Kickoff! (7 page)

“Yeah.”

“You like the school?”

“I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

Tiki was silent for a moment. “You think we'll get to start?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” Ronde said. “It would be great if we're starters.”

“Yeah, but what if we aren't?”

Ronde knew what Tiki was trying to say—life at school would be great if they were starters on the team. But second-stringers didn't play all that much. And third-stringers barely got in the games at all. If that happened, life at school would be a nightmare!

“What's the worst that could happen?” Ronde asked.

“We could be third-stringers, and never get into the games except in garbage time.”

“I can think of something even worse than that,” Ronde said.

“What could be worse than that?”

“If one of us is a starter, and the other is a third-stringer.”

The crickets chirped loudly in the silence between the boys.

“Well, we'll know soon,” Ronde finally said.

“Yeah. Monday morning.”

“Yeah.”

MONDAY MORNING DAWNED SUNNY AND BRIGHT.
Tiki took that as a good sign. As he and Ronde rode the bus to school, both boys were quiet. But Tiki was confident they would both be starters—and he could tell Ronde felt the same way.

And why shouldn't they be starters? Didn't they leave it all on the field at both practices? Oh, sure, they'd made plenty of mistakes. But at the last practice, they'd both made a big impression, no question about it.

There was the usual big knot of kids standing in front of the list. Most of them looked to be seventh graders—they would look up, find their name, and for most of them, their shoulders would sink as they found out they were going to be backups.

Tiki led the way, threading through the crowd toward the front, with Ronde right behind him. “You ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I'll ever be.” Ronde gulped.

Tiki looked up. There was his name, near the top and right below Ronde's. He looked at the center column: It said, “Running back.”

Cool!

Then he continued across to the right-hand column:

“Third team.”

Third team?

“What?”
he cried. “That's no fair!”

“Man!” Ronde said, shaking his head. Next to his name, it said, “Secondary—third team.”

After all they had shown the coaches, this was the reward they got? “I can't believe this!” Tiki blurted out.

“Maybe it's a mistake,” Ronde said hopefully. But somehow inside he didn't think so.

“Yeah, right,” Tiki said, suddenly feeling a lump rising in his throat. “It's a mistake, all right. Look at all the others—almost everybody's third-string.”

Ronde looked all the way down the list. “Hey, check this out—Paco's a starter!”

“Huh?”

Tiki looked to where his twin was pointing. Sure enough, next to Paco's name, it said, “Offensive tackle—first team.”

“Now you tell me, what about us?” Ronde asked. “Is that fair? Nothing against Paco, but you know we're better than he is at football. We've been playing together for years.”

“I
know,”
Tiki moaned.

“And look here—Adam's a starter too!”

“What!”
Tiki was stunned. Adam was a great hitter
in baseball, but everyone in their group of friends knew football wasn't his game. Yet there he was, listed as first-string kicker.

“This is so wrong.” Ronde said angrily. “Man, these coaches are blind!”

“You got that right,” Tiki said.

“Oh, so now we're
blind?”
came a man's deep voice behind them.

Tiki spun around, and saw that Mr. Pellugi, who was his Health Ed teacher, and also one of the Eagles' defensive coaches, was standing right there.

“Uh, no! I didn't say that,” Ronde stammered. “I mean, yeah, I said it, but I didn't mean it—I mean . . . I meant . . .”

“Look,” said Coach Pellugi, “it wasn't easy making all these decisions. Mostly, Coach Spangler just puts all the seventh graders on the third team, unless we're thin at a particular position. You'll get your chance. Football is a game of patience.”

Tiki could see where a kid might make the first team at kicker and offensive line, because not that many kids had tried out for them. Or maybe the first-teamers at those positions had all graduated, opening spots for new kids.

“Just hang in there, boys,” said Coach Pellugi. “You'll get your chance to play.” He walked into the office, leaving the group of disappointed boys standing there.

That was when Jason showed up. “Yo, dudes!” he said, a big smile on his face. “Did you make the starting team?”

Tiki and Ronde looked down at the floor and shook their heads.

“Aw, man . . . Well, don't take it too hard. Not everybody can be a starter right off the bat.”

He looked up at the list, checking for his own name. Then he found it.
“Third team,”
he cried. “No way! No
possible
way!”

Jason's usually pale face got as red as a chili pepper. He slammed his book bag on the ground. The zipper popped open, and all his books scattered across the floor, but he didn't even bother to pick them up.

“This stinks so bad!” he said, pounding on the list with his fist. “Man, I am
not
riding the bench for the whole season, just so I can watch some other kid play quarterback just because he's an eighth grader!”

“But Jason,” Tiki began, “you just said we should be patient—”

“Yeah, well, I take it all back,” said Jason. “That's for
losers.
Not for me.”

“Jason, what else can we do but be patient?” Ronde asked. “That's just the way it is.”

“Not for
me
it isn't,” said Jason. “I was the best quarterback at both practices. And don't give me that ‘Matt Clayton' baloney. He is still in a cast. I should have been the starter, hands down, and you know it!”

“Hey, man, chill out,” Tiki advised him. “Quit making a scene, all right?”

Teachers were popping their heads out of the office to see what all the commotion was about.

“You
chill out,” Jason said, kicking his book bag one more time before bending down to gather up his stuff. “I'm outta here.”

“Huh?”

“I quit this stupid team,” Jason said, stuffing his books and papers back into his bag any which way. “I'm gonna try out for some other team, where I'll actually get to play. If you two idiots want to put up with this garbage, go ahead. That's your problem.”

He stormed off down the hall, just as the early bell rang, warning everyone that it was time to head to first period classes.

“Whoa,” Ronde said. “I've never seen Jason so ticked off.”

