Touchdown for Tommy (2 page)

A light sparkled in Mr. Powell’s eyes. “Yes. I played in college, Tommy. I was a tackle.”

“Boy! That must have been great!” Tommy sighed deeply. A warm glow went through him all of a sudden.

Mr. Powell drove the car up to the garage door and stopped. Tommy jumped out and opened the door, and Mr. Powell drove the
car in.

Mr. Powell came out. He put his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. They walked toward the house.

“You’ve been with us about five months, Tommy,” said Mr. Powell quietly. “How do you like staying with us? Have we been treating
you right?”

Tommy looked up at Mr. Powell’s face. He hadn’t expected any question like that. He thought right away of his mother and father.
A lump the size of an apple rose in his throat.

“I like it here a lot, Mr. Powell,” he said, and swallowed. “You, and Mrs. Powell, and Betty — you’ve treated me wonderful.
Just wonderful.”

A
fter supper Mr. Powell relaxed in the living room with the evening paper. Tommy sat in the kitchen. He thought about the ten-dollar
bill. He must have lost it while playing football.

Finally he put on his coat and hat and grabbed a flashlight. “I’ll be back, Mr. Powell,” he said. “I’m going outside for a
while.”

He walked all the way back to the field. He decided on the way that if he found the money, he wouldn’t spend it. He would
return it to Betty or Mrs. Powell. Maybe if he did that, they would like him better. They
would let him stay at their house for always. But suppose one of the boys had found it?

Tommy walked over the places on the field where he had run during scrimmage. He searched the ground carefully. The grass was
cut short, but looking for the ten dollars was like looking for a needle in the haystack.

He went to the spot where he had tackled Jim Neeley. Shining the flashlight ahead of him, he walked back and forth between
the thirty- and forty-yard lines, his eyes glued to the ground.

He saw something flutter and picked it up, but it was only a wad of chewing gum paper.

Tommy kept looking. Then all at once he saw another bit of paper. It was pressed into the earth, half covered by the short
blades of grass. He poked it out with his finger. It was the ten-dollar bill!

He started out for home with the money
in his hand. He kept his hand in his pocket all the way. He walked by the store. Two cars were parked in front of it.

For a split second, Tommy thought about going inside. Boy, you could buy a lot for ten dollars. He felt thirsty, too.

But he went past the store and headed for home.

Betty was in the driveway, shooting baskets into the hoop above the garage door. She had on a gray, hooded jacket. She stopped
when she saw Tommy.

“Tommy, where have you been?” she asked.

“At the football field,” Tommy said. “I lost some money there and went back to look for it.”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Money? Where did you get it, Tommy? Did my mother or father give it to you?”

Tommy’s heart pounded. “I found it in the
backyard,” he said truthfully. He held it out to her. “Here.”

Betty shook her head. “Why don’t you keep it?”

“‘Cause,” he said. “It’s not mine.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “I guess this is something for Mom to decide.”

“I hope she won’t be mad,” said Tommy.

“Not Mom!” answered Betty.

They went into the house. Tommy heard a pounding in the basement. Mr. Powell must be working on the fruit shelves again. They
found Mrs. Powell in the kitchen, a pile of papers spread out before her.

“Mom, Tommy found this money in our backyard,” she said. “Did you lose it?”

Mrs. Powell looked at the bill in Tommy’s hand. “I don’t know. Did you just find it, Tommy?”

“No.” Tommy swallowed. “I found it after we’d been hanging out the clothes this afternoon. At — at first I wanted to spend
it. My mom and dad always used to give me money to spend. But I went to the football field and played football. I lost the
money. After supper I went back and found it. I — I changed my mind about spending it. I wanted to give it back to you.”

There. See what they would do now. Maybe they would call up Mrs. Kilbourne at the Child Welfare Department in Lewiston and
have him sent to another foster home.

Then he saw a smile come to Mrs. Powell’s face.

“Let’s not worry about whose money it is,” she said. “I think it was very nice that Tommy brought it back. Tomorrow both of
you can go to the ice cream store and have a sundae each. How does that sound?”

“That’s just fine, Mom!” cried Betty.

A warmth came over Tommy. “It’s fine with me, too, Mrs. Powell,” he said.

But deep inside he felt funny. He should never have walked away with that money in the first place. What if he’d blown it
with the Powells?

