Go Big or Go Home by Will Hobbs Page B

so, with him winning most games but not by much.
    The only thing was, it wasn’t like old times. He was agitated from the start. “You’re doggin’ it,” he said finally. “You’re faster than that.”
    â€œNo way,” I protested. “I’m giving it my best shot.”
    Truth was, I wasn’t giving it my best shot. Talk about reflexes: mine were so hair-triggered, I could have slaughtered him. I was buzzing like a live wire. I felt like I could’ve beat the world’s fastest human out of the starting blocks in the hundred meters.
    Quinn got up and went to the couch. “Let’s see what’s on TV.”
    My cousin started surfing channels and landed on a cable program about extreme adventures called Boldness or Folly? It was going to feature three different maniacs—a guy trying to row a small boat from California to China, a guy trying to swim 3,400 miles down the Amazon, and a woman trying to make it to both Poles, on foot, alone. Quinn couldn’t believe it when I told him I was too wasted to stay up.
    I dragged myself upstairs and sat on the edge of my bed. Quinn might wish he had whatever bug I had, but I was already hoping it would run its course and soon. All I wanted to be was normal, and have things with Quinn back the way they used to be. As far as I was concerned, Quinn would always be top dog, but how was that going to work if I could drop him on every climb, stuff thebasketball in his face, and annihilate him every time we played a video game?
    I got into bed and crashed. I crashed hard, into a bizarre series of dreams. At first I was diving, endlessly diving, for my sinking backpack. I swam all the way to the bottom of the lake. Somehow I was able to see a few feet ahead in the murk. I swam every which way in search of my backpack but kept getting faked out by rocks that looked like backpacks.
    Stan swam by, and he gave me the evil eye. I knew it was him because he was as big as a king salmon and the side of his mouth was torn. I reached out and tried to touch him, but he swam away. I’ve been down too long, I thought. My brains are about to blow out through my ears. I panicked and went up too fast, my head began to explode, and then I was at a football game.
    Hill City was playing Custer under the lights. Our Rangers were stomping the Wildcats thanks to Max and Buzz. Both weighed over three hundred pounds, somebody was saying. I was in high school, I realized. Crystal was sitting next to me in the stands. I had the feeling she was my girlfriend, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe not. After the game was over, we went our separate ways.
    I was taking a shortcut to get to my car. Out of nowhere, who but the Carver boys appeared, all three, still in pads. They cornered me against a fence, tackled me, then sat on me. I felt like a snail getting crushed out of its shell. Max said they wouldn’t get off meuntil I took back what I said in fourth grade. “What was that?” I wheezed.
    â€œLike you don’t remember,” Buzz scoffed.
    â€œAll that stuff about George Armstrong Custer,” growled Max. I told them they would have to tell me what it was so I could take it back.
    Buzz said, “Just say ‘I love Custer,’ and we’ll let you go.”
    By now their weight had about collapsed my lungs, and I barely had the breath to say a thing. “I love custard,” I managed, going easy on the d. Max said I had to say it again, and I did, and then Cal said I had to say it again, and I did. Each time I went easy on the d. Finally they said that was enough times. They got off me, and I was at the entrance of a cave. It looked familiar.
    â€œNo guts, no glory,” Quinn said, and he wriggled inside. I crawled in behind him and right away fell onto some rocks. Quinn had gone ahead, and I ran to keep up. “We won’t go very far,” he said, but he was lying. A couple of more corners and it was pitch-dark.