“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?
4
Saturday 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.
5
The 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?
6
How 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.”
“You can see the pilots, too,” Tommy pointed out.
“I know,” said Mrs. Kilbourne. “They look very real.”
Mrs. Kilbourne was from the Child Welfare Department of Lewiston. She not only liked airplanes; she liked sports, too. Ever since Tommy had met her, and talked with her about things he liked to do, he had liked her.
“Do you want to speak with Tommy especially, Mrs. Kilbourne?” asked Mr. Powell.
“Well, I came to see Tommy, of course,” she said. “But I would very much like to talk to you folks.”
Mr. Powell nodded slowly. “Okay.” He turned to Betty. “Why don’t you put on your coat and you and Tommy go out on the porch for a while?”
Tommy carried his model planes back to his room. Then he stepped out to the porch. Betty was already out there. They sat on the red metal chairs.
“What do you suppose Mrs. Kilbourne wants, Tommy?” Betty asked.
Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she just wants to know how I’m behaving.”
Betty looked curiously at Tommy. “What has that got to do with her?”
Tommy stared at a crack in the floor. “If I wasn’t getting along here, she’d find another home for me, I guess.”
“Even if Mom and Dad wanted you to stay?”
“No. I don’t think so. Only if I wasn’t behaving and they didn’t want to keep me.”
They sat for a while in silence. They could hear Mr. and Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Kilbourne talking inside, but the voices were just a hum behind the wall.
What were they saying? Tommy remembered the money he had found in the backyard and had almost spent. He remembered the rough way he had played football. There were so many things he hadn’t done right. Wouldn’t he ever learn?
He rose and stood by the rail. A truck roared by. It scared a flock of sparrows off the electric wires. Far in the distance the sky was turning a deep red and purple and orange. Soon the sun would set and night would come. Tommy would stay up a little while longer, then he would have to go to bed.
The door opened. Mrs. Kilbourne came out. She put out her hand to Tommy. Tommy took it.
“It’s been nice to see you again, Tommy,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself with the Powells. Mr. Powell told me you’re quite a football player, too. I’m glad to hear that. I must get along, now. Good-bye, and good luck, Tommy. Goodbye, Betty.”
Tommy touched his dry lips with his tongue. “Good-bye, Mrs. Kilbourne,” he said softly.
He went into the house. He heard the car drive away, and looked at Mr. and Mrs. Powell.
“Am I going to stay here?” he asked, a lump coming to his throat.
Mrs. Powell smiled. “Oh, yes. You’ll be with us for a while yet. After all, you’re supposed to be with us at least six months. That means you’re sort of on trial here with us. You remember Mrs. Kilbourne told you about that when you first came to us?”
Tommy nodded. “How long have I been here, Mrs. Powell?”
“Five months,” she said. “So you still have another month, Tommy. But don’t worry. We had a boy once who stayed with us for two years. It’s all up to you, Tommy.”
7
Tommy and Betty walked to school Monday morning. Betty kept talking about her arithmetic. Tommy hardly heard. Another month, he thought. Another month and probably Mrs. Kilbourne will take me away.
It’s all up to you, Tommy, Mrs. Powell had said. But I am trying my best, he thought. What else can I do?
He was quiet in school. Ms. Bleam asked him if anything was wrong. He said no, nothing was wrong.
“Let’s take out our reader,” Ms. Bleam said, “and turn to page twenty-six. Tommy, will you start reading, please?”
Tommy found the page. He started to read.
“Please stand, Tommy,” said Ms. Bleam.
Tommy stood up. “‘One day Joseph arose early in the — in the —’”
“‘Morning,’” said Ms. Bleam.
“‘— in the morning. He ate — ’um —”
“‘Breakfast,”’ said Ms. Bleam.
“‘— breakfast, and walked down the road. He found a goose …’” He kept reading, missing words now and then, words he had remembered even last week, but which he could not remember now.
“You must study more, Tommy,” advised Ms. Bleam. “Did you get a good rest last night?”
“Yes,” said Tommy. “Yes, I did.”
After eating his lunch, Tommy went out to the field with the boys to play scrub football.
Jim Neeley looked at Tommy. His eyes darkened. “If you’re going to play, I’m going back inside.”
“So am I,” said Tim McCarthy. “Who wants to get a leg broken by a guy who thinks he knows how to play football?”
Tommy stared. “I — I didn’t break anybody’s leg!”
“No! But you’re trying hard to!”
“Oh, stop that,” said David Warren. He stepped between Tommy and the two boys. “Tommy never tried to break anybody’s leg. He’s always played rough because that’s the way they played where he came from. They never played by rules. Don’t worry, he’ll learn the right way with us. But he can’t learn if you don’t give him a chance. Come on, Tommy. Play on my side.”
They played till the first bell rang. Then they went inside.
That afternoon, when they returned home from school, Betty and Tommy found Mrs. Powell very happy about something. She was humming a popular tune and skipping from stove to sink to table and back again like a happy bumblebee. Her eyes danced. A couple of times she winked at Tommy.
“Well, Mom,” exclaimed Betty at last, “are you going to keep us in suspense forever?”
“What do you mean by that?” Mrs. Powell tried to hide her smile, but she couldn’t.
“You know what I mean,” said Betty. “You’re hiding something from us.”
Mrs. Powell laughed. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But it’s especially for Tommy.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “For me?”
“Yes. Mr. Powell telephoned me this afternoon. He said that when he comes home tonight, he’ll have a surprise for you. There! You see? I shouldn’t have said anything, Betty. Now both of you will be more anxious than ever!”
Every few
minutes, Tommy looked at the clock on the wall. Mr. Powell arrived home each night about six-thirty. Tonight, the minutes just dragged.
Finally the car drove into the garage. Mr. Powell was home! And then the door opened, and Mr. Powell came into the house.
Both Betty and Tommy looked at him, and he looked at them. But he had nothing with him. His hands were empty.
8
Tommy turned to Mrs. Powell. Her eyes met his. They had just a touch of a smile in them.
“Mom said you had a surprise for Tommy,” said Betty softly.
Mr. Powell’s brows arched. “She did? Well, now —”
Suddenly a soft whimper sounded just outside of the door. The room was silent for a long second. The sound came again.
Tommy rushed to the door and opened it. He caught his breath. Right on the top step was the cutest little black-and-white cocker spaniel he had ever seen!
“A puppy!” cried Tommy. “A little cocker spaniel puppy!”
The pup’s large brown eyes rolled up sadly at Tommy. His long, curly-furred ears quivered. Tommy picked the pup up in his arms and brought him into the house.
Betty screamed with surprise. “Let me hold him!” she cried, stretching out her arms. “Let me hold him! Ple-e-ase!”
“Wait a minute,” said Tommy. “I just got him.”
The pup was soft and warm against him. He licked Tommy’s cheek. Tommy laughed. Boy! A dog! He had never had a pet before. And this one was his. His!
“Oh, please!” Betty pleaded again. “Let me hold him! Or is it a ‘her,’ Daddy?”
“It’s a ‘he,’” said Mr. Powell, chuckling.
“Betty,” said Mrs. Powell gently, “I’m surprised. You always said that you didn’t care for dogs. We wanted to get you one a long time ago.”
Betty blinked a few times and clasped her hands together in front of her. “I guess I never knew they were so cute,” she said.
Tommy grinned. He held the puppy out to her. “Here. Hold him,” he said.
Betty took him and held him close. The pup looked around with his big sad eyes and blinked.
Touchdown for Tommy Page 2
