Hey, Coach! ch. 12

"Leave it to my brother to eat flowers! I wondered how they tasted. Maybe they're delicious and I don't know it because I've never tasted one, I thought. I decided to find out." – Tales of a 4th Grade Nothing











There were only three known ways to get that many boys together in one spot on a weekend. The first one, the easiest usually, was if all the dads were getting together for a football party and they took their kids along with them.  This had happened a lot more before dad started a new job on in other countries, though, and Scotty didn't think that was what his dad would want to do this particular weekend, having been gone for a week.  The second was a birthday party of some sorts. The problem here was that there were no birthdays to be had. Making one up might get him in trouble somewhere down the line, like next year at the same time, when they would most likely find out it was a hoax.  The third and maybe the most promising was video games.  A new video game along with the temptation of a freshly baked cookie was a little like fifth grade kryptonite -- good luck holding off.  This then was Little Brother's day to shine.  He had been on the text circuit for hours plugging in temptations of the newest version of Destroy Wonderland, two new self molding joysticks, and a mean batch of double fudge monster cookies.  Arrangements were made, moms were briskly called into action, and all but all but Randall was able to come by at 2 in the afternoon.  There were a few problems.  Mom had spent the last two days and nights cleaning up for dad's arrival at precisely the same time of day, something that Scotty overlooked when the coordinating began.  "Make sure to clean up as you bake the cookies," he pleaded with Little Brother.  Little Brother didn't know about this part of the plan. "Why do I have to do everything?" he asked, which Scotty knew was a legitimate question. "What is your position on this team?" Scotty asked, bending down into the bottom level of the pantry for chips, flour, sugars and vanilla. "No eggs!" said to himself remembering what all went into these.  He had to show Little Brother very quickly how to mix and follow a recipe.  He had been so good with the spaghetti though, he thought, this should be a breeze.  "You are communications and logistics coordinator," that is why.  "It's my job to recruit the players and the coach. Have I done that or not?" he actually said out loud. It was 9:45 saturday morning.  Outside, as if one good omen were allowed, the sun shone down at a morning angle onto the court and it glistened as if wet and shiny.  He pictured four on four drills out there, boys high giving, twikking threes, raring to go into school monday and make their case with Mr. Tattern to form a team.  "Where the recipe calls for eggs, you'll just have to skip that, ok?" he asked.  He pointed to the recipe line, one that had been pulled out the Food Network Magazine like a book mark.  Little Brother set his phone down.  Texts continued to roll in, he swiped, read out loud, "Matt and Tyler can come at 2:15 now, not 2:00." He wasn't much for reading a recipe card.  Put it all in a bowl and start swooshing it around.  "Use this," Scotty said, holding up an electric mixer. One beater had rounded metal tines, the other one was square. "This will do. We have got to get these done before mom comes home from the store.  She will majorly wonder why cookies right now, today."
"We could tell her they are for dad," Little Brother said, his conniving-ability fully engaged by now. Little Brother had scooped out the two cups of flour and dumped them in a big bowl, along with white and brown sugar.  As he dropped the beaters down into the bowl, two things happened simultaneously that nobody could have predicted -- the flour fluffed up not merely into a small cloud, but a full blizzard and covered counter in a halo around the bowl and had settled in powdery bits around Little Brother's neck and chin like a new beard. He quickly lifted up the handle only to see that both beaters fell out into the bowl and lay there as if they were going nowhere anytime soon.  "Should we text mom for cookies?"
"Maybe," but first, I need you to go outside and talk to The Girl." Little Brother's eyes widened to two eggs, which would have been nice to have earlier.  "What do you mean The Girl. Now?" Sure enough, there was Corey, the new coach, The Eighth Grade girl out on the court tossing short hook shots in like a robot. "For god's sakes man," Little Brother yelled out "why me?"
"You are just a kid. And I don't know what to say."
"You recruited her to coach your team."
"That is true."
"You said something to her then."
"That's true."
"Say some things like that again."
"I can't. Not yet," said Scotty and he galloped upstairs.
Little Brother might have been a sight walking out onto the sunny backyard basketball court with a light powdery white beard swiping texts. The girl asked, "Let's play PIG" and she took the first shot from the three point line.