Touchdown for Tommy

by Matt Christopher

  Mr. Powell pulled thoughtfully on his ear. “I probably should have brought home two dogs,” he said.

  “No. One is enough,” said Tommy, smiling. “This one could belong to both of us — Betty and me.”

  “That’s right!” cried Betty. “We both can have him!”

  Tommy smiled. “We can take turns feeding him.”

  “Sure we can,” exclaimed Betty happily. “We’ll have to buy him puppy food and make a bed for him to sleep on.”

  “You’ll have to name him, too,” said Mrs. Powell.

  “That’s right!” said Betty. “Let’s call him — let’s see — Wag!”

  “How about letting Tommy suggest a name for him?” said Mr. Powell.

  Tommy thought a while. He looked at the pup’s stubby tail. It was wagging back and forth furiously. Tommy grinned. “I think Wag is perfect for him!” he said.

  “Okay. We’ll name him Wag,” said Mr. Powell.

  Wag wiggled his long ears and turned his sad-looking eyes on Tommy.

  Tommy smiled and hugged him very hard.

  9

  Mr. Powell found a box in the basement. Mrs. Powell folded an old quilt, placed it inside the box, and put the box in a corner of the kitchen.

  “During these fall and winter months we’ll keep Wag inside,” she said. You could tell by the warmth in her voice that she loved the little fellow, too.

  The words echoed and re-echoed in Tommy’s ears. These fall and winter months? What did she mean by that?

  Was he going to stay with them? Maybe the Powells knew. Maybe Mrs. Kilbourne knew. But he didn’t know.

  If he could only make the Powells like him. Really like him, so they wouldn’t want him to go away.

  “Mom,” Betty said after she came home from school that following Monday, “can I stop at Kathy’s house tomorrow after school?”

  “Did she ask you?” asked Mrs. Powell.

  “Of course! She said that her mother said it was all right. She wants me to stay for supper, and then her mother will drive me home later. She suggested it. Oh, can I go, Mom? I mean may I?”

  Mrs. Powell shrugged. “Well, all right. Then we’ll have Kathy over for one evening.”

  Tommy could hardly wait till Tuesday came. He could have Wag for a whole evening all to himself.

  Finally it was Tuesday, and Tommy asked Mrs. Powell if he could take Wag outside with him. Mrs. Powell must have realized how happy he was to have Wag to himself.

  “You certainly may, Tommy,” she said. She didn’t even ask him where he was going.

  Tommy didn’t know where he was going either. He just wanted to get outdoors with Wag. Wag was only a pup, but there was no snow and it’s always more fun with a dog outdoors.

  The October air was nippy. The temperature had dipped below the freezing point the night before, and the sky was cloudy. Tommy dressed warmly and carried Wag outside in his arms.

  He put Wag down, and they both ran around for a while. Then Tommy rolled on the lawn and Wag crawled over him and bit his ears. Of course, Wag didn’t really bite. He didn’t hurt at all. He was just having a lot of fun, too.

  “Oh, Wag, I sure love you,” Tommy cried. “I sure do!”

  Tommy thought of the creek. The creek was only a short distance away. It was beyond the fence that marked the Powells’ property.

  “Come on, Wag!” yelled Tommy excitedly. “Come on!”

  Tommy spread the fence apart and crawled through. He ran through a field of frost-nipped alfalfa. Wag came stumbling after him. His long black ears flapped like twin flags, and his tail stuck up high.

  Wuf! Wuf!

  “You poor little fella,” said Tommy. “You have trouble running through this, don’t you? Come on. I’ll carry you.”

  Tommy picked Wag up. He carried Wag down to the creek. The water was crystal-clear and shallow. It looked awfully cold.

  Tommy stepped on a shiny flat stone at the edge of the water. His foot slipped! He tried to catch his balance. He couldn’t! He fell into the water!

  At the same time Wag slipped from Tommy’s arms and fell into the water, too.

  10

  Terror took hold of Tommy as he saw Wag up to his neck in the cold, rippling water. Wag’s eyes were large with fright. He was whimpering and turning around in the water, looking for a way out.

  “Wag! Oh, my poor Wag!” cried Tommy.

  Tommy pushed himself to his feet. He splashed through the water, swooped Wag up into his arms, then stepped onto dry land. Wag’s curly fur stuck to his body. Water dropped from him in big drops.

  Tommy held him tightly. Wag shook in his arms from the cold. He’ll freeze, thought Tommy. If I don’t get him dried and warm, he’ll surely freeze!

  Tommy choked back tears. His teeth chattered. If he didn’t get into a house and take off his clothes, he might freeze, too.

  Suddenly he thought of David Warren’s house. It was closer than the Powells’ house. The only trouble was that the Warren house was located on the other side of the creek.

  Tommy stood a moment. His feet felt like they were caking into ice. He knew he should go home to the Powells. But he was afraid.

  He decided to go to David’s house. He had to hurry. Chills were going all the way through him.

  Tommy ran down along the bank of the creek. He reached the road, crossed the short bridge, and raced to the white house where David Warren lived. He knocked on the front door and stood shivering while he waited for someone to answer.

  Mrs. Warren came to the door. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw Tommy. “Tommy! My goodness! Come inside, quick!”

  The instant Tommy was inside, David came running into the living room. He stared at Tommy.

  “Let me take the puppy!” he said. “I’ll wrap him in a towel and get him warm and dry before he catches pneumonia!”

