Page 60 of Summer Lessons

“Energy bars,” Dane muttered. “Ugh. I’ll be pooping for days.”

“Mom says those are bad for you,” Holly-bell said wisely. “She tells Uncle Clay they make him fat.”

Dane jerked around toward the little girl with the beginnings of a snarl issuing from his throat, and Mason tapped him on the shoulder to calm him down.

Holly-bell giggled. “That was funny, Dane. Do it again!”

Mason grabbed his wrist. “Dane?” he warned, and Dane took a deep breath and let it out.

“Your Uncle Clay isn’t fat,” Dane said sweetly after a moment. “And if he thinks energy bars help, well then, let him eat them.”

“Good job!” Mason said to their approaching heroes. “You got any gas for the next half?”

Terry looked over his shoulder, embarrassed. “Skipper says I would if I thought more than ran,” he apologized. “I have trouble seeing the field.”

He handed Mason a water and a breakfast bar, and Mason caught his hand. “I think I have a way to help,” he said brightly. “After the game when you come over, okay?”

Terry cast Dane and Carpenter a furtive look, but they were busy explaining how granola bars were not fattening as long as you didn’t get the kind with chocolate and marshmallows and how they would hold the kids over until they went for lunch.

He looked back at Mason. “All day?” he said, a little bit of wonder in his voice.

“Dane will get home sometime in the evening,” Mason warned, but Terry shook his head.

“All day,” he repeated, nodding. “It’ll be great.”

And then—oh God—he kissed Mason’s cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world before he and Carpenter ran back into the fray.

“Stop that,” Dane ordered.

“Stop what?” Mason watched as Terry launched himself at the ball fearlessly, and then, per usual, ignored his teammates to drive it to a standstill.

“You arerubbing your cheek like a teenaged girl!” Dane snapped.

Mason dropped his hand and picked up his coffee, which was down to the dregs. He still felt the tingle on his cheek.

OF COURSE,after the game—which they lost, two goals to four—there was the usual postgame wrap-up around Skip’s car. Mason balanced on his crutches and talked about the plays and how good Carpenter was as keeper and how Richie had scored two goals.

Terry said playfully, “What about me, Mace—you got any praise for me?”

“He don’t got shit,” Richie said irritably. “You don’t see the field, dammit. You gotta pass it from midfield!”

Terry looked abashed, and Mason shrugged. “He’s a little right,” he admitted, “but you’re an awesome ball handler.”

“Heh heh heh,” Terry laughed like a twelve-year-old, and the whole team groaned.

Mason’s face flamed—which wasn’t bad, really, because he’d been starting to think he’d never feel his toes or his cheeks again.

“Not quite how I meant it,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, no.” Thomas, their hipster schoolteacher, stole Mason’s stocking cap and smacked him in the head with it. “You walked right into that one.”

“Limped,” Mason said with dignity, snagging the hat back. “Ilimpedinto that one. But that’s okay, because we’re going to go watch a pro game on TV—I’m pretty sure if he just saw a game, that would help. There’s this sort of….” Mason made vague gestures with his hands. “Thispuzzle piecething that happens when you guys do it right. I think you’ll see it on screen.”

“Ooh,” Skip said, eyes wide. “That’s a good idea. In fact, we should take in a Republic game in the spring.”

“What’s the Republic, and why would we be watching a game?” Dane asked suspiciously.

“Wait, I know this one!” Oh, for once Mason had inside info. “They’re the local soccer team, third division, I think. Tesko helped sponsor their new field. In fact, if we want to get a ticket bundle, I think I can get us a discount.”