The Fast and the Furriest by Andy Behrens Read Free Book Online

stood behind Brad Junior like backup dancers. Kevin had a brief flashback to the moment the kickball had ricocheted off his face, but this was interrupted by another high-pitched tweet from a coach’s whistle.
    “Bring it in, men!” called a dour middle-aged man. He had a Scherzer cap pulled low over his eyes. The whistle hung at the corner of his mouth.
    As the various Scherzer-shirted campers snapped to attention and clustered around the coaches, Kevin stood up slowly and walked to a shaded bike rack, towhich he attached Cromwell’s leash. He pulled a bowl from his backpack and filled it from his water bottle.
    “Don’t budge, Crom.”
    Yet another whistle pierced the air.
    “Hustle it up, new meat!” barked the coach, clearly at Kevin.
    “Dear God,” Kevin muttered, jogging toward the group.
    “Hustle!”
snapped the coach.
    Kevin broke into a loping run and joined the group.
    “Sir,” he said tentatively, “I dropped my cleats over by …”
    “Hustle!”
repeated the coach. “No excuses!”
    Kevin ran his fastest—which wasn’t especially fast—and joined the outer fringe of the group of campers. He caught a glimpse of Brad Junior smirking.
    When Kevin joined the flock, the coach addressed everyone.
    “Gentlemen.” The coach paused for dramatic effect, as though he were speaking to soldiers on the eve of battle. “Last week was for drills. You threw, you ran, you caught, you kicked. You’ve hit tackling sleds and you—well,
you
haven’t done this stuff, new meat.”
    The coach looked at Kevin, his eyes narrow and his mouth set in a straight line.
    “But you’ve got a football pedigree, so I’m sure you’ll catch up.” The coach winked; then his eyes swept over the group. “Anyway, last week was for drills, and now we’re going to put that work to the test.” He clapped his hands. “We’re going to play some games.”
    The campers cheered. Kevin cringed. The coach continued.
    “We’ve already divided you kids into teams—eight-and nine-year-olds, you’ll go to the south practice field with Coach Gutierrez and Coach Kirkland. The rest of you will stick with us.”
    He blew the whistle and the smallest, least intimidating campers broke away with the youngest, least intimidating coaches. This left the older kids with the angry whistler and two assistants.
    The head coach looked at the remaining campers, then balled his right hand into a fist and pounded the logo on his chest.
    “I love our mascot,” he declared. “Who here can tell me about bisons?”
    The coach surveyed the faces before him, then focused on Kevin.
    “New meat!”
    Seriously, that’s the name we’re going with?
thought Kevin.
    “Yes, sir,” he said.
    “New meat, when I say ‘bisons,’ what do you think of?”
    Kevin cleared his throat. The campers spun around to face him.
    “Well, they’re a herd animal, first of all,” said Kevin, his voice barely audible. “And I’m pretty sure they’re plant eaters. And they were hunted to near extinction. And actually, I’m pretty sure the plural of ‘bison’ is just ‘bison.’ There’s no ‘s’ at the end, but …”
    “Well, I think of
toughness
!” said the coach.
    “Right,” said Kevin, nodding like a bobblehead. “Toughness, sir.”
    “I think of endurance and fearlessness and
toughness
.” The whistler paused. “Gentlemen, in football and in life …”
    The coach then drifted into a practiced speech that was clearly intended to be inspirational and fiery. Kevin found it crushingly dull. He turned inward, embarrassed and bored. After a few minutes of lecturing, the coach said something—Kevin missed the particulars—that caused the entire group to woof like dogs. Cromwell joined the chorus. Kevin did not.
    “Okay, men, take a lap!” declared the coach.
    Everyone dashed for the track that surrounded the main field at Scherzer. Kevin lagged behind … and never caught up. He finished dead last, approximately forty yards behind an asthmatic