Scott Tracy leaned on the horn, letting it blare long and loud. His thirteen-year-old brother, Virgil, had paused to say something to a classmate, but Scott wasn't in the mood to be accommodating. The afterschool practice session had been particularly grueling. Homecoming was this week, and Coach Daugherty was determined to see to it that the Kalvesta High Panthers destroyed their rivals, the Jetmore High Longhorns.

Virgil got the hint and, grabbing up his schoolbooks, trotted over. Scott's best friend, Wyatt, opened the car door and leaned forward so that the lanky eighth grader could climb into the back seat. "Sorry, Scott. Justin wanted to know the math homework assignment."

Uncharacteristically irritated, Scott snapped, "If you want a ride home with me, you better be ready when I get here. Next time I'll just leave without you."

"Okay. Geez, you don't have to make a federal case out of it. I said I was sorry."

Scott immediately felt bad, but before he could say anything, Wyatt was there. "Don't sweat it, kid. We had a tough scrimmage. Coach was all over us."

Scott could sense his brother relaxing a bit as he replied, "Yeah? So, we gonna whup the Longhorns, or what?"

"We? What's this 'we,' white man? Scott and I are gonna whup the Longhorns. You're going to sit on your keester in the grandstand waving your little pom-poms."

"My little pom-poms? My pom-poms are huge, I'll have you know."

Wyatt laughed, and Scott and Virgil both joined in. Virgil's remark had eased the tension Scott had been feeling, and despite his weariness, he was able to smile. "Well, I for one, always play better when I have Team Tracy in the grandstands."

"See, that's the problem. You have 'Team Tracy,' and all I have is my mom and dad. I'd be All State if I had an entire team behind me," Wyatt said forlornly.

"Oh, please. My family roots harder for you than they ever do for me."

"Yeah, but that's just because we like Wyatt better." Virgil's smirk was evident in his voice.

"True, true. I'm just that much more loveable than you, Scotty boy."

"Yeah, yeah, you keep right on believing that."

"Do I detect a trace, a modicum, a shred, a smidgen, a tinge…"

"Oh Lord, why did his mother ever give him that thesaurus for his birthday?" Scott asked the heavens.

"… Ahem! As I was saying, a whit, a speck, an iota, a scrap, a drop of, uh, now what was I saying again?"

Scott snorted a laugh. Wyatt was the most relentlessly cheerful person Scott knew. He always could pull Scott out of whatever funk he was in. "Got no clue, bro. Your mind is a strange and wondrous place."

"Yup, that's me. Wondrous."

"Don't forget strange," Virgil piped up.

"Yes, but strange in a good way, right? Right?" Wyatt put that little quiver in his voice that always cracked the Tracy brothers up.

As Virgil snickered, Scott just smiled knowingly. He pulled up in front of Wyatt's home, and the blond teen sighed, "Well fine, if that's how you're going to be." He gathered his books and climbed out of the elderly blue Mustang that was Scott's pride and joy. As Virgil shifted into the front seat, Wyatt leaned down and grinned. "Catch you tomorrow."

"Yeah. I'll be here at eight."

"I'll be ready and waiting. Wouldn't want you to leave without me."

Scott rolled his eyes as he put the car in gear and pulled away.

"So, scrimmage was really tough?" Virgil asked, cocking his head.

Scott sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I think something is going on with the coach. He was really getting nasty there for a while. Had us doing wind sprints for an hour, and then he was pissed because we got tired and slowed down."

"I'm not sure I want to play for Coach Daugherty. He just sounds mean to me."

Scott glanced over at his brother. "No, he isn't. Not really. He's a great coach. I've learned more from him than practically any other teacher at school. But like I said, I think he's got something going on that we don't know about. It's got him down. He tries not to take it out on us, but every once and a while, like today, he just blows up."

"Well, he shouldn't take it out on you guys."

"Don't worry about it. I'm tough enough to do a few wind sprints."

The two brothers rode on in comfortable silence. They were nearly home when Virgil spoke up, "Scott, do you think you'll have time tonight to help me with my homework?"

"I've got a paper due in history. What kind of homework?"

"I gotta memorize the Preamble. I don't know why. I don't see any point in it, but Mrs. Terhorst says we have to be able to recite it word for word or we can't graduate the eighth grade."

"Hey, if I could do it, so can you."

"I keep getting it all mixed up. Provide for general welfare, promote common defense. It's all lame ass stuff."

"Tsk. We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

"Show off."

"It's not that hard, Virgil."

"Maybe not for you."

Scott smiled. "Okay, I'll let you in on a secret. Wyatt has this old DVD called, uh, Schoolhouse Rock. It has this song about the Preamble that makes it a lot easier to remember. I'll get it from him tomorrow."

"A song."

"You'll see. When do you have to recite it?"

"Not for a couple of weeks, but I don't think any dumb song is going to help. I'm just hopeless at memorizing stuff."

"Are you kidding me? Did you not just play that Rachmaninoff piece for that recital? You can't tell me you were reading the notes as you played them."

"Yeah, but that's different. When I'm playing the piano, I don't have to look at people. This, I have to stand up in front of the whole class. What if I screw it up?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I felt the same way. But, you know, nobody in my class failed eighth grade because of that. And I doubt anybody in your class will fail either. Have a little faith."

By this time, Scott had pulled into the long drive up to their home. "Ah crap, what now?" Virgil said, as they saw their youngest brother, Alan, on the front porch, hugging the porch post.

Scott sighed. He could see that the kid was upset about something and just waiting for his big brother to pull up, so he could pounce.

"Somewhere in America, there are kids that come home from school, and the house is calm and quiet," Virgil said wryly.

As he shut down the engine, Scott replied, "Yeah, and those kids are forever bored to tears."

Sure enough, Alan came running up, as Virgil muttered, "I'd like to try the boredom just once."

"Scotty, Gordy hit me! He hit me and it hurt!"

"Geez, you're in your bare feet. You're going to get sick coming out here like that." Scott shook his head, as he scooped up the youngster, and headed for the house.

