“Guess we’ll find out on Monday,” Dougie said as he closed the door.
Mac stood in the driveway for a moment, then muttered, “Yeah, I guess we will.”
13
Are you ready for today’s paper?” Dougie asked him when they met up at lunch on Monday.
“Yeah,” said Mac. “Just make sure I’m not anywhere near Jimmy when it comes out. Just in case.”
“You got it,” promised Dougie.
But Dougie couldn’t keep his promise. Moments later, Jimmy and a few other boys joined them at the table. Jimmy sat down, then with a flourish handed Mac a copy of the Chronicle.
“Hot off the presses,” he said. “I haven’t even looked at it yet. Thought you’d like the honors.”
“Oh, man,” said Mel from beside Jimmy. “I hope it doesn’t have another dumb drawing in it.”
All eyes turned to Mac to see what he felt about that.
“You mean, the one that’s being drawn by the head of my fan club? Gee, I can’t remember if I told him to put one in this week,” he said sarcastically. But his heart was racing as he opened the paper to the center section.
Everything was quiet for a moment, then Dougie broke the silence.
“Well, at least the cartoonist didn’t picture you in the goal this time.”
Even so, everyone knew who was the brunt of the joke. Nervous laughter broke out around the table.
Mac stared at the cartoon. It showed a boy in a Cougars goalie uniform dancing with a girl wearing a blazer. Not only was the boy looking like he had no control over his limbs, but the artist had also shown him trying to talk to the girl—and failing because his mouth was crammed full of food. Instead of words coming out, he was showering his dance partner with crumbs.
The caption underneath read, Bet she wishes Motor Mouth would keep his trap shut (who doesn’t!?).
Mac crumpled up the paper, then raised his eyes to look at Jimmy. Jimmy’s grin faded, and he cleared his throat. “I wonder if my sister’s seen this,” he said.
Mac tossed the wad at him and said savagely, “You mean you didn’t even ask her if it was okay to put her in your latest cartoon?”
Jimmy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me! I guessed it was you a while ago, so you can forget about the innocent looks!”
Dougie coughed. “Uh, Mac, I think you’re forgetting something —,” he started to say.
“Dougie, keep out of this,” Mac snarled.
“But Mac —”
“I mean it! This is between Jimmy and me. So how ‘bout it Jimmy? You gonna confess finally or what?”
Jimmy stood up, his fists clenched. “You’ve already tried and convicted me, so what is there for me to say?” He picked up his lunch things and stormed off.
The other boys quickly and silently ate their lunches, then melted away with a few mumbled excuses. Finally only Dougie and Mac remained at the table.
“Mac, I wish you had let me say something before you cheesed off at Jimmy,” Dougie said.
Mac sighed. “Okay, what is it?”
“It’s just that I don’t think the cartoonist is Jimmy after all. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“Why?”
“Because Jimmy wasn’t there when your mouth was so full of brownie that you couldn’t speak to Deanna. He was in the bathroom, remember? So how could he use that in his cartoon?”
Mac stared at Dougie as the truth of that fact sunk in. Then he slumped across the table.
“I really blew it, didn’t I?” he said dejectedly. “Some detective I’d make. But Dougie, if it isn’t Jimmy, who is it?”
Both boys were silent for a while. Jimmy let his eyes roam around the room. Suddenly his gaze stopped on someone.
“I’m not positive,” he said, still staring. “But the possibilities are a lot narrower now. It had to have been someone who was standing with us at the dance, right?”
Dougie nodded.
Mac shifted his glance to his friend. “So what do you say we try laying another trap? And this time, we’ll be sure our net catches the right culprit!”
“I’m in,” Dougie agreed enthusiastically.
“Good. Now all I have to do is get Jimmy to forgive me. Because without him, my plan won’t work!”
Mac cornered Jimmy in the hallway later that day. Jimmy tried to get around him, but Mac wouldn’t budge.
