Kickoff! (13 page)

“Yes sir,” Tiki said, worrying.

After the bell rang, and all the kids had shuffled out, Mr. Wheeler said, “I know what's been on your mind.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I know why you've been zoning out so much in class this week.”

“I haven't been zon—”

“Yes you have, and don't bother to deny it,” said Mr. Wheeler. “I mean, you're always something of a space cadet, but this week it's gone into overdrive.”

“Sorry, Mr. Wheeler,” said Tiki, looking down at his shoes. One of them was unlaced, but he didn't dare tie it now.

“It's because you're going to be playing in the big game tomorrow, isn't it?”

Tiki nodded. “I guess that's right. Like I said, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” said Mr. Wheeler, to Tiki's surprise. “Look, it's a big moment in your life, so you want to make the most of it. That means you've got to keep only positive thoughts in your head. If you start thinking negative thoughts about the game, shift to thinking about something else until you can be positive again. Understand?”

“I . . . I think so,” Tiki said.

“Look at what happened to you in this class. At first, you were scared. You were thinking negatively, and you messed up big-time. But then, you got up the courage to raise your hand—and guess what? You were right! And all of a sudden, you had some confidence in yourself, so your work just got better and better.”

Mr. Wheeler smiled and nodded slowly. “It can be the same way in football. If you
think
you can do it, you
can.
”

“Hey, it's not about me,” Tiki said, smiling back at Mr. Wheeler. “It's all about the team.”

Mr. Wheeler clapped him on the back. “You got that right,” he said. “Now go out there and get 'em!”

 •  •  •

Tiki looked up at the stars—the ones in the sky, and the big neon one at the top of Mill Mountain. He had brought Ronde to their old fort again, to clear their heads and get focused before the big game.

“I'm gonna go out there and
do
it,” Tiki said softly.

“That's right,” Ronde said. “And I'm gonna yell so loud for you that the other team's gonna go crazy!”

Tiki laughed, and the boys slapped five.

Then slowly Tiki's smile faded. “You really think it's gonna go good?” he asked his brother.

“Go
well,”
Ronde corrected him, imitating their mom. Both brothers cracked up.

“Yeah, I think it's gonna go well,” Ronde said, smacking Tiki on the back and smiling. “Just don't mess up.”

“Mess up? I
never
mess up!”

“Me neither, yo.”

“I have never messed up in my whole, entire life!”

“I don't even know the meaning of the words ‘mess up'!”

They laughed until they were too tired to laugh anymore. Then they stood up and left for home.

Halfway down the block Tiki turned around for one last look. The old fort stood behind them in the starlight, half hidden in the distance.

Tiki closed his eyes and wished on the stars with all his heart. Then he blew out a deep breath and turned back toward home.

RONDE COULD BARELY STAND IT. THE TENSION
was just too much. Sitting there on the bench, or pacing back and forth, it didn't matter. Nothing helped.

The Eagles' running game was going nowhere against the North Side Rockets' sturdy line. Berra had had no success on their first two drives, so the third time the Eagles got the ball, Coach Spangler sent Tiki in.

But it didn't do any good. Tiki was managing to hold on to the ball this time—but that was about all. He gained two yards on his first try, one yard on his next. The third time, he was thrown back for a loss of five.

On the next drive, the same thing happened. The Rockets' linemen were just too big and strong—not only for Tiki, but for the Eagles' entire offensive line, including Bryce and Boomer. They sacked Matt Clayton three times in the first quarter. Luckily, Matt got up each time, and was able to keep playing.

Every time Matt went down, Ronde saw Coach Spangler wince, as if his own leg hurt. Ronde could tell Coach was worried about Matt getting hurt again, by the
way he barked at the offensive linemen as they came off the field. “Can't you give your quarterback a little protection?” he yelled. “Keep your heads in the game!”

On defense, the Eagles were doing much better. They'd held the Rockets' mighty running game to only twenty-six yards, and allowed only two field goals so far, for a 6–0 lead.

