Hey, Coach! ch. 6

It was settled then, Scotty thought to himself as he began his 'worldly unfamous' spaghetti that evening after school.  Mrs. Borton had dropped he and Little Brother off right at the back garage door, just as planned.  Inside on the counter there were a series of elaborate notes, instructing Scotty to put away coats, take the dishes out of the washer ("sorry, I was in a hurry"), let Little Brother watch TV for only an hour, then start the spaghetti by 4:30 and that his mom would be home no later than 5:45 ("first day is a little bit longer, sorry"). Really, all of this was he did anyway, so it was mostly second nature but he picked up the yellow sticky pad sheets anyway and made sure to read each word so that he would be covered in case something was off, there could be no saying that he didn't read the instructions.  He looked out the back window to check and see the condition of his half court.  It had snowed enough to cover everything in a thin white lining and he had to admit to himself that he didn't really like shooting outside in the snow, too cold and ball gets wet. He walked down the hall and yelled upstairs, "Toby, come on down here for a minute." It took at least 10 seconds but a muffled response finally came and then he heard a door open. "In a minute, I am going to need you to help cook for me, come on down here," Scotty finished and assumed Little Brother would follow right down the steps, no problems.  This would have been a rare feat for sure.  With parents in the house, there was nothing to it. Scotty would yell once, his job was over, then it was mom or dad who would follow-up and pull him out of his room sometimes kicking.  With just Scotty there, he gave one last yell, "now" and could hear the little feet tumble out of the bed, open the door and scuttle down, "what? I don't cook anything," he said, his hands raised up toward the ceiling and eyes open in the most dramatic fashion possible.  "You can start cooking or you can shovel the basketball court. Which one?" Toby walked over to the window.  It was a bit dreary out there.  A bit colder than he liked it also.  "Cook what?"  "The easiest stuff in the world. Mom has already put it all out.  We just heat it up and mix it together.  I have some practicing to do."
"Are you going to get that girl to play on your team," Toby asked.
"What girllll" Scotty said back, a noodle strainer in his right hand.
"The one I heard you talking about in the car with Carl, that one." Scotty didn't really remember talking about what he had seen earlier that day but he must have.
"She's an eighth grader you nimrod, that's not a possibility." The thought had never crossed him mind, but that would something that all the other boys would be talking about, that was for sure.
"Is she really that good?" Scotty thought about it for a second, although there wasn't much to think about.
"She's pretty good." He handed Toby the stainer.  "This is what you will eventually use to pull the spaghetti noodles out of the bowl with holes." He held up a colander.
"Looks like a helmet or something."
"You, well, we have to drain the noodles before we put them in with the sauce. So we toss them in here, don't you see that?" He was losing patience, he didn't want to have to explain everything, but just start it, it was so easy. He showed Little Brother about the boiling water, telling him that the pan would most surely burn him if he touched it and that any boiling water would be hurt like little bee stings.  It was easy, no problem.  He left Little Brother in a slight huff, got into the garage and started to carefully shovel the court, swatch by swatch.  Well, it was settled, he thought.  Little Brother would be the basketball manager and communications director, or some such like that.  As for the girl, well, he had another plan...