Soccer Hero (2 page)

But for once, Rob didn't care if he made his mother upset. He just shook his head and ran upstairs to his room. He slammed
his door, threw himself onto his bed, and covered his head with his pillow.

Some hero
, he thought.

He lay still for some time. Then he heard the sound of a telephone ringing. A few minutes later, his mother knocked on his
door.

“Rob? Can I come in, please?” Her voice was much softer than it had been earlier.

He pulled the pillow from his head and rolled over. “Sure.”

His mother sat next to him. “Oh, honey. Benji's mom just told me what happened.”

Rob's face twisted. “It was awful, Mom. One minute the coach was fine. Then it was like he was…was dead or something.”

Mrs. Lasher stroked his hair. “But he's not, is he? And from what I heard, he has you to thank for that.”

Rob gave a half shrug. “Probably he should thank you. You're the one who signed me up for that CPR class, remember?” He shook
his head. “I just wish the guys hadn't started clapping and calling me a hero! It made me feel all weird, especially since
Coach Brennan was being hauled away in an ambulance!”

Mrs. Lasher drew him close and hugged him. “I think they just couldn't believe what they'd seen you do. I'm a little stunned
myself. And very proud, too, by the way. I know your father will feel the same way.”

Mr. Lasher worked for a group that helped communities that had suffered through disasters. His job often took him away from
home for weeks, sometimes months at a time. This time, he was near the Gulf of Mexico, overseeing reconstruction of communities
that had been nearly wiped out by a huge hurricane. Even though Rob knew the work his father did was very important, he still
missed him.

Rob and his mom sat in silence for a little while longer. Then Mrs. Lasher looked at her watch and sighed. “I have to get
dinner started,” she said. “Want to help me?”

Rob shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

As he stood up to join her, the phone rang again. His mother hurried into the hallway to answer it. After speaking a few words,
she held the receiver out to him.

“Rob, it's for you.”

He took the phone and she continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Hello?” he said.

“Rob? This is Mrs. Brennan, Coach Brennan's wife.”

Rob clutched the phone tightly. “Is — is the coach okay?”

“He will be, Rob, but he's going to need surgery to correct a defect with his heart.”

“That's terrible!”

“Yes.” Rob heard her take a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you, Rob, for what you did for him today. I don't know how we
can ever repay you. The paramedics said your quick action probably saved his life.”

The weird feeling came over Rob again, leaving him tongue-tied. He finally mumbled that he was glad he'd helped.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Brennan said now, “I thought you should be the first to know. My
husband is going to have to resign from his post as your soccer coach.”

“Oh,” Rob said. “Who's going to take his place?”

Mrs. Brennan didn't say anything for a minute. Then, “Rob, I'm not sure anyone is going to take his place. It's so close to
the start of the season, anyone who would be interested or qualified is probably already busy with another team. Chances are,
the league will decide to reassign you and your teammates to other squads. If they can, that is.”

Soccer was very popular in Rob's state. His town alone had five middle school teams made up of boys ranging from ages eleven
to fourteen. These teams played against one another and against teams from neighboring towns.

Rob had played soccer on Coach Brennan's team the year before and had been psyched to find he was on his team again.
Although they'd only had a week's worth of practices together so far this season, he believed that he, Benji, Dmitri, and
the others had the chance to be something special on the field. The last thing he wanted was to have to start all over again
with players and a coach he didn't know — assuming he'd even be able to, that is.

But compared to what the coach was going through, how could he complain?

“I'm sorry to deliver the bad news,” the coach's wife was saying. “And I hate to ask, but do you think you could call the
rest of the team and let them know the situation? I'd like to get back to the coach's bedside.”

“Sure, you bet. Tell him I hope he feels better real soon.”

Rob set the phone back into its cradle and stared at it for a long minute. Then he went downstairs for dinner.

Rob put off calling his teammates until the next morning. He contacted Benji first.

“Hey!” Benji cried. “How's the hero?”

“Cut that out, will you, Benji?” Rob growled.

Benji started laughing but stopped abruptly when he heard what the coach's wife had told Rob the night before.

“Aw, man, I don't want to get split up,” Benji moaned. “No one but you guys appreciates my fancy footwork!”

Rob had to smile at that. Benji's “fancy footwork” usually found him tangled up with the ball and landing flat on his face.
“I don't want to go to a new team either. But what can we do? If that's what the soccer league says we have to do, I guess
we have to do it.”

Benji was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I wonder if they'd let us look for our own coach? Just because they don't have
anyone doesn't mean we can't find someone, right?” Excitement grew in Benji's voice. “Listen, before we give up, let's get
everyone together and see if we can come up with some ideas on how to find a new coach. I'll call the offense, you call the
defense. Tell whoever you get ahold of to meet at the field in half an hour. Oh, and tell them to wear their soccer stuff
so we can play a pickup game, at least.”

“Okay, I'll try,” Rob said. He pressed the END button on the phone and then hit TALK to dial the first player's number. “But
I don't know if it'll work,” he said to himself.

H
alf an hour later, Rob joined his teammates on the field. Out of the fourteen members, only four players — Dmitri, Joey, Rudy,
and Scott — were missing.

“All right,” Benji said when they all had gathered under the shade of a big tree. “We need a plan.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said. “Rob, what do you think we should do?”

Rob blinked in surprise. “Why're you asking me? Benji's the one who called the meeting!”

“Actually, Rob,” Benji said, “maybe it
makes sense for you to tell everyone what Mrs. Brennan said first.”

Rob nodded and told them about his conversation with the coach's wife.

“I'll bet she thinks you're the greatest!” Kirk said enthusiastically.

“Gotta admit, Rob, what you did was kind of unbelievable,” Ming seconded. “So come on, you got any ideas for finding us a
new coach?”

