Richie fit the key Greg had given him into the lock and let himself in.
Greg wasn't home. He wondered into the kitchen and looked in the
refrigerator. He grinned and removed the pitcher of Kool-Aid and poured
himself a glass.
"I wonder if he knows I'm twenty one now?" he laughed to himself even as he drank and began to search for the inevitable supply of gummy worms. He grabbed a handful and wondered into the living room. He hadn't been in the house by himself yet and had been curious about a few things. He opened the bottom of the large hutch in the corner and found what he had been dreading were there. the photo albums. The dreaded photo albums that he hated growing up and had missed terribly the last couple of years. All the defining moments of his childhood were in the books that were lined up in chronological order. He pulled out the first book and settled on the ground with his snack to skim through it.
Eight years old at his first soccer game, after he scored his first goal, his first sports related injury, first day of school, posed for a little league picture with a broad grin and two missing front teeth. A picture of Richie triumphantly holding up a small fish that he had caught on their first camping trip together.
The next book.
His ninth birthday party. Every kid in the neighborhood had shown up. There were three cakes, ten gallons of ice cream, and a rented skating rink. His first day of fourth grade. A picture as he wobbled a few feet on his first two wheeler sans training wheels. Richie rubbed his elbow sympathetically. The flash had startled him and he had crashed a second later and got his first scare as a result. His first basketball game. More camping pictures.
The next book.
His tenth birthday party. Batman came. He was the coolest kid in school for that party. Richie on a skateboard. His first day of fifth grade. Richie in full catcher's gear after wining the championship. His entire basketball team; Richie was the shortest even then. The annual camping trip.
The next book.
His eleventh birthday party. Greg topped the last year by taking Richie and all his friends to the local amusement park. Richie playing one on one with his dad on the Washington U practice court. Coach Roberts had taken that picture if memory served. Fishing on the camping trip.
The next book.
His twelfth birthday party, a tour of the Seacouver Sharks (the local basketball team) arena. His first day of junior high. The school play. And the camping trip.
The next book.
His thirteenth birthday. Greg rented out the arcade and gave all Richie's friends unlimited play for the night. Those were the last pictures. On a whim Richie flipped a few pages and found clippings form the sports page of the local and school newspapers about the basketball games. Richie had a similar collection in a box under his bed at Duncan's loft.
Sighing, Richie replaced the books and wondered back into the kitchen for more gummy worms. The phone started to ring and he wondered if he should answer it. Shrugging he reached for the phone.
"Masters' residence."
"Um, Richie?"
"Dad?"
"I was calling to check the messages to see if you had called. When did you get there?"
"A little bit ago. Where are you?"
"Will you believe I'm at work?"
"Dad, on a Saturday?" Richie whined.
Greg laughed. "You sound like you're twelve all over again. I'm sorry, Rich."
"Yeah, well. what can you do about it?"
"Get off the phone with you so I can get home sooner, that's what. But I have Thursday off so I can help move you into the dorms. You sure you don't want to just stay with me?"
"Dad, we've been over this," Richie grinned rolling his eyes. "Campus rules, remember? Underclassmen in the dorms only. I have no choice. And if I could get out of the dorms I'd be in the team-house. I'm starting this year."
"Richie, that's great!" Greg cheered. Richie's grin grew proudly. "I knew you would! Celebratory dinner tonight, you and me."
"Okay," Richie happily agreed.
"That and I owe you for your birthday. I guess we both get a beer tonight, eh?"
"Yup."
"My boy's first legal drink. well, I bet you've been out to celebrate with your friends in Washington, haven't you?"
"Every night I could."
"You're not a drunk are you?"
"Dad!"
"Sorry, let me get back to work so I can get home."
"Bye."
"Bye."
. . . . . .
"So how was your summer?" Greg asked putting salad on Richie's plate.
"It was okay," Richie admitted.
"That doesn't sound very convincing."
"It was a little awkward?" Richie tried.
"What happened?"
"I told Mac about you. He didn't take it so well." He picked at his food.
