Halfback Attack (4 page)

The next instant a hand pulled at his coat. It was Coach Sears.

Freddie looked beyond the coach. A second spotlight was directed around the area of the car.

He cried to the coach, “Coach Sears! Where’s Jeff? I don’t see him!”

Coach Sears spun in the water. The second spotlight had joined the first and was shining on them, too.

“Shine a light back there!” the coach yelled at the top of his lungs to the men on the bridge. “There’s another boy back there!”

He turned quickly to Freddie. “Freddie! Can you make it to shore by yourself? There are only a few feet to go.”

“Yes!” said Freddie. “I can make it! You go after Jeff!”

A man’s voice spoke from nearby. “Come over here, son. We’ll get you out.”

Freddie looked and saw two men standing on shore. One was holding a dim flashlight.

Freddie trembled from the cold and struck out toward the men with hard overhand strokes. But the
swift current pushed him downstream like a piece of driftwood. He knew he would never make it.

He tried to yell to them. But water swirled in his face, and he couldn’t.

One of the men jumped into the water. He waded into it as far as he could, reached out, and clutched Freddie by an arm. Pulling
him in to shallower water, he lifted Freddie to his feet and helped him to shore.

“Thank God!” the man whispered.

He started to carry Freddie up the steep, rocky bank.

“Wait!” Freddie shouted. “Please wait! I have to see if Coach Sears is going to get Jeff!”

The man paused. They both looked up the river, where a spotlight was shining on the water. Freddie saw only one person, the
coach, and tears sprang in his eyes.

And then he saw another. Jeff and his father were swimming side by side, heading toward shore.

“All right!” Freddie whispered happily.

Then, in spite of the cold water gnawing at his body, making him shiver like a leaf, a warm feeling filled him.

“O—okay!” he said, his teeth chattering. “Y-you can t-take me up now.”

In the game against the Owls on Saturday, Freddie waved to Jeff standing near the sideline among the spectators. Jeff grinned
and waved back. They had had an experience neither one of them would forget as long as he lived.

Freddie would never forget that truck driver, either. He was the one who had pulled Freddie out of the river and carried him
up to the waiting ambulance. Other drivers, including one with a spotlight, had come along in the meantime and had stopped
to help.

“Those brakes,” the truck driver had kept saying. “They broke loose coming down that hill. And I couldn’t do anything! Anything
at all!”

Freddie, Jeff, and Coach Sears had spent the next twenty-four hours in the hospital. The doctor who released them said, “You’re
all fine. Go home. But get a good rest before that game Saturday.”

Freddie’s mom was still nervous about it. Freddie had been afraid that she would blame the coach, because Coach Sears had
invited him to go to that
football movie. But she didn’t blame anyone. Not even the truck driver. She could tell that the truck driver was an honest
man, she’d said, and if he said that the brakes had failed, then the brakes must have failed.

The next day a crew of men had pulled the coach’s car out of the river. It had some bent parts — the fenders and the front
axle — but the garage men had promised Coach Sears they’d fix it up and have it running in a week. That surprised Freddie.
He had never thought they could lift it out of the river — let alone fix it. But it seemed people could do some pretty amazing
things when they put their minds to it.

One person stuck in his memory all through the whole thing. That was Jeff. In the car, Jeff had been scared as anything. A
lot more scared than Freddie. And yet on a football field, Jeff could tackle a runner with no fear whatever. And it made no
difference how big that runner was.

To Freddie, a runner coming at him was like a freight train.

Of course, that experience in the car was lots more dangerous than playing football. But the
coach had helped Freddie remain calm. Look at the trouble he had had trying to calm Jeff.

Bet even little Jimmie Rose wouldn’t have been as scared as Jeff was.

Guess different things can put an awful lot of scare in different people, Freddie thought.

From the bench, Freddie watched the Owls’ right halfback, Buddy Camp, take a pitchout from the quarterback and race wide around
his right end. He got by Joey, then he tried to stiff-arm Bucky Jensen. But Bucky dived at him and knocked Buddy out of bounds.

The Owls had gained about fifteen yards on the play. With the ball on the Sandpipers’ twenty-eight-yard line, the Owls pushed
forward to the Sandpipers’ eight.