Ronde was too wrapped up in the game to worry about whether he was ever going to get to play in it. He was rooting for Tiki and Matt and the rest of the Eagles with every nerve, muscle, and bone in his body. He jumped up and down in frustration whenever one of the Eagles' receivers dropped a pass.

But worst of all was watching Tiki get creamed every time he carried the ball. The Rockets were piling onto him, and Ronde could almost feel the crush of their combined weight. How was Tiki even able to stand up after that—let alone play?

“Try going outside,” Ronde told his twin during one Rockets drive in the middle of the second quarter, when Tiki was resting on the bench. “You know, around the end.”

“That's not the play that was called,” Tiki explained.

“So what, man?” Ronde said. “Sometimes, when it's not working, you have to make things up as you go. You know—like on the street.”

“No, man, it's all about the team, remember?”

“That's what I'm saying, Tiki! You want the team to score some points, or don't you?”

“I don't know,” Tiki said, shaking his head. “Things are bad enough. I don't want Coach benching me for going against the play.”

“Don't be chicken, dude!” Ronde said. “I'm telling you, they're not ready for you going around end! Just do it—just once!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tiki. “Maybe in the second half, if I see an opening.”

“Dang!” Ronde muttered, shaking his head and sitting back down. “You are stubborn sometimes!”

Tiki laughed. “That's what Mom always says—about both of us.”

Ronde didn't think it was so funny.

Just then, Matt Clayton came up to them. “Hey, Tiki,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

“Everything hurts,” Tiki said, smiling. “You?”

“I know just what you mean. Listen, next drive, let's go wide. Dump some screen passes to you, maybe run around end.”

Tiki looked at Ronde and laughed. “Sounds good,” he said.

“Hey, that was my idea!” Ronde said after Matt had walked away.

“I know,” Tiki said. “Take it easy, Ronde—two people can have the same idea. It's okay. Just chill, all right?”

“Hey, man—at least you're out there, working your tail off. You think it's easy sitting over here watching?”

“No, man, I know,” Tiki said, patting his brother on the arm. “It's tough. Don't worry, though—you'll get in there. Just be patient.”

“Ha. Now you sound like Matt.”

“It's true, though. Look at me—didn't I get in there?”

“Yeah, you got in,” Ronde said. “But you're not
doing
anything!”

“Hey, give me a break—those guys are animals.”

“I know it. That's why I say, go around end!”

Tiki sighed. “I've gotta go back in,” he said, strapping on his helmet. “It's gonna be our ball.”

The Rockets were about to punt. Back to receive the kick was Jeff Jacobsen. The kick was high and wobbly, and Ronde could see that there was no way Jeff would be able to put together much of a runback.

But Jeff wasn't calling for a fair catch. Looking up at the ball, he didn't see the onrushing Rockets headed straight for him.

“Look out!” Ronde screamed, but Jeff couldn't hear him over the roar of the crowd. He caught the ball, juggled it, then got smacked right in the midsection by a flying Rockets rusher!

The ball popped straight up into the air. Another Rockets rusher grabbed it, and sprinted all the way into the end zone.
Touchdown!

“NOOO!!!” Ronde moaned, along with every other player and coach on the Eagles' sideline.

The score was now Rockets 12, Eagles 0.

But there was even worse news. Jeff Jacobsen was not getting up off the field. He was still lying there, tossing and turning on the ground, and grabbing his stomach with both hands.

Coach Spangler, along with all his assistants and the team trainer, ran out onto the field and surrounded Jeff. Ronde and Tiki could only watch and keep their fingers crossed.

Finally, after about two minutes, the coaches helped the fallen Eagle to his feet. Draping his arms around their shoulders, they helped Jeff off the field—and straight into the visitors' locker room.

Play resumed, and the Rockets converted the extra point. There were still three minutes to go in the first half, but if the lead got any bigger, it was going to be tough to overcome.

Kevin Crandall, one of the team's starting cornerbacks, took the kickoff this time for the Eagles. He was tackled at their own twenty-five yard line.

Matt Clayton came back over to the Barbers. “Come on, Tiki,” he said. “Let's get back in this thing.”

