Kickoff! (12 page)

Almost. But not quite.

“Do you think I'll ever get another chance to play again?” Tiki asked Ronde when the first half ended.

“Do you think
I'll
ever get a chance to play,
period?”
Ronde replied. “At least you got in the game.”

“And I messed up totally,” Tiki reminded him.

“Not totally. You made a good run before you fumbled.”

“Don't mention that word!”

“Sorry.”

Tiki sighed. “I'm tired of sitting around in here. What do you say we go outside and toss it around for a while?”

“And miss the second half?”

“Just for a while, okay? I need to move around, catch some passes—just to prove to myself I can still do it.”

“Whatever you say,” Ronde said, shaking his head. “But not for
too
long.”

They started tossing the ball back and forth. Soon, they were flipping it around behind their backs, and making one-handed shoestring catches, just fooling around, playing for fun.

For fun—that
was what had been missing ever since that first day of school, Tiki realized. He'd been too
stressed out to have any fun at all—and he was sure it was the same way for Ronde.

“You know what?” Tiki said. “I think we've been stressing too much about the game.”

“No lie,” Ronde agreed. “I can't remember the last time I felt relaxed on the field.”

“We've got to get back to that,” Tiki said. “You know, just having fun playing ball, like we always do.”

“Like we always
did,
you mean.”

“No, man—we can get back to it again,” Tiki said.

“I don't know,” Ronde said. “Junior high sure makes you feel old.”

Tiki sighed. Ronde was right about that, no doubt. He realized that they had both grown up a lot in the past two weeks. Maybe that's what his mom meant when she said middle school would bring growing pains.

If only it had been more
fun.

“Come on,” Ronde said. “That's enough fooling around. The second half must be starting by now.”

The boys took the ball inside and settled in for another hour of sitting there, watching other people play football.

And then the phone rang. Tiki was going to just let it ring, figuring it was for their mom anyway.

But Ronde picked it up. “Hello? Oh, hi!” he said, brightening.

Tiki sat up, wondering who it could be.

“Yeah, man—that's cool. Right after school tomorrow? We'll be there. Yeah, no problem. Bye.”

He hung up, and flashed Tiki a huge grin. “That was Matt Clayton,” he said. “He wants us to work out with him tomorrow after school.”

“Yessss!” Tiki said, pumping his fist like Mr. Wheeler.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of energy going through him. Tomorrow,
he'd
be the one out there on the field, actually playing—and with none other than the once and future star of the team, Matt Clayton!

 •  •  •

“Hut! Hut-hut!”

Matt pretended to take the snap from center. There was no center there, of course. It was just him, Tiki, and Ronde, and they had the whole empty field to themselves this Monday afternoon, because Coach Spangler had given the team the day off from practice after Saturday's grueling game with the Bears.

Matt dropped back three steps and planted on his newly healed right leg. Then he let the pass fly.

Tiki saw it as a blur, coming straight at his chest. He opened his arms to grab it—and felt it smack off him and bounce away.

“OW! That hurt!”

Matt laughed. “Hey, it's my
leg
that was injured, not my arm.”

“I'll say,” Tiki said, rubbing the sore spot under his jersey. “Man, you can really bring it.”

“Let
me
try!” Ronde said, lining up as a receiver. “Come on, Matt, throw me one!”

Matt gripped the ball and threw it. Ronde didn't let it bounce off him, but it knocked him back off his feet, and he landed flat on the field!

“Whoa! That is some serious heat!” he said. “Ow. You're right, man,” he told his brother. “It
does
hurt.”

“You guys have got to catch it softer,” Matt told them.

“What do you mean?” Tiki asked.

“Here. Throw me one.” Matt handed the ball to Tiki and jogged down the field, not limping, but not testing his leg either.

Tiki threw it to him as hard as he could. Matt caught it with his arms extended, pulling the ball in until it was cradled against his body. “See? It softens the impact if you catch it like that.”

Next, they tried handoffs. “Cradle it!” he reminded Tiki. “Four points of contact, see? That way, it's harder to make you fumble.”

