The League Read online

  Also by Thatcher Heldring

  Toby Wheeler: Eighth-Grade Benchwarmer

  Roy Morelli Steps Up to the Plate

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Thatcher Heldring

  Jacket art copyright © 2013 by Lisette Le Bon/SuperStock

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Heldring, Thatcher.

  The league / Thatcher Heldring. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Fourteen-year-old Wyatt, hoping to impress a girl and ward off a bully, decides to join his older brother’s summer football league,

  “The League of Pain,” against the advice of his parents, who think golf is the right sport for him.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-98713-7

  [1. Self-perception—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Bullies—Fiction. 4. Football—Fiction. 5. Golf—Fiction. 6. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H3734Le 2013

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012035296

  Random House Children’s Books

  supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For big, tough Peter

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  One Month Later

  The League of Pain Playbook

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “What do you want to see?” I asked Evan outside the movie theater. My mom had just driven away, and Evan’s dad was going to pick us up afterward.

  Evan lived next door and was in eighth grade like me, but she went to a different school. She had brown eyes, long dark hair in braids that fell just below her shoulders, and dimples that came out of nowhere whenever she smiled. Her feet had tan lines from the flip-flops she had been wearing since the sun came out in late March. Now it was late May, which meant summer vacation would begin in less than a month.

  “Whatever,” she said. “As long as it isn’t rated R, sold out, or something I’ve already seen.”

  Evan was wearing baggy gym shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, which was typical since she was always coming from or going to some practice—today it was lacrosse. She bit her lower lip as she stared at the list of movies. I always liked the way her nose scrunched up when she did that.

  “And nothing with love in the title,” I added.

  “Or anything longer than two hours,” said Evan. “I need to be home by six o’clock so I can eat dinner before lacrosse practice.”

  That left only one choice: a baseball movie. I’d been wanting to see it anyway. I was on a baseball team this spring. I’d chosen baseball because I thought it might get Dad off my back about playing golf. He had been pushing me to get better so we could play together more often.

  “How about Swing and a Miss?” I asked.

  “Yeah, okay, I guess. But get ready to pay up if I don’t like it.”

  That was the deal Evan and I had. Whoever picked the movie had to buy the other person’s ticket if the movie stank. Luckily Mom and Dad gave me money for every A on my report card. I’d earned enough to fill up a jumbo peanut butter container I kept on my desk.

  “It can’t be worse than Surf’s Up,” I said while we were waiting in line.

  Evan patted her heart twice. “That was my bad.”

  It was my turn at the ticket window. “One for Swing and a Miss, please,” I said, passing my money through the slot to the woman in the booth.

  “Child or adult?” the woman asked.

  “Adult,” I said, grinding my teeth. I wanted to put my face up against the glass and yell, Can’t you see I’m in the eighth grade!

  The woman looked surprised as she counted out my change. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.” I hated these conversations. I wished I looked my age. Knowing Evan was standing right behind me didn’t help.

  I held out my hand and took the money from the woman.

  “You look younger,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I said, even though it wasn’t a compliment.

  Evan didn’t say anything as we went inside the lobby. Maybe she hadn’t heard my conversation with the woman in the ticket booth. Still, I just wanted to get to the dark theater, where nobody could see me.

  At the snack bar, I got a small bucket of popcorn and a soda. “Are you getting anything?” I asked her.

  Evan pointed at the bucket. “Can I just share with you?”

  “You don’t want to get your own? This is a small.”

  Evan tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes. “Wyatt, you’re supposed to share your popcorn when you bring a girl to the movies.”

  I felt my face turn red. “You mean like a date?”

  I had never been on a date with a girl, but if I ever went on one, I hoped it would be with Evan.

  “I wish this was a date, buddy,” said Evan. “I’d make you buy me a jumbo bucket and a large soda and some gummy bears. Then I’d throw up all over you.”

  “If you did that, I’d make you buy me a new shirt.”

  “Lucky for you we’re just friends,” Evan said.

  I am lucky, I told myself as we left the concession area. I am at the movies with Evan Robinson, and nobody else can say that.

  We had some time to kill before the movie, so we found a free table in the café above the lobby. We could see all the people below coming in and out of the theater. On the wall next to us were posters for upcoming summer movies.

  Evan gasped and pointed to a poster for The All-Star. There was a girl in a football uniform holding a helmet. “I totally want to see that,” she told me. “Opening day, we have to be first in line.”

  “What about Dr. Pirate? That looks hilarious. Do you think he operates on people with the hook?”

  Evan laughed. “Now I have to know.”