Alan squirmed, "But Scotty, Gordy HIT me!"

"I heard you the first time, Allie. Stop wiggling until we get inside, then you can tell me all about it."

Obediently, the boy stopped his struggling, but the ferocious frown didn't leave his face. Scott carried his brother up the porch steps and into the warm farmhouse. Once inside, he set his brother down. "Now, tell me what happened."

"I told you! Gordy hit me!"

"Why did Gordon hit you?"

"No reason. He just hit me!"

Virgil snorted. "What did you do to make him hit you?"

"I didn't do anything! Scotty, I didn't do anything, he just hit me!"

With a sigh, Scott moved into the living room. "Come in here and sit down."

Arms crossed, the seven-year-old stomped into the room and flopped on the couch. Scott sat down next to him, and returned the frown. "Okay, now, I want to know exactly what happened."

With exaggerated patience, the small boy said, "Gordon. Hit. Me."

Scott just gave him a look. With a huff, Alan finally relented enough to say, "We were in the kitchen telling Grandma about school, and he reached over and socked me really hard."

"Gordon hit you in front of Grandma?" Virgil, perched on the edge of the coffee table, asked. When Alan nodded, Virgil stood up. "Well, then, problem solved. He hit you and Grandma clobbered him, end of story."

Scott put up a hand to stop Alan's hot retort. "Virg, why don't you go see if Grandma needs any help with dinner. I'll handle this."

Rolling his eyes, Virgil got up and left the room. Scott turned back to his youngest brother. "Okay, I want this man to man. You and I both know Gordon wouldn't just hit you for no reason, especially not in front of Grandma."

Stubbornly, Alan just sat, his small body tense enough to shatter at a touch, his face red with righteous indignation. Scott was used to his brother's temper, and he just sat watching the boy, a neutral look on his face.

Finally Alan shrugged, although his brow remained knitted in a frown. "We were on the school bus, and we were going by Mr. Milstein's pumpkin patch, and one of the kids said Gordy looked just like one of the pumpkins. It was just a joke, and we all thought it was funny, even Johnny. Only Gordy got mad, and when we got home, he went running to Grandma to squeal on me. So I was just telling her it was just a joke because he does look like a pumpkin head, and he socked me."

"You were calling Gordy pumpkin head?"

Alan waved his hands trying to impress his brother with his sincerity. "Scott, it was just a joke! We weren't being mean. It was just funny."

Scott sat back and heaved a sigh. "Do you remember last year when you had that brown jacket? And the day you wore that red shirt to school with the brown jacket? And all the kids called you weenie, because you looked like a hot dog?"

"That wasn't funny, Scott!" Alan snapped, furious at the memory.

"Actually, it was. You looked just like a hot dog, especially because of that yellow hat you used to wear. The jacket was just the color of a hot dog bun, and the hat looked like a glob of mustard on your head." Scott had to bite back the smile that the memory brought to mind.

"But those kids were just being mean!"

"No, they were laughing because it was funny. But do you remember what Gordon did?"

Alan shrugged, not saying a thing. Scott nodded. "Gordon told those kids to knock it off. Gordon had your back. Did you have Gordon's back on the bus today?"

Still not ready to give up his pique, Alan pointed out. "Johnny was laughing too."

"That doesn't make it right, kiddo."

"But I'm the little brother. Gordy is supposed to protect me. It's not my fault that Johnny didn't protect him!"

"What, you think it's a one way street? You think Gordy is supposed to have your back, but you don't have to have his?"

His head hanging, Alan muttered, "He shouldn't have hit me."

"You are absolutely right, he shouldn't have hit you. But, you know, when your brother calls you mean names, it's hard not to hit."

"It wasn't supposed to be mean. It was just funny."

"Just as funny as calling you weenie."

The tears were rolling down Alan's face, and Scott couldn't stand it. He gathered the small blond into a hug. Alan clung to him and in a small voice said, "I'm sorry, Scotty. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, kiddo. You just didn't understand how a name like that could hurt. And how much more it hurts when your brother doesn't defend you. But you get it now, right?"

"Yeah," Alan sniffed, wiping his suddenly runny nose on his shirtsleeve.

"Okay then. Where's Gordon? Did Grandma really clobber him?"

"She got mad and told him to go to his room."

"Okay, well, you go blow your nose, and I'll talk to him. You're going to apologize, right?"

The frown came back. "Why is it every time I get hit, I land up having to apologize?"

"You've noticed that? Well, I reckon you're smart enough to figure it out, kiddo."

Alan rolled his eyes, and sniffing mightily, headed to the downstairs bathroom. Scott watched him go, then headed upstairs. As he reached the upstairs hallway, the bathroom door opened, and his brother John stepped out. Spying his big brother, John said in a serious voice, "Scott, you'd better come have a look at this."

"Just the man I wanted to talk to. Were you teasing Gordy on the bus today?

John looked blank. "What?"

"Alan says that the kids were calling Gordy 'pumpkin head' and you were laughing."

"Pumpkin head? Who called him pumpkin head?"

"You tell me."

Johnny looked lost. "I have no idea. I was at the back of the bus. Jake was drawing pictures of… well, he was drawing some funny pictures and we were all laughing, but I didn't hear anybody calling Gordy names. I woulda stopped it if I had. You know I would."

Having years of experience with the noisy school buses, Scott could understand how it might have looked like John was laughing at something when it was really something else. "Yeah, okay. I've got to talk to Gordy."

Before he could move away, the eleven-year-old repeated, "You'd better come see this first."

John pointed to the bathroom, and curious, Scott pushed open the door. "Ah, hell."

A large pair of his grandmother's sewing scissors was on the counter, and the sink and the floor were covered with tufts of red gold hair. Scott ran his hand over his face. "Do me a favor, and clean this mess up."

"Yeah, okay," John said, but Scott was already striding over to Gordon and Alan's bedroom.

Opening the door, he called, "Gordy?"

Looking around the messy kids' room, he listened for any sound of his brother, but there wasn't a peep. Scott sighed, knowing that if his grandmother discovered the boy hadn't done as he was told, she'd be very angry. To be sure, Scott checked the closet and under and behind the bed, but Gordon was nowhere to be found.

