The Comeback Challenge (4 page)

A pair of Raiders double-teamed him. One snaked a foot in, stole the ball, and sent it toward his own front line.

Mark pulled up short, then jogged slowly to center field. He glanced over at Vince, who was doing the same. Although the boy
didn’t look at him, Mark was sure he saw a trace of a smile on Vince’s face.

I must have imagined that, Mark thought. Vince can’t be glad that something bad happened when I tried to take the ball downfield.
Can he?

Suddenly Mark wasn’t so sure. Everything that had happened so far between the two boys indicated that Vince might be perfectly
content if Mark failed on the field.

The little flicker of anger Mark had felt earlier in the day flamed a little higher at the thought. But as before, he pushed
it away and turned his attention back to the game.

Soon enough, the ball came back toward the Raiders’ goal. Mark watched Vince bear down on it. Mark had to admit that he was
one of the best players on the field. The Scorpions’ captain seemed to
be everywhere at once. He stole, dribbled, and passed with great accuracy.

Vince’s onslaught had exhausted the Raiders’ defense. One player tried to boot the ball clear from in front of the goal, but
his kick was off. Vince grabbed his chance. With a great leap, he headed the airborne ball toward their net — and in it went
for the first goal of the game!

As the crowd cheered, the team crowded around Vince to give him slaps on the back and high fives. Mark joined in, but just
as he was about to offer his congratulations, the ref blew the whistle to signal the continuation of the game.

Mark glanced toward the sideline as he started to follow the action down the field. There were Grandma and Grandpa Conway
and, squeezed in next to them, his father! It looked as though Mr. Conway was going to find time for him after all.

The ball was now deep in Scorpions territory. Craig and Eddie Chu were bearing down on the Raiders’ forwards. There were two
quick attempts at a kick on goal. But misfired. Still, the Scorpions just couldn’t seem to get the ball out of the circle.

Tweeet!

A penalty was called — against the Scorpions!

Johnny Mintz had gotten so tangled up with a Raiders wing, he had committed a minor foul. The Raiders would get a free kick.

Mark hustled over to the goal line. Coach Ryan used his forward line to form the wall defending the goal area.

The kick was a fireball that Evan Andrews, lined up on Mark’s right, somehow managed to block. Jim Shields collected it and
dribbled a few yards before passing it on to Mel Duffy. The ball moved steadily downfield, crossing the midfield line. Finally
the Scorpions were deep into Raiders territory. Vince took possession.

“Come on, Scorpions!” Mark called as he raced downfield. He was careful to keep at least one defensive man between him and
the goal so that he wouldn’t be called offsides. But he made sure he was in good position to dart ahead should the ball come
his way.

So far, though, Vince had passed to him exactly once — and then it was only because Mark caught up with the ball before it
got to its intended receiver. Despite the fact that they had both been constantly
moving back and forth, up and down, and across the field as a team, there was almost no contact between them.

But as the play became concentrated in the penalty area, they had to pay more attention to each other. A screw-up here could
be costly.

Vince had just wriggled free of two Raiders defensemen. He looked around, then half-dribbled, half-booted the ball toward
the center of the circle.

Mark swooped in to trap it. As he lifted his head, it looked as though he would have a good shot on goal. Then a Raider stepped
in front of him, leaving the player he had been guarding wide open. That player was Evan. Mark booted it to him.

The Raider jumped back toward Evan, but Evan was too quick. He stopped the ball, then instantly returned it to Mark. The Raider
was caught out of position — and Mark took advantage of the opportunity. In one smooth motion, he stopped the ball, bent his
knee, and let fly.

The ball zoomed through the air, passed the goalie’s outstretched arms, and hit its target.

Goal!

The score was now Scorpions 2, Raiders 0.

This time the team crowded around Mark and Evan, slapping them on their backs and palms. Mark noticed that Vince hovered around
the edge of the group and was the first one to leave when the ref blew his whistle to signal the end of the first half.

Evan rushed up to Mark and started to crow about the goal.

“It was a classic!” he said, brushing his sweaty hair back off his brow. “What a combo. Almost like a give-and-go in basketball!”

