Using the tips, truths, and stats they explore in their New York Times bestseller Scorecasting, two dads pack super sports savvy and important math and financial concepts into a fun and heartwarming first novel for kids.
New kid Mitch Sloan wants to fit in, but his nerdy love of statistics and making money isn't winning him any friends in his sports-loving town--until he finds the perfect way to attain instant popularity. But running a football betting ring at school eventually turns sour, and Mitch loses the only real friend he's made. He'll have to win her back by using his brainpower for good and helping the school football team achieve victory--if they'll listen to the advice of a former bookie!
Using the tips, truths, and stats they explore in their New York Times bestseller Scorecasting, two dads pack super sports savvy and important math and financial concepts into a fun and heartwarming first novel for kids.
New kid Mitch Sloan wants to fit in, but his nerdy love of statistics and making money isn't winning him any friends in his sports-loving town--until he finds the perfect way to attain instant popularity. But running a football betting ring at school eventually turns sour, and Mitch loses the only real friend he's made. He'll have to win her back by using his brainpower for good and helping the school football team achieve victory--if they'll listen to the advice of a former bookie!
Using the tips, truths, and stats they explore in their New York Times bestseller Scorecasting, two dads pack super sports savvy and important math and financial concepts into a fun and heartwarming first novel for kids.
New kid Mitch Sloan wants to fit in, but his nerdy love of statistics and making money isn't winning him any friends in his sports-loving town--until he finds the perfect way to attain instant popularity. But running a football betting ring at school eventually turns sour, and Mitch loses the only real friend he's made. He'll have to win her back by using his brainpower for good and helping the school football team achieve victory--if they'll listen to the advice of a former bookie!
RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd ii 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY New York Boston RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd iii 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM This book is a work of ction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Text copyright
2014 by L. Jon Wertheim and Tobias Moskowitz
Illustrations copyright
2014 by Neil Swaab
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the authors intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the authors rights. Little, Brown and Company Hachette Book Group 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104 Visit us at lb-kids.com Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher. First Edition: October 2014 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wertheim, L. Jon The rookie bookie : a novel / L. Jon Wertheim and Tobias Moskowitz ; [illustrator, Neil Swaab].First edition. pages cm Summary: When seventh-grader Mitch Sloan moves to Jonasburg, Indiana, he uses his exceptional skills in math, money, and sports statistics to make friendsbut gets in over his head when he starts a football betting ring.Provided by publisher. ISBN 978-0-316-24981-2 (hardcover) ISBN 978-0-316-24976-8 (ebook) ISBN 978-0-316-24980-5 (library edition ebook) [1. FootballFiction. 2. GamblingFiction. 3. Middle schoolsFiction. 4. SchoolsFiction. 5. Moving, HouseholdFiction. 6. Family lifeIndianaFiction. 7. Indiana Fiction.] I. Moskowitz, Tobias J. (Tobias Jacob), 1971 II. Swaab, Neil, illustrator. III. Title. PZ7.W4783Roo 2014 [Fic]dc23 2013041705 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 RRD-C Printed in the United States of America RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd iv 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM To Isaac, Josh, Sammy, Sarah, Ben, and Allegra: Dont start a betting pool at school! RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd v 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM Contents CHAPTER 1: The Winners Curse . . . . . . . . . . 1 CHAPTER 2: Two for the Price of One. . . . . . 16 CHAPTER 3: Liars Can Figure and Figures Can Lie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 CHAPTER 4: It Pays to Know the Score . . . . . 45 CHAPTER 5: Ka-ching! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 CHAPTER 6: Risky Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 CHAPTER 7: Word of Mouth. . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 CHAPTER 8: Following the Herd. . . . . . . . . 108 CHAPTER 9: Underwater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 CHAPTER 10: Be Rich or Be Happy? . . . . . . 139 CHAPTER 11: The Prisoners Dilemma . . . . 148 RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd vi 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM CHAPTER 12: An Unfair Fight . . . . . . . . . . 164 CHAPTER 13: Whats It Really Worth? . . . . 181 CHAPTER 14: Risk and Reward. . . . . . . . . . 195 CHAPTER 15: Theres No Rule Against Having Better Information . . . . . . . . . . 212 CHAPTER 16: Part of the Team . . . . . . . . . . 228 CHAPTER 17: Secret Weapon . . . . . . . . . . . 