Scott thought for a moment, then headed out and down the stairs. He strode to the front door, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack. Before he was out the door, his brother Virgil called from the dining room, "Where you going? Dinner's ready."

"I'll be right back," Scott called over his shoulder as he left the house. He headed straight for the barn. Walking in through the open barn door, he looked up toward a particular corner of the loft. "Gordy? Gordy, I know you're up there."

Although the wood creaked, there was no answer. With a sigh, Scott went over to the long wooden ladder, and climbed up into the loft. A few hay bales blocked off one corner, forming what Gordon called his 'fort.' Scott climbed up over the hay and saw his brother hunched over, his head in his hands, his face to the corner.

Scott felt his heart melt at the anguish that rigid little body betrayed. "Hey."

"Go 'way."

Scott climbed down into the hidey-hole and sat next to his brother. He didn't say a word, but just started rubbing Gordon's back. Gordon tried to flinch away, but there wasn't any room to get away without actually standing up. The eight-year-old turtled his head down under his shoulders and just endured his brother's touch.

After a while, Scott asked quietly, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. I just want you to go away."

"Yeah, I know how that is." Scott replied, sympathetically, still rubbing away at the stiff little back.

After a while, Gordon spat out, "It's all Alan's fault. It's always Alan's fault, but does he ever get in trouble? No. He gets cookies and I always get punished."

"What did he do this time?"

"He was calling me names. And Grandma made me go to my room."

"About that. Why are you out here if Grandma told you to go to your room?"

"Because stupid Alan came in and was eating cookies, and I didn't get any." It came out in a rush of venom, as Gordon wiped hard at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Scott felt a flood of irritation. Alan hadn't mentioned a thing about that.

Scott pursed his lips, and after a moment, asked gently, "What kind of names?"

"Huh?"

"You said Alan was calling you names. What did he call you?"

Gordon shook his head sharply, not uttering a word. Scott shifted, not really comfortable on the scratchy straw. He thought for a minute, then changed tack. "Did he call you dog breath?"

"What?"

"I asked if he called you dog breath. I remember one time in the first grade, this kid named Liam called me dog breath. He said Scotty was a kind of dog, so I must have dog breath."

Gordon shifted slightly to look up at his big brother. "He called you dog breath? What did you do?"

"Well, I wanted to punch him, but I knew Mom would be mad if I did, so I just walked away." Scott smiled a small smile. "That's when Wyatt became my best friend. Everyone else was laughing, but he didn't. He just walked away with me."

"Virgil didn't have your back?"

"Well, at the time, Virg was still just a baby, barely out of diapers."

"I woulda had your back. I woulda hit that kid."

Scott sighed. "I know you think hitting is the answer, Gordy, but you're wrong."

"I told Alan to knock it off a hundred times, but he just kept laughing. I had to hit him, Scotty. I had to."

"Yeah, and look at where it got you. If you told Grandma what was going on instead of hitting Alan, don't you think you would have had the cookies instead of him?"

Gordon turtled his head again, saying something so softly that Scott couldn't hear it. "What? I didn't hear you."

"I said Grandma likes Alan best. She would've given him cookies anyway."

"You really think that? Let's go ask her," Scott put a bite into his voice. He wouldn't put up with anybody saying anything bad about his grandmother, not even an upset little brother.

Gordon shook his head, murmuring softly, "I don't want to."

"Of course you don't, because you know in your heart that you're wrong. Grandma has a rule about hitting. You know that rule. You broke that rule, so you didn't get cookies. Simple as that. You know you're not supposed to hit. I don't care how many times Alan laughs at you."

A soft sob, quickly muffled, told Scott his brother knew the truth of what he was saying. "Now, what exactly was it that Alan called you?"

"Pumpkin head." Gordon spat the words out, the anger coming through.

"Pumpkin head?" Scott said, neutrally. "Yeah, I can see where that might bother you. Take off your hat, let me see for myself if you look like a pumpkin head."

Scott made a move to take the knit cap from his brother's head, but Gordon flinched away, grabbing the cap in both hands, jamming it further down on his head. "NO."

Scott sat back. "Why not?"

"I hate this stupid hair. How come I have to have stupid orange hair? How come I couldn't have hair like yours or Dad's? I hate it!"

"What are you talking about? You've always liked having red hair. You've always said it was your favorite color because you stood out in a crowd."

"I don't wanna stand out, Scotty. I don't wanna be ugly!"

"Ugly? Who said anything about ugly? You're not ugly, Gordy. You look just fine." Scott was feeling out of his depth, but with their father out of town, and their grandmother on the warpath, it fell to him to solve this problem.

"They were all laughing at me. Even Jimmy," Gordon's voice fell to a miserable whisper.

Scott felt irritation flare up his spine. Gordon had a decidedly one-sided friendship with a little creep of a kid named Jimmy Caudill. He was tempted to point out the difference between Jimmy's actions and Wyatt's, but he was wise enough to know the more he tried to break the friendship up, the more stubbornly Gordon would cling to it.

Scott glanced at his watch, and decided to be more forward. "Gordy, I saw the scissors in the bathroom. I had to get Johnny to clean up the mess you made. Take off the hat and let me see."

Putting his arms over his head, Gordon tried to make himself small. Knowing he should be more sympathetic, but tired and sore from the long practice, Scott had to bite back the sharp remark he wanted to make and instead said, "I'm not going away, kiddo. You might as well face the music now."

Gordon just hunkered down more, and finally, Scott reached over and picked the boy up, setting him on his feet. Looking him in the eye, Scott said sternly, "Hat. Off."

Gordon's lower lip quivered as the boy dragged the knit cap off of his head. He stood with his head down, unable to maintain eye contact with his big brother. Scott eyed the damage, his heart falling. The boy had done a real hatchet job, and Scott was reminded of a dog with a bad case of mange that he had once seen.

Scott had hoped to keep it from his grandmother, but seeing the reverse mohawk that Gordy had achieved he shook his head. Glancing at his watch, he stood up. "Come on."

