Rivals by Tommy Greenwald (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕

used to be taller than Clay.

While my dad and I are eating our steaks, a woman comes over and lingers behind our table. We’re used to this. My dad is kind of a local celebrity because of his basketball career.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Frank Chambers?”

My dad gives her a friendly nod. “I am indeed. What’s your name?”

“Oh, hi, I’m Rebecca. It’s so nice to meet you. My parents used to watch your games on TV all the time.”

“That’s great to hear, tell them hi for me.”

“Oh, I will!” The woman blushes and smiles shyly, and I think she might be flirting with my dad. Then she looks over at me. “Are you Frank’s son? You must be, you look just like him, with that jet-black hair and those gorgeous blue eyes.”

Yup, that clinches it—she’s flirting with him, all right.

“My name’s Austin,” I say, silently predicting her next question.

“Are you a basketball star like your dad?”

Nailed it.

“Not quite,” I tell her.

“He’ll get there,” my dad says.

She gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be watching you on TV before too long.”

We all chat for another minute or so, she asks for a picture, and my dad stays friendly the whole time, even at the end, when she asks him, “Did you end up becoming a professional player?” and he has to tell her, “No.”

When it’s time for dessert, my dad announces loudly: “A sweet win calls for a sweet treat!” It’s another one of our traditions: ever since I can remember, whenever my team wins, my dad makes a big deal out of letting me order ice cream. It felt special when I was nine, but now it feels a little silly, to be honest.

As I dig into a sundae, my dad asks me, “How is it?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

My dad tilts his head in surprise. “Only okay?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I think about how it sucks that Clay got hurt, because we’re going to lose more games, and how it’s good that Clay got hurt, because I’ll go back to being our top scorer.

Hot fudge doesn’t taste as good when you’re totally confused.

CARTER

I get a ride home from Coach Benny because I’m on the way and because it gives him a chance to tell me all the things I need to work on. I half-listen and half-wonder if there’s anything for dinner.

At home, I pull open the fridge door and see a few pieces of leftover chicken. I gnaw them down to the bone while staring at my backpack, with all the books and homework inside. Then I go to my room and pick up the old guitar my dad gave me for my birthday. We can’t afford lessons, but I found this woman on YouTube who calls herself Patty Strums, and I learn from her. I’m not very good, to be honest, but there’s something about playing guitar that is so relaxing.

Also, it’s a great way to not do my homework.

Patty is in the middle of talking about barre chords—which are really hard, by the way—when my phone buzzes.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Cartman?” my dad says, using the nickname he’s used since before I can remember. “You sleeping, son?”

“Nah, playing guitar.”

“Excellent. How was the game?”

“We lost.”

“Sorry to hear it. Hey, you want to come for a ride with me? I got to pick up some stuff for work.”

“Can’t, Dad. Need to start my homework.”

“Aw come on, Cartman, just for a little while.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “What kind of a father asks his son to run errands with him instead of doing his homework?”

“The kind that knows his son isn’t really going to do his homework anyway.”

I can’t argue with him there. School isn’t really my thing. But it’s Eddy’s thing, and he promised to help me. “Next time, Dad.”

A few minutes later, I’m getting ready to head over to Eddy’s house when my mom calls.

“Carter? You eat the chicken?”

“Yup. Delicious.”

“Good. What are you up to?”

“Heading to Eddy’s.”

“To do what?”

“Homework.”

“Great. Did you talk to your dad?”

“Nah.” Sometimes it’s just not worth telling the truth. “Well, go to bed early. You must be exhausted.”

“I have to read, like, forty pages of this book before bed.”

“Forty pages? That’s ridiculous. Read half of it. You need your sleep.”

It’s pretty hilarious. My dad wants me to drive around with him, and my mom wants me to go to bed. Neither one of them seems to care too much about my schoolwork.

No wonder my grades are lousy.

“Well, I should go, Ma,” I say, but I can tell she’s not quite ready to hang up.

“Have I told you recently how proud of you I am?” she asks.

“You have,” I answer, but that doesn’t stop her from giving her usual speech.

“You have God-given talent, Carter, and I swear, when I find myself worrying about stuff, all I have to do is think about you and how you play basketball, and it just makes me feel better about everything. Isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s amazing, Ma. Just like it was amazing the last ten times you told me that.”

She ignores that, of course. “Coach Benny told me after the game that he thinks you can play basketball in college, maybe even get a scholarship. Isn’t that wonderful, honey?”

“That would be great, Ma, but I’m in eighth grade.”

I hear her sigh. “Well, yes, that’s true. Okay, anyway, I’ll be home late.”

“Got it.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After we hang up, I start walking over to Eddy’s, hoping he can transfer his brain into mine.

I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry about college if you fail middle school.

8:18 pm

4 People

HEY GUYS

GREAT GAME TODAY!

EVERYONE GOOD?

KEVIN

HEY, AUSTIN. ALL GOOD

GOOD

ERIC

MY DAD SAID IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST GAMES HE EVER SAW

CHASE

WISH I COULD HAVE BEEN THERE BOYS BUT GLAD I WAS ABLE TO STIR THINGS UP THE OTHER NIGHT

ERIC

HAHAHAHA YOU GUYS KNOW I WAS NORTH4EVA RIGHT?

ANYONE TALK TO CLAY?

ERIC

I TRIED TO TEXT HIM BEFORE TO SEE HOW HE WAS