Mark smiled and nodded. “It’s a play we did in England a few times, but I’d forgotten about it until now. It really works
when the defense isn’t prepared. Plus you can feed the ball to the center position from either side of the field. Maybe Coach
Ryan’ll add it to our playbook.”

Mark heard a snort come from behind him. He turned to see Vince laughing with another teammate. He thought he heard the word
“brownnose” come out of Vince’s mouth.

Is that what he’s got against me? Mark thought. He thinks I’m sucking up to the coach, just because I’ve got a play to suggest?

Mark found that hard to believe, though. When
he had played in England, his teammates had often worked with the coach to come up with good plays. After all, weren’t the
players on the field just as knowledgeable about what could and couldn’t work as the people standing on the sidelines? Even
when his mother had coached, she had sometimes bounced ideas off her players.

The second-half whistle blew, and play resumed. The Scorpions couldn’t seem to do anything wrong. Both Vince and Mark scored
goals. The home team allowed their opponents one goal in the last few seconds of the game, leaving the final score Scorpions
4, Raiders 1.

The fans loved every minute of it. When the whistle blew to signal the end of the game, they swarmed out of the stands. Cheers
and hugs slowed down the team as they made their way toward a table that had been set up with refreshments for the players.

“Great game, son!” Mark’s father was the first one to reach him. He gave him a warm embrace.

“Two goals — my, oh, my,” said Grandma Con-way. “This calls for a party. I’m glad I made something special for dinner. We’ll
all celebrate together.”

But Mr. Conway shook his head. “I won’t be able to make it,” he said.

“Do you have to work again tonight, Dad?” Mark asked, disappointed.

Mr. Conway’s face darkened. “No, I have to meet my lawyer,” he said angrily. “Your mother just won’t let up on her demands.
Why, she thinks she can —”

“Bill,” Grandma Conway interrupted quietly. She shook her head.

Mr. Conway looked at her, then glanced at Mark. “Well, anyway, I guess I’d better get going.” He gave Mark a fleeting kiss
on the cheek and rushed off.

“Oh, look at these lovely cookies,” said Grandma Conway. “You’d better not eat too many and spoil your dinner.”

Mark stared at the ground. “I’m not very hungry. Come on,” he said to Craig, who had been standing with him the whole time.
“We’d better get cleaned up.”

As they got inside the locker room, Craig asked, “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” said Mark.

“Nothing, huh?” said Craig. “Well, I guess it’s nothing you’d want to even tell a friend about.”

Mark twisted his towel into a knot and looked at the friendly face staring at him.

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s — it’s — it’s just, well, you see, I’m not living where I used to because I’m not living with
my parents anymore.”

Craig cocked his head and asked, “You’re not? Why? I mean, why not?”

“Because they’re not living together because they’re getting a divorce.” He realized it was the first time he had said it
out loud. He went on, “And they both want me to live with them, and all they do is fight over it. So I’m living with my grandparents.
It’s no big deal.”

“If you say so, Mark,” Craig said quietly, his usual joking manner subdued, “then it’s no big deal. No sweat.”

M
rs. Conway steered the dark green convertible into a parking space close to the main entrance to the mall. Mark unbuckled
his seat belt and got out.

“I really don’t need anything,” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He pushed his way through the revolving
door behind her.

“Of course you do,” she insisted, taking his arm and steering him toward the mall’s biggest department store. “In a store
this large, you’re sure to find something you want. Besides, how do I know you have all your school clothes? As a matter of
fact, do you have enough underwear and socks?”

That made Mark smile.

“I should have enough socks. You send them to me from all over the world!” He bit back the rest of what he was thinking: that
it would be nicer for him
to receive more than the short note she stuck in with each pair. He didn’t want to ruin her good mood by sounding mean-spirited.

Mrs. Conway laughed. “Just be glad I stopped sending underwear! Remember that pair I sent you with the little bears hugging
and kissing?”

“Yuck! I’ll never forget the time they were the only pair I had that weren’t in the laundry. And that was the day we had gym
class!” Mark said. “Boy, did I ever take a pounding from the rest of the guys.”