The offense trotted out onto the field. Matt handed off to Tiki on first down—or did he? Wait, no! He was rolling out to the weak side—and going long! Curt Schoenig caught
the pass in perfect stride, and ran it in for a touchdown!

Talk about a quick change in momentum! Ronde couldn't believe it. He was still shouting and jumping up and down when the offense trotted back to the bench. “Way to go, Tiki!” he said, high-fiving his twin.

“Why, what'd I do?” Tiki asked.

“Man, you faked 'em out totally,” Ronde said. “Take a little credit!”

“I guess,” Tiki said. But Ronde could tell his brother was disappointed it hadn't been him who scored the touchdown.

The extra point was good and the score was now 13–7, Rockets. They took the kickoff from Adam and ran it back to midfield. But during the last two minutes of the half, the Eagles' defense held firm again.

“Okay, we're still in this thing,” Coach Spangler shouted as the gun sounded to end the first half. “Let's go, Eagles!” He led them back into the locker room, where all the players drank fluids and tried to get their energy back for the second half.

Ronde didn't need to drink fluids. He didn't need to rest. He was as rested as could be. But he made himself useful, making sure Tiki drank enough and got an icecold wet towel to cool off with.

That was when Coach Spangler tapped Ronde on the shoulder. “Barber? I need to talk to you.”

“Me?” Ronde asked. “Sure you don't mean Tiki?”

“No, I mean you,” said the coach. “C'mere, number five.”

He led Ronde over to an empty bench and sat down opposite him. “Listen,” he said with a sigh. “We think that Jacobsen has a broken rib.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I'm afraid so. We need a new kickoff and punt returner.”

“What about Kevin or Berra?” Ronde asked.

The coach shook his head. “Crandall's not used to doing it, and Berra's more of a power rusher. I need a speed demon.” He stared right at Ronde. “So . . . what do you think? You ready to be our returner in the second half?”

“Who, me?”

Spangler smiled. “Who am I talking to here? You see anybody else?”

“Yeah, I'm ready, Coach! Put me in!”

Spangler nodded. “All right, you're in. Show me something, Barber—sorry, Ronde. Go out there and show
everybody
what you've got.”

“You won't be sorry, Coach!”

Spangler clapped him on the back. “Didn't I tell you you'd get your chance?”

“You did, Coach. I just never thought it would come this fast.”

The coach's smile faded, and Ronde knew he was
thinking about his injured player. “Neither did I, Ronde,” he said. “Neither did I.”

Ronde did some running in place to get himself warmed up. He did some short wind sprints, practicing a few of his patented moves along the way.

But when the big moment came, the kick was so high and deep that all Ronde could do was take a knee. He really wanted to try running it back, but he remembered what had happened to Jeff Jacobsen in the first half—he didn't want to break a rib before he even got started.

“There'll be other chances,” he told himself, knowing he'd done the right thing by taking a knee.

On the Eagles' first drive of the second half, Matt faked a handoff and dropped back, pretending to go long. But instead, he dropped a perfect screen pass to Tiki.

The play took the Rockets' defenders completely by surprise. Tiki was all alone in the corner, with just one man to beat. He faked him left, then right, and breezed by his frozen victim into the secondary!

Ronde jumped up and started yelling. “Go, Tiki! Go! All the way!”

Tiki was at the thirty, the thirty-five, the forty, the forty-five, the fifty! The entire Rockets secondary was after him, but Tiki was faster than any of them. It was only the safety, playing deep, who managed to trip Tiki up at the Rockets' fifteen yard line.

The whole Eagles offense mobbed Tiki as he trotted
back to the huddle. Even under his helmet, Ronde could see his brother's big, wide, beaming smile as he high-fived everyone, then ran over to the sideline for a breather.

“Man, you rule!” Ronde said, giving Tiki their best secret handshake. “That was awesome!”

“Felt good,” Tiki said, still out of breath. “Felt
really
good.”

Out on the field, Matt was calling out the next snap sequence. “Fifteen, forty-three, hut! Hut, hut!” He dropped back, then darted forward, straight past the blitzing linebackers and into the open! He was at the ten, the five . . . 
touchdownl
!