I crawl towards the shady tree with my water bottle in hand at the end of practice. My dad gathers us all together to give some sort of pep talk. I pour my ice-filled water into my mouth and let it drizzle down my face and chest. It doesn't matter if I get myself wet, I'm already soaked with sweat. Today's practice was even worse than yesterday's. Last night we mixed conditioning with some plays and stuff, but when my dad saw how horribly out of shape everyone was, he decided to forget about fundamentals and just focused on whipping everyone into shape.

So, my dad talks/yells at us for not being where we're supposed to be. He asks us how we think we're supposed to be better than anyone if we can barely run a mile without wheezing. It's all the normal stuff you generally hear at pre-season. At least around here. Our school has a real motivation problem and our football program has suffered because of it. But we make do. I mean, we definitely aren't as good as when my dad and my uncle Nate played, but we managed to win a few games here and there.

"Tomorrow it's going to be the same thing. And the next night and the next night if you can't get yourselves in shape. All right?"

"All right," we all repeat like zombies. Dad dismisses us, but no one really moves for a few minutes. We can't. Too tired. Too sore.

"Hey," my dad says and stands over me.

"Hey."

"You need ice or something?" He asks.

I shake my head and make myself get up.

"You sure?"

"I'm good," I say and we make our way to my dad's truck. I climb into the passenger seat and slam the door shut. We drive home and I go upstairs, take a quick shower, and then crash in my bed like I did the night before. I face towards my window, but see that Kiersten isn't in her room. I don't think much about it. She's probably watching T.V. downstairs or maybe at her girl friends, Whitney and Bridgette's, house.

My phone rings and I pick it up. It's Sal. He asks me to come over. Even though I'm beyond sore, I haven't hung out at Sal's place in a while so I agree. I ask him if it's okay if I bring Drew. Maybe if I get as many kids out of the house as I can my dad will relax a bit and ease up at practice.

I tuck my phone in my back pocket and head downstairs to Drew and Carrie's room. Drew's sitting on his bed looking through a book of constellations my mom got him for his fourth birthday. Drew's a real smart kid. Smarter than me, that's for sure. I know Kiersten always jokes that I'm a know-it-all, but I'm really just stubborn. But Drew, he's a real Brainiac. I bet he's going to be valedictorian someday.

"Hey, you want to go over to the Chelsea's?"

Drew carefully closes his book and places it gently on his nightstand.

"That would be delightful," he says as he gets up and smoothes out his shirt.

I shake my head and laugh. Drew may be smart, but he can be a real oddball sometimes.

"All right let's go."

We walk out of the room together and tell my dad what we're doing.

"Have fun," he says on our way out.

"What kind of activities are we going to do at the Chelsea household?"

"I dunno."

"Sounds like fun."

I crack a smile and push Drew slightly. He gets out of step and then jogs to catch up with me.

"Ya little wise-guy," I simply state.

He giggles and I nudge him again.

"Stop pushing me. Does your girlfriend know you have abusive tendencies?" Drew says.

This is how Drew and I fight. My weapons are my fists and muscles and his are his words. Usually he wins. Because the more I threaten him, the more he presses on. And he knows I would never seriously hurt him so he can say whatever he wants. He's a pain in the butt, but I love him to death.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"But you knew exactly who I was talking about, didn't you?" he replies with a smirk.

I stop walking for a second as I come to the realization that he's right. He never said her name but my brain jumped right to it anyway. I swear he does this stuff on purpose.

"One of these days I'm gonna beat you silly."

"Hey, welcome, welcome!" Sal shouts when he sees us walk through the front door. It's never quiet in the Chelsea house. Never.

"Hey," his dad echoes then his mom came in with a "hi boys."

"Drew's here?!" Toby practically screams as he tears down the stairs. "Why didn't anyone tell me?! "

"They just got here, dumb-dumb," Sal says.

"Hey," their mom warns. "Be nice."

"Oh," Toby says, calming down a bit. "Well, come on, man." He says and leads Drew into his room.

Sal, Mr. Chelsea, Mrs. Chelsea, and me sit at the dining table and talk.

"So, how's the team looking?" Mr. Chelsea asks.

How's the team looking. That's what everyone always wants to know. I nod my head.