  “And Invasion Earth Two Three-D,” I said. “We have to see that too.”

  Suddenly Evan kicked me under the table. “Wyatt, check it out!” she whispered, even though it was too loud in the café to hear other people’s conversations. “It’s Brian Braun.” She pointed to a guy in the lobby wearing cargo
shorts, a dark green T-shirt, and a backward baseball cap.

  “Brian Brian?”

  “Brian Braun,” said Evan. “He’s basically the best quarterback ever from Pilchuck. He broke like a million passing records last season. He could probably go pro.”

  I watched as Brian led his friends across the lobby to the theater entrance, where he greeted the ticket taker by slapping his hand. He gestured to the pack behind him, and the guy let them all pass without handing over any tickets.

  “He didn’t even pay,” I said, becoming instantly jealous of Brian Braun. He was tall. He had a lot of friends. He got into movies for free. And Evan was paying attention to him.

  “That’s what being good at football gets you,” Evan said. She jumped up like a cheerleader. “Come on, let’s go down there.”

  “You want to talk to him?”

  “I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.”

  Too late, I thought, following Evan to the lobby. She turned to me as we hustled down the stairs.

  “If we see him, I’ll tell him you’re my little brother.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Evan reached the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry, but you know he’ll never believe we’re twins.” She stood on the tips of her toes but didn’t see him.

  “You could always tell him you’re adopted,” I said as we went to the theater to get seats. I was happy Brian had vanished, but as we sat down, I knew that as far as Evan was concerned, he might as well have been sitting next to us.

  Evan sighed. “I can’t get him out of my mind.”

  “It’s only been five minutes.”

  Evan opened her eyes wide. “Can you believe we’ll be at the same school in three months?”

  Wow, I thought. I guess I’m not the only one looking forward to walking down the hallway together. “Actually, it’s more like two and a half.”

  “Even better,” Evan said. “I hope my locker is close to his. No, I take that back. I hope it isn’t. Or maybe close, but not too close.” Then she leaned over, reaching into my bucket of popcorn. “May I?” she asked, already feeding herself a handful.

  “Just don’t eat too much and barf on my shirt,” I said, feeling a bit sick to my stomach knowing that Evan would rather be sitting next to Brian than me.

  She reached over and pinched the sleeve of my T-shirt. “That wouldn’t cost me much,” she said. “Probably less than the bucket of popcorn. Unless you put on something nice, like for a date.”

  “I don’t have anything nice except a suit.”

  Evan laughed. “If you ever go on a date, you have to promise me you’ll wear a suit.”

  “Deal,” I whispered as the movie started. “But only if you promise to stuff yourself and barf.”

  “Pinky swear,” Evan whispered back. She held out her right pinky and curled it around my left one. The moment lasted only a few seconds before Evan let go to drive her hand into my bucket of popcorn.

  About ten minutes into the movie, I knew Evan was going to make me pay for her ticket. Swing and a Miss had nothing to do with a strikeout. The main character was named Swing, and Miss was the daughter he never knew who showed up at his house one day. The whole movie was about him taking her shopping and her teaching him how to dance. They never played baseball.

  “Nice pick, Wyatt,” Evan whispered.

  After the movie, Evan and I waited in front of the theater for her dad. I was still blinking my eyes from the late-afternoon sunshine after the dark theater when Evan elbowed me in the ribs and started rifling through her pockets.

  “What?” I asked. “Is your dad here?”

  She looked over at me. “Quick,” she said. “Give me some garbage.”

  “Why?”

  She pointed to a group of people standing not far from an overflowing trash can. One of them was Brian Braun. “I need something to throw away,” Evan pleaded.

  “What’s that going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Evan replied impatiently. “Maybe he’ll think I’m a good citizen.”

  “Maybe he’ll think you work here,” I replied, handing Evan a stick of gum.

  “Ha, ha. Thanks.” Evan took the gum, popped it into her mouth, then spit it into the wrapper as she made her way over toward Brian. When she got to the trash can, she dropped the gum inside, but Brian still hadn’t noticed her. Instead of walking back like a normal person, Evan reached into the can, picked up the gum, which had been sitting at the top, and tossed it in again. That didn’t work either. Evan looked over at me. I shook my head. She was just going back in for the gum when a woman in a hurry walked by, tossing a cup into the can and splattering Evan.

  She came back smelling like coffee.

  “I’m not giving up,” she said.

  “What’s the big deal about him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Evan said. “He’s just … I can’t think of the word.”