244 RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd vii 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd viii 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM = CHAPTER 1 The Winner s Curse J amie Spielberger is a girl, and I do not have a crush on her. Let me repeat that: I. Do. Not. Have. A. Crush. On. Her. Shes just this kid I met when I had my nose bur- ied in the grass in back of the middle school, after I bobbled a pass that would have been a touchdown. Wow, that was some catch. A sarcastic voice oated over my head. You ever consider becoming a professional juggler? It was a girls voice. I rolled over and blinked RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 1 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 2 up at her. The knees of her jeans were muddy. She was wearing her San Francisco Giants hat back- ward. She was also grinning and holding my hat. Thanks, Im ne, I said. No major surgery. Just a few broken bones. Ill walk it off. Cool. She handed me my hat and ran off for the next play. Luke! Luke! Im open, you idiot! Are you blind? If you had one more eye, youd be a Cyclops! Sitting there, I laughed out loud. That was a pretty good line. And she was funny, not mean. She could also catch. When Luke nally saw her and red off another spiral, just like the one hed sent at me, the girl nabbed it in midair. I found out later her name was Jamie. She was out there most days at lunchtime, when a bunch of guys would show up in the eld and start to toss the ball around. Sometimes it was just catching and passing. Some days it would turn into a real game. I like football, even though Im not really that good at it. My brother, Kevin, would have caught Lukes pass without blinking. One- handed, proba- RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 2 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 3 bly. But I know how to play, and Im pretty fast, so I started hanging out around the eld at lunchtime. Plus, I was trying to get to know some people. It was my rst week as the new kid at Jonasburg Middle School, and I gured if I got to be friends with some of the jocks, itd be a good start. The person I really got to know was Jamie. The next day, she came up to me after the lunch- time game, while we were headed back into school. Can I talk to you? she asked. Which was weird. Kind of. I mean, she was walking right next to me and talking to me right at that moment, so why did she need to ask me if she could? Like it was a big deal? Wait was it a big deal? Sure, I said. Alone. Um, sure. After fth period, okay? I spent science class wondering what Jamie had to tell me. Alone. I just hoped it wasnt a boyfriend- girlfriend, do you have a crush on me? kind of thing. Mrs. Wolff stood in front of the whiteboard talking about tectonic plates and earthquakes and RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 3 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 4 volcanoes which would usually interest me. But I could barely concentrate; I was distracted wonder- ing what Jamie needed to tell me so badly. I wanted to know, but I didnt want to know. Maybe itd be better if we didnt actually have a chance to talk. Maybe shed forget about what- ever it was. When the bell nally rang, I grabbed my folder and bolted out of there, trying to get to my locker before Jamie. Im Mitch Sloan. Shes Jamie Spielberger. We were assigned lockers alpha- betically, so hers is right near mine, with only two Smiths and a Spander in between. I threw my science book on one shelf and got my math book out from another. But I wasnt fast enough. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, tak- ing a small leather notebook out of her bag. She cleared her throat just to be sure I noticed her. Oh, hey, Jamie, I said, trying to sound casual. What did you want to talk to me about before? I took a deep breath and waited for her answer. Trade it, she said, turning the knob on her lock. Huh? RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 4 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 5 Trade it. Trade what? She looked up, frustrated, and put a hand on her hip. Did you or didnt you get the rst pick in the seventh- grade fantasy football draft? Whew. None of that awkward girl- boy stuff. It was a total relief. I had to wipe a stupid grin off my face. Yeah, I said proudly. I got the rst pick out of the ten teams, and I Trade it, she said again, cutting me off. Every- one wants it, and they think its more valuable than it really is. Sure, youll get a good player. But then you wont go again until the last pick of the second round. So? So youre better off with picks ten and eleven or picks nine and twelve than you are with picks one and twenty. Wait. Whoa. How did she know that? The thing is, I knew it, too. I had totally been planning to trade that rst pick. Everybody wants it, so they think its special, worth more than it is. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 5 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 6 Theres even a name for when something like this happens: the winners curse. Which means you do whatever you can to get something you really want because you thought everybody else really wanted it, and it turns out it wasnt worth it. But I was surprised shocked, really that Jamie knew about the winners curse, too. Id never met any other kids who understood this kind of thing. And by the time I got my brain unstuck and my mouth working again, Jamie was already walking away down the hall, the leather notebook poking out from her back pocket. Thanks, Jamie, I yelled to her down the hall. I was going to do that, anyway. = Two hours and eight minutes later not that I was counting the second bell rang and it was ofcial: I had survived my rst week at Jonasburg Middle School. Ever since my rst week of kindergarten, Id always felt pretty good on Friday afternoons. But this day, I was feeling extra pretty good. Id learned RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 6 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 7 my way around the building. I hadnt gotten into any trouble with my teachers; I even liked some of them. Id learned the names of a few other sports freaks and gotten invited to join their fantasy foot- ball league. Plus, Id gotten the rst pick in the draft. And there was Jamie. She seemed kind of cool, and it looked like she might be interested in some of the same stuff I was, like anything having to do with football. I like all sports, really. Football, baseball, basket- ball, you name it. Actually, I like talking and thinking about sports more than I like playing them. Probably because Im much better at it. I like guring out strategy and how to win. Thats why I love fantasy sports no dropped passes, just who to pick and who to play. But theres one other thing I like almost as much, maybe even more, and I might as well tell you up front. I love money and business. Okay, before you decide that this makes me a greedy kid who doesnt care about the things that really matter, let me explain. See, most kids in my grade want to be famous RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 7 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 8 athletes or singers or actresses. That would be cool, but if you got picked last for teams as often as I have, eventually youd give up the dream of becom- ing the next Derek Jeter or LeBron James. Besides, even if I could play, Id rather own the Yankees or the Heat than play for the Yankees or the Heat. Instead of being a sports hero, I want to be the next Warren Buffett. The other day I wrote that in one of those rst- week-of-school autobiography assignments. Kevin read it and got all confused. Buffett? Is he, like, the guy that invented all- you- can- eat? No. Thats pronounced buff- fay, I told him. This is Buff- ett. Hes an investor. A nancier. Probably the most successful investor of all time. Oh yeah? he said, barely looking up. Hes like a gardener, but he tries to grow money instead of owers and plants. And hes worth more than fty billion dollars. Right, said Kevin. Because moneys the most important thing in the world. Look at it this way, I said, trying to put it in terms Kevin would care about. He could buy every RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 8 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 9 team in Major League Baseball and the National Football League at once. He could give every single American a hundred dollars, and hed still be a bil- lionaire. He could Okay, Kevin barked. Hes rich. I get it. But as usual, Kevin didnt get it. I dont care about being rich, I told him. I just want to make a lot of money. That doesnt make any sense, he said, looking back at the TV. Okay, I said, sighing. You know how when you go to the arcade, you get as many tickets as you can playing Skee- Ball and Pop-A-Shot and Whac-A-Mole and all that? You do everything you can to win. You combine tickets with your friends. You hustle like crazy. After all that, you get to the window and you trade your tickets in for some stupid keychain or some inatable pillow you never use. I guess, said Kevin. Well, thats how I feel about money. Its not just about the stuff you can buy. Its about nding new ways to make it. Trading. Avoiding traps. Its the game of it. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 9 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 10 Kevin looked up and studied me. Dont you want money to get a really cool car like a Fer- rari Testarossa or an electric guitar or some new clothes? You see, Kevins sixteen, a junior in high school, about to get his drivers license, and crazy about cars and clothes and all that junk. Nah, those are just things, I told him. I dont need things. (Though owning a sports team one day would be supercool.) Money can help you do stuff that no one else can, I continued. Think of it as something you can trade with anyone for almost anything. Or you can help people who need it. Did you know Warren Buffett is giving away most of his fortune Wait, Kevin cut me off. You mean you want to make money just so you can give it away? Thats the stupidest thing Ive ever heard. Youre so weird. He snorted and walked out of the room laughing. = The problem is that some of the other kids in sev- enth grade think my hobby is weird, too. Check RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 10 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 11 that. Most of them think its weird. Same with their parents. And same with my parents. Mom and Dad are both artists. My mom mostly paints, and my dad is a potter. When we lived in California, they rented a small gallery where they sold their art. But both of them admit that they dont have what they call a head for business. Actually, they brag about it. When I get going, talk- ing about business stuff, they get impatient. Mitch, moneys not everything, my mom