First and Ten (11 page)

Ricky wasn't alone at practice. His father leaned over the chain-link fence for the entire session, carefully watching everything that was going on. Beside him stood a man in a dark suit, taking notes.

“Kicking team!” yelled Coach Reynolds toward the end of practice. “Let's get out there in field-goal formation.”

As Matt joined the rest of the kicking team, he noticed both Charlie and Ricky moving out to the middle of the field. Dougan sprinted confidently to the huddle, while Jackson jogged slowly, looking toward the sidelines where his father stood, motioning for his son to hurry up.

“Okay, you guys split the reps,” Coach Reynolds said, eyeing Dougan and Jackson. Matt was happy to hear this. At least Coach wasn't dumping Charlie just because Ricky's suspension had been lifted.

Matt held for the two kickers as they took turns booting the ball, at distances increasing in range from fifteen to thirty-five yards. Charlie was stroking the ball nicely, but so was Jackson. At the end of the session, the two kickers had essentially competed to a draw. “Nice work, fellas,” the coach said.

Charlie grinned and offered a hand to Ricky, who slapped it. It was nice to see the two of them being friendly, Matt thought.

“That's it for today,” Coach Reynolds said. “Back at it tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock.”

The coach headed to the locker room, with Matt, Charlie and a few of the other players several steps behind him. As he passed Frank Jackson and the man in the dark suit, Coach Reynolds did not acknowledge their presence.

It was chili for dinner that night. It was one of Matt's favorite meals, maybe not Mom's fanciest dish, but one that always hit the spot. He dug into his large, steaming bowl with gusto. Football made him hungry.

“So, Matt,” his mother said. “I hear there's quite a controversy around the team.”

Matt nodded. “It's pretty messed up,” he said. “Ricky's dad is suing the coach. Ricky's back on the team, and poor Charlie's caught in the middle.”

“I feel sorry for Charlie,” his mom said. “That boy deserves to be kicking for South Side.”

“Yeah, me too,” Matt said. “But I kinda feel bad for Ricky too. I can't imagine living with a jerk like that for a parent.”

Mom frowned. “Matt, you shouldn't talk like that about somebody's dad,” she said. “Then again, you're probably right. Getting a lawyer seems to be an awfully extreme step to take.”

“Mom, if I was benched for some reason you didn't think was fair, would you get a lawyer and sue the coach?” Matt asked.

It had been a serious question, but his mother just laughed. “I can barely afford regular briefs for you, kiddo, never mind legal ones.”

chapter fifteen

It was not a normal week at South Side football practice. Other media had followed up on the
Post's
report, and a couple of television crews had even come to the field during practice to try to speak with players about the lawsuit. Matt realized that their interest had nothing to do with middle-school football—the reporters didn't care about that—but a story about a parent suing a coach and leaving a whole team of teenagers caught in the middle was of interest to just about everybody.

Coach Reynolds had strictly prohibited his players from talking to the tv crews, however. So mostly they just filmed bits of practice footage and talked to the few parents who would speak with them. Matt had watched a couple of the reports but hadn't learned much more than he already knew.

By game time Friday, the focus on the lawsuit had died down and everybody was concentrating on the game. South Side was 2–1 so far this season and needed to beat Mandela to have a shot at the conference title. Both Central and Churchill were 3–1 after their games this week, and they played each other in their regular-season finale. One of those teams would finish 4–1. The only hope for the Stingers of advancing would be for them to also finish at 4–1 and that Churchill beat top-ranked Central at the end of the season.

The team dressed and boarded two long yellow school buses for the thirty-minute ride across town to the affluent northern suburb where Mandela Middle School was located. It was the newest school in the district, named after the former South African leader, and although its football program had only been running for three years, the Lions were already a pretty decent squad. They weren't as good as Churchill or Central, but Matt knew they would be tough at home.

“Okay, guys,” Coach Reynolds said, standing in the middle of the spacious visitor's locker room. “I don't have to tell you that this is a huge game. Your season is on the line tonight, and I want you all to play like it.”

Matt could feel the urgency in the room. His own adrenaline was pumping. He wanted to get out there and knock down the entire Mandela offensive line all by himself.