“Well, urn, let's see,” Rob mumbled awkwardly. “We could try putting up signs in some stores to let people know we're looking
for a new coach.”

Even as he suggested it, he thought it was a lame idea. Yet to his astonishment, his teammates nodded and smiled.

“And how about an ad in the newspaper?” Rob continued, now warming up to his ideas.

Now Benji jumped up. “I know just who to call. My sister's boyfriend's mother works
for the
Town Gazette
. I'll bet she could tell us what to do. Of course, ads cost money. Would you guys be willing to chip in some cash to keep
the Pirates together?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Then I'll call the soccer league and make sure what we want to do is okay with them,” Benji said.

“So, now that that's decided” — Rob picked up his soccer ball, lobbed it into the air, and bounced it off his knee — “how
about we get a game going?”

Cheers of enthusiasm greeted the suggestion. The boys quickly divided into two teams. They flipped a coin to see which side
would be skins. Rob's team lost, so he, Arnold, Sam, Benji, and Bryan shucked their shirts and headed for the field.

“Hey, Rob, should we use goalkeepers or just go without?” Kirk called.

“I vote go without,” Rob replied. “That sound good?”

But Kirk didn't offer an opinion. Instead, he cried, “Rob says to play without goalkeepers!”

Rob opened his mouth to add that it was fine with him if others wanted to use goalies. But everyone seemed to agree with the
decision, so he closed his mouth again and jogged toward his usual left midfield position.

He didn't reach it, however, because Benji shoved him toward the center circle instead.

“Go ahead, start things off,” Benji yelled as he moved to his own spot at right midfield.

Rob had never played center forward before, but he knew what he was supposed to do. He put the ball on the ground, signaled
the start of the game, and booted a sideways kick to Sam on his right.

Sam was a chunky boy with short legs. He
wasn't a great athlete, but he always tried his hardest. Now he controlled the ball and dribbled forward a few steps before
passing back to Rob.

Rob saw an opening on the field. He dribbled toward it, only to have the opening close up when Brendan leaped to that spot.
That left Arnold free. So Rob booted the ball to his other forward and then darted ahead in case Arnold sent a return pass.

The pass back did come, but so hard and so fast that Rob wasn't prepared. The ball ricocheted off his shin and careened over
the touchline.

“Our throw-in!” Ming called.

As Ming started toward the ball, a tall boy with dark hair scooped it up. “Heard you guys were pulling together a pickup game.
So who's winning?”

It was Dmitri. Scott was with him, too.

“Excellent!” Leo exclaimed. “Now that you guys are here, we can play six-on-six!”

“And guess what?” Kirk chimed in. “Rob came up with these great ideas for finding us a new coach!” He quickly filled them
in on what had been discussed — praising Rob way more than Rob thought he should have. “So, Rob,” he finished, “which team
should they go on?”

But Dmitri was already pulling off his shirt. “I'll be on skins. Scott, how about you do us all a favor and keep
your
shirt on?”

“Ha, ha,” Scott said sarcastically. But he trotted to the opposite side of the field.

Ming held out his hand. “It's shirts' throw-in.”

Dmitri tossed him the ball and moved toward the center forward position.

“Um, Dmitri?” Rob said. “That's where I was playing.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, but you take it. I'll switch to midfielder.”

Dmitri gave him a long look. “That's all right,” he said at last. “I'll try my luck at midfield.” He moved to Rob's usual
place at the left side of the field.

Ming lifted the ball behind his head and, with a strong two-handed throw, hurled it to his teammate, Raul.

Raul was the second-fastest dribbler after Dmitri. He took off at a fast pace, but Dmitri was even faster. He drew alongside
Raul, poked his foot at the ball, and stripped it away.

It all happened so fast, Raul didn't seem to realize he no longer had the ball. By the time he did, Dmitri had passed up to
Arnold, who held the ball for just a moment before blasting it to where Rob was waiting.

Rob took it on the fly. He dodged past
Brendan and then, with the goal in sight, drew his foot back for the kick.

He knew the minute his foot struck the ball that the kick was way off. The ball cleared the top of the goal by more than five
feet! He stopped short, put his hands on his knees, and blew out his breath in disgust.

“Nice try!” Benji called. “Six feet lower and it would have been in for sure!”

Everyone laughed as they got ready to put the ball back in play. Since Rob had sent the ball over the goal line, it was shirts'
goal kick. Brendan placed the ball in the goal area. Ming lined up to his right within the penalty box, Kirk to his left.
Leo and Scott hurried to the corners of the box while Raul danced back and forth along the top. Their object was to clear
the ball as far from their own goal as possible.

Rob and his team, meanwhile, were looking to do just the opposite. They drew in
tight, but when Dmitri stepped inside the box, Rob held up his hand to halt play.

“Dmitri?” he said hesitantly. “The offense has to be outside the box for a goal kick, remember?”

The look Dmitri gave Rob this time was level and cool. But he moved so he was no longer within the penalty area. “Is that
better?” he asked, his voice mocking.

Rob caught the tone, reddened, and looked away.

Benji caught the exchange. “Okay, you two, knock it off,” he said. “Go on, Brendan, play ball!”

So Brendan drew his foot back and booted a solid kick to Raul. Raul trapped it just inside the box. As he did, Leo and Scott
took off down the sidelines. Raul waited half a beat and then blasted the ball to Scott. Scott controlled it and dribbled
toward the middle of the field.

Dmitri rushed him. So did Sam.

“Sam, I've got it!” Dmitri cried.

But Sam couldn't put on the brakes in time. The two players collided just as they reached Scott.

“Ooof!” Dmitri sprawled face first, his bare chest sliding across the rough grass. The ball bounced across the field and out
of play.