Force Out by Tim Green Page A

Joey couldn’t help thinking that, again, his little brother knew exactly what he was doing.
    â€œJoseph, you be nice,” their mother said without turning from whatever it was she had cooking on the stove.
    â€œMom, he’s disgusting. There’s something sticky and cat hair all over him.”
    â€œPork Chop!” Martin squealed.
    â€œYeah,” Joey said, looking around. “Where is Pork Chop?”
    â€œPork Chop bye-bye.” Martin opened and closed his sticky mitts.
    â€œOh, boy.” Joey could only imagine as he scooted past his little brother and bolted for the stairs to go up and change. Across from the stairs, in an oversized closet, was the room where the washing machine and dryer were. Joey had his foot on the first step when he heard a low mewling from the laundry room.
    â€œPork Chop?”
    He pushed open the laundry room door and looked around inside. He must have been hearing things. He turned to go and heard it again, coming from the dryer. He yanked open the round door and there was Pork Chop, slathered in something brownish yellow that made Joey start to get sick until he smelled its sweet odor. Pancake syrup. The cat was doused in it and looking miserable. He gently closed the door.
    â€œMom!” Joey hollered on his way up the stairs. “I think Martin put the cat in the dryer!”
    He didn’t want to stick around and have to clean up, so he undressed quickly and got into the shower himself. He heard his mom calling his name but successfully ignored it through the sound of the spraying water.
    â€œHow was swimming?” his father asked when he sat down at the dinner table.
    â€œGreat.”
    â€œGood.” His father bowed his head and they all said grace together.
    â€œI don’t know why Coach Barrett wants to talk in person,” his father said, spooning out some string beans before passing the bowl to Joey.
    His mother put a chicken leg on his plate, then proceeded to cut one up into little bits for Martin’s tray. “He’s a strange bird if you ask me.”
    â€œDecent baseball coach.” Joey’s father talked around a mouthful of chicken, drawing a disapproving look from Joey’s mom.
    â€œYou should just tell someone, that’s all,” his mom said. “All this mystery nonsense. I don’t like it. It’s like when a store owner burns down his place for the insurance money and he wants to tell you all about the fire and how horrible the whole thing was.”
    â€œHow is it like that?” Joey’s dad asked.
    She held a forkful of beans at bay. “I don’t know. It just is. Something fishy.”
    Her words didn’t do anything to help Joey. He could barely eat, and kept looking at the clock, urging the hands toward seven. His mom served slices of a strawberry rhubarb pie she’d made, and then Joey and his dad cleaned up while she gave Martin a much-needed bath upstairs. Joey’s mom was still up there when Coach Barrett arrived, wearing his Blue Jays cap, maybe to show that he was there on official business. The coach seemed glad Joey’s mom wasn’t there, and the three of them sat down in the living room.
    Joey’s dad offered the coach a drink.
    â€œNo, I can only stay a minute.” Coach Barrett held up a hand and took some papers out of his shoulder bag that he used as a coaching briefcase. He handed the papers to Joey’s dad. “Okay, well you should sign these.”
    â€œIs this for the all-star team?” Joey’s dad screwed up his face at the mystery of it all.
    Joey could barely breathe.
    Coach Barrett clapped his hands before he clasped his fingers together. “Okay, well, what do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”
    Joey’s dad glanced at Joey. Joey swallowed and his dad said, “Give us the bad news first.”

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    Coach Barrett’s face clouded over. He leaned forward and spoke in a somber and