"Okay," I say, because, that's all it really is. Maybe capable of winning two or three games, but not many more.

"Just okay?" Mr. Chelsea says. Again, I nod my head. I smile and look at Sal because something just occurred to me.

"We'd be better if Sal would come kick for us," I say.

Our starting kicker, Josh Raydon, left us this year and we have yet to find a replacement for him. My dad and I have been trying to convince Sal to come try it out. I mean after all, he's on the soccer team, so he's athletic. And it's totally possible for him to play both. He just has to say one sport has priority over the other. I'm sure my dad would have no problem if he wants to make that soccer. He would just have to come kick for us once in a while.

"I don't know," he says with a big reluctant smile.

"Come on, it'll give you a chance to play a real sport," I joke.

Sal laughs along, but still doesn't give me an answer. I decide to see how far I can push this thing. I really do want Sal to come try out. Not only because it'd be good for the team, but because honestly, as an underclassman, I don't have many friends on the team. I could use someone on my side.

"Just come out tomorrow. See if you like it. If you don't, you can leave and never come back."

"I've got soccer tomorrow," Sal argues.

"That ends at four. When does football start? Six?" His father asks with an eager smile.

From what I've heard, playing high school football was the highlight of every adult male in town's youth. I've always suspected that Mr. Chelsea was disappointed Sal never really seemed to take an interest in it.

"Yeah, you get a good two hours rest," I add.

His mom rolls her eyes and gets up from the table. I don't think she'll mind if Sal plays on the football team, but I wouldn't say she's entirely in love with the idea. Although she always supports the team, she was a soccer player during her high school days and I think she enjoys having that in common with Sal.

"Don't let them convince you of anything," his mom says and walks into the kitchen and starts to get things ready for dinner.

"Come help me, Nick?"

And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Chelsea stay in the kitchen to fix dinner up and Sal and I go outside to chill on the porch. Sal jabbers on like he always does and I nod and talk when I can. After it starts to get dark I go back inside to grab Drew.

"So is Sal going to play football?" Drew asks as we walk home.

"I'm not sure. I hope so."

"Me too. We could really use a good kicker."

Although I doubt Drew will ever become a football player himself, he still really loves the sport. And he knows so much about it, too. Probably because he pays so close attention to the way dad coaches. Drew doesn't like playing the sport or anything like that, but he loves to watch it and talk about it. I guess you could say that he's more interested in the coaching of it than the actual physicality of it.

"We could use a good everything," I say.

"Well we'll have a good running back," Drew says.

"Thanks, kid," I say and run my hand through that mess of curls he claims is his hair.

"What are you thanking me for? I was talking about Hayden Littner."

Ah of course, Hayden Littner. What is there to say about Hayden Littner? A lot, actually. I'll just start by saying that he's on the football team. He's a senior. And he's been the starting running back for the past three years. He's not bad, but he's got a real attitude if you ask me. Too much ego, too little talent. But the whole town loves him. His dad's like this big shot lawyer or businessman or something. I don't think anyone is exactly clear on what he does, they're just impressed because he's the only guy in town who wears a suit to work.

All I know is people are really enamored by him. Every once in a while he'll park his mustang convertible right on the side of the road outside his house and people will come wandering out of their houses like mindless zombies to come and stare at it. Dads will gather up their sons and take them to see that car and watch it's red paint glisten in the sun. Once, I even saw a few people taking a picture with it.

So, people expected that my dad would play Hayden Littner, son of the man with the beautiful car, just because that's the way it's always been.

"Maybe I'll move out and Hayden can be your big brother," I say knowing that Drew's being the wise little kid that he is.

"No," he says and shakes his head, causing his curls to bounce all over the place. "I'm glad you're my big brother." He says and then looks up to me with big pleading eyes. "Are you glad I'm your little brother?"

I smile at him.

"Of course I am."

Drew nods. And looks down at his shoes.

"Should we hug?" He asks.

"Nah."
"Good," he laughs "I really didn't want to."

"Yeah, that's weird."

I meet his eyes with a smile and Drew giggles as we walk onward to our house. That night I decided to let Drew stay in my room, as he asked me so often to do. We watched a movie together and I even slept on the floor and let that little brat have my bed. Am I the greatest big brother or what?