Coach motioned to Charlie, who was sitting across the locker room in full gear. Charlie followed the coach into the hallway. The door closed.

Moments later, the coach emerged. Charlie was trailing. Matt couldn't tell by the look on his face what had happened. But Matt knew it probably wasn't good news.

He was right. As the Stingers' kickoff team lined up at midfield to start the game against Mandela, Ricky Jackson was the one getting set to boot. Coach Reynolds had obviously decided he had no choice but to follow the court injunction and pull Charlie for Ricky. Staring back at the sidelines at Charlie, Matt felt bad.

Despite his shaky start in practice and the pressure from the lawsuit, Ricky Jackson got off to a good start. His opening kickoff sailed over the heads of the return team and put the Lions in poor field position. And when South Side got the ball back on a punt, Ricky engineered an efficient six-play touchdown drive, hitting Nate on a down-and-out pattern in the right corner of the end zone.

But Mandela quarterback Toby Renton, an eighth-grader with a strong left arm, recovered from his sluggish start to catch fire as the game progressed. By the end of the third quarter, Renton had thrown three touchdown passes and Mandela had worked its way into a 21–21 tie.

With Nate back in the lineup, Matt wasn't getting much playing time. He hadn't been out to hold for a field goal, either, since South Side had yet to attempt one. But Matt was still enjoying the game. Who wouldn't? These were two well-matched football teams, playing an important contest. Each side was performing well under the pressure.

Midway through the fourth quarter, Ricky busted loose on a quarterback sneak from the South Side fifty-yard line. He broke two tackles, and then he turned it up another gear, outrunning three more Lion defenders to the goal line. Ricky had scored the go-ahead touchdown with only eight minutes left.

But Mandela roared back. Toby Renton put together the game's most impressive drive, mixing his left-handed spirals with deft handoffs to fullback Charles Maxwell, to string together a sixty-yard march and tie things up with four and a half minutes left.

From there the teams exchanged the ball twice, with neither mounting any offense. With fifty seconds remaining, Mandela was forced to punt from its own thirty-five. Matt and Reggie Evans waited downfield for the kick to arrive.

The ball shot off the Mandela punter's foot and rocketed high toward Matt, who was standing at his own thirty. His legs were already turning upfield as he caught the ball on the dead run and headed up the sidelines. His running catch seemed to take Mandela by surprise, and he broke through for an impressive thirty-five-yard return. With thirty seconds remaining, Coach Reynolds called an urgent time-out.

The South Side players gathered around Coach Reynolds on the sidelines, Ricky almost nose-to-nose with him.

“Here's what I want you to do,” the coach said to Ricky. “Keep the ball in the middle of the field. If the ten-yard buttonhook to Nate is there, take it. Otherwise, Jackson, just keep it on the ground. We've got just one play to get within field-goal range. And we've got one more time-out. Make sure you use it.”

Everybody nodded and the Stingers cheered. The offense then huddled around the ball. “Buttonhook to Nate, on three, okay?” Jackson said. “If it's not there, I'm keeping.”

The Stingers went into their formation with beefy Pete Cowan back to protect Jackson in the pocket. On the snap of the ball, Nate ran straight out and curled quickly in the middle. Ricky delivered the ball on a tight hard spiral. Nate gobbled the ball into his arms. It was a first down on the Mandela twenty-five.

“Time-out!” Ricky yelled.

The players once again joined Coach Reynolds on the sidelines. “Nice work, Jackson,” he said. “Just like we called it. Now, how about kicking us a field goal?”

Ricky shook his head slowly. He removed his helmet. “I think Charlie should kick this one, Coach,” he said. “He's way more accurate than I am. And he deserves it.”

“Dougan!” the coach yelled. “You ready?”

Charlie, at the back of the huddle, nodded. Matt pulled on his helmet. He would be holding for Charlie on this kick, the second game-winner in as many weeks for the former manager. As they headed out to the field, Matt asked Charlie, “You okay?”

“I'm better than okay,” Dougan responded calmly. “I'm ready to win this thing.”