says a lot. All that talk about prot and loss, savings this, spending that. It gets Kevin cut her off this time. It gets annoying. Admit it, Mom. My mom paused, clearly struggling to say the right thing. I wasnt going to put it quite like that, she said slowly. But lets just say I do wish you talked about money a little less sometimes, Mitch. Annoying. I get that a lot. Between Kevin and kids at school, Ive been called that since I was born. Its one of those words people always seem to use for short people like me. Tall people might be doofy or RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 11 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 12 goofy or gawky or awkward. But how often are tall people described as annoying? Not very. I used to be okay with the word annoying because I told myself it meant that I was smarter than the person calling me that, and that made them uncomfortable. But right before we left Cali- fornia, I was watching a business show on televi- sion and heard the head of a big company tell the host that one of the most important skills in busi- ness is to be able to make everyone around you feel comfortable. You dont want to do business with someone who annoys you and gets under your skin, the man said. You just dont. Ever since, Id been trying really hard not to annoy anybody. But sometimes it just seemed to happen. Like Saturday morning. I woke up late and ate a bowl of Capn Crunch, the all- time best cereal in the history of the world, and then I rode over to my parents shop. The store is barely a mile from our house, and I learned a shortcut that would get me there on my bike in less than eight minutes. When I walked in, there were no customers. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 12 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 13 Dad was sitting on a stool behind the counter, play- ing his guitar, not seeming to mind that he wasnt selling paintings or making any money. It was like the California gallery all over again. Whats up? I asked. Just chillin, he said, moving the fret bar on his guitar. Chillin like Bob Dylan. Nobody says that anymore, Dad. Maybe not now. But itll come back. Cool things always come back in fashion. And then you can tell your friends that I was ahead of the curve. Slow Saturday? I asked, looking around the empty store. Understatement of the day, said my dad. Two people came and looked at these owerpots but decided that fty dollars was too much money to pay. Too much money compared to what? I asked. Not compared to anything, he said, starting to pluck his guitar strings. Just too expensive for owerpots, I guess. Maybe thats the problem, I said. How about giving your customers a comparison so they think fty dollars is a good price for those owerpots? RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 13 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 14 Sorry, Mitch, my dad said, still not looking at me, I dont follow. I paused. Sometimes okay, lots of times people dont react so well when I try to explain stuff like this. I know its one of the things that makes me annoying, but the thing is, sometimes I have good ideas. And my parents really needed to make this store work. People like to compare stuff, I told Dad. Is fty dollars a lot of money? Depends what for, right? Its cheap if youre buying, like, a plane ticket to Europe. Its expensive if youre buying something like a candy bar. Art isnt a candy bar, Mitch, my dad said a lit- tle too patiently. Each piece is unique. Its not like theres a rack of my pots down at the gas station. Yeah, I know, I agreed. You have your own shop, so you can create the comparisons yourself. Even better. I still dont follow, said Dad. Okay, I responded. How about making a owerpot thats bigger? Same design. Same color. Same shape. But just a little bigger. Charge, say, a RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 14 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 15 hundred dollars for it. Suddenly the fty- dollar pot will actually seem like a bargain. Dad paused. Maybe, he eventually mumbled to himself, and then started to play a few chords again. I sighed. It was a good idea. But the minute I tried talking to my dad about money, he only lis- tened for about thirty seconds before tuning me out. And you know what that was annoying. Con- sidering the reason why we really left California. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 15 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM = CHAPTER 2 Two for the Price of One T rying to give my dad advice made me think about Jamie trying to tell me what my fantasy football rst draft pick was really worth. So I asked my dad if I could borrow his computer and looked up her address. There was only one Spielberger in town, so I got my bike and headed over. I didnt call ahead. That would feel kind of, I dont know, like a date. And this wasnt a date, because I. Do. Not. Have. A. Crush. On. Jamie. Spielberger. (Remember?) RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 16 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 17 I just thought that maybe maybe she wouldnt tune me out like the rest of the world did when I started talking. We had a lot in common. It was worth a shot. When I got there, I rang the doorbell, and her mom opened the door. Boy, her mom. My mom was at home in her ripped-up jeans and her old college