Darius & Twig by Walter Dean Myers

don’t need me.”
    â€œAnd Midnight and Tall Boy can say that they knew you weren’t all that good in the first place,” I added. “You want that?”
    â€œWhat’s gonna be is what’s gonna be,” Twig said softly. “But I don’t care anymore. It’s all getting too hard.”
    â€œWhen you going to Delaware?”
    â€œThursday night,” Twig said. “Coach Day said he can get you out of school and pay your way down, too. You coming with me?”
    â€œHe’s going to pay my way, too?” I asked. “Why?”
    â€œI think somebody else is footing the bill,” Twig said. “Somebody—maybe that college scout—thinks we got something he can sell.”
    â€œThat’s what’s scaring you?”
    â€œI don’t know what’s scaring my ass,” Twig said. “But I know I’m scared. What you think?”
    â€œIt could be something good,” I said. “We should probably check it out.”
    â€œYou going with me?” Twig asked. “If I’m going to run as hard as I can, I’m going to need somebody in my corner.”
    â€œYour folks can’t go?”
    â€œI need somebody who knows what I’m feeling,” Twig said. “I need to look up in the sky and see Fury.”
    â€œWe’ll be there,” I said.

chapter twenty-one
    The trip down to Delaware took about two hours from Penn Station on 34th Street. It was me; Twig; Willie DeWitt, a sprinter and a running back; Willie’s mom, who was pretty hot; Coach Day; and a short, kind of weird guy named Herb. Coach Day said that Herb was “connected” with a number of colleges.
    â€œWillie, what you need to do is hit 10:02 just one time in the trials, or in the finals,” Herb was saying. The Amtrak train had already pulled out of the station and was going to Newark, New Jersey. “So what the colleges can see is that you’ve got the moves for a halfback, but you also have the breakaway speed they’re looking for.”
    â€œYou think I can get a scholarship as a sprinter?” Willie asked.
    â€œToo hard, too many guys fighting over less than five tenths of a second,” Herb said. “I’m not saying it’s not possible, but every day you have some kid coming up with a 10:01, a 10 flat, or a 9.9. But as a running back, especially someone with your size, you got a lot of potential.”
    â€œWillie can run,” his mom said confidently. “Even when he was little, he could run fast.”
    â€œAnd Fernandez, what I want from you is even simpler. . . .” Herb leaned back in his seat.
    â€œWhat you want from me?” Twig looked toward Coach Day.
    â€œLet me put it this way,” Herb said. “What would be best for you is for you to make the finals in either the 1500 or the 3000 and hit a fourth. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but that puts you on record. When all the coaches across the country read the results, they’re looking for young talent. Everybody knows everybody in these races. There aren’t any secrets anymore.
    â€œBut half the guys running tomorrow are either college guys who don’t have a consistency record, or they’re past college and still hanging on to a dream. Either way, nobody is looking for them. What they’re looking for is young guys. Guys like you and Willie. You show up fourth in the finals of either race, and they’re going to see a high school kid they can reach out and grab.”
    â€œHow come you want him to run?” I asked Herb.
    â€œBecause it’s a chance for him to get a scholarship!” Coach Day said. “That’s not rocket science, Austin.”
    â€œThat’s not what he’s asking,” Herb said. He took out a cigar and put it in his mouth.
    â€œI don’t think you can smoke on the train,” Willie said.
    â€œI’m not smoking it, just holding it in my