The snap came back to Matt on the count of two. He spun the football into position just as Charlie drove his right foot through the leather. The kick barely cleared the outstretched arms of Mandela's Charles Maxwell, who had catapulted over the line in an attempt to block it.

But nobody was blocking this kick. True to his word, Charlie had booted it through the uprights from nearly thirty-five yards. The ball cleared its target by more than ten feet. South Side had won. The Stingers' playoff hopes were still alive.

Everybody was happy as they headed back toward the two yellow school buses. Everybody on the team, that is. One look at Frank Jackson told Matt that Ricky's dad was fuming once again.

As the players approached their buses, Mr. Jackson strode quickly toward them. He didn't say a word to Ricky but grabbed him roughly by the arm and quickly led him away to the parking lot.

Sitting on the bus, Matt wondered why Jackson's dad had been so angry. South Side had won, and Ricky had clearly been the team's best player. It had been his best game as a middle-school football player by far. Matt didn't get it.

As he waited for the bus to head out of the Mandela parking lot, Matt noticed Coach Reynolds and Frank Jackson facing each other some distance from the bus. It didn't look like a pleasant conversation.

chapter sixteen

Monday morning came too soon for Matt. For several days, he had put off studying for his Spanish midterm. He had cracked the main textbook for a few minutes over the weekend but had been sidetracked by pickup hoops, an nfl game Sunday and an unexpected visit from Mark, who drove down from Eton for dinner.

This morning, Matt had got up at 6:00 am so he could get to school an hour early, grab the supplemental Spanish textbook from his locker and squeeze in some last-minute studying. Matt guessed he'd be the only one at South Side at seven in the morning, but he was wrong. As he swung through the front doors he saw Ricky Jackson, searching for something in his locker across the hall.

“Hey, Rick,” Matt yelled. Nothing. Jackson didn't turn around. He didn't respond at all.

Matt crossed the hallway. Then he noticed Jackson was wearing the white buds of an iPod in his ears. The music was probably too loud. Matt tapped him on the shoulder.

Startled, Jackson spun around. Matt was shocked. The skin around Ricky's left eye was swollen and badly bruised. And the left edge of his nose was an ugly mix of dark purple and black. It looked like he had taken quite a beating.

“What happened to you, man?” Matt asked. “Get run over by a train?”

Jackson pulled the earphones out. “What?” he said.

“What happened?” Matt repeated. “To your face?”

Jackson turned back to his locker. “Nothing, man,” he said. “It's nothing…I just tripped.”

Matt wasn't buying it. Tripped? Nobody looked like that after a trip. Somebody had taken a round out of Ricky Jackson.

“Ricky, I'm not stupid,” Matt said. “What happened?”

“Don't worry about it,” the boy said. “It's my business.”

Matt didn't know where his next comment came from. It just spilled out. “Did your dad do this?”

Jackson wheeled around. His dark eyes were watering and he was shaking. “Look, man, you don't know anything, okay?”

“What's up?” Matt said. “What's going on?”

“You wouldn't understand,” Ricky said, slumping down beside his locker. He was crying now and his shoulders were heaving. Matt had never seen him like this before. Come to think of it, Matt had never seen any kid like this before.

“My dad…He just wants me to do so well. He wants everything to be just right,” Jackson said. The tears were streaming down his face now. “It's not his fault.”

“What's not his fault?” Matt said.

“He doesn't mean it,” Ricky said. “He just can't help it.”

Matt suddenly realized what Jackson was telling him. This was heavier than anything he had ever encountered with any of his friends. Just as Matt had guessed, Jackson's dad had done this to him. Matt couldn't imagine his parents doing anything like this. Ever. Even though he hadn't always respected his own father for leaving when he was just a toddler, he was sure his dad would never physically hurt him.

“You've gotta tell someone,” Matt said. “This isn't right.”

“I can't,” Ricky said, sobbing. “He's my dad.”

Matt was undaunted. “Look,” he said, “your face is pretty messed up. Teachers are going to wonder what's happened. So is every kid at school. Why don't we go see Ms. Dawson? She's cool. She'll know what to do.''