Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

8. Kodi

CHAPTER 8

“I’m sorry. What did you promise Dr. Hottie?”

Phloot-phloot! I give two short blasts on the whistle, indicating that the next row of players run to the cones on the other side of the park and back.

“I’m going to help him get the business side of his practice up and running, and he’s going to fix my knee. Get those knees up, Callie!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Callie jokes, and she slaps her knees with her hands as she switches to a high-step on the way back to the lineup. I let out a small chuckle before blowing the whistle again.

Phloot-phloot!

The next row of cornhole players take off across the field, and Lily takes her place in the front of the row.

“So you’re giving yourself guaranteed time with him every week?” She nudges my ribs. I toot the whistle in her ear in response, and smack her on the ass as she takes off. One of the guys, a young police officer by the name of Brad Pecker (yet another Pecker I have to worry about), elbows the guy next to him and they snicker to each other.

“Something funny, Brad?” I holler at him, and the pale, skinny cop visibly shrinks under my glare. The last thing I need is the next generation of cornholers spreading more rumors about me being a lesbian.

Again, not that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian. I’m just tired of people making fun of me for something that one, isn’t something anyone should be made fun of for, and two, isn’t fucking true.

Seriously. I have plenty of actual flaws that people could pick on me for. So how does it make sense that they instead choose to make up stories about me sleeping with my best friend? As if anyone could believe Lily is anything other than straight. I watch her as she purposely slows her running pace to a crawl so she can check out the ass of Nick, the former MMA fighter and hopeless cornhole player, carrying a cooler of Gatorade up the side of the field.

“Alright team, huddle up!” I call, and a few relieved sighs and groans reach my ears as everyone gathers around me in a circle. “First match of the season is this weekend against our old nemesis, Spitz Hollow. And remember what we say?”

“Spitters are quitters!” I hear them chant back at me. I grin.

We’re a town full of punny perverts. So sue us.

“Tonight we’re gonna drill knock-ins. I don’t want us to leave any woodys on the table on Saturday, you hear me? It’s a bag-in-the-hole or nothing. So as you can see, I’ve set up four sets, so all of you can double up against each other. Each set has two bags on each board, and your goal is to clear the board of bags: you’re trying to knock your opponents’ off, then get yours in, understand?”

“Yes, Jesus, Kodi we know how Cornhole works. We’ve literally won every championship for the past seventy years.”

I glare at the boy who’s giving me attitude. Logan Gilgax just turned twenty-one in May, making him barely eligible for the Tuft Swallow Beer League. He was the one sniggering with Officer Pecker earlier.

“Fifty-four, Logan. Or did you fail math in addition to English at TSCC?” I sneer at him. He hocks a loogie on the ground. Gross. “The goal today isn’t just to score cornholes. It’s to practice navigating and moving the bags around the board. But if you’re so high and mighty, why don’t you demonstrate with me?”

“I get it, Kodi, you don’t have to call me out.” He rolls his eyes and jerks his thumb at me, as if to say “Women,” to the guys standing behind him. I cross my arms. Alright, he wants to play ball?

Let’s play ball.

“No, I think we could all benefit from your obvious mastery and expertise, Logan.” I smirk at him. “Grab a set. Let’s show everyone what we’re trying to do.”

His eyes dart around his cadre of cronies, before he squares his shoulders and sneers at me. “Fine. You’re on.”

I grab two blue bags from the bucket by my feet and toss them to him. He catches one, fumbling the other as he tries to pin it against his chest, only for it to fall to the ground at his feet. I chuckle. Oh, this oughta be good.

We square off across from each other beside our plywood practice boards. I give him a mocking curtsey as I square up on the field. “Ladies first.”

I step forward on my newly-adjusted knee, confident as it accepts my weight. I wind up my red beanbag and toss it in a soaring arc across the field of play. It lands right onto the board where it slides perfectly up the side of the hole, knocking the blue enemy bag I’d placed there out of the way and taking its place, its corner dangling right over the goal opening. Logan’s confidence wavers for a fraction of a second, and I can see his Adam’s apple bob all the way from across the field as he swallows nervously.