sweatshirt, splattered all over with paint. Jamies mom was dressed like she was going to work out yoga pants, tight top, running shoes but she had makeup on and her hair was shiny and all her n- gernails were glowing this peachy- pink color. She just wasnt what Id pictured for Jamies mom at all. But she did seem really happy to see me. Jamie! she called, beaming this big happy smile. You have a visitor! When Jamie came downstairs, she looked just like she did at school baggy T-shirt, jeans with a hole in one knee, baseball cap. Oh, honey, her mom said. I know I washed those other jeans for you, and theres a skirt This is ne, Mom. Jamie looked at me like she didnt know who I was for a second, and I felt like RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 17 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 18 maybe showing up without calling had been a bad idea. Then Jamie grinned, and her mom sighed and went away. Hey, Mitch. Whats up? Hey, Jamie. I just thought maybe . . . you want to look over the fantasy football picks? I waved a printout at her, and she shrugged. Sure. Id put in boldface the names of players I wanted to pick. She made a scowling face as she looked at my list. Classic mistake, she said. You dont have enough guys from lousy teams. Youre drafting players, not picking who you think is going to win the Super Bowl. She had a point. And after wed done some football talk, it seemed kind of natural to go out into the backyard and start throwing a ball back and forth. Her dog, Pepper, a big golden retriever, came out, too, and ran back and forth between us, following the foot- ball each time we threw. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 18 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 19 So, Jamie said, zinging a pass into my hands. Question: What are you doing here? Throwing a football? I guessed. I mean here in Indiana, dummy. Whyd your family move? Oh. Right. Just what I wanted to talk about. A bunch of reasons, I said. My mom grew up around here. My dad kept complaining that there were too many other artists trying to sell their stuff in San Francisco. Too much competition, you know? And stuff. So we moved. Might as well live where the houses are cheaper and you dont have to pay tons of money in tolls every time you need to cross a stupid bridge. She nodded like that wasnt the lamest explana- tion shed ever heard, and I was hoping the subject would die. So whattaya think? How do you like it here? Well, I said, stalling, the kids here are basi- cally the same as they were at home. Some are taller and some are shorter. Some are shy and some talk a lot. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 19 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 20 It has to be a little different here, she said skeptically. Sure. Nobody talks about surng and no one rides a skateboard to school. Theyre more into sports here, which is ne by me. And before, the middle school wasnt attached to the high school, so I didnt go to school in the same building as my brother. Now I do. So is that good different or bad different? Neither, really. Just different. Its kind of cool that you have a brother. She threw the football a little harder. I sometimes wish there were other kids around here. To take some of my parents attention off me, you know? Yeah. I sent her back a pretty good spiral. But I have to say the kids are nicer here. And smarter, too. Jamie whooped. If you think were smarter, you havent been here long, she said. Trust me, some of the kids here are not the sharpest Crayolas in the box. Huh? I said. There are kids here so dumb they would wait for a stop sign to turn green. They would bring a big spoon to a Super Bowl party. They would RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 20 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 21 I get it, I said, cutting her off. But you know what? None of the kids at Jonasburg have stuffed my head into a toilet. So, overall, I like it. She stopped throwing the ball and stared at me. That happened to you? Back in California, yeah, I said. Hey, let me ask you a question. Whats with the notebook youre always carrying around? I have four words for you, not necessarily in the right order: Your. Business. None. Of. She said it with a smile, though. = It didnt take long before I gured out what Jamie was talking about when she said not the sharp- est Crayolas in the box. During Mrs. Henrys class the next week, I tried to jump into a conversation with two kids at my table. Clint Grayson, a big eighth grader whose muscular arms popped out of the overalls he was wearing and whose breath smelled like Cool Ranch Doritos, was telling every- one about an R-rated movie his uncle let him see. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 21 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 22 It was so awesome, he said. People were crushed under a gigantic tidal wave and there was a huge ood, so they had to evaporate the whole city! I started laughing. No one else did. Clint xed his gaze on me. Before I could say evacuate, not evaporate, I stopped myself. The new kid telling an eighth grader how to talk? Not the way to make friends. Maybe the way to make myself kind of annoying. And it turned out to be a good thing I didnt cor- rect Clint Graysons vocabulary. Because when I showed up for football practice, there he was. Like I said, I like watching football more than I like playing football. Thats how it is with me and most sports. But I thought Id try out for the foot- ball team after watching Kevin. Before we moved to Jonasburg, Kevin had never played on a football team in his life. He showed up for practice in August before high school had even started. By the end of the week, he was the starting wide receiver on the team, and an assistant coach told him that if he kept improving, he could be in line for a college scholarship. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 22 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 23 Of course, this got him instant friends. Instant respect. Instant cred with any girl he wanted to ask out. Sports make Kevins life so much easier. So I gured I would at least go through tryouts for the Jonasburg Middle School team. Maybe the kids here wouldnt be faster and stronger and just plain better than me, the way they always were in Cali- fornia. That was my thinking, anyway. My wishful thinking. Because when I got to the eld after school, I instantly saw that it wasnt going to be like throw- ing the ball around a little after lunch. The other kids were older. And tons bigger. And there was Clint Grayson, the eighth grader. He looked like a football player. He brought his own helmet and came with eye black already streaked on his upper cheeks. When I walked by him and nod- ded, he either didnt recognize me or just pretended not to. Instead, he spit on the grass and kept walking. The coach, Mr. Bob Williams, was also the coach of the high school team. The schools used to have different coaches, but to save money, the town put Coach Williams in charge of both teams last RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 23 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 24 year. He wore a whistle around his neck and these shiny shorts that looked like they were made from the same material as my moms swimsuit. He had a T-shirt that was two colors: gray where he wasnt sweaty and black where he was soaked through. Kevin had told us that Coach Williams had been a great high school player for Jonasburg before he hurt his knee or something. I searched Bob Wil- liams online and, sure enough, he was a star who led his team to the Indiana state championship and was heavily recruited. Then, during college, he suffered a torn ACL, which I think is some- thing in your knee. Ive heard of pro players tear- ing this and they are usually out for the season and sometimes their careers. As far as I could tell, he never played football again. He was older now, but Coach Williams still looked like a real athlete. He had broad bulges for muscles, almost like a suit of armor, and cables of veins cov- ered his arms. Walking around the eld, he looked at home, the way Kevin does. You know those adults you want to impress? He was one of them. At the start of practice, he brought us to mid- RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 24 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 25 eld and had us circle around him. Boys, take a knee, he said slowly as we shifted into position. Glad you had the courage to come today. This sea- son, were gonna play hard. Were gonna play as a team. But most of all, were gonna play brave. And just by being here youre showing youre brave. We passed around a clipboard and wrote our names and our grades. Then he read the names. Herman. Smith. Jeffrey. Kumar . . . Hands went up. Grayson. Clints hand shot up. Excellent, said Coach Williams. I heard you can kick the ball a mile. Yessir, said Clint. Finally, he got to me. Sloan. My hand shot up like I had a jet pack on my elbow. Wait a second, said Coach Williams. Youre Kevin Sloans brother? I nodded. He grinned. Think we might have ourselves a ringer, he said to no one in particular. Luckily we werent practicing in helmets and pads and no one was getting tackled today. Because RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 25 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 26 otherwise I might have gone right from the foot- ball eld of Jonasburg Regional High School to the emergency room of Jonasburg Regional Hospital. The other kids werent just bigger. They were faster and stronger and way more coordinated. We had a footrace. I came in last out of forty- ve. We had a contest to see who could do the most push- ups in sixty seconds. I was last out of forty- ve again. Clint Grayson came in rst both times. And Coach Williams was right. He could kick the ball a mile. For one drill, Coach Williams threw us passes, zinging the ball at what seemed like a hundred miles an hour. I didnt catch a pass, not one single time. Gotta hustle, little Sloan dude, Coach Williams barked at me. I didnt know what was worse: that he was scolding me, that he didnt know my name was Mitch, or that he was already calling me little. For the last half hour, we split into four teams to play two scrimmages of ag football. There were eleven kids on each team. With forty- ve kids, that left an odd man out. Or an odd kid out. Me. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 26 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 27 Stand by my side, Coach Williams told me. Help me observe, little man. I stood next to him, watching. On one play that started at mideld, a quarterback a kid with long hair I recognized from Lunch A ran backward, then to his right, then backward some more. Just as he was about to be caught, he dumped a short pass to a teammate. As soon as the receiver caught the pass, he was slapped on the back and pushed almost to the goal line. Coach Williams made a face that looked like he had just smelled a dirty diaper. Or Clint Graysons Dorito breath. He blew his whistle and walked onto the eld. What happened there, fellas? No one answered. So he turned to me. Little man, he said, his voice piercing the air, what happened? I wasnt sure what to say. So I paused and then blurted out the rst thing that popped into my head. The receiver should have dropped the pass. Unlike you, some of us actually try to catch the ball, said Clint. The other players started to laugh. But Coach Williams spun around and looked at them. Exactly! he said. The receiver should have RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 27 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 28 dropped the ball. The laughter stopped. Tell us why, Little Sloan. Now I had a little more condence. Because everyone was so far behind the line of scrimmage and the defense was so nearby, it made no sense to catch the pass. Drop it and its incomplete and youre back on the thirty- yard line. Catch it and you need to run halfway to Illinois just to get back to the line of scrimmage. Again, there were some chuckles led by Clint Grayson. By now I had become a pro at distinguish- ing laughs. These werent the Hey, Mitch is a smart guy! laughs. They were the Mitch is annoying laughs. I just didnt get it. I was right. I knew I was right. Whats so annoying about that? But thankfully, Coach Williams had my back. Exactly! Right on, Little Sloan! Theres no reason to catch that pass! It sounds funny, but youre bet- ter off taking the incompletion. Gotta use your heads, guys! A few minutes later, Gene Beech a skinny sev- enth grader who played trumpet with me in band class had to leave practice to get to a Boy Scout RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 28 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 29 meeting. Coach Williams turned to me. Get in there, Little Sloan, he said. Lets see you put your football smarts to some good use! Yeah, that wasnt going to happen. Clint Gray- son was playing quarterback. He dropped back and, after realizing that no one else was open, threw me a pass. It was like my hands were made of cement. Doink. The ball brushed against my ngertips and slid away, falling to the ground. Come on! yelled Clint, stomping his foot. You gotta catch that, kid! I hoped Coach Williams hadnt been looking, but then I heard his booming voice. Sloan! he yelled. Catch the ball with your hands, not just your eyes! Defense was even worse. On the very rst play, I was supposed to cover David Chu, one of the few Asian kids at Jonasburg Middle School. I lined up next to him, and when the center hiked the ball to the quarterback, David jogged about ve yards and I stayed with him every step. Whew, I thought, nally someone I can keep up with. That thought was still swirling in my brain when David suddenly sped up and sprinted down RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 29 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 30 the eld. If you had been watching, you might have thought that he was running with a tailwind and I was running against a headwind. I turned back in time to see the ball make a perfect arc over my head and land in Davids hands. With everyone else on the eld yelling, I took off after David. But he was gone. Around the time he crossed the goal line, I started to stumble. I dont know if I tripped over a patch of crabgrass or my shoelaces, or if I was just being clumsy. But I broke my fall with my wrists and my knees. Even the landing was awkward. Lying there on the ground, I practically could hear Jamies smack talk. Youre so slow, youd come in third in a two- man race. You could lose a race against a parked car. Youre so short, you could play handball against a curb. . . . I looked over and saw Coach Williams on the sidelines wearing a slight smile. I could read his mind, too. Guess the big brother got all the athletic genes. I stood up, covered in dirt and grass, and heard Clints voice. Now you look like crap and play like it. He snickered and spit on the grass. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 30 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM 31 Luckily, a few minutes later, practice was over. Dad picked me up. He could probably tell I was bummed, because he kept cracking these corny jokes on the way home. Let me guess: You wanted to play quarterback because you thought it was a refund. Very funny, I grumbled. Hey, maybe thisll cheer you up, he said. I tried your idea yesterday. A man bought three of those owerpots I had in the back of the store. I put a price of fty dollars on one, and a price of a hundred dollars on another that was only slightly bigger. I overheard the guy whispering to his wife, Wow, Denise, its like getting two for the price of one! Okay, so on the one hand, it looked like I wasnt going to play football at Jonasburg Middle School and Id just looked like an idiot in front of forty- four kids I was trying to impress and the coach had kept calling me little . . . but on the other hand, Id helped my dad make some money. Maybe the day wasnt a total loss. RookieBookie_HCtextF1.indd 31 7/24/14 10:39:40 AM