S
aturday morning Mr. Powell entered his football team, the Pirates, in the Midget League. First, Tommy had to be given a physical
examination by a doctor. He passed with flying colors. His name was put on the roster, too.

Just before lunch, Mr. Powell brought home Tommy’s uniform. It included a red-and-white helmet, a yellow jersey, pants, and
shoulder pads. Tommy touched them piece by piece with his fingers. Each touch was a thrill. Then he put on the uniform. It
fit him perfectly.

“We’ll drive to Lewiston this afternoon,” Mr. Powell said, “and buy you a pair of cleats.”

Tommy could hardly wait. This was the first time he had ever worn a football uniform. He would be playing just like the bigger
boys. With cleats he could run faster. And with shoulder pads he could tackle harder because he couldn’t get hurt.

Tommy was glad that Mr. Powell was coaching football. Tommy would show him that he could run, throw, catch, and tackle.

He might turn out to be the best player on the Pirates team. If he did, Mr. Powell would really like him. He might even talk
to Mrs. Powell and Betty about him.

“Tommy’s the best player on the Pirates team,” Mr. Powell would tell them. “I don’t want to send him away. I want him to stay
with us.”

And maybe Mrs. Powell and Betty would agree!

All the Powells drove to the mall in Lewiston that afternoon. Mrs. Powell and Betty went together to shop. Mr. Powell took
Tommy with him. They stopped in a sporting goods store, and Mr. Powell bought Tommy a pair of cleats.

“Now you’re all set,” Mr. Powell said with a grin. “We’ll break in those cleats and your uniform after we get home.”

The Pirates assembled at the football field at three o’clock. About twenty-five boys were present. They all wore uniforms.
Four footballs were being kicked or passed among them.

In their yellow jerseys the boys looked like autumn leaves blown around by the wind.

Mr. Powell explained to Tommy that the Lewiston Youth Bureau furnished the
uniforms to all the players on every team and that each team was sponsored by an organization.

“Who sponsors our team?” asked Tommy.

Mr. Powell, who was wearing a heavy sweatshirt, smiled. “Barton Merchants.”

Another man suddenly arrived in a station wagon. He was tall, about Mr. Powell’s age, and wore dark-rimmed glasses.

“Hi, Bill,” said Mr. Powell. “Meet the young fella I was telling you about, Tommy Fletcher. Tommy, this is Bill Adams, our
other coach.”

Tommy and Bill Adams shook hands. “Glad to have you with us, Tommy.”

Tommy stared. “We have
two
coaches?”

Mr. Powell nodded. “Oh, sure. Some teams have three or four. The more dads we can get, the merrier.”

Tommy thought that they would start
scrimmaging right away. But he was disappointed. Mr. Powell and Mr. Adams called the boys together and had them do some calisthenics
first. This took about an hour. Then the boys rested for five minutes. Tommy was glad for the rest. All those exercises had
made him pretty tired.

He never knew you had to work out like
this
to play football!

Both coaches then picked out eleven players each and worked with them separately.

Tommy was picked by Mr. Powell to play left end. David Warren was quarterback.

“Let’s practice a couple of plays,” said Mr. Powell. “First, number twenty. David gets the ball from the center, twists around,
and hands the ball to Kenny, who’s running down from the right end. Let’s try it.”

The players lined up. David called signals. The ball snapped from the center. David
caught it, turned, and handed the ball to Kenny. Kenny swept around Tommy at the left end.

“Fine!” said Mr. Powell. “Now let’s try some passes. David, heave one to Tommy.”

The players lined up again. Tommy’s heart kept jumping as he leaned forward, his right knee bent, the fingers of his right
hand pressed against the ground. This was what he had been waiting for — a chance to show Mr. Powell what he could do.

David barked signals. Suddenly shoulders met shoulders. Helmets thudded against helmets. Tommy pushed his man aside and took
off down the field. He looked over his shoulder. He saw the pigskin come curving down toward him. He leaped, caught the ball,
pulled it against his ribs, and hung on to it tightly.

“Nice throw, David!” yelled Mr. Powell.
“Nice catch, Tommy! Okay, try a pass to the right end this time!”

Exercise. Exercise. Exercise. Practice. Practice. Practice. The same thing took place on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Exercise
and practice.

“This is the stuff that will make you strong and fast,” said Mr. Powell.

