back in the ESPN studio.
âFelton Reinstein,â says the sportscaster. âGood to see you, buddy. Nick Clemmons here.â
âYeah. Uh-huh. Yeah,â I say to the air. âHello, sir.â Lights so bright theyâre burning my face.
âLooks like you have a full house out there in Wisconsin.â
âBig,â I say.
âWell, thereâs a lot of excitement in the studio too. How are you feeling about your choice?â
âI donât know,â I say. I blink into the lights. I feel sweat roll down my forehead. Whereâs that towel?
âYour mom happy? She sure looks proud.â
I feel Jerri move. She puts her hands on my shoulders. She squeezes.
The whole thing is only supposed to take a couple minutes. ESPN will cut to another recruit in just a few minutes.
âSo letâs get to business. Felton Reinstein is rated the number three running back prospect in the country byâ¦â
And then I think: Dad was a national champion⦠I picture him crushing a tennis ball, exploding across the court, crushing another, which Iâve seen on fuzzy VHS video at Grandpa Stanâs house.
Nick Clemmons keeps talking. But I donât listen. I think: Dad. I think: Dad ran across the court. Dad crushed the ball. Dad didnât move when he was zipped into a bag. Dad. Where did that energy go? Where did his life go? Where? Are you there, Dad? No. Youâre dead with Curtis, but Pig Boy is here and Abby is here and Terry is up there in the stands staring down at Jerri and probably thinking heâd like to be making out with her on our damn couch because his marriage is done and Jerriâs been done with it all forever because Dad, youâre dead and gone foreverâ¦I see him crushing a tennis ball. Exploding across the court⦠I canât take this anymore.
And then Nick Clemmons says, âItâs time, buddy. Are you still in deliberations?â
I hear him. I jerk to attention. âNo. Sorry.â
âWhere you heading next year?â
I look at the hats. I see them, see the insignias. (Iâm not blind.) I reach and pick up the Wisconsin hat. The crowd completely erupts. There are huge cheers, like screams of joy. I say, âShit,â on national television. I shake my head. I say, âNo.â I put the hat down and pick up the Stanford hat.
âOuch. Harsh, my man,â laughs Nick Clemmons from the ESPN studio.
I hold my breath. I know what Iâve done. Intentional. âNo. That wasâ¦Iâm going to Stanford,â I mumble.
Then thereâs this giant hissâthe whispering of a thousand confused Wisconsinites.
âWe wish you best of luck, Felton. Enjoy California, buddy,â says Nick Clemmons.
âThanks. Okay,â I say.
The TV lights go off. Jerri says, âWow, Stanford. Didnât see that coming. Thatâs wonderful.â
The gym is so quiet. People murmur. Confused.
The gym is so quiet.
Then Karpinski yells, âGood one, Rein Stone.â
Coach Johnson says, âIâm surprised. Itâs a good school. Good for you. Iâm very surprised. We looked forward to seeing you up in Madison.â
âIâm not going to Wisconsin,â I say.
âNo. I see that,â Coach Johnson says. His face is red. Iâve embarrassed him. The crowd hisses.
I decide right then Iâm taking the rest of the week off. âI need to leave, Jerri,â I say.
She nods.
I pull the mic pack out of my pants, unclip the other part from my collar, hand it to the ESPN guy.
âCongratulations, man,â he says.
While kids flow out of the gym into the commons, Jerri and I leave by the side door. We donât go through the school. People from the town and the state and wherever else are in the parking lot. A few say, âGood school.â But theyâre quiet. Theyâre mad. Of course. I picked up the Wisconsin hat.
Terry Sauter meets us in the parking lot. He
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