“Lucky shot,” he grumbles. I grin.

“Show me what you got, kid.”

He steps forward and chucks the bag straight at the board, where it smacks into the front edge and skips. It sails over the hole and back edge, then tumbles into the grass behind it. A few of the guys chuckle behind him, and I grab my last red bag and ready my tossing hand.

“And the sinker,” I call, spinning in a little pirouette before planting my foot forward and sending my second bag sailing high into the air, landing squarely on the hanging corner of my previous bag and sinking them both into the hole. Just like I knew it would. “That’s two cornholes! Your go.”

Logan glares at me as he tries a higher throw like I did, winding up his arm like a major league pitcher, sending the blue bag so high that we all squint as we follow its ascent into the bright summer sunset. It arches in the air before starting its parabolic descent, crashing into my pre-placed red beanbag on the plywood next to me, knocking my third bag into the hole along with his blue one.

“Ha! I got two, too!”

“No. You canceled out your own point. Looks like you need to practice more, buddy. Otherwise you’re gonna leave us all with bluebags.”

“Ha! Logan’s got bluebags,” Brad shouts as if it’s the funniest thing anyone's ever said. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Partner up, everybody! We’re doing this until everybody’s sunk ten of their bags in a row! If you knock in an enemy bag, count restarts at zero!”

“Oh come on, Kodi, we’ve already been out here for an hour. That could take another two!”

“Yeah, happy hour ends in twenty minutes!”

A few more dissenting grumbles sound around me, and I shrug.

“Well then, I guess you better start tossing, team.” I shoot them all a grin and replace the bags Logan and I displaced during our demonstration. “On your marks, get set–” Phloot-phloot!

“How are you not sore after that? I thought you’d be in just as much pain as the rest of us.”

Lily is wincing above her Dirty Shirley as she rubs her shoulder. Callie gives her a pitying glance for a moment, then chomps down on a french fry.

I sip my iced tea, trying to hold in my absolute glee. She’s right: I should be in pain right now. Granted, I didn’t do the running drills with the rest of the team since Brian had told me to take it easy after the appointment, but I was tossing with the rest of them for most of the night. Not to mention scurrying back and forth across the park to offer pointers and help people with their form.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just have a new guardian angel looking out for me.” I smile to myself, and Lily narrows her eyes.

“More like a guardian chiropractor.”

“Oh? Did you go see the new doctor in town?” Callie leans forward. “Is it really true what they’re saying about him in the Pecker? Poor guy.”

I shake my head. “He’s not gay. He’s bi. But he didn’t say much else.”

“I didn’t mean that, although it is awful that they felt the need to blast that out to the whole town before he even had a chance to get settled. I meant his boyfriend. Did he really break up with him as soon as he moved to town?”

A weight sinks in my stomach. In all the talk about him and Dr. Cratchet and the booking software and everything else going through my head today, I had totally forgotten about the actual content of that morning’s Nosy Pecker. I take a glance around the bar, and inventory all the patrons. There are a fair number of cornholers, except for the few who went home to their families or have to get up early for work. But Brian is nowhere to be seen. I wonder if he’s sitting at home by himself, lonely. Thinking about his ex.

That’s no way to start a life in a new town.

“I-uh, didn’t ask for the details.”

Callie nods, sipping her Cosmo. “It’s impolite to pry.”

Lily snorts. “Some good that is in a town like this. It’s pry or be pried around here.” I’m about to point out that’s not really a thing, but then she smacks her hands down on the table, shaking loose a fry from Callie’s basket. “Oh my God. You said he’s bi.”

“Yes.”

“Well?” Lily’s eyes are wide as she leans toward me expectantly. I lean back a little, slightly frightened of her crazed look.

“Uh… well, what?”

“Are you gonna hit that or what??” Lily squeals, and half the bar turns their heads to our small table. I laugh nervously, trying not to draw anymore attention to us.

Out of the side of my mouth I mumble, “Lily, that is not the point.”

