The Great Quarterback Switch (3 page)

“What’re you kicking yourself for?” Mr. Curtis said to him. “It didn’t hurt the game. You won, didn’t you?”

The brothers looked at each other, and smiled.

“Guess I’m dumb, aren’t I?” said Tom.

“No. I know how you feel, Tom,” said Michael. “I think I’d feel the same way. I’m sure of it.
Exactly
the same way.”

“Tell him what you told me about your ESP, Michael,” said Mr. Curtis, a sly grin on his lips.

Tom looked at his brother. “What about it?”

Michael shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No. Tell me. I want to hear it.”

“Okay, but later,” said Michael. He didn’t want to start talking about it again in front of his father. The next time it would
be just for Tom’s ears to hear.

It wasn’t till after half past four, and the brothers were in Michael’s room, that Michael explained about his ESP experience—
or whatever it was— to Tom.

“It started off in the first quarter with that T-forty-three play,” said Michael. “I called
the play out loud, then kept wishing in my mind that you would call it. Did you hear me?”

Tom frowned. “When you called it out loud? No. But— ” Suddenly he paused and looked hard into Michael’s eyes.

“But, what?” asked Michael, his eyebrows arched.

“I’m not sure. I felt funny, that’s all I know. Real funny. Weird is a better word, I guess.”

“Weird? Why weird? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I mean. I just can’t explain it,” said Tom.

“Was it almost as if somebody else was playing in your place? Was that how it felt?”

Tom stared at him. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “Something like that.”

“Then you must’ve been thinking the same thing I was.”

Tom looked at him curiously. “I was thinking
about you, Mike. During a lot of that game I was thinking about you.”

“And I was thinking about you,” Michael admitted.

Tom got up and started pacing the floor slowly. He didn’t say a word for several seconds. He was deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about, Tom?” his brother asked.

“About you and me— switching places. It’s supposed to be impossible, I know. But— ” Tom paused, and Michael felt goose bumps
pop out on his arms. “Ever since that accident two years ago, you’ve spent most of your time in that wheelchair. You’ll never
play football again, or baseball, or track, or anything else that I enjoy doing.”

“Heck, have I ever complained?” asked Michael.

The boys were ten when the accident had happened. A car had backed out of a drive-way
and had struck Michael while he was riding his bike on the sidewalk. Ever since then he hadn’t been able to use his legs,
and the doctor said he might never again.

“No,” Tom said. “You’ve been super about that. It’s great you can swim, and you’ve beaten me a dozen times at Ping-Pong. But
I know how much you’d like to play other sports. Football, for example.”

Michael nodded. “I’d give anything.” Then he laughed. “Hey, I’ve already given my legs! Maybe they were the wrong things to
give!” He made a face. “A stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?”

Tom shook his head. “You have an attitude I can’t believe, Mike.”

“Heck, you’re trying to say I’m bad off. I’m not. Legs aren’t everything. I just can’t walk or run, that’s all.” He was quiet
for a moment, then looked his brother in the eye. “Still, I do miss playing football sometimes.
So tell me: Have you been thinking the same thing I’ve been thinking? About Ollie Pruitt’s theory on TEC? Thought-Energy Control?”

“Yes! Let’s talk with Ollie about it, okay? If anybody knows anything about it, it’s Ollie.”

“Right.”

Michael’s face brightened. “I bet we
can
do TEC, Tom. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Tom smiled. “You bet it would. Come on. Let’s go over and see him right now.”

Excited about the prospect, Michael started toward the door ahead of Tom. Suddenly he stopped, and looked around at his twin
brother.

“What now?” Tom asked, curious.

Michael smiled. “Tom, you’re the greatest,” he said. “I’m sure glad you’re my brother.” Then he turned and continued toward
the door.

O
llie Pruitt lived in the tall, two-story house next door. It was set farther back from the street than any other house, was
painted a butterscotch color, and was the only one with a steep, wood-shingled roof. His front and back lawns were covered
with plants and flowers, one of his two favorite hobbies.

