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I blush. “You don’t have to come. It’s just practice.”
“Practice makes perfect, buddy.” He glances at Alex and Ben sitting on my right side. “And you two,” he says, already knowing the answer to his question. “You’re on the scout team as well?”
“Hell yeah!” Alex says.
Rose clears her throat. No language at the dinner table.
“Who else is going to protect his scrawny ass on the field?” Ben jokes, giving me a hard poke in the ribs.
Another throat clears, but it drowns amid laughter.
“Well, if I know the Bearhawks, they’ll be stupid not to give starting slots to all three of you as soon as possible,” Coach says.
“They have to pay their dues first,” my dad says. “Same as we all did.”
Ty nods. “Be patient.”
“The scout team is just as important as the starters.” Dad looks hard at me. “You show your grit there, and the coaches will notice.”
“And in four years, you call me.” Ty points at each of us. “All right? I don’t want to hear one word of you three accepting any offers without running them by me first.”
“Yes, Mr. Fisher,” the three of us say, having heard a variation of this every year since junior varsity.
“I mean it.” Another stern, pointed finger. “I’ve seen countless young athletes take bad deals right out the gate. It’d break my heart to see that happen to you kids.”
Grant pats Ty’s shoulder. “Basically, your Uncle Ty has dibs on you and you better fill our bank account as soon as possible,” he jokes.
I laugh. “There’s no agent I’d rather have on my team than you, Mr. Fisher.”
Ty raises his glass to my father. “You raised your child well, sir.”
My father smiles with pride and they both take a drink.
“Courtney.”
My sister looks up from her plate. “Yes, Coach?”
“What’s next for you?” Coach asks her.
“Oh, you know...” She nudges her steak with her fork. “You audition here. You audition there.”
“Court.” My mother grins. “Tell them.”
Rose fidgets with excitement, along with Violet and Dana. Guess they’re already in the loop.
“Tell us what?” Coach asks.
Courtney sets her fork down. “Okay. This doesn’t go public until morning, but…”
We lean forward in suspense.
She waits, leaving us dangling for as long as possible until…
“I got the lead in Joey Brywood’s new off-Broadway play,” she says. “I’m going to New York!”
The table erupts with gasps of surprise, but no one is actually all that surprised. My sister inherited everything from my mother: thick brown hair, a biting wit, and enough stage presence to command a room for days.
“Congratulations, sweetie,” my father says.
