Living with the hawk by Robert Currie Read Free Book Online Page B

already done, the hawk impervious to commands from anyone below. Before I could slide the window shut, I thought I heard a bone snap above us in the maple.

    Part way through Monday’s practice, Coach Conley sent me in to play defensive back. I guess I was angry because everything was going as it always did in practice — Blake working behind the centre, in total control as usual, running the same plays as smoothly as ever — just as if Saturday night had never happened, as if things were still the same.
    I was supposed to cover the slotback on the short side of the field, but I had something else in mind.
    Even before the ball was snapped, I went for him. Nobody between us, and I was going full speed, Blake trying to wheel away, the ball already out of his hand, but I had him, my shoulder in his chest, smashing him backwards, pounding him into the ground, all my weight on him. I felt him bounce beneath me, a great whoosh of air expelled from his lungs.
    When I stood up, Coach Ramsey was beside me. “Way to go,” he said, but his voice wasn’t right. “You’re offside, the guy you should have covered scores the touchdown, you wrack up our only decent quarterback, you’re a bloody jerkoff.”
    Coach Conley was kneeling by my brother, Blake still on the ground, gasping, carrying on like a jackfish hauled out of Buffalo Lake. A little wind knocked out of him, that was all. I turned away. A hand grabbed my shoulder, wrenched me around, a finger jabbing my chest. Coach Ramsey.
    â€œI’m talking to you. Don’t you ever turn away when I’m talking to you.”
    â€œSend him over here, Drew.” Coach Conley was still crouched beside my brother, but he was watching us. Blake was sitting up now, breathing deeply, glaring at me. I walked towards them.
    â€œYou try that again,” said Blake, “I’ll break your effing arm.”
    â€œYou and what army?” I know it was a dumb thing to say. My brother could cream me any time he felt like it.
    Coach took my brother’s arm and helped him to his feet. “You going to be okay, Blake?”
    â€œSure. This little pussy couldn’t hurt me if he tried.”
    There was laughter behind me, Jordan Phelps and Todd Branton grinning like fools, Coach Ramsey scowling still.
    â€œ Pussy ,” said Coach Conley, “is a not a term I’m fond of. Smacks of misogyny.” And immediately I thought, man, this is no ordinary coach, he never forgets he’s a teacher. He glared at Blake. “You want to play on our team, you won’t use it again.”
    Blake opened his mouth as if to say something, to argue, maybe, but he closed his mouth and kept silent. Jordan and Todd were no longer smiling. Apes. Probably didn’t know what misogyny was, but they knew when Coach was angry. He wasn’t finished either.
    â€œI don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you better settle it somewhere else. Doesn’t belong on the football field.” He stepped away from my brother, put his arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the sideline. “From where I was standing, Blair, that looked a lot like dirty football. Matter of fact, looked like you wanted to hurt your brother.”
    I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way, but when he said it I had to admit that he was right. Smashing Blake to the ground felt plain good. “He had it coming.”
    Coach lifted the peak of his baseball cap, wiped the back of his hand slowly across his forehead, a damp smudge spreading above his left eye. When he lowered his arm, he seemed for a moment to be studying the sweat on his hand, waiting for it to dry. “Nobody deserves a dirty hit,” he said at last. “You ought to know that by now. Thought you did. Well, it’ll give you something to think about while you’re running. Four laps! Right now. Maybe you’ll smarten up by the time you’re done.”
    I headed