  Her eyes stayed glued on Brian as he jumped into the back of a Jeep with his friends and sped away. That’s what being good at football gets you, I thought, watching Evan watch Brian drive off.

  I hoped it was the last time we’d see Brian Braun at the cineplex. Little did I know, I’d have bigger problems this summer than Brian Braun.

  CHAPTER TWO

  There was still plenty of daylight left when I got home from the movies. Mom was in the kitchen helping my sister, Kate, with long division and checking her email. She was an emergency-room nurse, which meant she saw a lot of gross injuries, like people with bleeding heads and arms twisted in the wrong direction. I figured Dad had already left on his next business trip. He was a consultant, which meant he traveled all the time. Some weeks he’d leave Sunday evening and be gone until Thursday.

  Kate was eleven, three years younger than me, but she and I were almost the same height. She had blond hair like Mom and Aaron. I got Dad’s dark brown hair, which I wore short.

  “Where’s Aaron?” I asked.

  “He’s in the backyard,” Mom answered. “He should be cutting the grass.”

  “Because he stole Mom’s money,” added Kate, laying her pencil on the table.

  Pushing the pencil back to Kate, Mom said, “He didn’t steal the money, sweetie. He just misspent it.”

  A week ago, Mom had given Aaron money to take me and Kate to her school carnival. She said it was a chance for Kate to spend more time with us boys, but really I think she was just looking for an excuse to get out of going to the carnival herself.

  Ignoring the pencil by her right hand, Kate said, “All I know is he has to cut the grass or he can’t use the car tonight. He’s supposed to drive Sara Morelli to River Tunes. Otherwise she’s probably going to break up with him.” Kate went back to her long division. “He deserves it,” she said to herself.

  Sara Morelli was Aaron’s girlfriend, and River Tunes was a free concert by the water.

  “Kate, focus on your math,” said Mom. “You need to do well on this test.”

  Kate got pretty good grades, but she was having a hard time with math. Mom had promised to buy her a set of golf clubs if she got at least a B on her end-of-the-year test. Not what I would have asked for, but Kate really liked golf.

  Turning her attention back to me, Mom asked, “How was the movie, Wyatt?”

  “Let’s just say there won’t be a sequel,” I said, grabbing a granola bar from a jar on the kitchen counter.

  Putting her pencil down again, Kate asked Mom, “How come everyone in this family gets to go somewhere fun except me?”

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked.

  “Wyatt went to a movie. Aaron is going to River Tunes. But does anybody take me? Noooo. Because I’m Kate Parker, the girl the whole world ignores.”

  “Did you say something?” I asked, munching on the granola bar as I pushed open the back door.

  “Ha, ha,” said Kate, glaring at me.

  On the back porch, I opened the storage bin and dug through a pile of mitts and racquets until I found the football Dad gave Aaro
n when he turned thirteen. The next year, Aaron made the freshman team at Pilchuck High School. That was two years ago. Mom thought it was dangerous, but Dad said it taught Aaron discipline. This year, Aaron was going to try out for varsity.

  At the moment, Aaron was lying faceup in the long grass. Nearby was the lawn mower, standing idle with a short strip of cut grass in its wake. Beyond that was a tire swing hanging from the limb of the maple tree that shaded our whole yard.

  “Mom says get to work.”

  Aaron looked over without getting up. “Tell her I’m taking a break.”

  “From what? You cut like five feet of grass.”

  “It’s harder than it looks. The grass is wet.”

  I glanced down at the football I was holding. I tossed it a few times up into the air, hoping Aaron would see, but he had gone back to his break. “As long as you’re not working, do you want to play football?” I asked.

  “With who?”

  “Me.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “I know how to play football.”

  “You don’t even know how to throw a football.”

  “I’ll cut the grass for you.”

  Aaron opened one eye. “You’ll cut the grass if I play football with you?”

  I nodded.

  “You get ten minutes,” said Aaron, pushing himself to his feet.

  “Fifteen,” I replied.

  Aaron stretched and rubbed his chin. “Twelve. I need time to shower and shave.”

  When Aaron was ready, I spread my fingers out across the laces of the football and held it up. “Is this right?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I brought my arm back and let it fly. The ball wobbled, landing halfway between me and Aaron.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Aaron grumbled as he shuffled over to the football. He tossed back a tight spiral that bounced off my hands.

  “Hallelujah,” Aaron said when I threw the next ball all the way to him.

  Aaron’s next pass was also perfect, spinning so fast it was impossible to tell by the white stripes if the football was even moving.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “It can’t be taught,” Aaron answered.

  “Come on,” I said. “You said you’d teach me.”