“Jimmy, I want to apologize. I went crazy when I saw that cartoon. Shoot, I’ve been crazy ever since I saw the first one. But I—I should have known you were too good a friend to pull something rotten like that.”
Jimmy was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. “I guess I know why you thought it was me,” he said. “I do work for the paper, after all. And I was at the games where you said those things the cartoonist made fun of. And probably the fact that I used to play for the Hornets didn’t escape your memory.”
“You read my mind! Except you forgot about how the coach mentioned he’d use my help on the sidelines if I ever got injured.”
Jimmy gave him a wry smile. “Thanks for reminding me. Now I feel a lot better.”
Mac gulped. “Aw, Jimmy, don’t —”
Jimmy’s laughter cut him off. “Don’t worry, pal,” he said, giving Mac a light punch in the arm. “I got over that a long time ago. I like reporting on the games. And besides, once next season rolls around and the coach sees my stuff, he’ll be begging me to break another bone so I can be on the sidelines with him!”
Mac grinned. “For a moment there, I thought I’d blown it again! But since I’m forgiven, Jimmy, I wonder if you would like to join Dougie and me in a little sting operation to catch the real culprit. We’re calling it Operation Payback.”
“You got a deal!”
“Great! Meet me at my house tonight so I can tell you all the details. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to convince Coach Robertson to join our plan, too.”
By the time Mac crawled into bed that night, he had secured Coach Robertson’s agreement to go along with his plan. Dougie and Jimmy had come over as promised, and together they had hashed out the finer points of Operation Payback.
“I just hope this doesn’t backfire on you, Mac,” Dougie had said once. “If it does, you could find yourself facing more than one onslaught of offense single-handedly.”
Mac had shrugged, saying, “It’ll be worth it if it stops those lousy cartoons.”
As he stared at his ceiling now, he mulled over his plan one last time. He finally fell asleep convinced that it was foolproof— and that his suspicions about the cartoonist’s identity would be confirmed when the Chronicle came out on Monday.
14
Friday morning was one of the coldest of the year.
“You ought to be wearing down parkas to play today,” said Mrs. Williams, pouring a second cup of cocoa for Mac.
“It’ll warm up,” he said. “Besides, during a game you don’t even have a chance to think about the cold.”
“Unless you’re in the stands like your father and me,” she said. “Or on the sidelines. But I guess you don’t get much time away from the goal.”
“Nope,” he said.
“Well, at least one of us will be toasty,” she said.
But by game time, the cold had moved on and it was a beautiful, sunny day.
The sparkling green field under the blue sky looked particularly colorful as the Hotspurs in their deep-blue-and-orange uniforms shared space with the Cougars in their usual bright-yellow-and-black attire.
“Okay, Cougars! Everyone who’s ready to get those Hotspurs, give me a high five!” Mac called, holding his hands in the air.
His teammates ran by him and slapped one palm or the other. All but one of them gave him a conspiratorial wink.
Those were the signals Mac was looking for. They told him that Dougie and Jimmy had completed their part of Operation Payback. Mac had asked his friends to tell all but one of his teammates about the plan. That way, when it came time for him to do his “acting job” i
n front of the coach, everyone but the suspect would know that his behavior was just a smoke screen.
If Mac’s suspicions were correct, the cartoonist wouldn’t be able to resist using Mac’s performance as Monday’s cartoon. And then Mac would have him!
When the ref’s whistle blew to start the game, the Cougars lined up, raring to go. A strong effort from their two wings might just start things off on the right track. Just as important, it gave them a broader defense against the powerful league leaders in scoring. The Hotspurs were definitely going to keep Mac on his toes.
He felt up to it. He’d been practicing hard all week, and his instincts were razor sharp. Now all he needed was to keep his focus on the game. Operation Payback wouldn’t begin until halftime.
The kickoff went well for the Cougars. Within seconds of play, they had the ball in Hotspur territory. Within two minutes, they had taken their first shot on goal. Dougie had risked a slightly oblique angle on an open strip of space. The ball hit a defending Hotspur a few feet from the goal area. But it sent out a message. This was going to be a hard-fought game.