Then they tried a pass. It would have worked fine, except that the pass was too short and Ted Butler was there to intercept
it. He carried the ball back to his seventeen.

Freddie went in. He carried the ball twice, totaling gains of eight yards. On the third down, Dick Connors completed a forward
pass to Joey Mills — but a flag was dropped on the ground.

“Holding!” shouted the referee. He signaled by clutching his left arm with his right hand.

“On who?” cried Dick angrily.

The referee pointed at Dave Summers, then marched off fifteen yards against them.

Dick groaned. The penalty put the ball on their ten. Now it was third and seventeen to go.

Dick tried a quarterback sneak and was thrown for a three-yard loss.

“Nothing to do now but kick,” he said hopelessly.

Bucky Jensen took the snap back in his end zone, punted it, and then —
smack!
The ball was blocked!

It bounced crazily into the playing zone. An Owls player scooped it up and ran it across the goal line, and the referee shot
up both hands.

A touchdown!

They tried for the extra point but missed.

Freddie felt sick. The score was now 12–0 in the Owls’ favor, and it was almost the end of the third quarter.

After three plays, the quarter was over. The teams exchanged goals. The ball was on the Sandpipers’ twenty-two-yard line.
Last down and two to go.

Dick Connors shook his head sadly as he and his teammates went into a huddle. Every eye was on him, waiting anxiously for
him to decide on what play to use next. He named a play, then changed his mind. He suggested punting but changed his mind
again.

“No. We’ll give up the ball then,” he said. “We’ve got to hang on to it. Maybe a pass —”

The whistle shrilled. The boys straightened like puppets and stared at the referee.

“Too long in the huddle!” the official said.

He penalized them five yards for delaying the game.

“We’d better get going,” said Stookie, “or penalties will put us in our end zone.”

“All right,” said Dick. “Let’s go with play twenty-three! On the two!”

Twenty-three? Freddie rubbed his palms against his sides. Here was his chance.

The ball was on the Sandpipers’ seventeen-yard line. There were seven yards to go for a first down. Dick called signals.

“Down! One! Two! Hike!”

Stookie snapped the ball. Dick drew back and handed off to Bucky. Bucky raced toward left end. Dave Summers threw a body block
on his man, bit Joey’s man brushed by Joey and started to reach for Bucky. Just then Bucky pitched the ball out to Freddie.
Freddie pulled it against him and began crossing the white stripes as fast as his legs could carry him. He zipped past the
twenty, the thirty, the forty….

Now he was in the Owls’ territory and still going. He heard someone coming up behind him and tried to pick up more speed.

A pair of arms circled his waist. He was brought down. When he got up, he saw that his tackler
was Buddy Camp, the fastest man on the Owls’ team.

“Thataway to run, Freddie!” Dick slapped him happily on the back.

Freddie smiled. “Bucky pitched it to me just in time,” he said.

The ball was on the Owls’ twenty-eight. First down and ten.

“Thirteen flare,” said Dick in the huddle.

Thirteen flare was a pass to either right halfback Freddie or left halfback Bucky. It depended on who was in the better position
to receive.

The signal. The snap. Dick went back. The Owls’ strong lineman plowed through. Dennis blocked a man charging at Dick, but
another man was ready to tackle the quarterback.

Dick yanked his arm back and threw. The ball sailed through the air. It was a poor pass; the ball was wobbling crazily — far
short of the man for whom it was intended, Bucky Jensen.

Then — just before the ball was about to hit the ground — Joey Mills caught it! He was off balance and almost stumbled to
his knees as he tried to hold the ball in his hands. Then he regained his balance
and ran hard down the field. Bucky blocked the man near him, and Joey had the field to himself.

He went over for a touchdown. A few seconds later, the Sandpipers bucked the line for the extra point.

The score: Owls 12; Sandpipers 7.

Freddie went out as the Owls became the offensive team. They began threatening with passes and line bucks. A fumble put the
ball back in the Sandpipers’ possession, and once again Freddie saw action.

Time was running short.

The ball was on the Sandpipers’ thirty-one. First and ten.

“Twenty-three!” said Dick in the huddle.

Freddie stared. It was that same play — when he had gone for that real long run. Would it work again?

