Its practically a known fact-almost a solid rule-that Malloy men do not speak to each other untill breakfast. That means that, during our five a.m. bed chec(hospital corners, sheets tucked in, perfectly smooth blanket), our three-mile still-dark-out run, our strength and conditioning session in The Cage, more often than not, nobody says a word. It's work. And we do it.
"Effort is a measure of a man," my dad likes to say.
And breakfast? No junk food. No lucky Charms. No Froot Loops. No Cocoa Puffs. Only whole grains, lean proteins, greens, fruit, and nuts. Welcome to the Malloy training table: fruit, egg-white omelets, oatmeal, and my dads famous morning smoothie (fish oil, peanut butter, almond milk, spinach, blueberries, wheatgrass, raw eggs, and frozen banana). Yep.
"Food is for fuel and performance, for power, not pleasure. Your body is a temple," says The Captain. "You don't take Pop-Tarts into a temple do you?"
I would if I could! That's what I wish I had the guts to say back.
The Captain leaves for work right after our room inspection. After six a.m., the four of us are on "honor code." In some ways its kind of nice. At least I'm not walking around on eggshells, trying not to be yelled at. With my brothers, I can hold my own. I fend for myself. After I shower I throw on some jeans, and belt, and a blue polo shirt, I head downstairs and make my lunch (peanut butter, grape jelly, banana slices, whole wheat bread #snackofchampions) and join my brothers at the kitchen table. Today is thr first day of school, and Gunner, Jett, and Stryker are all grinding my gears. Saint Joe's doesn't start till next week, so they get to eat and go back to sleep. Why Thatcher bothers to have one day of school before the weekend us beyond me. But whatever. It is what it is.
As soon as Jett sits down, he starts chirping at me. "Are you gonna start wheeling today, or are you gonna just stay home all year, playing Call of Duty by yourself?"
To my brothers, "wheeling" means getting all the girls that you can. I drank my green smoothie and ate my oatmeal and take it.
"That tarp is absolutely disgusting," says Stryker.
"Huh?" I say.
"That shirt, its brutal." Gunner shakes his head, half grinning. "No swag, bro. How can you expect to wheel with that thing on your back? Maybe mix in some style, bud."
Jett chimes in. "Pretty grungy, if you ask me."
All three of them are laughing.
"Whatever man." I laugh too. You can't give them too much attention or they won't stop.
"Just kidding, little man." Gunner shoots me aa wink."Don't get rattled. You look good bud. You're rocking that shiner like a boss!"
"Whatever," I repeat.
Jett takes off his sweaty hat and slams it down on my head. "Dude, cover up that salad, or cut your mop!"
Jett and Gunner share a smile, and they both get this crazy look in there eyes.
I can tell what they're thinking.
"Nobody is touching my hair," I tell them and I'm not kidding. It took me an entire year to grow it out from the last time The Captain made me cut it.
Stryker stands and burbs loudly. "Great grub sesh, boys!"
Jett puts the plates in the dishwasher. "Just keep yourself in check, little man," he tells me. "And don't be a donkey."
Gunner gets up too. "Naptime," he says, yawning, then snaking his arm under my chin and wrapping me in a choke hold. "Be a man, Jacko, and stay out of trouble."
CITEȘTI
The Swap
Ficțiune adolescențiEllie spent the summer before seventh grade getting dropped by her best friend since forever. Jack spent it training in "The Cage" with his tough-as-nails brothers and hard-to-please dad. By the time middle school starts, they're both ready for a ch...