“Come on, you Cougars! Show ‘em your stuff, guys! Nice try, Dougie!”
Mac’s stream of encouragement went on as usual. Sometimes the fans joined in with him; sometimes they didn’t seem to notice that he was even there. That was standard for a goalie, he knew. Still, it was nice when they responded to something he had shouted.
Even better was when he was able to help his team. Many of the opposing players paid little attention to what came from his mouth.
And that’s just the way he liked it. Their mistakes were highlighted more and more as parts of Mac’s ongoing patter. When the play came down to the Cougars’ goal, this could mean a big difference.
“Back! Back! Mickey, go back! You’re losing ‘Big Red’ there! Come on, Stevie! Heads up, ball’s coming your way! Right wing’s fancy dancing, guys. Watch for the pass!”
Mac could see how hard the Cougars were trying to keep the ball from coming his way. But that didn’t prevent the occasional Hotspur boot being taken at the goal.
“Left wing on the march!” he shouted, just before the tall, bespectacled Hotspur forward let fly in his direction.
Mac extended his hands, joining the thumbs together, and leaped for the top section of the net. His outstretched fingers managed to deflect the ball as it started its descent toward its target. The ball fell to the ground in the penalty area a few feet in front of the net. Mel, who had seen. Mac do that move a hundred times, was right there to snag the ball and send it in the opposite direction.
A snarl of defensive Hotspurs broke up any chance for a quick “rebound” attempt. For the next several minutes, the ball was passed back and forth between the two teams with no real movement toward the goal or the opposite side of the field. And as often as the ball went out of bounds, it always seemed to stay in the same area once it was thrown back into play.
Mac could tell that the Hotspurs were surprised that they hadn’t managed to score yet. From what he’d read or heard about their other games, they were used to getting onto the Scoreboard first, and early in the game at that. At least the Cougars had succeeded in breaking that pattern. It could be what was needed to break their stride and cause them to make mistakes.
But so far neither side had made many visible mistakes. Except for the occasional ball out of bounds, few penalty whistles blew. Basically it was a pretty clean game. That’s why it was a surprise when a major foul was called on Billy for tripping.
The kicker was the tall redheaded wing who had been frustrated in three shots at the goal so far.
Mac tried to read him as he lined up his wall to defend the goal. But “Red” was a real stone-face. His deep brown eyes gave away nothing.
There was complete silence on the field and in the stands as the approach was taken.
Thwunk!
It was much too high! Mac didn’t even have to extend himself as the ball sailed over the net. He could practically hear the sigh of relief from the Cougars as play resumed.
Inspired by their defensive work, the Cougars dug in and turned the ball around in the other direction. Dougie dominated the play as the ball inched closer and closer to the goal. There was no way that the Cougars were going to let the first half of this game end without a score.
“Team play! Team play!” Mac hollered from his lonesome post at the opposite end of the field. He wanted them to remember to set up plays that had been worked out in scrimmages that week. True, a good player always had to be alert to an opening for a goal shot, but just as many goals were scored on well-worked-out plays.
Mac’s voice must have penetrated someone’s head, because a Cougars offensive play was set up. Dougie made the fake, then took the shot. The ball zoomed behind the goalie and into the net for the first score of the game.
The Scoreboard now showed one goal—for the Cougars.
Mac raced downfield toward the center to embrace his teammates as they celebrated their goal. He then quickly ran back into his defensive position. He thought the Hotspurs had a mean look about them that said they weren’t happy with the way things were going—and they were determined to change it.
His prediction turned out to be true—oh, too true.
Like a repeater rifle, the Hotspurs managed to set up one shot after another. They came so fast, Mac had his work cut out for him.
But even his talent and determination were no match for the Hotspurs. The onslaught proved to be indefensible. By the time the whistle blew signaling the end of the first half of the game, the Scoreboard read, Hotspurs 2, Cougars 1.