His other hobby was nobody else’s business, except a handful of friends who were interested in the same thing. Those included
the kids next door, Michael and Tom, who figured that Ollie kept the hobby a secret from most people because it was pretty
far out. Some people might think that Ollie had gone loony if they knew— a good enough reason, the boys thought, why the old
guy didn’t want to share his secret with everybody.

He was watering a plant when the boys got to his place. They greeted each other. Ollie asked them about the outcome of the
game, which channeled the conversation away from the boys’ more important topic for a few minutes.

Then Ollie seemed to sense that the boys had not come to talk football; he lifted his faded brown hat, scratched his bald
head, and looked at them with narrowed eyes.

“Well, what’s on your collective mind?” he asked. “I can tell it ain’t football.”

The boys grinned.

“We’d like to talk with you about something, Mr. Pruitt,” said Michael.

Michael was nervous, and he suddenly
wondered if he and Tom were doing the right thing.

Ollie Pruitt’s eyes shifted from one brother to the other. “Something personal?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Come into my inner sanctum.”

The boys followed him into the house, slowly, because Ollie— being somewhere between seventy and ninety years old— never rushed
into doing anything. His wife had died long ago. He had no children, just a brother and a sister, neither of whom he had seen
in forty years. They were probably both dead for all he knew, he had told the boys once.

His inner sanctum was a large room, lined with shelves of books, in the back of the house. Over a fireplace was the head of
a ten-point deer. The carpet was worn clear through to the matting in some places, and the chairs looked like relics from
George
Washington’s day. All four corners of the redwood ceiling were laced with cobwebs. This was the fifth or sixth time the boys
had visited him in here, and the room didn’t look a bit different.

“Can I get you a drink?” Ollie asked. “Orange juice or something?”

“No, thanks,” Michael said.

“Me neither,” said Tom.

They looked at each other, each waiting for the other to break the barrier. Suddenly the tall grandfather clock next to the
fireplace bonged, jolting Michael like an electric shock. The clock bonged four more times.

Ollie chuckled. “That’s five o’clock. That racket should jar you boys into speaking your piece. No need to be shy about it.
We understand each other, don’t we? It’s almost as if we have the same mind at times. Right?”

“Right,” said Michael. He took a deep breath and went on. “Mr. Pruitt, Tom and I are sure we had an ESP experience today at
the football game. I got to thinking of plays I thought he should call, and that’s exactly what he did. He called them.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” said Ollie calmly. He sat down on a worn cushioned chair and motioned Tom to sit on the
one next to him. “You boys are unique in that you think so much alike. ESP isn’t all that strange, as you know.”

“Well, it isn’t only
that
we were thinking about, Mr. Pruitt,” said Tom, darting a glance at his brother.

Ollie’s eyes shifted from one boy to the other. “That so? What else have you got on your collective mind?”

Again the brothers looked at each other, neither of them quite sure whether to bring the subject up. Then Michael thought,
We’ve gone this far. We might as well go all the way. If Ollie thinks we’ve lost our marbles, we’ll just go home and forget
the whole thing.

“Mr. Pruitt,” he said seriously, “you once told us that we were all just made up of particles of matter. You said that the
day would come when a human being could transport himself to wherever he wished. Remember that?”

Ollie nodded. “That’s right. As a matter of fact, some people believe that aliens on other planets are doing that very same
thing this very minute.”

“I’ve read about that, too,” said Michael. “But remember when you told us that you’re sure that two people— if they concentrated
hard enough on it, and wished hard enough on it— could… well… could change places with each other?”

“Of course, I remember that,” said Ollie,
his eyes brightening with interest. “By deep concentration, and wishing, you put your combined thought-energies to work through
TEC, Thought-Energy Control. Your thought-energies project your mind out of your body and it goes where you want it to go.
Michael would slip into Tom’s clothes and Tom, into Michael,s.”

His eyes sparkled as he continued with his explanation of the phenomenon. “For instance, if you two concentrate your thought-energies
as hard as you can, Tom would end up sitting in the wheelchair, and you, Michael, would become the healthy athlete.”

The boys’ eyes glowed with enthusiasm over the idea of experimenting with this wonderful phenomenon.