"No, Scotty! Grandma will be mad! I don't wanna go in! I wanna just stay here." The boy was on the edge of tears.

Scott shook his head. "We're not going in. We're going into town. Now, come on."

Scott turned and headed for the ladder. Climbing down, he waited for his little brother. Gordon started to slowly climb down, sniffling as he went. Tapping his foot, Scott called out, "Get a move on, Gordy. It's a school night and I have homework to do."

The boy moved fractionally faster, and as soon as he was off the ladder, Scott grabbed him by the hand to hurry him along. Practically dragging the kid, Scott hustled out to his car. "Get in and buckle up," he said as he trotted around to the driver's seat.

Gordon didn't say a thing, his eyes still downcast as he climbed in and buckled the seat belt. Scott started up the car and immediately drove away, not giving anybody time to come out of the house and question what was happening.

He'd barely reached the highway when his phone rang. One glance told him it was his grandmother, and he'd answer or pay the price. With a deep sigh, he answered. "Hello?"

"Scott, where are you going? Dinner is on the table."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Grandma. Gordy and I have to go into town for a little bit. We'll be back in maybe an hour."

"It's a school night, Scott."

Scott flinched a bit at the tone, but said firmly, "I know, Grandma. This is kind of an emergency. I'll explain it all when we get home, okay?"

Scott swallowed as his grandmother did not answer. Just about when he thought he'd better say something else, she finally replied, "All right, son. You know I trust your judgement. I'll keep your dinner warm. Oh, and if you go by the market, can you stop and get me a ten pound bag of flour? The all-purpose kind."

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, I'll see you when you get home."

"Okay, Grandma. 'Bye."

"Goodbye, baby."

Scott let out a long breath as he shut off the phone. His grandmother was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it probably wasn't going to be a fun conversation when he got home.

Gordon shifted in his seat. In a small voice, he said, "Is she really mad?"

Scott glanced over at his brother. "Don't worry about it. Even if she is, you know an apology goes a long way to settle her down."

Gordon plucked at his jacket and murmured something beneath his breath. Scott had a good idea what the boy had said, and responded, "Don't even go there. You were in the wrong when you hit Allie, and you know it. And if you don't know it, you damn well better learn it. You're going to apologize, and that is all there is to it, or I'll call Dad and let him know what happened."

It was a hollow threat. Scott never told his father half of what went on when he wasn't home. Scott felt his dad worked hard enough without having to hear about all the little squabbles and bickering that occurred in a house full of boys. Fortunately, Gordon didn't yet realize how empty the threat was because he immediately squeaked out, "I'll 'pologize, Scotty, I promise."

Scott looked over at the fear in his brother's eyes and realized he had barked out the threat. He shook his head, realizing he was more tired than he thought. Looking again into Gordon's eyes, he said softly, "I know you will. You're a good kid, Gordy. It's going to be okay."

As the car came onto the main drag through Kalvesta, Scott glanced at his watch. "Damn, we have to hustle if we're going to get there before he closes."

"Who, Scotty? Who's going to close?"

The street wasn't that long and Scott was able to answer by pulling up in front of the town barbershop. Gordon shrank back at the sight. "No! No, Scotty! Can't we go to Jetmore? Please? Please, Scotty?"

Regretfully, Scott shook his head. He'd have preferred to go to Jetmore, too, although not for the reason Gordon wanted. The boy had always been intimidated by Mr. Koenig, the elderly town barber, and along with Alan, liked the busier, brighter, Shear Stop in Jetmore. Scott actually liked the local bastion of male bonding, but in a town as small as Kalvesta, the story would be all over the place by tomorrow.

"You should have thought of that before you weed-whacked your head on a school night. I have homework, and I don't have the time to drive you all the way over to Jetmore."

A bit to Scott's surprise, the boy stopped his begging and closed his eyes, heaving a heavy sigh. "What was I thinking?"

Scott had to laugh at the rueful tone. "At a guess, I'd say you weren't thinking at all. Come on, let's get it over with."

With slumped shoulders, Gordon climbed out of the car and followed his big brother to the barbershop door. Scott opened the door, and breathed in the mingled smells of Barbicide, bay rum and hair tonic, then froze momentarily. Coach Daugherty was in the shop's single chair, getting his trademark crew cut trimmed.

His coach was the last person Scott wanted to see, but it was too late. As soon as he'd opened the door, the little old fashioned bell had rung, and both the coach and Mr. Koenig had looked up.

Swallowing, Scott stepped into the shop, Gordon shuffling in behind. With a slight frown, Mr. Koenig went back to his scissors and comb, tidying up the coach's neck. "Scott, I was thinking to close up shop after Coach Daugherty here."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry we're here so late, but we've got an emergency," Scott nudged his brother. "Go ahead, take off the hat."

Biting his lip to keep from crying, Gordon pulled off his hat, giving both the barber and the coach a good look. Coach Daugherty raised an eyebrow, and Mr. Koenig's scissors stopped in mid-clip.

Scott felt his own face flush with shame. Everyone in town knew his dad relied on him to keep his brothers safe when he was away. With Coach Daugherty eyeing his brother's patchy hair, Scott felt as if it were his own failure.

Cocking his head, Coach Daugherty said, "You're Gordon, right?"

Showing more courage than Scott felt he would have shown under the same circumstances, Gordon lifted his head and said calmly, "Yes, sir."

"Your father tells me you can swim. I'm looking forward to having you on my swim team when you're old enough."

Gordon's eyes lit up. He liked swimming more than anything else in the world. "Okay."

"Now, suppose you explain what happened to your hair."

"Well, now, that's pretty obvious, I'd say, Evan. You got butter on your head, and the cat licked all your hair off, right?" Mr. Koenig said, a touch of humor in his voice.

"Oh, well, that's a relief. Here I was thinking he fell in the corn shucker," the coach replied. "You didn't fall in the corn shucker?"

"No, sir. I didn't," Gordon said, bemused.