“Speak for yourself. Piping hot sex is always the point.”

“Did I hear–”

“Oh my God, shut UP, Logan!” Lily doesn’t even have to turn around to smack the kid across the arm when he inserts himself into the conversation. He gives a surprised “Oof!” and walks away as quickly as he’d arrived.

“You really should give the poor guy a call back, Lily,” Callie says pityingly. “He’s been trying to get your attention ever since practices started.”

“Oh please, he’s practically still in diapers. Not to mention he’s friends with all the cops. Not sure if I’m eager to let such a whiny baby give me a pat-down.” As they banter back and forth about Logan’s obsession with my best friend, the town mechanic walks past us to get his usual evening beer. His broad shoulders brush against the back of Lily’s chair as he squeezes by, and all conversation ceases for a moment. Lily sighs after his retreating form. “I tell you what though, I’d let him pat me down any day. Diaper or no.”

“Hey!” I call to him, breaking the town protocol that Winston’s Hot Daddy is to be admired from afar, but never spoken to. He stiffens, tilting his head only slightly towards me to indicate that he heard. “Winston was at the new chiropractor’s office building earlier! Did you find him okay?”

The mechanic stares at me with his piercing blue eyes, and I freeze under his gaze. Then, he gives an almost imperceptible nod, before turning back to the bar and perching himself on his usual stool. He orders his beer, then digs around in his bag and pulls out a set of knitting needles attached to a scarf-in-progress.

I let out a breath in a whoosh, grateful that the old goat is okay, and Lily and Callie stare at me.

“You’re fearless, you know that?” Callie breaks the silence. I blink.

“What do you mean?”

“The whole town is intimidated by that man, but you call him out with zero hesitation. Between that, working for Dr. Cratchet, and the way you boss everyone around at practice, it’s just kind of amazing to watch. You’re unstoppable, Kodi.”

“Total Gryffindor.” Lily agrees.

“Oh please,” I roll my eyes. “I have my fears just the same as everybody else.” And someday, I will conquer them.

I rub my knee under the table, once again amazed at how much it doesn’t seem to be bothering me for once. After years of thinking that I’d never be able to live up to my childhood dreams, I’ve actually got reason to hope again.

“Fears like losing half of the cornhole team because they’re fed up with training for the Olympics?”

I scowl at Lily. She sees my glare, and raises me an eyebrow. “What? You’re going overboard. I’m telling you because I love you, Kodi, but I haven’t been this sore since…” she pauses for a moment, thinking. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore. I need another drink.”

She downs the rest of her Dirty Shirley and gets up to head to the bar, letting her hips brush past Winston’s Hot Daddy as she passes.

“Do you think I’m going at it too hard?” I turn to Callie.

Her deer-in-the-headlights look worries me a little. “Um. I’m fine with it. I like the extra workout!” It doesn’t go unnoticed that she didn’t really give me an answer. She fiddles with her straw. “But I think I might schedule myself an appointment with that new chiropractor, too. What’s his address again?”

I fish his business card out of my purse and hand it to her. While she’s copying his contact info into her phone, I go over the past few practices in my head. The muttering, the groaning, and the seemingly endless complaints whenever I announce the next drill.

Am I going at this team captain thing too hard?

“And it looks like Gander’s out for the count at the bottom of the sixth! The score is 9-9 going into the final inning.”

The memory surfaces out of nowhere, the announcer’s voice as clear as if he were broadcasting in the bar right beside our table. I down the rest of my iced tea, feeling a twinge in the side of my leg for the first time since yesterday morning.

For the past six years, everyone’s been convinced that I’m so fragile. That I’m no longer the champion I used to be. Poor Kodi, losing everything at eighteen. Kodi Gander–could have been one of the greats.

No. I’m not going too hard. I’m training us up to be the best dang Cornhole team in the county. We’ve got a title to defend, after all. And now that I’m on the mend, nothing’s going to be able to stop me.

And if anyone’s too weak to see it through…well. It’s best they quit now before they really get hurt.