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He was also only eleven where most of the other kids were fourteen to sixteen, but Emmitt excelled at football, so my da pulled some strings, or rather donated money, to have him try out for the team I was on. As soon as they saw him with a football, they put him on the team.
I saw him hesitate and look over his shoulder for me and I weaved right then left avoiding the opposing player, and Emmitt kicked the ball to me.
It was our play. Back and to the right then I’d get in close to goal and when everyone was on me, Emmitt was open and in position.
I grinned at the asshole who tried to get the ball from me as I came in close to goal.
“You and your brother are going down,” he shouted as he tried to steal the ball from me.
I laughed while kicking back with my heel then glancing up for Emmitt. My brother nodded at me, and I danced with the ball a couple of moves then shot it high at Emmitt.
He jumped up and bumped the ball with his head, and it went straight into the goal.
Our team cheered and slapped Emmitt and me on the back. I grinned at my brother and ruffled his unruly hair.
“Nice shot,” I said as we jogged to center field.
“Thanks,” he said under his breath while keeping his head down.
Emmitt was quiet, especially when it came to social situations. Football was one place that he could let go and be himself and not worry about his Tourette’s.
In school he had a hard time with his classmates, and since I was a year ahead of him, I wasn’t able to protect him all the time.
His Tourette’s manifested itself in the form of involuntary eye blinking called tics, so he often kept his head down and never looked people in the eye. My da, on numerous occasions when he was younger, had locked Emmitt in his room and forced him to practice keeping the tic “under control.”
But when he played football, the tic rarely happened, and I think that was partially why he loved it so much. It was the only place Emmitt felt like he was normal and didn’t have to hide who he was.
“Nice goal, Emmitt,” our dad shouted from the sidelines.
I didn’t expect him to say anything to me, and I didn’t give a shit. He’d always hated me and after twelve years of him ignoring me, I was accustomed to it.
Emmitt noticed it though and asked me once why Da never talked to me except to give me shit about something. I told him that Da and I were just different. But it was more than that.
When I’d asked my mom why Da didn’t like me, she’d dropped the dish she’d been reaching for and it had shattered on the floor. As she cleaned up the shards, I saw her hands shake and there were tears in her eyes.
“I love you, Killian,” she’d said. “Your da does, too. He just… has trouble showing it.”
It was a lie. I’d heard the hesitation in her soft voice. But it really didn’t matter anymore.
Emmitt was who mattered.
“Retard,” a kid from the opposing team muttered when he banged into Emmitt with his shoulder as he ran by.
Before I had the chance to go after the kid, Emmitt grabbed my forearm and shook his head. “It only makes it worse.”
I gritted my teeth. “He won’t say it again if I knock his teeth out.”
Emmitt jerked his chin to the sidelines where our dad stood. “Da doesn’t need another reason to be mean to you.”
I sighed. Emmitt had so much to be angry about, yet he wasn’t. He was nice to everyone.
“I don’t care about him, Emmitt. I care about you, and that kid deserves to have his ass kicked.”
“Then score a goal,” he said, smiling as he met my eyes.
I cuffed him on the shoulder. “Yeah. But if that kid gets near me, he is accidentally falling flat on his face.”
It was the same story. Emmitt never wanted anyone to hurt, but he was the one who suffered all the time for something he had no control over.
“Emmitt,” a kid yelled as he kicked the ball toward him.
We dove back into the game.
Saturday night. Trial night. I arrived early and went to try on some of the outfits, most of which were a bit snug in the hips. I had big hips. But I found a flowing white dance dress that reached my knees and flared out. It was chic. The waist was tight, but the material was stretchy so it left lots of room to dance in. It had a deep V-neckline with a scooped back and spaghetti straps.
By the time I dressed, Tammy, Shari, and Tab had arrived and were also changing. Music played and the beat vibrated through the room. I smiled. I loved loud music. The vibration filtered through me as if the instruments were being played on my body.