"What happened?"
"I didn't exactly end up telling him the best way I could have; I kinda slipped so I had to tell him then."
"How did you slip?"
"Called him dad," he admitted quietly.
Greg laughed. "Why'd you do that?"
"It slipped."
"When?"
"When he locked me in a closet."
"He did what?" Greg demanded.
"It was a joke," Richie hurriedly assured him. "Then I just. slipped. So then I tried to play it off, but that just made the news worse when he got it. I screwed it all up. But we're okay now, kinda, sorta, maybe, not really. but we're pretending."
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Greg offered.
Richie blushed. "What? Dad, no, I'm fine. We always work it out. We'll be back to normal in no time."
"Well, I want to meet him, anyway. Are they coming down this year?"
Richie thought for a second. "I don't think so. They came down last year, but that was to give me the car."
"MacLeod gave you that?"
"Yeah. He just showed up with it."
Something crossed Greg's face. "That's generous."
"That's Mac," Richie corrected.
"So this guy needs an excuse to come see you?" Greg asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just saying; why would he need an excuse to visit? Isn't just wanting to see you enough?"
"Well, Mac's real busy," Richie defended. "He's got the dojo and the barge and-"
"And no time for you."
"No, Dad, I didn't say that."
"That's what it sounded like to me."
"Then you heard wrong, Mac's not like that."
"Richie, I was just commenting."
"Well, stop. You don't know Mac; you don't know what you're talking about."
"It just sounds to me like he wants something."
"What?"
"He can't see you without bringing some expensive gift?"
"It was just. He wanted to. you're wrong."
"If I'm wrong how come you don't have a counter? Admit it, Rich; he has something up his sleeve."
"No he doesn't. I told you, you don't know him like I do. He's just a generous guy."
"That you never see unless you go back to Washington."
"I talk to him a lot."
"That's not the same, Rich."
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't like this."
"Sorry," Greg apologized. "You ready for classes to start?"
"Not really, but I don't have much of a choice." Richie speared an olive. "But I still have a week to goof off. when I'm not working."
"I thought the Stadium was closed in the summers."
Richie finally ate the olive. "It is," he answered.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Greg automatically corrected him.
Richie grinned and swallowed. "Sorry. But since it's been closed for the past three months it needs some major cleaning and who better to do it then a bunch of guys who can't keep a little dorm room clean?"
"They paying you good for that?"
Richie shrugged. "I don't know if they're payin' me at all. All I know is coach wanted us down here by Monday to start practice and clean the place up. I think it might be one of his building up our work ethic things."
"If the dorms don't open until Thursday, where is the team staying?"
"Some people live kinda close, like me, and everyone else is at the team house, I guess," Richie answered finding his appetite once again and digging into the baby-back ribs in front of him.
"Is there enough room for the entire team there?"
Richie shrugged. "Didn't really think about it; wasn't my problem."
"Well, if it gets too crowded some of the guys can come here."
Richie grinned. "Yeah?"
"Of course, you don't think I'd let a bunch of your filthy friends cram themselves into one house if there's room here, do you? It's just the two of us here; there's plenty of room."
"Cool, I'll mention it at the team meeting Monday. Thanks."
"Just so long as they understand Roberts' rules are my rules there shouldn't be a problem."
. . . . . .
Both of Mike and Vicki Carpenter's sons played basketball for the Missouri Cougars so while their boys were in school they bought a modest house just off campus for them and their friends to live in. When the youngest son graduated they decided to rent out the house to the starting line up for $100 a person a month with the exception of the captain, who got to stay rent-free. So every year since 1978 the five starters for the Cougars moved in for the year. The house was a constant place of activity as the entire team was constantly there. That Monday was no exception. When Richie showed up, twenty minutes before the meeting was to start, the living room was already filled with noisy boys.
"Hey, Ryan!" someone announced as Richie rounded the corner.
"Ryan!" the rest of the team chorused.
"Hey," Richie greeted slightly off put by the loud welcoming as he grabbed a beer from the cooler.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sinclair, this year's captain, snapped grabbing it from Richie's hand. "You're ass is my ass, you know."
