LITMIR.BIZ

      I stand in our kitchen and stare at it. I got up early this morning, even before Mom, because I knew this would be in the paper, and I wanted to see it before anyone else. So now I’ve got some quiet time. Except all I want to do is scream. Ten guys in front of me? Two from Pike and two from Evansville Harrison? Two sophomores in front of me? And four guards? Kernantz has at least earned it. He’s a two-time champ and Ohio State bound. And Drew’s a beast at Pike. But Holliday? Stanski? I could have turned those guys inside-out on my crutches.

      I don’t scream, of course. Waking up the house won’t help a thing. I slide open the drawer next to the sink instead. Pull out the scissors. I flatten the paper on the counter and start to snip into it. I might as well make this my hit list. Knock ‘em off one at a time. Hell, I’ll post it in my school locker so it’ll be there first thing every morning.

      I hear the creak of a floorboard. I wrap my hand around the scissors, turning them into a dagger in my hand. Pure instinct. Then I wheel around, ready to face the intruder. There’s Jayson, yawning. “You scared the shit out of me,” I say. “What are you doing up this early?”

      He sneers at me. “You’re not as quiet as you think,” he says. “And my bed’s only about five inches from yours.”

      We stare at each other in the dim light of the house for a few seconds. I hear rustling from the room that used to be Jayson’s, the one Kid now takes. Kid’s got to get his own place before the baby comes. He says he’s on it, but there’s no evidence of him looking for apartments as far as anyone else can tell.

      “What you doing there?” Jayson asks. He points to the scissors.

      “Nothing,” I say.

      Jayson takes a few steps toward me, squinting as he walks. He sees the paper on the counter behind me. “What you clipping?”

      I just point to the paper, let him see for himself. Jayson taps the list of players. “You could ball out over all these guys,” he says.

      “I know,” I say, but I can tell Jayson’s just trying to pump me up. “I was gonna tape the list to my locker. Motivation, you know?” But as I explain it, I feel embarrassed. Every player has their motivational tools, but explaining it to a non-player is like trying to convert a non-believer to your religion. You realize you must just sound crazy.

      “I’ll do you one better,” he says. He walks to the stove and slides open a drawer beside it. Out comes a book of matches, and Jayson holds them overhead like they’re some kind of trophy. “Make it a burn list.”

      I see that old mischief in his eyes. We’re so on top of each other these days we’ve forgotten that we used to have fun together. Still, I shake my head no. “I’m not setting fire in our kitchen.”

      “Oh, come on,” he pleads. He points toward the bedrooms. “All Mom does is complain about this paper anyway. How many times a week does she threaten to cancel her subscription because of some racist nonsense this rag puts out?” He’s got a point. I’m still not up for burning the thing, but Jayson takes my hesitation as approval. He opens the matches and strikes one. Then he holds it up in the air like a torch. “Come on,” he pleads again.

      I look at that list. Ten guys in front of me. Ten. Some of them not even going to high majors. “Fine,” I say, and I grab the paper impulsively. I hold it over the sink while Jayson lowers the match to it. It catches immediately, the edges blackening and curling up. I hold it for a while longer, watching the names surrounding mine get swallowed by the flame. Jayson shakes the match down into the sink. It lands in a cup of water with a hiss. Then, once I see every name above mine reduced to ash, I drop the list and the rest of the Sports section into the sink, too. The flame moves faster, engulfing the whole section. Smoke twists up from the sink. I look at Jayson and wink. I have to admit there’s something cathartic about this.

      “Only one thing to do now,” I say.

      “What’s that?”

      “Turn the heat up on Warren Central tonight, too.”

      We both laugh, trying to keep our voices down. Any minute now people will start getting up for the last day of a workweek, but there’s no sense in waking them early. Then the alarm goes off—not from some bedside table, but the smoke alarm above the sink. I’d forgotten about it, but now it screeches insistently. Jayson starts to scramble for a chair, but I just give a quick jump and press the button to stop it. Then we open the kitchen window and the smoke starts escaping to the cold air outside.

      The damage is done. I hear Dad hollering for my mom to stay put while he checks it out. He’s the first one to the front of the house, with Kid on his heels. They both look around frantically, their eyes on high alert for danger, death and destruction. Soon enough their gaze lands on me and Jayson where we stand by the sink, guilty as hell.

      Dad runs his hand across his face angrily. “Please have some kind of explanation for this!” he demands.

      I start to sputter out a response, but the more I explain the more ridiculous I sound. I watch my dad’s face grow darker and angrier. Behind him, Kid just shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Finally, Jayson steps up. “It was my idea, Dad. I’m sorry.”

      Somehow that pacifies Dad. An admission of guilt goes a long way with him. Instead, he hollers to the whole house. “No fire here! Just two dumbass teenage boys doing whatever dumbass teenage boys do!” Then he thumps his way to the kitchen, muttering something about at least deserving some coffee before the day goes haywire.

      Mom comes in and surveys the scene, hands on her hips. She looks bleary and beaten down. “I live with morons,” she says to nobody in particular.

      That sends Kid over the edge. He starts laughing in short spurts, then just lets it out. Jayson’s not far behind, then finally Dad, and even Mom. Finally I feel safe enough to laugh, too.

      Then Mom makes her way to the kitchen and starts making breakfast for everyone. She’s

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