After that, they practiced some of the plays Coach Spangler had put in the week before. “Man, I'm rusty,” said Matt after overthrowing Ronde on the “Notre Dame” play. “It's really nice of you guys to stay around for me so I can work out.”

“No, man, it's fine,” Tiki told him.

“No problem. Anytime,” Ronde agreed.

The truth was, Tiki thought, this was the most fun they'd had since school had started. Matt Clayton was their first real new friend at Hidden Valley. And
what
a friend—no less than the star quarterback of the football team!

“Now we're gonna put in a special play, just for you and me, Tiki,” Matt said. “Sorry, Ronde, but since you're on ‘D' . . .”

“That's okay,” Ronde said. “It's cool.”

“It's a halfback pass option, actually,” Matt explained, “so for now, you can play the receiver.”

“Excellent!” Ronde said. “I can definitely do that.”

“Okay, so I take the snap . . .”

Matt walked them through it. He dropped back and faked a handoff to Tiki, who ran to the right, keeping behind the line of scrimmage. Then Matt pulled to a stop and fired, throwing the ball as far as he could.

It fell ten feet in front of Ronde.

“Okay, we're gonna have to work on my arm strength,” Matt said, smiling. “And maybe we'd better change that fly pattern into a buttonhook, Ronde.”

“That is such a cool play!” Tiki said. “Too bad we'll never get to try it.”

“What do you mean?” Matt asked.

“I mean, by the time I get into a game again, you'll be in high school.”

“Don't be so sure,” Matt said. “Things happen. The main thing is to be ready when the opportunity knocks.”

Tiki nodded. He knew Matt was right. “Hey, when are
you
gonna play in a game?” he asked.

Matt smiled—a big, wide grin. “Saturday,” he said. “I'm starting—but don't tell anybody. Coach doesn't want the Rockets to know about it beforehand. He figures maybe it'll freak them out if we surprise them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Ronde said. “Sounds good to me.”

Suddenly, a loud whistle pierced the air. All three boys turned to see Mr. Wheeler coming toward them, two fingers in his mouth as he whistled again.

“Hey, Clayton!” he shouted. “What happened to those crutches?”

“Going, going, gone!” Matt said, and the two of them high-fived. “You guys know Mr. Wheeler?” he asked Tiki and Ronde.

“I do,” Tiki said.

“This little guy's in my class,” said Mr. Wheeler, patting Tiki on the back—hard. “He's all right, too—when he stays awake.”

Tiki felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he looked away as the others laughed.

“Hey, Clayton, go long,” said Mr. Wheeler. “Let's see if we've still got the chemistry.”

Matt gave the ball to him, then ran—fast this time. He didn't seem to be feeling his injury at all, Tiki thought.

Mr. Wheeler waited and waited, until Matt was impossibly far away. Then he threw the ball. It flew straight as an arrow, barely rising, and traveled so far and so fast that Tiki could barely believe his eyes!

Matt reached up with one hand, cradled the ball, and brought it down. All four of them let out a whoop. “Touchdown!” Mr. Wheeler said, raising both hands over his head. “Yessss!”

“Wow, Mr. Wheeler,” Tiki said, as Ronde looked on wide-eyed. “You threw that just like a ball of paper!”

“You got that right,” he said. He nodded slowly as his smile faded.

Matt was still trotting back toward them when Mr. Wheeler said, “Well, gotta fly.” He walked away so quickly that he was out of sight by the time Matt reached them.

“Where'd he run off to?” Matt asked them.

Tiki shrugged. “He didn't say.”

“Man, he can throw!” Ronde said. “He could be in the NFL with an arm like that!”

“He almost was,” Matt said.

“Huh?” Tiki said.

“Poor Mr. Wheeler,” Matt said. “He was a star QB at Clemson before he blew out his knee senior year. The scouts had him pegged as a first-round draft pick, too. I heard the Redskins were drooling over him. He would have broken out for sure.”

“Man!” Tiki breathed.

“He's kind of bitter about it,” Matt said. “You can imagine how it must have felt.” He shook his head sadly. “He helped me a lot my first year here, you know. Made me see what life was all about, in a way. Helped me with my throwing, too, of course.”