"Yeah, I do," Richie answered snatching the beer back with one hand and pulling his wallet from his pocket with the other. "No worries, man." He flipped open his wallet and showed Sinclair his driver's license. "Congrats, you're the first friend to card me."
Sinclair took his wallet and looked at his license. "This is a fake, right? You're a sophomore."
"A legal sophomore. Want my birth certificate?" Richie took his wallet back with a grin.
"He's just an old man," John laughed clapping his hand on Richie's shoulder as he slid past him into the room.
"Hey, John," Richie said.
"Hernandez!" the team chorused.
"I won't hold the old man comment against you, man," Richie assured him. "You must have just missed your nap." It was times like these Richie regretted not trying to get into college earlier; he guessed he was the oldest sophomore on campus.
"We'll give everyone else a few more minutes to get here, then we'll get started!" Sinclair yelled over the noise.
"If they're late are you going to make them run laps?" Johnson asked.
"Only the freshmen." The returning team members laughed and the few freshmen that had already arrived looked relieved they weren't late.
"John," Richie pulled him aside. "Where are you staying until the dorms open?"
"Here," he shrugged. "Why?"
"Cause Dad said some of the guys could come to our house if they wanted. Thought as my roommate you should get the first invite."
John looked honored. "You mean me and Greg Masters in the same house?"
Richie laughed. "Eating at the same table, shittin' in the same pot. is that a yes?"
"Dude, the guy's, like, my hero!"
"Why are you so excited? It's not like you've never met him."
"I haven't," John insisted.
"Yeah, you have. Remember the guy who took over practice when I broke my wrist and Coach took me to the hospital?"
"That was your dad!?"
"Yeah," Richie shrugged. It was weird that John was getting so excited about meeting his dad.
"Hey!" John turned to the rest of the team. "You guys remember when Rich broke his wrist?"
"Kinda hard to forget that CRUNCH!" someone yelled.
"That was his dad that took over practice!" Nobody seemed to get it.
"John, chill, okay?" Richie pleaded. "Don't listen to him!"
"What's the big deal?" Connors asked. "My dad plays ball, too."
"You're dad's not Greg Masters!" John shot back smugly. Richie shied away as the team began berating him with questions.
"No wonder you play so well," someone mentioned slapping him on the back, Richie couldn't tell who it was.
"Talk about learning from the master," someone else added.
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
"Do you think he could come to practice and give us some pointers?"
"Does he still play?"
"So, were you, like, born with a basketball in your hands?"
Richie looked around for a way to escape before the enviable question was asked. But he couldn't get out in time.
"Why do you have different names?" At the simple question the team quieted as no one had noticed that until someone mentioned it.
Richie shifted under the gaze of all the eyes. "I'm adopted," he answered uncomfortably.
"Okay, lets get this started!" Sinclair yelled from the fireplace.
The team moved to position themselves where they were comfortable and Richie shot Sinclair an 'I owe you big' look as he settled on the arm of the couch.
"I'm Mitchell Sinclair and I'm the captain," he introduced himself to the freshmen. "This year I am determined to beat the Sooners and hit the Final Four!" The team broke into a chorus of 'Bomb the Sooners'. "But that means we have to work. We had a great captain last year." Richie snorted into his beer and Sinclair shot him a look. "As I was saying. we had a great captain last year." Sinclair informed the team of the plan for the season, went over the Roberts' rules, ran down the starting line up (all of whom were staying in the team house except for Richie who had given his spot to Johnson), and then asked who was planning on staying in the house until the dorms opened. Almost every hand in the room went up.
"Uh, I got room for a couple more guys at my house," Richie announced. "Any takers?" For the second time that night, all eyes were on him. Richie had to remind himself that it wasn't because it was his house; it was because it was Greg Masters' house. "How about you two?" he offered a pair of overwhelmed looking freshmen.
"Us?" one of them asked in awe.