“Oh, I can’t believe those English boys had never seen anything like that,” said Mrs. Conway.

“Don’t kid yourself,” said Mark. “Those English kids could be tough. You never really got to know them.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was sorry he’d spoken them. He never said things like that to his parents.
After all, it didn’t help matters.

They had reached the Boys’ Department. Rows and rows of neatly buttoned shirts hung on racks like a regiment of well-trained
soldiers. Tables stacked with creased and folded trousers were aligned according to size and color. At Mark’s comment, Mrs.
Conway put down the blue-and-white-striped rugby shirt she was examining and put her hands on his shoulders.

“I tried to,” she said. “I simply didn’t have the time. I guess you just didn’t get the kind of ‘milk and cookies’ mom you
wanted.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Mark mumbled. “Forget I said anything.”

The two wandered silently between the rows of clothing. Then Mark saw the sporting goods section.

“Hey, do you think they sell soccer shoes here?”

“Why? Do you need a pair?” asked his mother.

“Well, you’re the one who taught me that a good-fitting sport shoe is important if you’re going to play well. And my old pair
is starting to feel a little tight,” Mark replied.

“Well, then, let’s see about getting you the best pair of soccer shoes they have. Excuse me,” she said to the salesperson.
“Do you have soccer shoes?”

The woman pointed the way. A few minutes later, they were surrounded by fishing rods, skis, tennis racquets, and sleeping
bags. Mark spotted a display with a big basket of black-and-white soccer balls.

“Gotta be nearby,” he said. “Oh, there they are.” He pointed to a wall with boxes and boxes of all kinds of sporting footwear
— baseball cleats, running shoes, basketball high-tops, and over on one side, soccer shoes.

Mrs. Conway checked her watch, then handed him her credit card.

“Just find the ones you want, try them on, and if they fit and you like them, pay for them with this. Just tell the salesperson
I’ll be back to sign for them,” she said.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“There’s a pay phone over on that wall. I have to call into my office.”

“But this is Saturday,” Mark protested.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she said. She paused a moment, then went on in a hushed voice, “I didn’t want to tell you this until I knew
something more definite, but maybe it’s better you know what’s happening now. Mark, it seems that my company might be moving
out of state sometime soon. I’m hoping I will be moving with them — and if the court decides you’re to stay with me, you’ll
be coming with me.”

Mark’s heart sank. Moving again? he thought.

But out loud, all he said was, “I guess that’s why you don’t have time for soccer right now.”

“Oh, Mark, I’ll try to get to some of your games,” she said. “It’s just that afternoons are so hard.”

“Yeah, but you used to have time. Some of the guys on the team even remember when you coached us all those years ago.”

“They do? That was fun, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Conway got a faraway look in her eyes. But then that look changed. “Well, that was
then. Now, thanks to your father, I simply don’t have the luxury of doing such things. Every spare minute I have, I have to
spend with my lawyers.” She straightened up and started for the phone. “I won’t be a minute. You just go and get your shoes.
Get good ones, too.”

Mark sighed deeply. He wished he’d never brought up the subject of coaching, or soccer, or how things used to be. It just
didn’t do any good.

He turned toward the display of soccer shoes. None of them looked any good to him now. He wasn’t even sure he wanted a new
pair.

“May I help you?” A salesman stepped out from behind the counter.

“I don’t think so,” said Mark.

“We’re having a special sale on these top-of-the-line soccer shoes,” he said, pointing at a famous brand. “I might have something
in your size.”

Mark hesitated. “Well, maybe I could just try them on,” he said, nodding to the salesman.

A few minutes later, Mark was carrying a bag with his new soccer shoes and looking for his mother. But the floor was too crowded
now for him to see all the way over to the telephone booths.

“Hey, Mark, what’s happening?” called a familiar voice.

Mark turned around and saw Craig Crandall. Eddie Chu and Mel Duffy were standing with him over by the soccer ball display.

“Nothing,” Mark replied automatically. Then he added, “What are you guys doing here? Buying a new soccer ball?”