Mac trotted off the field toward the Cougars’ bench. There was a cool east wind blowing across the field. Still, he could feel warm beads of sweat trickling down the parts of his back where his shirt wasn’t stuck fast. His legs ground out the distance to the spot where the team had gathered around the water barrel.
“Cool off for a minute,” the coach was saying as he got there. “Just have some water and let yourselves relax for a few minutes.”
Mac got his water in a paper cup. He quickly let it slide down the back of his throat with his head thrown slightly back. It felt terrific for a moment. But it took two refills to quench his thirst—and prepare his voice for the performance he was about to give.
“All of you are playing a solid game,” the coach began, once the team had drunk their fill. “But you’re playing it too close and too tight. The result is that no one ever seems to have the big picture of what’s happening on the field. Except Mac, sometimes.”
“So, what is the big picture, coach?” asked Dougie, right on cue.
“I’ll answer that question!” Mac said suddenly. With an aggressive move, he placed himself right in front of Coach Robertson. Although all his teammates but one knew what was coming, many of them looked surprised at his boldness just the same. Mac cleared his throat and began his harangue.
“Offense, you’re rushing your kicks. You had half a dozen good setups that you blew because you didn’t take enough time lining up the shot. And you’re starting to get ahead of yourselves there, too. You know what I mean. Your heads are coming up too fast. When you’re shooting at that target, once you’ve lined it up, keep your eye on the ball, for Pete’s sake.”
“It feels like they’re breathing down my neck, sometimes,” said Dougie.
“Hah! They’re all over the backfield most of the time,” said Mac. #8220;Believe me, I can see ’em.”
“Thank you, Mac —,” the coach started to say. But Mac cut him off.
“You midfielders could help out a little more, too, you know. Help the forwards set up plays instead of standing back and admiring a pass you just made. And forwards, trust your instincts about the goal shot and go for it.”
“I don’t suppose you have any thoughts about the defense, do you?” the coach asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“All I know is I felt like a duck at a shooting gallery, so a little more help from my
sweeper and backs would be greatly appreciated!”
Just then the ref’s whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half.
“Yeah, Cougars, let’s go for it!” shouted Mac. “Come on, team!”
As Mac hurried to his position, he stole a look at his suspect’s face to see if he could read any kind of reaction to his performance in it. But the face was stony, intent on the game at hand.
Still, Mac was sure he had the right guy.
All in good time, he said to himself.
His cheering was stronger than ever as the team took its position for the kickoff.
The Hotspurs were quick to attack. Within two minutes of the second half, they had added another goal to their score.
It was booted in by that same redhead who had threatened with the penalty lack in the first half. As before, his face gave away nothing. Mac couldn’t read him at all. He ended up playing him for the wrong side, and the goal sailed right in.
His halftime sting operation forgotten, Mac slammed his fists against his thighs in frustration.
With the Scoreboard reading, Hotspurs 3, Cougars 1, the fans on both sides erupted in an explosion of noisemaking. Half of those watching the game cheered the Hotspur goal while the other half cried out for improved defense from the Cougars.
With the Hotspurs ahead by two goals, the chances of winning the game had decreased considerably.
Still, there were several minutes left to play.
Shortly after the last goal was scored, a collision near the sideline brought a halt in the game. As a Hotspurs defensemans ankle was looked after, Coach Robertson spoke a few words of encouragement to his players gathered nearby until play resumed.
Jogging back and forth in front of the goal, Mac kept his body alert while his attention was focused on the far end of the field. It looked like Dougie had been revved up by the coach’s pep talk. He passed the ball to Jackie at the opposite wing slot, darted toward the backfield, then came straight down the center, ready to receive the ball back.
The Hotspurs’ defense expected him to either set up a shot for Jackie or take one himself from that position. Instead, he just kept running forward while Mickey came out of nowhere and took the shot.
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