Richie grinned. Ah, to be eighteen and naïve again. "Yeah. You wanna?"
"Sure!"
"Cool."
There was barking and pawing at the backdoor. "Uh, oh," Connors laughed. "Coug realized there were people in here."
"Let him in," Richie prompted with a wicked grin. "He'll flip with all these people here." The upperclassmen smiled approvingly and the freshmen looked worried.
"Do it!" John added.
"Let him in!"
Sinclair moved to the backdoor and slowly opened it allowing the six month old golden lab into the congregation. He dog bounded in then skidded to a stop at the site of so many people in one room. He grinned happily letting his tongue hang out one side and wagged his tail so hard his entire body swayed with the movement.
Richie looked at John, who looked at Connors, who looked at Johnson, who looked at Foster.
"On three?" Foster asked. They nodded. "One. two. three!"
"Here Coug, here boy, come here boy, come here!" they all began calling the dog at once snapping their fingers and patting their legs. The dog was at a loss for what to do. He looked from one person to the next trying to decide whom to go to. He started toward Foster, then changed direction toward Connors, then Johnson, then John, back to Foster, then squatted in the middle of the floor unable to control his bladder anymore.
The room fell silent as the yellow puddle began to spread toward anyone unfortunate enough to be on the floor. In a split second the room went into chaos. Everyone on the floor jumped up spilling sodas and beers everywhere, people began shouting and running for towels and napkins and Coug. lost it all over again.
"Get the dog out!" someone yelled. Richie, who was closest to the urinating dog, reached down and grabbed his collar and tried to lead him toward the back door again; Coug tried to greet everyone he passed. After a couple minutes everything calmed down again and the floor was cleaned. (Luckily the Carpenters had the foresight to install hardwood instead of carpeting for easy spillage clean up.)
"Okay, that's it!" Sinclair announced. "Meeting over! Everyone be at the Stadium at nine thirty so we can start cleaning it up!"
Richie and John located the freshmen and loaded everyone's essentials into Richie's car and left everything else in the garage or tool shed at the team house. Richie put the car in gear and headed towards home. If the rest of the year was to be anything like the first three days, this was to be a very interesting year.
"I wonder if he knows I'm twenty one now?" he laughed to himself even as he drank and began to search for the inevitable supply of gummy worms. He grabbed a handful and wondered into the living room. He hadn't been in the house by himself yet and had been curious about a few things. He opened the bottom of the large hutch in the corner and found what he had been dreading were there. the photo albums. The dreaded photo albums that he hated growing up and had missed terribly the last couple of years. All the defining moments of his childhood were in the books that were lined up in chronological order. He pulled out the first book and settled on the ground with his snack to skim through it.
Eight years old at his first soccer game, after he scored his first goal, his first sports related injury, first day of school, posed for a little league picture with a broad grin and two missing front teeth. A picture of Richie triumphantly holding up a small fish that he had caught on their first camping trip together.
The next book.
His ninth birthday party. Every kid in the neighborhood had shown up. There were three cakes, ten gallons of ice cream, and a rented skating rink. His first day of fourth grade. A picture as he wobbled a few feet on his first two wheeler sans training wheels. Richie rubbed his elbow sympathetically. The flash had startled him and he had crashed a second later and got his first scare as a result. His first basketball game. More camping pictures.
The next book.
His tenth birthday party. Batman came. He was the coolest kid in school for that party. Richie on a skateboard. His first day of fifth grade. Richie in full catcher's gear after wining the championship. His entire basketball team; Richie was the shortest even then. The annual camping trip.
The next book.
His eleventh birthday party. Greg topped the last year by taking Richie and all his friends to the local amusement park. Richie playing one on one with his dad on the Washington U practice court. Coach Roberts had taken that picture if memory served. Fishing on the camping trip.
The next book.
His twelfth birthday party, a tour of the Seacouver Sharks (the local basketball team) arena. His first day of junior high. The school play. And the camping trip.
The next book.
