Chapter 7
Ray
"Ray! Get out of bed already! Sam’s here for lunch!”
My mom had been shouting from downstairs for a while now. I didn’t feel like budging out of my bed. I think I had a mild hangover. I reached for my phone and checked the time. Almost 1:00 p.m. Wasn’t Saturday the day of rest? Or was that Sunday? Don’t know. Don’t care.
“Come on, Ray! Or I’m gonna eat all your food!” This time my brother Sam was shouting. He had his own apartment near the university, but he stopped by every other weekend for lunch or dinner.
I finally rolled out of bed and shuffled downstairs, still wearing the same clothes from last night. “Hey Sam,” I mumbled.
“Morning bro!” Sam said from the table. He and mom were already eating. “Heard you barely won the game last night.”
I just nodded and sat down at the table. Sam was dressed well, dark jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. He looked a lot like me, except a couple inches taller, longer hair, and a goatee. We both had the same dark complexion with dark hair and brown eyes. Dad was Samoan; mom, Caucasian. We both took after dad, though.
“How was your party last night?” mom asked.
“Huh? Oh, good,” I said. Mom had made an awesome breakfast—er lunch. Every meal she made was awesome. Before dad died, he’d left us with a small fortune from his football career. Enough to have a nice house and for mom to stay at home.
“Ray, I saw some of the stats from your game last night,” Sam said with a frown. “I can’t believe you almost lost! You should’ve crushed those guys!”
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I rolled my eyes. Why was I not surprised that Sam would be unimpressed with my performance? “At least we won, right?” I said.
“Barely! And your passing average? 30 attempts, 7 completions? I’m surprised your coach kept you in till the end of the game!”
That stung. I sneered at Sam. “It’s my receivers’ faults,” I said. “I only have one good receiver, the rest of them can’t catch worth crap.”
“Don’t go blaming your receivers! That’s the worst thing a quarterback could do!”
“I can’t help it if it hits their hands and they just drop it!”
“It barely touched their hands! You need to throw the ball right at their chests!
Mom slapped the table. “Boys!” she said, and then took a deep breath. “Can we please have a meal where you two aren’t fighting about something?”
We were all quiet for a moment. Sam and I glared at each other. “I’m not hungry anymore,” I said, and I stood up and left the table.
“Well, there’s our solution,” Sam said. “Just have Ray leave. That makes everything better.”
“Sam!” mom snapped at him.
I didn’t hear what else she said. I was already out of the house, jogging through my neighborhood, going nowhere really. I just needed to blow off some steam.
My dad was a football star in the NFL before he died. I wanted so desperately to be like him, and everyone expected me to be just as good as him. And I was good! Just not good enough for Sam!
He always made me so angry! All I wanted was a little respect. Was that too much to ask for? A little respect? No matter how well I did, it was never good enough for him. I was so proud of winning the game ball last night, and Sam had to go and rub that in my face like it was worth nothing. I wanted to prove to Sam and my oldest brother Garret that I was better than they thought. I wanted to be better than them both! Then they’d respect me!
It felt really hot out, which was standard for Arizona in September, but for some reason it felt hotter than usual. Sam got me steamed up like that. Someday it would feel so great to beat him. Not just in football status, but to actually beat him—give him a good punch to the face! Beat him up like I did Stoner! Sam beat me up all the time as a kid, and I’d love to return him the favor!
I needed to hit something—release my anger. I saw a tree ahead of me. Without thinking, I clenched my fist, ground my teeth, and punched its trunk with all I had, not caring about bloodying my knuckles.
And then the craziest thing happened. The tree exploded!