"So it was the cat, after all, huh? You've got to watch out for those cats, they'll get you every time, and purr while they do it."

Gordon blinked, and started to reply, then stopped for a moment, and glancing at Scott, said, "No, it wasn't a cat. I was just mad, and I cut it off with my grandma's scissors."

"You got mad at your hair? What on earth did it do to make you mad?"

"My little brother was calling me pumpkin head, so I hit him, and my grandma got mad and sent me to my room, so I got mad and cut off my hair."

"Ah." Coach Daugherty sat back, nodding his head. "And what lesson did you learn?"

Gordon frowned, "Lesson?"

"Your brother Scott can tell you that everything you do can teach you a lesson. In this case, it's a lesson I want you to learn really well before you reach high school. Are you listening?"

Mesmerized, Gordon nodded. Coach Daugherty leaned forward and looking Gordon in the eye, said quietly, "Never ever take action in anger. Ever. Do you understand what I'm saying, Gordon?"

Scott had been standing back, listening to the exchange, and his pride in his little brother grew as the youngster nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, sir. If I waited until I wasn't mad anymore I wouldn't have hit Allie, and then I wouldn't have got sent to my room, and I wouldn't have gotten mad all over again and I wouldn't have cut my hair, and I wouldn't have had to come here."

Mr. Koenig brought out the big soft brush and swept the hairs off from the back of Coach Daugherty's neck. "Well, then, lesson learned, let's see if we can fix that hair."

Pulling the drape from the coach's neck, Mr. Koenig dusted the man off one last time. Coach Daugherty got up and pulled out his wallet. Mr. Koenig led the way over to the antique register, saying, "Gordon, you hop up there while I finish up with Evan, here."

Gordon climbed up into the big barber chair, looking a lot less miserable, despite the hair. The coach and the barber had a quiet word in the corner as they transacted their business. With a sigh, Scott went to the row of well-worn leather chairs, and picking up a stray magazine, sat down.

To his surprise, instead of leaving, Coach Daugherty came over and sat down next to him. At Scott's questioning look, the coach said, "Be interested to see if Eli can do anything with that hair."

Scott nodded ruefully, watching as the barber wrapped the long black drape around his brother's neck. Gordon looked up at the man and asked shyly, "Can you make my hair look like Coach Daugherty's?"

Mr. Koenig swung the boy around so that he faced the mirror, and stood looking at the small head from all sides. "Well, I'd have to say that's a very good idea, Gordon. If we cut it short enough, you won't be able to tell it wasn't planned to begin with."

The barber picked up his scissors and with a final pause to consider, started cutting Gordon's hair. "Your grandmother isn't going to be pleased, you know."

"I know," the boy sighed. "I was just so mad…"

"Hmmmm. Your grandpa had red hair. And as I recollect so did your great grandpa. I don't recall either of them ever being mad at their hair. What exactly did your brother say, again?"

"He called me pumpkin head."

"Ah. Well, that's not so bad. There's a lot worse you could be called."

Scott listened to his brother talking to the barber, pleased that the boy had settled down so well. At least he wouldn't embarrass him by crying or anything. At a soft touch on his arm, he looked over at his coach.

"You know, Scott, some lessons have to be learned over and over again," the coach said softly. "I was pretty tough on you kids at practice, today."

Scott shrugged. "Yeah, but we need to be tough if we're going to beat the Longhorns."

Daugherty shook his head. "There's no doubt that you boys are ready. You're going to wipe up the field with that team. No, I had no right to be such a bastard today, and I'll be apologizing to the whole team tomorrow. You're just hearing it a bit earlier."

"Coach, you don't need to apologize as far as I'm concerned. You weren't being a bastard that I could see," Scott shook his head. "Actually, I'm really glad you were here tonight. Sometimes it's hard to know what to say to my brothers."

"Especially when they look like they stuck their head in a blender?"

Scott chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I about wet my pants when I saw it."

"He's got a bit of a temper, there."

"No, not really. Gordy's a lot calmer than Allie. But Allie was really goading him. After Gordy got sent to his room, Allie came in eating some cookies, and didn't share."

"Ah. A true Tracy. Your grandfather could eat any ten men under the table. I believe it was the cookies that made him want to marry your grandmother."

Scott smiled. He liked hearing stories about his family. "Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, heck, yeah. I remember going down to Dodge one day with Grant. I wanted to eat at this buffet restaurant, but Grant said no. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. The food was pretty decent, and it was all you can eat. Came to find out later that your Grandpa had been banned for life. He'd gone in hungry one day and practically ate them out of business."

Scott laughed with delight, then shook his head. "Gordy likes his cookies, but if there is anyone likely to get banned from a restaurant, it's Virgil. He's always hungry."

"Virgil. Football, right? And baseball, if I recall correctly."

Scott nodded. Coach Daugherty knew every kid in town, and Scott's dad said he planned his teams years in advance, knowing exactly what talent was coming up through the schools. "Yes, sir. Although, I sometimes think he'd rather play the piano."

"Piano is a perfectly fine skill." Coach Daugherty winked. "For a fall back."

Scott smiled. Mr. Koenig in the meantime had worked his magic for Gordon, and the boy was smiling, admiring his new crew cut in the mirror. "I look good!"

Scott and Coach Daugherty joined Mr. Koenig in laughing at Gordon's exclamation of delight. Mr. Koenig brought out the big soft brush, and completed the time-honored ritual of dusting the boy off.

Gordon climbed down out of the chair, as Scott pulled out his wallet and followed Mr. Koenig to the register. "Thank you, sir. You're a lifesaver."

"Not a problem. When's your dad due back?"

"Next week. The day after Halloween."

"Well, you tell him hello for me."

"I will, sir." Scott looked around and found Gordon reaching to open the door. "Gordon, did you thank Mr. Koenig?"

The boy paused, and called out. "Thank you, Mr. Koenig!"

"You're welcome, son. You come back to see me again."

Gordon stopped dead for a moment, as a smile came over his face. "I will, Mr. Koenig. You're lots better than that place over in Jetmore."