His thirteenth birthday. Greg rented out the arcade and gave all Richie's friends unlimited play for the night. Those were the last pictures. On a whim Richie flipped a few pages and found clippings form the sports page of the local and school newspapers about the basketball games. Richie had a similar collection in a box under his bed at Duncan's loft.
Sighing, Richie replaced the books and wondered back into the kitchen for more gummy worms. The phone started to ring and he wondered if he should answer it. Shrugging he reached for the phone.
"Masters' residence."
"Um, Richie?"
"Dad?"
"I was calling to check the messages to see if you had called. When did you get there?"
"A little bit ago. Where are you?"
"Will you believe I'm at work?"
"Dad, on a Saturday?" Richie whined.
Greg laughed. "You sound like you're twelve all over again. I'm sorry, Rich."
"Yeah, well. what can you do about it?"
"Get off the phone with you so I can get home sooner, that's what. But I have Thursday off so I can help move you into the dorms. You sure you don't want to just stay with me?"
"Dad, we've been over this," Richie grinned rolling his eyes. "Campus rules, remember? Underclassmen in the dorms only. I have no choice. And if I could get out of the dorms I'd be in the team-house. I'm starting this year."
"Richie, that's great!" Greg cheered. Richie's grin grew proudly. "I knew you would! Celebratory dinner tonight, you and me."
"Okay," Richie happily agreed.
"That and I owe you for your birthday. I guess we both get a beer tonight, eh?"
"Yup."
"My boy's first legal drink. well, I bet you've been out to celebrate with your friends in Washington, haven't you?"
"Every night I could."
"You're not a drunk are you?"
"Dad!"
"Sorry, let me get back to work so I can get home."
"Bye."
"Bye."
. . . . . .
"So how was your summer?" Greg asked putting salad on Richie's plate.
"It was okay," Richie admitted.
"That doesn't sound very convincing."
"It was a little awkward?" Richie tried.
"What happened?"
"I told Mac about you. He didn't take it so well." He picked at his food.
"What happened?"
"I didn't exactly end up telling him the best way I could have; I kinda slipped so I had to tell him then."
"How did you slip?"
"Called him dad," he admitted quietly.
Greg laughed. "Why'd you do that?"
"It slipped."
"When?"
"When he locked me in a closet."
"He did what?" Greg demanded.
"It was a joke," Richie hurriedly assured him. "Then I just. slipped. So then I tried to play it off, but that just made the news worse when he got it. I screwed it all up. But we're okay now, kinda, sorta, maybe, not really. but we're pretending."
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Greg offered.
Richie blushed. "What? Dad, no, I'm fine. We always work it out. We'll be back to normal in no time."
"Well, I want to meet him, anyway. Are they coming down this year?"
Richie thought for a second. "I don't think so. They came down last year, but that was to give me the car."
"MacLeod gave you that?"
"Yeah. He just showed up with it."
Something crossed Greg's face. "That's generous."
"That's Mac," Richie corrected.
"So this guy needs an excuse to come see you?" Greg asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just saying; why would he need an excuse to visit? Isn't just wanting to see you enough?"
"Well, Mac's real busy," Richie defended. "He's got the dojo and the barge and-"
"And no time for you."
"No, Dad, I didn't say that."
"That's what it sounded like to me."
"Then you heard wrong, Mac's not like that."
"Richie, I was just commenting."
"Well, stop. You don't know Mac; you don't know what you're talking about."
"It just sounds to me like he wants something."
"What?"
"He can't see you without bringing some expensive gift?"
"It was just. He wanted to. you're wrong."
"If I'm wrong how come you don't have a counter? Admit it, Rich; he has something up his sleeve."
"No he doesn't. I told you, you don't know him like I do. He's just a generous guy."
"That you never see unless you go back to Washington."
"I talk to him a lot."
"That's not the same, Rich."
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't like this."
"Sorry," Greg apologized. "You ready for classes to start?"
"Not really, but I don't have much of a choice." Richie speared an olive. "But I still have a week to goof off. when I'm not working."
"I thought the Stadium was closed in the summers."
