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He took his time walking home from Gilder Middle School, weaving past cracks in the sidewalk and mud puddles left behind by the spring thaw. His pace slowed further as he turned onto Willow Avenue and saw his house, second on the left, a red brick ranch with spidery ivy growing up the east side.

Old leaves, fallen tree branches, and other detritus left over from the winter littered the front yard. As he neared, he noted with dismay his father's car already in the driveway.

"Damn." Jamie trudged across the yard and let himself in the front door with his keycard.

Dad was at the hall closet, hanging up his overcoat. He stood just under two metres tall; a navy blue business suit wrapped his muscled frame. He beamed when he saw Jamie. "Hey there, kiddo. How was school today?"

"You're home early," Jamie said.

"Need to get ready for the presentation tonight. And I'd like you to clean up the front yard. Make sure you use the dirt rake to get up that thatch. Will you do that for me?"

Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but thought the better of it. "Sure," he said. He unslung his backpack and headed for the stairs.

"Oh. By the way." Dad fished in a suit pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. "I got this in my email today." He opened the paper.

Jamie recognised the school's letterhead on the printout. He slumped, leaning against the wall.

Dad tapped the paper. "What's this C-plus in Basic Fitness about, kiddo?"

"I got A's in my academic classes. They're all honours courses, too."

"I can see that. But we've talked about Fitness before, haven't we?" Dad looked down at him with a disapproving arch of an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"So tell me. What happened?"

"It's nothing. I'll do better next quarter."

"Did you fail the agility drills again?"

"I couldn't do the pull-ups."

Dad pressed his lips together and took a breath. "I'm not sure you're giving it your best effort, Jamie."

"I am. I really am. I'm just not very good at sports."

"You get better with practice. Like your brother Scott."

Jamie nodded, keeping his gaze down, hoping Dad didn't notice the way he gritted his teeth when he heard his older brother's name.

Dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Jamie, you're twelve years old now. It's really important that you find your best sport. College recruiters are already contacting boys your age."

Jamie thought of his best friend Russell, who had just received his first recruiting letter the other day, from Penn State. Jamie hung his head even lower.

"All I'm asking is that you try, son. Will you do that for me?"

Jamie nodded again.

Dad folded up the grade printout and stuffed it into a pocket. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you sit in on the presentation tonight?"

"Oh, man." Jamie looked up. "Do I have to, Dad?"

"Why not? Maybe you'll hear something you like."

A groan escaped Jamie. He had homework to do for Advanced Literature – the next two chapters of Dracula, which he'd loved so far. But experience had taught him not to proffer academic work as an excuse. "Why don't you guys just order Scott's blood online? That's what you usually do."

"The Nike representative wants to show us some new and improved stuff. The best yet. Scott has regionals in two weeks, you know."

"I know."

"So. You'll be there tonight, then?"

"Sure, Dad."

Dad clapped him on the shoulder again. "That's the spirit. Now let's get that yard picked up, OK?"

Jamie went upstairs to change out of his school clothes before getting to work.