Booked (2 page)

is one boring

required read

after another.

So you've become a pro

at daydreaming

while pretend-listening.

You're pumped.

The match is tied

at the end

of extra time.

Players gather

at center circle

for the coin toss.

You call tails

and win.

Real Madrid scores

the first goal.

Ours bounces

off the left post.

They make

the next two

in a row.

We make three.

They miss

their final two.

It's 3–3.

Your turn

to rev the engine,

turn on the jets.

Score, and you win.

Teammates

lock arms

for the final kick.

The crowd roars,

screams your name:

NICK HALL!
NICK HALL!
NICK HALL!

Like a greyhound

coursing game,

you take off

from twelve yards out,

winding

for the kill.

But right before

the winning kick

of your Barcelona debut,

Ms. Hardwick

streaks

across the field

in her heels and

purple polyester dress

yelling:

NICHOLAS HALL,

PAY

ATTENTION!

in class

is you forget

what was happening

just before ninety thousand fans

started
CHEERING
you

to victory.

So everything
blurs

when your best friend whispers

from behind,

She's talking to you, bro,

and your teacher
SLAMS

you with a question

that makes no sense:

The expression “to nip something in the bud”

is an example of what, Nicholas?

Uh, to nip it in the
butt

is an example of

how to get slapped by a girl, you reply,

as confused

as a chameleon

in a bag

of gummy worms,

which sends

almost everyone

in class

into fits

of contagious snickering.

Everyone except

Ms. Hardwick.

Nicholas, I've warned you

about not paying attention

in my class.

This is your final warning.

Next time, it's down to the office.

Now, can anyone answer

the question correctly?

I can, I can, Ms. Hardwick,
says Winnifred,

the teacher's pet (and a pain in the
class
).

What is the correct phrase, Winnifred?

Nip it in the bud, not butt, Ms. Hardwick,
she answers, then adds,

Sorta like when you prune a flower

in the budding stage, to keep it from growing.

Then she rolls her eyes. In your direction.

Precisely. It is a metaphor

for dealing with a problem

when it is still small

and before it grows

into something LARGER,
Ms. Hardwick says,

looking dead at you.

Ironically, Nicholas, by not paying attention,

you have stumbled upon another literary device

called a malapropism.
^*
Do you
know what it means?

And of course you do, but before

you can tell her Winnifred raises

her hand and starts spelling it:

M-A-L-A-P-R-O-P-I-S-M, from

the French term
mal à propos,
meaning

when a person, or in this case, a boy,

uses a word that sounds like another

just to be funny.

Excellent, Winnifred, and since

you're such a comedian, Nicholas,
Ms. Hardwick howls,

how about you finish reading

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

and find

an example of a malapropism

in the text

to present

in class next week.

ARRGGGHH!

Better pay attention,

or Ms. Hardwick's gonna

give you a good kick

in the grass,

Coby says

while you both wait

for Mom

to pick you up.

That was a malaprop,
he jokes.

I know what it was!

Wanna play soccer?
he asks.

Of course you do,

but you can't

because

it's Tuesday

and you have a ridiculous,

mind-numbing

two-hour special class

that your mom signed you up for

that you can't wait

to get to

because you get to spend

two hours

in the same room

with April.

Can't today, you lie.

Gotta catch up

on some homework.

the boys

must address

the girls

as
Milady.

Milady, may I take your coat?

Milady, may I please have this dance?

Milady, sorry my hands are clammy!

After you learn

how to properly

shake hands,

(
Firm, but gentle. Not limp,

like a wet noodle. Up and down,

for two to five seconds.
)

Quattlebaum chooses dance partners.

When she gets to you,

there are two girls left:

April, and a girl with chronic halitosis.

Guess who you get?

Yuck.

You plan to open the door for April

but the guy in front of you presses
PUSH TO OPEN.

Still, she smiles your way, and you do the same, till

you see your mom out front, in the car, waiting

to embarrass you.

PLEASE. DON'T. BLOW. THE. HORN.

Hi, Nick.

Uh, hel . . . lo, uh, April

That was a fun class, wasn't it.