Mr. Pruitt smiled. “But, remember, it will take
extra
energy.
Extra
concentration.
Extra
wishing. Chances are that you two might not make it on the first try, or even the second
or third. But you mustn’t give up. That’s the secret. It will happen. It might take a lot out of you in the beginning, but
it will happen if you stick with it. And after you’ve done it once, it’ll come easier.”

A proud grin spread across his wrinkled face. “Is that what you’ve got on your minds? You’d like to try TEC?”

Michael’s heart pounded. He looked at Tom. Tom’s face was beaming.

“Yes, we’d like to try it,” Michael said excitedly. “Before the accident that paralyzed my legs, I did nearly all the things
that Tom does. Played football, baseball, ran in track— ”

“He ran faster than I did,” Tom cut in. “And he was a better quarterback, too.”

“There were a lot of things I did that he does,” Michael went on. “We thought that if we tried TEC, then I’d have a chance
to play again.”

“A splendid idea,” Ollie agreed enthusiastically. “I admire you. Both of you. Shows the love you have for each other. Okay,
when and where would you like to try out TEC for the physical exchange?”

“At the football games,” said Tom.

Ollie nodded. “Good.” His eyes narrowed again. “Just remember, it’s concentration and wishing— extraordinary concentration,
extraordinary wishing— that will get your thought-energies working. And you’ll do it. I’m sure you will.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pruitt,” said Tom. He got up from his chair. “We’re sure glad you’re our neighbor, Mr. Pruitt,” he added.

Ollie took off his hat and set it on the floor. His bald head was pink, and wrinkled in back. “You boys give me a lot of pleasure,
too,” he admitted. “It was a good many years, you know, that I lived like a hermit in this house, just because people figured
I was
a little touched upstairs.” He ran a finger in small circles around his right ear. “Then you boys came along. These past five
years have been the happiest since before my wife passed away. Yes, sir— books are all right, but they just can’t take the
place of people.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pruitt,” said Michael. “Well, we’ll be seeing you.”

“Right. And I’ll see you,” said Ollie, “at the games.”

O
n Monday, after school, Michael sat on the sidelines, watching the Eagles work out on the east end of the football field.
The Moths were working out on the west end at the same time.

He was among a couple of dozen kids. Some he knew, some he didn’t. Some of them were girls. Two of them, Sally Barton and
Martha Withers, were doing a lot of talking and giggling. They just came to hang around the guys, anyway. Neither one had
a boyfriend, and the way they talked and giggled
it wasn’t hard to understand why they didn’t.

Some of the other girls, Michael thought, weren’t bad. Vickie Marsh, for example. She was pretty skinny, but she had beautiful
skin and long blond hair. She had brains, too. Tom talked about her once in a while, sometimes sounding as if he liked her
just a little. But Tom wasn’t stuck on her. He had said so.

The backfield men drilled on running patterns, the linemen on blocking. Then the two quarterbacks, Tom and Kirk, took turns
throwing passes to the ends. Michael watched Tom’s every move with avid concentration. He began to think more and more of
himself in Tom’s place; he was concentrating so hard that he could almost feel the smoothness of the leather in his hands
as the center snapped the football. He tried to
think of himself in Tom’s place as Tom faked a handoff, faded back, came to a standstill, and drilled a pass to an end.

There was more to passing than just throwing the ball, whether the pass was short or long. The important thing was to throw
it ahead of the receiver; and you had to time it right or you were in trouble. Michael knew that. He had studied all the aspects
of quarterbacking a team by watching television, by reading books, and by watching Tom.

After the initial drills were over, Coach Cotter had the team split up into squads. Because there were only eighteen players,
the coach had the eleven regulars work on running plays against a seven-man defensive line. On pass plays he boosted the defense
to eleven men to make it tougher for the passers and receivers. Nevertheless, Tom was able to complete four passes out of
five.
Kirk completed two out of five. But this was only his first year as a quarterback. Michael figured that in another year he’d
be as good as— or maybe better than— Tom.

When the drills were over, some of the players dropped on the grass and lay on it as if they couldn’t move another step. Lumpy
Harris, a lineman, was one of them. There was almost enough of him to make two linemen.