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

little weasel, Ainswo—!”
    Brad made a subtle head fake toward the sideline, then planted his foot and cut toward the middle of the field. Kevin attempted to reverse course, but, cleatless and unskilled, he failed.
    In fact, he failed fabulously.
    Kevin’s feet slid to the right while the rest of his body went left. He felt himself lose contact with the ground—perhaps for a second or more—before face-planting with a thud.
    He heard teammates and opponents groan, either in disappointment or in sympathy.
    When he lifted his head and finished spitting all the dirt and grass from his mouth, he saw Brad Junior in the distance, high-stepping into the end zone.
    A whistle blew.

9
    Z ach, I’m not discussing it,” snapped Kevin, speaking into the headset. “Ever.” His thumbs pounded away at a controller. His face was scrunched into a wrinkled, angry knot.
    Up arrow … “A” button … left arrow … “A” … right arrow … “B” …
    “Dude, it couldn’t have been that bad,” said Zach.
    Kevin adjusted the microphone on his headset and spoke to Zach as they gamed.
    “It was beyond bad, and I’m not discussing it.”
    “What did you tell your parents?”
    “That it was fine. And then I came down here. End of discussion.”
    On-screen, a running back juked, stiff-armed a lineman, then sprinted up the sideline. A fake announcer declared this a spectacular move.
    “Man,” Kevin said flatly, “where are your linebackers, Zach? What is this? Bring a safety up … do
something
. You can’t stop my run game.”
    A defensive back veered onto the screen, finally taking down Kevin’s ball carrier.
    “DUDE!” exclaimed Zach, his voice exploding through the earpiece and causing Kevin to duck his head reflexively. “That was, like, a game-saving tackle right there. That’s clutch.”
    “Sure,” said Kevin. “Twenty yards later.”
    Kevin scrolled through new plays.
    “You seem to know what you’re doing in Madden,” said Zach. “How difficult could the transition to real foot—”
    “Zach!” snapped Kevin. “Which part of ‘not discussing it ever’ was unclear?”
    “Okay then, friend. Soooorrr-ry.”
    Kevin chose a passing play.
    “A” button … left arrow … “A” …
    “What’s Cromwell doin’?” asked Zach.
    “He’s doing as much to stop my powerhouse offense as you are, chump,” said Kevin. “Which is to say, he’s doing nothing.”
    “Whatever.”
    Kevin sipped an orange soda with his left hand, and kept his right on the controller.
    “Actually,” he said, “Cromwell is sitting here on the couch, staring at me. At least I think he’s staring atme … I’m sort of afraid to check. We were supposed to have a long, obstacle-filled walk after football camp, but, well … things did not go well for me. Not that we’re discussing it.”
    Cromwell’s ear twitched. Kevin noticed the movement and glanced at the dog.
    “Aaaarrgh!” Kevin exclaimed into the headset. “He’s
definitely
staring at me. I just checked.”
    “A” button … right arrow … left arrow … “X” …
    “You’ve done him wrong, dude,” said Zach.
    “Completion!” said Kevin. “And how ’bout you do a little more tackling and a little less judging?”
    The game suddenly paused.
    “Oh, come
on …,”
began Kevin.
    “First of all,” said Zach, his voice raised, “that was hardly a judgment. It was more like a simple statement of fact. I think we both know that you’ve done him wrong.”
    “I haven’t do—”
    “You’ve done him wrong, Kev. C’mon. Don’t embarrass yourself by arguing the point. I know it, the dog knows it, that dog pirate-lady knows it … it’s well-known. You should totally be at Paw Patch, taking classes.”
    “But my dad said we could maybe do those classes if I tried the foot—”
    “You
hate
real football! Clearly. The fact that you’reso skilled at video game football is just one of life’s little ironies.”
    Kevin was silent, except for the tapping