T
he Pirates played the Cowboys the following Saturday morning. All the games in the Midget League were played Saturday mornings
because the high school team played in the afternoons.

Tommy didn’t start the game. But he wasn’t worried. Mr. Powell had told him that every member of the team would get in sometime
during every game. It was one of the league rules.

The Cowboys won the toss. They chose to receive. Fullback Fred Wilkins kicked off. The ball sailed end over end down the
eighty-yard field. A Cowboys player caught the ball, fumbled it, then picked it up again and ran it back to their thirty-three.

They gained six yards on a pass, then two more on a run through tackle. That put them across the forty-yard stripe on the
Pirates’ thirty-nine-yard line. Third down and two yards to go.

Another pass. It was completed! The receiver raced to the Pirates’ twenty-five-yard line before he was downed.

A whistle shrilled. There were substitutions on both sides. Still Tommy didn’t go in. He stirred nervously on the bench. He
was anxious to play.

First and ten for the Cowboys. The ball snapped from the center. A pass! Another completion! The fans rose to their feet in
the stands and roared. The runner was racing down the field. He crossed the twenty… the fifteen … the ten … the five …

Touchdown!

Tommy groaned.

The Cowboys kicked the extra point. Score: Cowboys 7, Pirates 0.

A whistle blew. The first four minutes of the first quarter were over. There would be a two-minute rest period, then the second
four minutes would be played.

“Okay, Tommy, go in at left end,” said Mr. Powell. “Send Jack out.”

The game started again. David heaved a long pass to halfback Tim McCarthy. It was intercepted! The Cowboys’ player ran hard
with the ball down the field! He was coming toward Tommy!

A player blocked Tommy, but Tommy pushed him aside and went after the ball-carrier. Just watch this tackle, he thought. Just
watch.

The player tried to dodge Tommy. Tommy lunged after him. He ducked his head and
swung his arms around the runner. His weight threw the boy to the ground. Tommy hung on and squeezed the boy’s body so that
he couldn’t get away.

A whistle shrilled loudly. Then a pair of hands circled Tommy’s middle and yanked him roughly away from the boy.

Tommy looked up into a referee’s angry face. “Hey! Cut that stuff out if you want to keep playing! He’s down!”

Tommy stared. He rose to his feet. He saw the disgusted looks of the players of his own team. What’s the matter? he thought.
How am I supposed to tackle?

A substitute replaced Tommy. Coach Adams motioned Tommy to sit beside him.

“Just bring the man down, then let him go,” said the coach. “Play clean, Tommy.”

Tommy wet his lips with his tongue. “Yes, sir,” he said.

The half ended with the game still in the
Cowboys’ favor. In the third quarter David raced around the right end for a thirty-two-yard run to score a touchdown. Fred
converted by kicking to tie the score.

In the fourth the Cowboys intercepted one of quarterback Jerry Miller’s passes and raced for a touchdown that won them the
game.

The whole Pirates team was noisy with excitement in the locker room as the boys prepared to take their showers. Even Mr. Powell
and Mr. Adams were smiling. Tommy couldn’t understand it. You would think that the Pirates had won the game instead of the
Cowboys. How could they feel good when they’d lost?

In the car on the way home, he asked Mr. Powell about it, and Mr. Powell explained. “You see, Tommy,” he said, “we play the
game for fun. We try to win, yes. Everybody does. But that’s not the most important
thing. The most important thing is participation. Everybody plays.”

There was a car in the driveway when they reached home. Mr. Powell drove around it and parked in the garage.

He and Tommy walked into the house. A woman was in the living room, talking with Mrs. Powell. She was a tall, nice-looking
woman with glasses.

“Hello, Tommy,” she said, the moment Tommy walked in.

Tommy blinked. “Hello, Mrs. Kilbourne,” he said. To himself he added, What are
you
doing here?

H
ow are your airplane models?” Mrs. Kilbourne asked. “Finished them yet?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes. You want to see them?”

“I’d love to, Tommy.”

He hurried to his room and returned with the two models he had assembled from kits Mr. Powell had bought him. One was a swept-wing
U.S. Navy plane, the Chance-Vought F7U-3 Cutlass. The other was a Navy jet trainer, the Seastar. The names were printed on
the mounts on which the
planes were fastened. Mrs. Kilbourne took the planes and looked at them admiringly. “They’re beautiful, Tommy! You certainly
did a very nice job.”