A Short Story a Day

by David Michael

The sun of the afternoon recess beat down as hard as it usually did. Spring was over after just a few weeks and the hot Oklahoma summer had settled in to stay.

Steven wasn’t the first to reach his preferred tetherball pole, but he didn’t mind. He could stand in line, wait his turn. Because his turn would be the longest.

Randall, a fourth grader like Steven but from a different class, won the first few matches. He stood across from Steven when Steven stepped into the play circle, looking wary and a bit nervous.

Steven felt the same. Randall had taught him to play when Steven first moved into town. Their first matches had been short. The matches had gotten longer for a while, and then had begun to get shorter again. Now it was Steven who won most of the time. Most of the time. Randall was still no pushover third grader.

Randall flashed a quick smile and swung the ball around so that Steven could serve.

Steven caught the ball. There was only a slight breeze pushing the hot, dry air around. Not enough to be a factor in the game, so Steven ignored it. “Shadow line,” he said, a quick gesture with his free hand drawing an imaginary line that followed the shadow of the pole, dividing the two players. Randall nodded.

Steven backed into the far corner of his side, threw the ball up with his left and hit it as hard as he could with the side of his right fist. The sting of impact reminded his hand that he had played this game for twenty minutes straight at lunch. Tomorrow he would bring his gloves again. Sweaty hands could be washed. Sore hands just hurt the rest of the day.

Randall jumped but the ball soared over his head, and completed its first wrap around the pole.

Steven missed his attempt to hit the ball again on its way past him, so it had slowed down enough for Randall to get a fist on it, and he sent it back at Steven. Steven blocked it and sent it back, angling to get it over Randall’s head. Randall’s aim was off this time, and the string wrapped around his wrist.

As Steven readied to serve again he noticed that Kary had joined the line waiting to play. She had moved into town just a couple weeks ago. Long brown hair with matching brown eyes and a shy manner, Steven had shown her around the first day, taught her to play tetherball. She was getting better. Steven looked forward to giving her anther lesson. After he finished off Randall and cleaned out the rest of the line in front of her.

“You gonna serve that ball?” Randall asked. “Or just stare at Kary?”

Several of the kids in line laughed. Kary looked away.

“Shutup,” Steven said, feeling his face get warmer than the sun and wind had already made it. He served, another good hit, sending the ball at an angle Randall couldn’t reach. And this time he was able to hit the ball as it passed him, shifting its circular path to avoid the new position Randall had taken. Randall realized what had happened an instant too late. One more smack on the ball as it passed and the ball finished wrapping the string around the pole in three fast, ever shortening loops. Game over.

Randall gave a good natured snarl and hit Steven on the shoulder as he stepped back into line, behind Kary.

Steven tried to ignore Randall talking to Kary as he played the next three games. He and Randall had quickly formed the Kary Florez Rival Club the first day she had walked into their school and into their lives. They teased each other about her, and vied for her attention. Steven usually had the advantage because she was in his class. Randall only got to see her or talk to her at recess.

The games up to Kary went quickly. Against equal opponents, the server had the advantage in tetherball. Taught by Randall, playing almost every day, Steven wasn’t an equal opponent to any of them.

“Remember what I told you,” Randall said as Kary stepped into the circle.

“Told me what?” Steven asked, swinging the ball around to Kary.

“Told you nothing,” Randall replied, showing his teeth in a grin. “Told Kary.”

Surprised, worried, Steven looked at Kary. The girl just smiled at him, then began drawing a line in the dirt with the heel of her shoe. A line that went straight north and south, almost perpendicular to the shadow line.

“Why not just use the shadow?” Steven asked. “Who taught you that bad habit?”

Kary shrugged, looking away shyly. They took their places.

She tossed the ball up and gave it one of her too-light, two-fisted push-hits. Steven had been trying to get her to server properly all week.

The ball came around and Steven easily backhanded it back to her.

“Now,” said Randall.

Kary’s right hand came up, palm open. She put her hand in front of the ball, slowed it down, and then threw it forward again.

“Hey!” Steven said, jumping to swing at the ball. It flew over his extended hand. “That’s not a legal hit.”

Kary had her fist closed again, and batted the ball as it passed in front of her.

“I didn’t see nothing,” Randall said, looking all innocence.

Steven missed the ball again. The other kids in line noticed that Kary now had two wraps on him–on Steven–and started cheering. “Go go go!”

Flustered, annoyed that no one else had seen Kary’s violation, and more than little dismayed at the cheering against him, Steven intentionally caught the string on his wrist, stopping play.

Kary served again. This time she served openhanded, slinging the ball around, an obvious violation, but neither Randall nor the other kids in line called it, despite Steven’s new protest. Randall grinned and the other kids cheered.

Too late, Steven realized that he was going to have to put this game away. No lesson for the new girl, no mercy for Kary.

He jumped at the pole, swinging his hand, tried to stop the ball before it finished its last wrap. He missed, and stumbled, falling against the pole.

He had lost.

He straightened up, wiped the sweat from his forehead. Looking past the smiling Kary, ignoring the other kids cheering, Steven glared at Randall. Randall smiled back at him. “You cheated,” Steven said.

“Don’t be mad, Steven,” Kary said.

Randall just smiled even wider. “You lost,” he said. He stepped into the playing circle. “It’s my turn now. You go to the back of the line.”

Copyright © 2006 by David Michael. All rights reserved.