Charles! Don’t say things like that!” Mom cried.
Dad had been starting to pull out into the street, but now he slammed on the brake. KT’s head hit the seat in front of her. Dad lined up the car with the curb once more and put it back in park. He turned to face Max.
“I am not raising a quitter,” Dad said sternly.
“Why not?” Max muttered. “Why shouldn’t I quit something I hate?”
“Max, you have a great talent,” Mom chimed in from the backseat. “An incredible talent. Very few people at your school are capable of doing what you do.”
“I felt like I was going to puke the whole time I was up there,” Max said. “Mr. Horace told me a hundred times, ‘Max, we’re counting on you. Max, we’re counting on you.’ I don’t want people counting on me! I don’t want people watching me! Especially not when I’m doing math!”
“Max, you had one bad game,” Dad said, soothingly. “That’s no reason to give up a promising career.”
“Career?” Max said. “Career? I’m twelve years old! I don’t have a career!”
“If he’s that miserable, you should let him quit,” KT said.
“That’s it! You are grounded for two weeks!” Mom said, whipping around and pointing an accusing finger at KT.
“Just for trying to help my brother?” KT wailed.
She’d never been grounded before in her life. What if that meant she couldn’t start her softball team foranother two weeks? She hadn’t gone an entire two weeks without playing softball since she was eight.
Of course, she really hadn’t been trying to help her brother. She’d mostly just wanted Mom and Dad to stop talking and drive home, so she could start sending out messages about starting a softball league.
Dad turned off the car. He turned sideways in his seat so he could face the entire rest of the family at once.
“Everyone needs to calm down,” he said. He took a deep breath. “KT, I would like to take you at your word and try to believe that you were, indeed, trying to help your brother. We’ll talk about the grounding later. And Max, I understand that you had a bad game. I remember what it’s like to feel like you’ve let your team down, let your coach down, let your family down. But quitting is not the answer. ”
KT wanted so badly to say, Why not? Who cares? But she didn’t want to be grounded for three weeks.
“Max,” Mom said in a tremulous voice. “You have so much potential. Why would you throw away such a golden opportunity?”
She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
Dad cleared his throat, sounding a little emotional himself.
“When I failed to get that mathletics scholarship at UCLA,” he said, “I knew exactly what that meant. All my dreams—crushed. All my possibilities—evaporated like so much morning dew.”
This was a very, very strange version of Dad. In the real world he only talked about sports. Even when he talked about other things, sports crept in. His coworkers were “in a first-down situation” or some project was “a slam dunk” or some other company haddone “an end run” around his.
“Losing that scholarship,” Dad continued in a somber voice, “I knew I was in for a lifetime of hard physical labor.”
“Hard physical labor?” KT cried. “Dad, you’re an accountant!”
Dad gave her a rueful smile.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie, but you know that’s only a hobby,” Dad said sadly.
“Ha-ha,” KT started to say, because sometimes back in the real world Dad would joke that being an accountant was just a hobby—his real job was driving KT to softball practices and games.
But maybe—maybe in this world he’s serious? KT thought in amazement. If school and sports flipped around, does that mean adults’ jobs changed too? Accounting is what people do for fun and . . . what exactly does he do in his job in this world?
“You spend your workday exercising,” Max said in a flat, expressionless voice.
“You know we do,” Mom said
Dad had been starting to pull out into the street, but now he slammed on the brake. KT’s head hit the seat in front of her. Dad lined up the car with the curb once more and put it back in park. He turned to face Max.
“I am not raising a quitter,” Dad said sternly.
“Why not?” Max muttered. “Why shouldn’t I quit something I hate?”
“Max, you have a great talent,” Mom chimed in from the backseat. “An incredible talent. Very few people at your school are capable of doing what you do.”
“I felt like I was going to puke the whole time I was up there,” Max said. “Mr. Horace told me a hundred times, ‘Max, we’re counting on you. Max, we’re counting on you.’ I don’t want people counting on me! I don’t want people watching me! Especially not when I’m doing math!”
“Max, you had one bad game,” Dad said, soothingly. “That’s no reason to give up a promising career.”
“Career?” Max said. “Career? I’m twelve years old! I don’t have a career!”
“If he’s that miserable, you should let him quit,” KT said.
“That’s it! You are grounded for two weeks!” Mom said, whipping around and pointing an accusing finger at KT.
“Just for trying to help my brother?” KT wailed.
She’d never been grounded before in her life. What if that meant she couldn’t start her softball team foranother two weeks? She hadn’t gone an entire two weeks without playing softball since she was eight.
Of course, she really hadn’t been trying to help her brother. She’d mostly just wanted Mom and Dad to stop talking and drive home, so she could start sending out messages about starting a softball league.
Dad turned off the car. He turned sideways in his seat so he could face the entire rest of the family at once.
“Everyone needs to calm down,” he said. He took a deep breath. “KT, I would like to take you at your word and try to believe that you were, indeed, trying to help your brother. We’ll talk about the grounding later. And Max, I understand that you had a bad game. I remember what it’s like to feel like you’ve let your team down, let your coach down, let your family down. But quitting is not the answer. ”
KT wanted so badly to say, Why not? Who cares? But she didn’t want to be grounded for three weeks.
“Max,” Mom said in a tremulous voice. “You have so much potential. Why would you throw away such a golden opportunity?”
She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
Dad cleared his throat, sounding a little emotional himself.
“When I failed to get that mathletics scholarship at UCLA,” he said, “I knew exactly what that meant. All my dreams—crushed. All my possibilities—evaporated like so much morning dew.”
This was a very, very strange version of Dad. In the real world he only talked about sports. Even when he talked about other things, sports crept in. His coworkers were “in a first-down situation” or some project was “a slam dunk” or some other company haddone “an end run” around his.
“Losing that scholarship,” Dad continued in a somber voice, “I knew I was in for a lifetime of hard physical labor.”
“Hard physical labor?” KT cried. “Dad, you’re an accountant!”
Dad gave her a rueful smile.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie, but you know that’s only a hobby,” Dad said sadly.
“Ha-ha,” KT started to say, because sometimes back in the real world Dad would joke that being an accountant was just a hobby—his real job was driving KT to softball practices and games.
But maybe—maybe in this world he’s serious? KT thought in amazement. If school and sports flipped around, does that mean adults’ jobs changed too? Accounting is what people do for fun and . . . what exactly does he do in his job in this world?
“You spend your workday exercising,” Max said in a flat, expressionless voice.
“You know we do,” Mom said
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