Richie finally ate the olive. "It is," he answered.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Greg automatically corrected him.
Richie grinned and swallowed. "Sorry. But since it's been closed for the past three months it needs some major cleaning and who better to do it then a bunch of guys who can't keep a little dorm room clean?"
"They paying you good for that?"
Richie shrugged. "I don't know if they're payin' me at all. All I know is coach wanted us down here by Monday to start practice and clean the place up. I think it might be one of his building up our work ethic things."
"If the dorms don't open until Thursday, where is the team staying?"
"Some people live kinda close, like me, and everyone else is at the team house, I guess," Richie answered finding his appetite once again and digging into the baby-back ribs in front of him.
"Is there enough room for the entire team there?"
Richie shrugged. "Didn't really think about it; wasn't my problem."
"Well, if it gets too crowded some of the guys can come here."
Richie grinned. "Yeah?"
"Of course, you don't think I'd let a bunch of your filthy friends cram themselves into one house if there's room here, do you? It's just the two of us here; there's plenty of room."
"Cool, I'll mention it at the team meeting Monday. Thanks."
"Just so long as they understand Roberts' rules are my rules there shouldn't be a problem."
. . . . . .
Both of Mike and Vicki Carpenter's sons played basketball for the Missouri Cougars so while their boys were in school they bought a modest house just off campus for them and their friends to live in. When the youngest son graduated they decided to rent out the house to the starting line up for $100 a person a month with the exception of the captain, who got to stay rent-free. So every year since 1978 the five starters for the Cougars moved in for the year. The house was a constant place of activity as the entire team was constantly there. That Monday was no exception. When Richie showed up, twenty minutes before the meeting was to start, the living room was already filled with noisy boys.
"Hey, Ryan!" someone announced as Richie rounded the corner.
"Ryan!" the rest of the team chorused.
"Hey," Richie greeted slightly off put by the loud welcoming as he grabbed a beer from the cooler.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sinclair, this year's captain, snapped grabbing it from Richie's hand. "You're ass is my ass, you know."
"Yeah, I do," Richie answered snatching the beer back with one hand and pulling his wallet from his pocket with the other. "No worries, man." He flipped open his wallet and showed Sinclair his driver's license. "Congrats, you're the first friend to card me."
Sinclair took his wallet and looked at his license. "This is a fake, right? You're a sophomore."
"A legal sophomore. Want my birth certificate?" Richie took his wallet back with a grin.
"He's just an old man," John laughed clapping his hand on Richie's shoulder as he slid past him into the room.
"Hey, John," Richie said.
"Hernandez!" the team chorused.
"I won't hold the old man comment against you, man," Richie assured him. "You must have just missed your nap." It was times like these Richie regretted not trying to get into college earlier; he guessed he was the oldest sophomore on campus.
"We'll give everyone else a few more minutes to get here, then we'll get started!" Sinclair yelled over the noise.
"If they're late are you going to make them run laps?" Johnson asked.
"Only the freshmen." The returning team members laughed and the few freshmen that had already arrived looked relieved they weren't late.
"John," Richie pulled him aside. "Where are you staying until the dorms open?"
"Here," he shrugged. "Why?"
"Cause Dad said some of the guys could come to our house if they wanted. Thought as my roommate you should get the first invite."
John looked honored. "You mean me and Greg Masters in the same house?"
Richie laughed. "Eating at the same table, shittin' in the same pot. is that a yes?"
"Dude, the guy's, like, my hero!"
"Why are you so excited? It's not like you've never met him."
"I haven't," John insisted.
"Yeah, you have. Remember the guy who took over practice when I broke my wrist and Coach took me to the hospital?"
"That was your dad!?"
"Yeah," Richie shrugged. It was weird that John was getting so excited about meeting his dad.
"Hey!" John turned to the rest of the team. "You guys remember when Rich broke his wrist?"
"Kinda hard to forget that CRUNCH!" someone yelled.
"That was his dad that took over practice!" Nobody seemed to get it.
"John, chill, okay?" Richie pleaded. "Don't listen to him!"