Gordon pulled open the door and walked out, leaving a highly embarrassed Scott in his wake. With a wry smile, Mr. Koenig said, "Four down, one to go. I'll win over little Alan eventually."

Scott ran his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Koenig. What can I say? My brother's an idiot."

"Don't worry about it, Scott. I'll tell you what, I'll forgive Gordon's faux pas, if you'll promise not to tell your grandmother it was me that cut off that red hair. I wasn't kidding when I told your brother that she fell in love with your grandpa's hair before she ever fell in love with the man."

Scott chuckled, "Okay, Mr. Koenig. I won't say a word."

"All right then, get out of here so I can close up before someone else comes in with an emergency."

Laughing, Scott went out the door to find Gordon deep in conversation with Coach Daugherty. The coach looked up at Scott's approach. "Well, here's your brother. You get along home, and remember what I said."

"Okay, Coach, I will." Gordon took Coach Daugherty's outstretched hand and shook it, then turned to get into the car.

Scott went around to the driver's side of the Mustang, and paused. "Thanks, Coach."

Daugherty nodded once. "Drive carefully."

"Yes, sir." Scott got into his car and sat back for a moment, glancing over at his younger brother, working to buckle his seatbelt. "So, you like Mr. Koenig now?"

"Uh-huh. Did you know that everybody called Grandpa Grant 'Red'? I think I want people to call me Red too."

"Red, huh? Well, I guess that's better than Orange."

Gordon laughed at his brother's joke, and settled back for the ride home. "Coach Daugherty says when I'm in high school I can play water polo. It's kinda like football, only you play it in a swimming pool." Gordon looked over at his brother. "Do you think I could be the quarterback on the water polo team, Scotty?"

"Water polo doesn't have a quarterback, Gordy."

"It doesn't? Well, what does it have?"

"It's more like soccer than football. It has seven players on a team. There's a goalie, and six other players like forwards and backs."

"It sounds like fun and you get to swim, too."

"Yes, you do, but don't you want to be on the baseball team?"

Gordon paused. "Can't I be on both?"

"No, because the seasons go at the same time."

"But…"

"You're just going to have to decide which you like best."

"If I play water polo, can I play football, too?"

"Absolutely."

With a firm nod of his head, Gordon said, "Then that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to play football and water polo. Oh, and just regular swimming too. I can do that, right, Scotty?"

"Yes, you can. Of course, that all depends on learning how to control your anger. Coach won't let you play anything if he hears you hit people."

"I'm not ever going to hit anybody again. I promise, Scotty."

"Not even when Alan makes you mad?"

Gordon thought it over, then said, "He's my little brother. He's supposed to have my back, but Scotty, he just doesn't. He expects me to take care of him, but he thinks he can just be mean to me all he wants."

"Well, actually, I had a talk with him. He really just didn't get it. He thought it was funny, and he didn't understand that it was mean. He gets it now." Scott waited to see what Gordon would say, but the boy just stared out the window at the empty fields. "He learned his lesson, Gordy. Did you learn yours? Do you get that hitting doesn't solve anything?"

Gordon sighed, "In my head I get it, but sometimes I just get so mad."

"Yeah, I know. But part of growing up is learning to handle your temper. Next time Allie pisses you off, walk away from him."

"Yeah, okay Scotty, I'll try."

"Good man."

The brothers fell silent for a while, but when Scott turned into the farm's long gravel drive, Gordon asked apprehensively, "Do you think Grandma's going to be really truly mad?"

Regretfully, Scott nodded his head. "Yeah, I think so. After all, you did hit Alan. And you didn't go to your room, like she told you…"

"But I did! I did, Scotty. I just didn't stay there."

Scott shook his head. "I wouldn't say that to her if I were you. Just go in, say you're sorry and head up to bed."

"I wish we stopped for a burger," Gordon sighed.

"Yeah, Grandma would have been thrilled if we had. You know she thinks missing a meal reinforces the lesson."

"Coach says everything is lessons."

"Coach is right. The thing is, you have to learn from the lessons, or it's all just a waste."

Scott pulled up in front of the old farmhouse and shut down the engine. Turning to his brother, he said, "Ready to face the music?"

"No," Gordon heaved another sigh. "Don't suppose I could just sleep out here in your car…"

"Not in this lifetime, kiddo. Let's go get it over with."

Gordon reluctantly climbed down out of the car and followed Scott to the front door of the house, looking as if he were heading to his own execution. Scott opened the door, and got a whiff of the chili that his grandma had made for dinner. Scott grimaced, knowing it was one of Gordon's favorite meals.

As the two brothers hung up their coats, Scott could hear the clatter of pots and dishes coming from the kitchen. Dinner was apparently over, and his brothers Virgil and John were clearing things away.

Gordon started to slink off to his bedroom, but was stopped by their grandmother calling from the living room. "Boys, come in here, please."

Scott saw Gordon flinch at the tone, and in truth, Scott's own stomach twisted in apprehension. He led his brother into the living room, where their grandmother was sitting with a sewing kit. "Well, I believe you owe me an explanation, Scott."

Scott hadn't wanted to talk about it in front of Gordon, but his grandma was pushing the point. He opened his mouth to say something, but Gordon stepped forward. "Grandma, Scotty was just helping me. I got so mad at Alan that I tried to cut off my hair, but I didn't do a good job, so Scotty took me to Mr. Koenig's to fix it."

"You cut your hair because you were mad at Alan?"

Eyes downcast, Gordon nodded mutely. Ruth pursed her lips. "And did you use my good sewing scissors to do it?"

Gordon started, knowing he was not supposed to touch his grandmother's scissors. He swallowed hard, and lifted his eyes. "I'm sorry, Grandma. I know I shouldn't have. I had a very bad day. I shouldn't have gotten so mad, and I shouldn't have hit Allie, and I shouldn't have used your scissors, and I shouldn't have cut off my hair. It was stupid, and I'm really sorry."

"As well you should be. Take off that hat, and let me see."