“No lie,” Tiki agreed. “Hey, man—you think he's right?”

Ronde shook his head. “I know how he feels, though. I mean, it's embarrassing—Adam and Paco make the starting team, and we're all riding the bench?”

“I hear you.” Tiki didn't know how he was ever going to face Adam and Paco. Even worse, he couldn't bear the idea of showing up for games just to sit on the bench the whole game.

Today was already the worst day of his life, Tiki thought. And it was only just beginning!

His football dreams were ruined. If he and Ronde couldn't even make
second
team, let alone first, how were they ever going to make it all the way to the NFL?

“Maybe Jason's right,” Ronde said. “Maybe we should quit the team. I mean, if we tried out for soccer, or lacrosse or something, we could probably start right away.”

“Soccer? Lacrosse?”

“Yeah, man, they're pretty cool—and not that many kids try out.”

Tiki shook his head. “Ronde, when we sit around thinking about what we want to do when we grow up, we don't think about playing pro soccer.”

Ronde sighed. “No, I guess not.”

“Does pro lacrosse even exist? I don't think so.”

“Doubt it.”

“Maybe we should just chill out. Remember what Coach Pellugi said—and Matt Clayton, too. Let's just be patient, and hope we'll get our chance sooner or later.”

Ronde shook his head. “Whatever,” he said. “But it had better be sooner, not later.”

The boys walked off in silence. What more was there to say?

•   •   •

It was another bad day at school, naturally. It had been a terrible, terrible week, and today was the worst day of all—
Friday.

Usually, Friday was the best day of the school week, with the whole weekend to look forward to. But not this week. Tomorrow was Saturday—and the first game of the Eagles' season.

In class, concentrating was impossible. Only in Mr. Wheeler's class, where he feared being hit by flying paper balls, was Tiki able to buckle down and pay attention. And when the school day was finally over, Tiki could tell by the look on his brother's face that things hadn't gone too well for him either.

At practice Tiki and Ronde went through all their paces, but their hearts weren't in it, and their weak effort showed. The coaches were constantly urging them to do more, to try harder. But nothing seemed to help.

Once they got home, the boys were in no rush to do their homework. They didn't even
want
to go out and play, because that meant playing
football
—and even
thinking
about football was painful. It only reminded them of their failure to make the starting team!

Tiki played with his pencil and protractor. He drew doodles. Homework time seemed longer than football practice time. The doorbell rang, but neither Tiki nor Ronde cared to answer it.

Their mom did. “Paco's here to see you,” she said.

“Tell him we're sick,” Ronde said.

“What?”

“We don't feel good, Mom,” Tiki said. It was the truth, too. He felt like absolute crud. He just didn't feel like talking about why.

“Don't feel
well,
you mean,” Mrs. Barber corrected him. “Here, let me feel your foreheads.”

But the boys didn't have fevers. They were sick to their stomachs, and had a bitter taste in their mouths—a taste even Mom's chicken soup couldn't cure.

“Well, I've got to go out after dinner,” said Mrs. Barber.

“Where are you going, Ma?” Tiki asked. “Out with Mrs. Pendergast again?”

“Not tonight,” she said. “Tonight's Back to School Night.”

“Already?”
Ronde gasped.

“But it's only the second week!” Tiki said in a scared voice.

“Sooner the better,” Mrs. Barber said. “I'm anxious to see what Hidden Valley Junior High is all about.”

What she didn't say—but both Tiki and Ronde knew—was that she also wanted to ask their teachers how the twins were doing in class.

Uh-oh
 . . .

•   •   •

It was nearly ten o'clock at night when the front door opened and closed.

“Ma?” Tiki called from the living room sofa where he and Ronde were sitting, watching the NFL report on TV.

Nobody answered.

“Ma, is that you?” Ronde called.

She appeared in the doorway, frowning. “Well!” she said, coming slowly into the room and dropping down in her favorite armchair. “Did I ever get an earful tonight!”

“What do you mean, Ma?” Ronde asked innocently. But he knew what was coming.

“I found out that most of your teachers don't even know who you are!” she said. “Apparently, you never raise your hands in class, you seem not to be paying attention, and you show no interest in learning anything. Both of you!”

“That's not true, Mom!” Tiki protested.

“We were just distracted,” Ronde explained.

“Oh, really? By what?”

“By the football team,” Tiki said. “But that's all over now, Ma, so you don't have to worry about it anymore.”

“‘All over'? What do you mean, ‘all over'?”

Tiki and Ronde told their mom the awful truth: They were
losers.
Big-time losers—third-stringers, while their friends were starters! Their big dream of starring in the Super Bowl together was dead and buried. They'd never even make it to the Eagles' starting lineup, let alone the NFL!

“Now, boys,” said their mother, “you need to start paying attention—in and out of class. When people tell you to wait for your chance, and to be ready when it
comes, you ought to listen! When teachers share their knowledge with you, you ought to be grateful and interested. Maybe you don't think what they're teaching is important, but you're still too young to determine that.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tiki and Ronde whispered softly.

Their mother never raised her voice once, but she still got her point across loud and clear. “I don't
ever
want to get another report like I got tonight, understand?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“If riding the bench in football means you won't be distracted in class, maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. Maybe that's why they don't let most seventh graders start—did you ever think of that?”

Tiki hadn't, he had to admit.

“Now I realize football's important to you boys, but remember, your classes come first.”

“Yes, Ma,” the boys both said.

“I know if you pay attention in class, you boys will do just fine. You're smart kids, always were. But when you know the answers, you've got to raise your hands. You need to speak up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tiki and Ronde said again, although they weren't happy about it. Not a bit.