"All entering sophomores invited to try out for junior varsity football," Dad reads from a brochure that came in the mail.
"That's nice," I say, immersed in a course catalog.
"You dropped out of wrestling and judo," he points out. "You have to play some kind of sport in high school."
"Is that a rule? I don't like sports. Besides, I'm going to be busy with orchestra, jump quiz, Spanish Club, Writers' Club..."
"Yes, it's a rule! And stop pretending that you don't like sports. You're a boy, aren't you?"
"Well...I wouldn't mind the track team, I guess."
"Why not football?"
"Football players always get the cutest girls," Dad says, assuming that I, like "every boy," decide on courses of action solely on their likelihood of acquiring girls.
"What kind of date can I go on in Intensive Care?"
"Don't get smart! It won't hurt you to try out, at least."
When Dad says "Jump," you say "How high?" I have no choice but to try out.
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