Biting his lip, the boy reached up and dragged off the hat. He couldn't meet his grandmother's eyes, and so he didn't see the moment of grief in her eyes, but Scott did, and it wrenched his heart. "Grandma…"

Ruth held up a hand to quiet him. As Scott settled back, she reached out and ran her hand over the short stubble on Gordon's head. She shook her head, and lifted Gordon's chin so he was looking her eye to eye. "Tell me you won't ever do this again."

Gordon's lip trembled at the soft tone. "I won't Grandma. I won't take your scissors, and I won't cut my hair, and I won't hit Allie anymore. I promise."

"And if I send you to your room, will you stay there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, then, you run along and get into your pajamas. Do you have homework? No? Well then, you just climb into bed and think about your promise. Good night."

Head hanging, Gordon said good night and dragged himself out the room. Watching him go, Ruth sighed, "That boy is going to be the death of me."

"I think he's learned his lesson, Grandma. We ran into Coach Daugherty in town, and he told Gordy that he can be on the swim team in high school, but only if he learns to control his temper."

Ruth shook her head, her hand covering her mouth. Scott could see she was really upset. "How could he have done that? I've sent him to his room a hundred times before, and he never did anything like that. Did I handle that so poorly? Am I so mean that a little boy would cut off his own hair to spite me?"

Scott fell on his knees at her side. "No, Grandma! No! You aren't mean. You've never been mean. Gordy just wasn't thinking. When Alan came into the bedroom eating cookies, he just flipped out. If he'd known it would hurt you, he would never have done it."

"What do you mean, cookies? I told Alan he couldn't have any cookies. He was calling his brother names, and I won't reward that."

"Well, he must have snuck a few. He went up to the bedroom and rubbed Gordy's nose in it."

Ruth sat up straight, and said calmly, "Scott, your dinner is on the stove. Please go ask Alan to come in here, then sit and eat."

"Yes, ma'am." Scott sighed, heading for the kitchen.

As he pushed through the swinging door, Virgil looked up from where he and John were just finishing up loading the dishwasher. "Where you been?"

Scott looked over at Alan, who was sitting at the big kitchen table, working on a page of addition problems. "Alan, Grandma wants to see you right now."

Not realizing the peril, Alan looked up. "Okay."

Scott watched as the boy left the room, then moved over to the stove where a large soup bowl sat next to a pot of fragrant chili. Scott scooped himself a large helping, and moved to the table.

Virgil and John stood there giving each other a knowing glance. John shook his head. "The kid's dead meat, isn't he?"

"He took some cookies when Grandma said he couldn't have any."

"Yikes."

"So, did you get Gordon's hair fixed?" John asked.

"Gordon's hair? What was wrong with Gordon's hair?" Virgil asked, eyes blinking in confusion.

"Alan and some kids on the bus were calling him pumpkin head, and he got so upset he tried to cut off all of his hair," Scott said sadly.

"Aw, you're kidding! Geez, he shouldn't let a few stupid names bother him. Where is he? I'll go talk to him," Virgil said, making a move to leave the kitchen.

"No, Virg. I took care of it."

"Yeah, but kids are always ripping on me because of my name. I can tell him how to handle it, keep it from being a problem."

"Maybe tomorrow. Grandma sent him to bed, and at a guess, I'd say Alan will be joining him. Let it lie tonight, and tomorrow you can tell him what to do."

"She sent him to bed? Did you get him some dinner in town?" John asked, a frown on his face.

"No. We went to the barber and came straight back."

Both Virgil and John stared at Scott's bowl of chili. Virgil shook his head, "Gordy loves chili."

"Yeah, it's not right that Alan got his dinner and Gordy didn't."

"Don't you guys even think it. Grandma sent him to bed without supper, and that's all there is to it. Now, I think you should both hit the books." Scott used his 'Dad' voice, and though disgruntled, both John and Virgil left the kitchen to go do their homework.

Scott sat back and ate his chili, then got up and helped himself to a second bowl. He grabbed a couple of slices of the french bread that his grandma always made to go with the chili, and devoured his meal as only a hungry teenager could.

When he finished eating, he went to the sink, rinsed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher. He checked the pot on the stove, and judged there was about a bowl full of the tasty chili left. He put the leftovers into a bowl, rinsed the pot, and put it in the dishwasher. He checked that his brothers had loaded everything correctly, then started the dishwasher on its run.

Looking at the leftover bowl of chili, he went to the refrigerator and found the bag of cheese that had been shredded for dinner and sprinkled a generous handful over the chili. He topped that with a slice of bread, and poured a glass of milk.

Scott pulled out a small tray, and headed for the stairs. As he passed the living room, his grandmother called out, "Scott, what have you got there?"

Blowing out a breath to insure he didn't sound defiant, Scott said, "Grandma, I know that Gordy shouldn't have hit Alan, but Allie was as much at fault, and he didn't miss dinner. It just isn't fair for Gordy to go hungry."

"Your brother also left his bedroom without permission, and used my best scissors, again without permission."

"Yes, well, he didn't get any cookies either. I'm not giving him any dessert, Grandma, just dinner."

Ruth pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Oh, all right. I guess having to face Eli Koenig is punishment enough. Go ahead."

Scott grinned. "Thanks, Grandma."

Climbing the stairs, Scott could hear his brothers' voice, both sounding distressed. Sighing, he reached their bedroom and opened the door. To his mild surprise, he found them both on Alan's bed, Gordon with his arm draped over his brother's shoulders, obviously consoling the younger boy. Looking up, Gordon asked with evident relief, "Scotty, can you please tell Allie it's not his fault I cut my hair? He won't stop bawling."

Alan immediately stiffened, "I wasn't bawling!"

Scott set his tray on the boys' desk, shaking his head. "I can't tell him it wasn't his fault. You told me you cut it because you were angry that he got cookies and you didn't."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean it like that. I was just mad."

"Well, come over here and eat your dinner," Scott commanded. As Gordon moved to the desk, Scott went and sat next to Alan on the bed. "You didn't tell me about the cookies, Al. Grandma said you couldn't have any, but you snuck some."

Alan hung his head. In a tiny voice, he said, "But I was hungry."