Now Tiki got it. Maybe that was why Mr. Wheeler sometimes took out his frustrations on the kids in his class. That didn't make it right, of course—but at least now Tiki could understand it. Mr. Wheeler was like Tiki—he wanted to play football more than anything else.

He'd been wrong about Mrs. Pendergast, and about Mr. Wheeler, too. Tiki wondered what else he had been wrong about.

RONDE WAS REALLY ENJOYING PRACTICE FOR
a change. Instead of trying to impress all his coaches and teammates—which never ended up working, it seemed—he was just having fun.

It was sort of like playing on Mews Hill Drive—the results didn't count in the standings. Besides, it was the only chance he and Tiki had to do much playing, because in the games, they were going to be spending most of their time sitting.

So why shouldn't he enjoy practice? Ronde thought.

During today's scrimmage, Coach Spangler had mixed the groups up, to give everybody a new look. He didn't want them getting too comfortable, always practicing with the same people.

Which was how Ronde wound up swatting away a perfectly thrown pass from Matt Clayton to Curt Schoenig.

“Good job, Barber!” he heard Coach Pellugi shout.

Ronde realized that the coach didn't know whether his first name was Tiki or Ronde, but he didn't care. So long as “Barber” equaled “good,” that was okay with him.

“Time!” Coach Spangler called suddenly, rushing onto the field and blowing his whistle.

Ronde tried to see what was happening. There was a crowd gathered around somebody lying on the ground. Had one of the guys been hurt?

He rushed over to see, and was shocked to find Jesse Fowle, the team's starting halfback. Jesse was staring into space, grabbing his lower stomach.

“What is it, Jesse?” Coach Spangler asked. “What's wrong?”

“It . . . hurts, Coach,” Jesse said, wincing.

“Somebody call an ambulance,” Coach Spangler said.

The coaches kept Jesse there, talking to him the whole time, until the ambulance came. Everyone waited quietly, talking in whispers.

“Looks like appendicitis,” said one of the paramedics. “He'll be all right once it's taken out.”

Coach Spangler made a pained face when he heard that. After the ambulance was gone, he turned and faced the rest of the team. “Well, if it's appendicitis, we're gonna have to make some adjustments, because Fowle may be out for the season. That means we're all gonna have to prepare ourselves. Berra, you'll be taking most of the snaps. And Barber, you'll get your share as well. So let's drop the scrimmage right now, and drill those two into the offense.”

In less than fifteen minutes, Tiki's world had changed
completely. Ronde stood there, feeling excited for his brother.

Still, as he watched Tiki taking snap after snap, and knowing his twin would be getting his big opportunity next Saturday, Ronde couldn't help wishing it was happening to him.

 •  •  •

Tiki had been on cloud nine all week, floating with happiness and excitement. As sorry as he was about Jesse, he finally had his chance. He wouldn't have the pressure of starting against the North Side Rockets—the strongest team the Eagles would face all season—but he'd get to come in and surprise everybody.

He knew the Rockets would be preparing to face Jesse Fowle, whom they knew from last year. They'd even seen John Berra before, since he'd played in that game, too, as a sub.

But Tiki would be totally new to them—and that could work to his advantage. And when Matt Clayton came off the bench for his first game of the season, they would be in shock—and in trouble.

Still, as Friday rolled around, Tiki could start to feel the pressure mounting inside him. What if he
failed
on Saturday? What if he fumbled the ball away, or didn't block out the blitz, letting Matt get injured again? What if he blew the whole game for his team?

“Barber!”

Tiki snapped to attention, and realized he'd spaced out yet again in Mr. Wheeler's class. But somehow, this time, he hadn't gotten the paper ball fired at his head. Tiki wondered why.

“Yes, Mr. Wheeler?”

“I want you to stay a couple minutes after class today.”

“Oooooo . . . ,” the whole class murmured, picturing the awful things Mr. Wheeler was going to say to Tiki.

“But I've got to get to practice—”

“I know that,” said Mr. Wheeler. “It won't take long—and it's important.”