—shirt. His attempt at goalie gear, I think. He smacks his gloves together and drops into a baseball-ready stance, hands on his knees. Sweat rolls down his face and drips off his nose even though all he’s done so far is yell, but Rhett’s always overheated, even at the office.
    “See if you can score on me,” he says.
    That makes me shudder a little. “Nah. I’m good, Rhett.”
    I feed a few balls to my forwards, Tyler and Milo, proud of them for getting past Rhett more often than not. Even prouder when they decide to start calling him Coach Sweat instead of Coach Rhett.
    I pass to Tyler again, whose left foot is on fire today, but he sends it right back to me. “Come on, Coach Ethan! You shoot this one!”
    “You go, Tyler.” I’m not here to put on a show, so I pass it back to him. “Take it.”
    Tyler sends the ball to me again . “ You, Coach Ethan!” he yells. Then he stops and lifts his twiggy arms in the air, champion style. “ Feel the goodness !”
    Well, shit. I can’t say no to that.
    I drive my foot through the ball, holding nothing back. The shot is a rocket, the ball plunging into the back of the net, exactly where I wanted it. It rolls to a stop before the kids even react, then there are celebration airplanes and chest-bumps everywhere, except for Rhett, who shakes his head.
    “You got lucky, Vance! Come at me again! Bring it, baby!”
    “Sure, Rhett,” I say. “But I need a minute first. Can you handle this for a little while?”
    Running around roused the beast that is my hangover. My brain feels like a water balloon jangling in my skull, and I need something to drink. Might as well take advantage of a short break and make the phone call I’ve been dreading all day.
    Rhett genuinely looks touched. “Yeah, yeah. Anything, Vance. I got it.”
    “Thanks.” I move toward the parking lot where I can still see the field and sit on the hood of Rhett’s Mini Cooper, which is outfitted with a ski rack, a bike rack, and, of course, racing stripes.
    Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I call home, hoping to catch my dad before the evening rush at the alley.
    He answers on the third ring. “Black Diamond Bowl.”
    “Hey, old man. It’s me.”
    “Ethan! How’s my boy doing? They pick you for the movies yet?”
    Dad’s one of those people who sort of yells everything. Twenty years in a bowling alley will do that. He also thinks I’m harboring a secret desire to become an actor, since that’s the only valid reason he can come up with for me to still live in Los Angeles post-graduation.
    The crash of pins breaking fills my ear—a strike by the sound of it—and a wave of homesickness washes over me. What I wouldn’t do to be there tonight, polishing bowling balls, un-jamming the vending machines and just hanging with my dad.
    “Nope. No movies yet,” I say. “How’re things there? How’s mom?”
    “Good! She just called ten minutes ago from Arizona.”
    Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten. Mom drove with my little brother to U of A this week. I finished college just as Chris is going in.
    Then it hits me: that’s not going to make this conversation any easier.
    I got a partial ride to UCLA for soccer, and my parents helped as much as they could, but I still had to take student loans in the amount of $28,000 to cover the rest. Now Mom and Dad have four years of Chris’s school to pay and—
    “Ethan?” my dad says.
    “What? Oh—that’s good, Dad. Chris is okay? He’s getting settled in the dorm and everything?”
    “Yep. They just unpacked the car, and they’re heading to dinner.”
    “Cool,” I say, and I’m out of words. I can’t ask him anymore.
    The thunderous smashing of pins grows quieter, and I know my dad has stepped into his office