. . .

Sorry we didn't get to dance tonight.

Uh . . . yeah . . . I . . . uh.

Do you want my numb—

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP

BEEEEEEEEEEP

BWONNNNNNNK!

Hi, I'm Nick's mom, nice to meet you,
Mom screams out

the passenger window as you jump in.

Hi, Mrs. Hall.

Hello, darling, what's your—

Mom, stop. Bye, April. Please
Mom, drive.
ARGGH!

Ninth grade is five months from now

when you and Coby have vowed

to have a girlfriend or die.

you and Coby

have been as tight

as a pair

of shin guards.

Star footballers and

always teammates, until now.

Even though

you're on the same

indoor soccer team

(which is cool),

for the first time ever,

you play for different

travel clubs

(which is not).

See, you both tried out

for the Under 15.

You made the
A
team.

He didn't.

But there was no freakin' way

the GREAT Coby

was playing

on a
B
team.

So his mom drove him

thirty miles to try out

for another club,

and now

the most dangerous player

on the rival soccer club

also happens to be

your best friend.

Coby Lee

is from Singapore. Sorta.

He was born there, like his dad, but

his mom's from Ghana,

which is where he learned
fútbol

before they moved

here.

All before

Coby turned five.

You absolutely love soccer.

But Coby's married to it.

Committed like breathing

to it.

It's all he talks

and thinks about.

In math class

he made a pie chart

of the winningest

World Cup

jersey numbers

of the past fifty years.

Half of his room

is painted

red and gold

with cool posters

of the Ghana Black Stars.

The other half,

red and white

with posters of

the Singapore Lions

plastered

on the walls.

He's even got

a ball

autographed

by Essien

who he met

on his last trip

to Ghana.

Unfortunately,

you rarely see

any of this

because

your best friend's room

always smells

like skunk pee

and funky freakin'

feet.

After practice

you're psyched

to call Coby

and brag

about the awesome letter

your coach read

to the team,

wishing you could

see the look

on his face

when you drop

the news.

Instead, what drops

is
your
mouth

when he laughs

and says,

Yeah, we got one too.

Dear Coach,

Your team is invited to compete

in the Dr. Pepper Dallas Cup,

the renowned world youth soccer tournament.

Since 1980, the Dallas Cup has given

talented and up-and-coming players

the opportunity to compete against

marquee teams from across the globe.

Notable alumni include David Beckham,

Real Madrid's Chicharito, and the former NBA

champion Hakeem Olajuwon.

Many top college and pro scouts will be in attendance,

as well as more than 100,000 fans.

Congratulations on this honor, and

we look forward to hosting you

this spring.

which means

you're in his study

surrounded by ten-foot walls

lined with books.

You're thinking

of April/Dallas/Anything

to avoid

reading

the last few dreadful pages

of this dreadful book.

On a large red leather couch

Dad lounges.

You're in a brick-hard

cushion-less seat.

Exercising. Your eyes.

Bored.

You sneak your phone out

while he's glued to

some book by a guy

named Rousseau,

who, ironically,

according to Wikipedia,

is quoted as having said,

I hate books.

Nick, Dallas is gonna be insane,
Coby texts.

On fire like butane, you respond.

My team's coming through like a freight train.

We're taking off like a jet plane.

Well, I've scored more goals than you.

Well, I'm on the better team.

We're undefeated.

So are we.

I'm co-captain of my team.

So am I.

You know my ancestors invented soccer in China over four thousand—

You're from Singapore, dude.

Nick, I don't have time

to school you

on nineteenth-century migration

from Southern China.

The point is
I'm the quickest

striker

in the league and

on earth.

IN YOUR MIND!

I'm the fastest bro

in the game.

Coby Lightning's my name.

In fact,

I'm so quick

I could probably

catch myself.

. . .

Nick, you still there?

and finish your reading.

I'm finished, you lie.

What'd you think?

It was, uh, interesting.

Put the phone on my desk, and complete your assignment.

But, it's late, Dad, and I'm tired, and I have school tomorrow.