"You think that makes it okay to go behind Grandma's back and steal?"

Alan frowned. "I didn't steal them!"

"Hey, I'm just calling a spade a spade here, kiddo. You guys see what happens when we don't back each other up? We get into all kinds of trouble."

Both boys nodded reluctantly. Gordon looked at his big brother warily. "I 'pologized, Scotty."

"Me too. I 'pologized, too, Scotty."

Scott speared Alan with a look. "To Grandma, too?"

Alan shrugged morosely. "I didn't get a chance. She sent me to bed right away."

Scott crossed his arms. "Get your 'jamas on. Gordon, you eat up."

Scott waited as both boys did his bidding. When Alan was dressed in his pajamas, Scott stood and held out his hand. Frowning, Alan took it, but said, "Grandma told me to go to bed."

"I know," Scott said as he led the boy out the door, and down the stairs. Ruth looked up from her knitting as the two boys came into the room. Scott nudged Alan, saying, "Go ahead."

Swallowing, Alan took a step forward. "Grandma, I'm sorry I took those cookies."

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "Because you got caught?"

Alan had to think about that one for a moment, but finally he shook his head. "No, I'm sorry because I went into the bedroom and ate them where Gordy saw, and he got so mad he cut off his hair. I didn't mean for him to do that, I just wanted him to be sorry he hit me."

"Well, I don't condone hitting, and you know that. But do you understand why your brother got mad enough to hit you?"

"Yes, Grandma. I was calling him a mean name, even though I just thought it was a funny one."

Ruth sat back, her eyes never leaving her youngest grandson. "And you understand why you've been sent to bed?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"All right then, you run along and hop in bed. I'll be up to tuck you in in a while," Ruth said. "And Alan, I'm proud of the way you are handling this."

With a tentative smile, Alan turned to leave, but then turned back to throw his arms around his grandmother's neck. "I love you, Grandma."

"I love you, too, baby. Now scoot."

The small blond turned and headed up the stairs. Scott turned to follow him, but stopped at his grandmother's call. "Honey, I just want to say as proud as I am of Alan, I'm just that much more proud of you. I know it's not easy being a stand in for your father, but you do a wonderful job."

Scott wasn't sure that he believed it, but he smiled for his grandmother's sake. "Thanks, Grandma. I don't mind telling you that I really didn't know what to say to Gordon, but both Coach Daugherty and Mr. Koenig really helped out. Coach told him he has to control his temper if he wants to swim on the high school team, and Mr. Koenig told him all about Grandpa's red hair."

As always, mention of his grandfather brought a certain misty look to his grandmother's eye. She nodded in fond remembrance. "Yes, his hair was even brighter than Gordon's. Well, I'm sure you have homework, and this knitting won't do itself."

"Right. I'll be down a little later to say good night."

"All right, son."

Scott headed up to his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. Seeing the light on under the door of his youngest brothers' room, he shook his head, and opened the door. "Why aren't you two in bed?"

Gordon looked up from his place at the desk, where he was still dawdling over a practically empty chili bowl. "I'm not done eating."

"Oh yes, you are. Now go get in bed." Scott watched as the youngest dragged his way over to the bed. With his hand on the light switch, Scott said, "All right, you guys know the rules. No reading, no playing around, no TV, just close your eyes and go to sleep."

Two pairs of solemn eyes watched as Scott turned off the lights. "And I don't want to hear any ruckus in here, either. Got it?"

"Yes," the brothers chorused.

As Scott turned away, Gordon called out, "Scotty, will you tuck me in?"

The forlorn tone disarmed Scott, and he immediately went to his brother's bedside, and tucked the blankets around the boy. "Good night, sleep tight, I'll see you in the morning bright."

"Good night, Scotty."

Scott moved to Alan's bed, but the youngster shook his head. "That's okay, Scotty, Grandma promised she'd come tuck me in."

Forestalling any hard feelings, he turned back to Gordon. "She'll tuck you in, too."

Gordon ducked his head. "I think she's too mad at me, Scotty."

Suddenly tired of it all, Scott replied, "Well, I guess you'll just have to see when she comes in. Now you guys settle down and go to sleep."

Scott left the room, closing the door behind him. With a sigh, he headed to his own room. He'd barely gotten seated at his desk, when his door opened and Virgil came in. "Remind me again why I shouldn't hit John?"

Spearing his brother with a look, Scott said, "I'll make it easy for you. You hit John, and I'll hit you."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll just duct tape his mouth shut."

"Virg, I'm tired, I'm sore, and I have Physics homework. Can we just have a quiet evening for once?"

Virgil stopped, surprised at the tone of exhaustion in his brother's voice. "Sure, anything you say, Scott. Can I help? What can I do?"

Scott felt a flood of warmth for his brother. Virgil of them all would try to take some of the burden of trying to keep a sane household. "Nothing. I just need some time left alone, okay? The kids are down for the night, and all I need is for you and Johnny to cut me some slack. I promise tomorrow, I'll listen to everything you want to say, okay?"

Virgil stood frozen, a look of sadness on his face. "Scott, I'll listen to everything you have to say, too, you know. It isn't supposed to be a one way street."

Scott shook his head. "That didn't come out right. I'm sorry, I know you have my back, Virg."

Mollified, Virgil nodded. "We all do, Scott, don't forget that, okay? For now, Johnny and I will give you some space. Even if I have to kill him to do it."

Scott chuckled tiredly at the droll tone. "Thanks, Virg. I appreciate it."

Virgil nodded and walked out the bedroom door, saying over his shoulder, "Holler if you need anything."

As the door closed, Scott sat back and reveled in the sudden silence. He stretched his long legs out, and twisted his head about to relieve a kink.

As he settled down to do his homework, he thought over the events of the afternoon, and wondered if he'd be telling the story to his grandkids. It brought a smile to his face, as he thought about it and figured he'd enjoy telling Gordon's grandkids even more. Then the thought of his brother Gordon having grandkids had him chuckling.

Shaking his head at the thought, Scott booted up his computer and with a sigh, got to work.