"What's the big deal?" Connors asked. "My dad plays ball, too."
"You're dad's not Greg Masters!" John shot back smugly. Richie shied away as the team began berating him with questions.
"No wonder you play so well," someone mentioned slapping him on the back, Richie couldn't tell who it was.
"Talk about learning from the master," someone else added.
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
"Do you think he could come to practice and give us some pointers?"
"Does he still play?"
"So, were you, like, born with a basketball in your hands?"
Richie looked around for a way to escape before the enviable question was asked. But he couldn't get out in time.
"Why do you have different names?" At the simple question the team quieted as no one had noticed that until someone mentioned it.
Richie shifted under the gaze of all the eyes. "I'm adopted," he answered uncomfortably.
"Okay, lets get this started!" Sinclair yelled from the fireplace.
The team moved to position themselves where they were comfortable and Richie shot Sinclair an 'I owe you big' look as he settled on the arm of the couch.
"I'm Mitchell Sinclair and I'm the captain," he introduced himself to the freshmen. "This year I am determined to beat the Sooners and hit the Final Four!" The team broke into a chorus of 'Bomb the Sooners'. "But that means we have to work. We had a great captain last year." Richie snorted into his beer and Sinclair shot him a look. "As I was saying. we had a great captain last year." Sinclair informed the team of the plan for the season, went over the Roberts' rules, ran down the starting line up (all of whom were staying in the team house except for Richie who had given his spot to Johnson), and then asked who was planning on staying in the house until the dorms opened. Almost every hand in the room went up.
"Uh, I got room for a couple more guys at my house," Richie announced. "Any takers?" For the second time that night, all eyes were on him. Richie had to remind himself that it wasn't because it was his house; it was because it was Greg Masters' house. "How about you two?" he offered a pair of overwhelmed looking freshmen.
"Us?" one of them asked in awe.
Richie grinned. Ah, to be eighteen and naïve again. "Yeah. You wanna?"
"Sure!"
"Cool."
There was barking and pawing at the backdoor. "Uh, oh," Connors laughed. "Coug realized there were people in here."
"Let him in," Richie prompted with a wicked grin. "He'll flip with all these people here." The upperclassmen smiled approvingly and the freshmen looked worried.
"Do it!" John added.
"Let him in!"
Sinclair moved to the backdoor and slowly opened it allowing the six month old golden lab into the congregation. He dog bounded in then skidded to a stop at the site of so many people in one room. He grinned happily letting his tongue hang out one side and wagged his tail so hard his entire body swayed with the movement.
Richie looked at John, who looked at Connors, who looked at Johnson, who looked at Foster.
"On three?" Foster asked. They nodded. "One. two. three!"
"Here Coug, here boy, come here boy, come here!" they all began calling the dog at once snapping their fingers and patting their legs. The dog was at a loss for what to do. He looked from one person to the next trying to decide whom to go to. He started toward Foster, then changed direction toward Connors, then Johnson, then John, back to Foster, then squatted in the middle of the floor unable to control his bladder anymore.
The room fell silent as the yellow puddle began to spread toward anyone unfortunate enough to be on the floor. In a split second the room went into chaos. Everyone on the floor jumped up spilling sodas and beers everywhere, people began shouting and running for towels and napkins and Coug. lost it all over again.
"Get the dog out!" someone yelled. Richie, who was closest to the urinating dog, reached down and grabbed his collar and tried to lead him toward the back door again; Coug tried to greet everyone he passed. After a couple minutes everything calmed down again and the floor was cleaned. (Luckily the Carpenters had the foresight to install hardwood instead of carpeting for easy spillage clean up.)
"Okay, that's it!" Sinclair announced. "Meeting over! Everyone be at the Stadium at nine thirty so we can start cleaning it up!"
Richie and John located the freshmen and loaded everyone's essentials into Richie's car and left everything else in the garage or tool shed at the team house. Richie put the car in gear and headed towards home. If the rest of the year was to be anything like the first three days, this was to be a very interesting year.