The signal. The snap. Then Dick trotting back with the ball. He handed it to Bucky. Bucky plowed through a hole between left
end and left tackle. Just as a linebacker was ready to hit him, he pitched the ball out to Freddie.

Freddie caught it. He raced forward, hugging the ball against him. On the Owls’ twenty-two, he was hit.

It had worked again!

The Sandpipers continued to use running plays. When you’re going good on the ground, Coach Sears had reminded them, keep going
that way. Don’t pass. Somebody might intercept.

Then Dick fumbled — and the Owls recovered. Well, the Owls got the ball, anyway.

Freddie went out again. He didn’t have a chance to get back in. The clock ran out with the ball in the Owls’ possession, and
the game in the Owls’ pocket.

Freddie walked home after the game, thinking a lot about it. If he’d only gone past that safety man, he’d have put the Sandpipers
ahead. Now it was just another loss.

He heard a yell. It came from ahead of him. He looked up and saw two boys quarreling. One boy was real tall. The other one
was real little. The little one was Jimmie Rose.

“Give ’em back to me! They’re mine!” Jimmie was crying.

Freddie hurried toward them. He saw something in the tall boy’s hands that looked like cards.

“He’s got my football player cards, Freddie!” Jimmie yelled. “He won’t give ’em back to me!”

“Give them back to him,” ordered Freddie.

The tall boy looked at him, laughed, and started to run down the street.

Freddie dropped his helmet near Jimmie and raced after the boy. The boy was taller, but Freddie was faster. Freddie caught
up with him. He dived and hit the boy with his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist and brought him down hard.

Freddie got up quickly. With his feet on either side of the boy’s stomach, he snapped, “Hand me those cards!”

The boy clamped his lips tightly together and handed Freddie the cards. Freddie stepped back, turned, and gave the cards to
his little friend Jimmie. The tall boy rose to his feet and ran off down the street.

Jimmie wiped the tears from his eyes and grinned proudly at his friend Freddie. “Thanks, Freddie! You really tackled him,
didn’t you?”

Freddie looked at Jimmie. Sudden joy bubbled inside him. That’s right! He had, hadn’t he?

He had really tackled that bully!

“We’re having a Halloween party at my house,” Dick Connors said after practice the next day. “Everybody’s going to be dressed
in costume. Would you like to come?”

Freddie stared, feeling both happy and surprised. Dick inviting him to a Halloween party? He had thought that the only time
Dick ever noticed him was at a football game.

But he couldn’t say no. Dick was more than just captain of the Sandpipers. He was popular in school. He played trumpet in
the school band, and last year he had made the honor roll every quarter.

“Sure, I’ll come,” said Freddie. “Thanks!”

“Don’t forget. Be dressed in costume,” reminded Dick.

“I won’t forget,” promised Freddie.

Freddie was so pleased, he smiled the whole way home without realizing it. He felt important and proud.

But what costume would he wear? He didn’t have any!

The smile vanished, and he didn’t feel so important and proud anymore. If his mom didn’t buy him a costume, he’d have to tell
Dick he couldn’t go to the party. Dick would tell the other guys. Imagine, then, what they’d say about Freddie!

He reached home, but it wasn’t until long after suppertime that he told his mom about the invitation. Her eyes brightened,
and her lips curved in a warm smile.

“The only thing is, Mom,” explained Freddie, his heart pounding, “everybody will be wearing costumes. And I don’t have one.”

“So?” said Mom. “We’ll get you one!”

“You will?” Freddie’s eyes popped wide as plums. “But they cost money, Mom! Don’t they?”

“Yes. But we don’t have to spend too much for one.” She laughed. “Let’s see. What kind do you like?

After a lot of talking and thinking, Freddie decided he’d like to have a pirate costume.

“A pirate it is,” Mom said.

She came home with one the next day. It fit Freddie perfectly. She also bought him a mask, which covered the top half of his
face.

He was wearing the costume when a knock sounded on the door. Quickly he ran to his room. Mom’s laughter trailed after him.

You can laugh, Mom, he thought. But nobody’s going to know who’s wearing this costume until the party!

He removed his costume and hung it in the closet. Then he returned to the living room. Sitting in an armchair was Mrs. Rose,
Jimmie’s mother. She had the wide collar of her coat off her shoulders, and her hands folded in her lap.