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me,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”
    â€œListen, we better get going if we’re going to play at all. It’s almost time for the bell,” somebody said.
    â€œRight. Get over there, kid. That’s the goal line. If you get hold of the ball, you have to take it over that line and touch ground with it,” the captain explained to Louis.
    Louis never touched the ball. He ran back and forth, shouting “Throw it here, over here!” and he got in the huddle. He felt eight feet tall. Just before the bell rang and the game was over for the day, someone kicked a field goal. The ball went slightly astray and got Louis in the stomach.
    â€œYou O.K.?” they asked him.
    Louis felt a little sick. That kid was no slouch when it came to kicking a field goal, even if his aim wasn’t all that hot.
    â€œSure, I’m fine,” he said.
    â€œTime to go, guys. I just heard the bell. You know Mr. Anderson if we’re late.” They all trotted off the field, Louis following. He really didn’t feel so good.
    He took off his helmet and made it to the boys’ room just in time. It was a good thing his mother had given him a bologna sandwich for lunch and that Matthew was absent that day. Louis hated bologna and so did John, so he’d thrown most of it away.
    Louis threw up in the toilet. Usually when he threw up, his mother held his head. He sort of missed her. On the other hand, maybe they wouldn’t have let his mother into the boys’ room. He stayed until he was sure it was all over, then he went to his classroom.
    Miss Carmichael gave him a fishy look.
    â€œLouis,” she said, “you’ve got to learn to come in from whatever it is you do after lunch when you hear the bell. We can’t have our students in the fifth grade act as if they’re still in the fourth grade. Get to your work now.”
    Louis didn’t trust himself to speak because that would mean opening his mouth and he wasn’t absolutely sure that would be a good idea. He sat down and began to copy his arithmetic. Amy Adams turned around and stuck out her tongue at him.
    Louis contemplated the back of Amy’s neck. He leaned over his desk and opened his mouth just a little. Nothing came out. He was glad and sorry at the same time. If he’d thrown up in class, it would’ve been embarrassing. On the other hand, if he could’ve nailed Amy, that would have made his day perfect.

10
    â€œOh, it was something!” Louis shouted, bursting into the kitchen after school. “I played football with the big kids and I almost made a touchdown and I ran about a million yards and they asked me to play with them again.”
    â€œNononononono,” sang Louis’ baby sister, sitting in her high chair and shampooing her hair with applesauce.
    â€œBoy, you get away with murder,” Louis said to her. “I’d like to see what’d happen to me if I rubbed applesauce in my hair. Probably I couldn’t watch TV for a week. Make that two weeks I couldn’t watch it.”
    â€œNonononono,” she said, rubbing away with great enthusiasm.
    â€œOh, Lord,” Louis’ mother said, coming up out of the cellar. She mopped the baby, the walls, and the high chair.
    â€œYou should’ve seen me, Mom,” Louis said. “I played football and a kid kicked the ball and it hit me in the stomach so I threw up.”
    â€œI thought you looked pale,” she said. “Better go up and lie down.”
    Louis took the jar of silver polish up to his room. He put a big gob on his good luck charm, taking special care with the crown and the ears. He rubbed and polished until it shone. Then he washed it under the faucet.
    It was time for a workout with the bar bells. Louis still couldn’t get them past his knees but he felt a lot stronger.
    â€œLouis, telephone,” his mother called up the stairs.
    â€œLouis here,” he said into the