  “David, show Tommy to your room,” ordered Mrs. Warren. “Take off your clothes, Tommy, and put on some of David’s. Hurry, young man, before you catch pneumonia, too!”

  Tommy dried himself and got into David’s clothes. Mrs. Warren gave him a blanket to put around him while he sat in the living room.

  David had dried Wag. Now Wag was lying on Tommy’s lap, wrapped inside a dry towel. His head was down between his paws. His large brown eyes kept looking around. Every once in a while his shiny nose quivered. His ears jerked. His tail tossed back and forth.

  “Tell us what happened,” Mrs. Warren said. Mr. Warren was there, too. They listened as Tommy told them about falling into the creek.

  “Maybe we’d better telephone Mrs. Powell and tell her you’re here,” she suggested when Tommy finished. “They must be worried by now, wondering where you are.”

  Tommy’s lips trembled. “Maybe you should.”

  He was scared, though. Mr. and Mrs. Powell would never forgive him for what had happened. The fall into the creek was an accident, but he had no business going down there in the first place. Just wait till Betty heard about Wag falling into the icy water. What would she say?

  Mrs. Warren went to make the phone call.

  “What do you call Mr. and Mrs. Powell, Tommy?” asked David. “Mom and Dad?”

  Tommy shook his head. “No. I call them Mr. and Mrs. Powell.”

  Wouldn’t it be nice, though, he thought, to call them Mom and Dad.

  Mrs. Warren returned from telephoning. “Mr. Powell is driving his car over to take you home, Tommy,” she said.

  “I — I could walk,” murmured Tommy. His voice shook. “I’m all right. And so is Wag. We’re both dried and warm now.”

  He took the towel off Wag and put Wag down on the floor. He removed the blanket from around himself and placed it on the chair. He stood up.

  “I’m all right, Mrs. Warren,” he said pleadingly. “Please get my pants if they’re dried. And my coat. I’ll put them back on. I’ll carry Wag and walk home. It isn’t far.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Tommy. It’s quite dark out now. Anyway, you wear David’s pants tonight.
Yours aren’t quite dry. Mr. Powell will be here in a minute. He’ll take you home. And don’t be afraid. He won’t be angry. Neither will Mrs. Powell. They’re both very nice, understanding folks.”

  They will be angry, thought Tommy. Just wait and see. They’ll never forgive me this time.

  11

  What happened, Tommy?” said Mr. Powell quietly.

  They were home, sitting in the living room. Usually the TV set would be turned on at this time of the evening. It was off now. Betty wasn’t home yet. Tommy was thankful for that. But she would learn the bad news when she came home, so it didn’t make any difference. No matter how he looked at it, he was in a fix.

  Why hadn’t he stayed in the house and played with Wag? Why?

  Tommy looked at the floor. He blinked his eyes and swallowed.

  “Maybe you’d rather wait and tell us tomorrow,” said Mr. Powell.

  Tommy nodded. He didn’t take his eyes from the floor. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I think I would, Mr. Powell.”

  “In that case, you should probably go to bed, Tommy,” said Mr. Powell. “Get a good night’s rest. There’s football practice tomorrow, remember.”

  Tommy raised his head. “Yes, sir,” he said. As he got up from the chair, a car drove in the driveway.

  “I think that’s Betty now,” Mrs. Powell said.

  A moment later, Betty came into the house.

  “Hello, Mom, Dad, Tommy!” she cried excitedly. She ran forward and kissed her mother and father. “I had a great time! Kathy can’t wait to come here!”

  “Well, that’s nice,” said Mrs. Powell with a smile.

  “Where’s Wag?” Betty asked suddenly. She looked around.

  “In his house,” said Mrs. Powell. “Don’t worry about Wag. He’s fine.”

  Betty turned to Tommy. Her eyes searched his closely. “Did you play with him a lot?”

  Tommy turned away. His heart began to pound. All at once he felt very lonely again. He wished he had somebody to turn to. He needed help. He needed someone to tell him what to do. What should he do? Should he tell the whole story now? Or should he wait till tomorrow?

  But why wait till tomorrow? What difference would a day make?

  He looked up. He swallowed the ache in his throat. He would tell them. He would tell them everything.

  “Yes, I played with Wag,” he said. “I took him outside with me. I played with him on the lawn for a while. Then I took him down to the creek. That’s — that’s where the accident happened.”

  He paused. He remembered the whole thing very clearly. He could even feel the coldness of the water on his body again.

  “I slipped on a flat rock. I didn’t know it was covered with ice. I fell. And then Wag fell, too. We both got wet. Then I picked up Wag and ran to David Warren’s house, because it was the closest. And because I was scared to come home.”

  Betty stared at him. “You fell into the water? And Wag fell, too?”

  Tommy nodded. “Yes. The Warrens dried us off. They — they were nice.”

  Then he turned. He walked quickly toward the stairs. He stumbled on the first step, then caught himself.

  “Good night!” he yelled over his shoulder, and hurried up the stairs to his room.

  12

  The Saturday morning sunlight was bright. It poured down on the crowd at the football field. But the air was cold. People were huddled in coats and blankets. The Bullets and the Pirates were lined up, ready for the signal to start. The Bullets wore yellow-and-black jerseys. They were kicking off to the Pirates.

  The signal came. A toe met the football a Bullet player held slanted on the ground. The ball rose swiftly and whizzed end over end through the air.

  David caught it. He rushed down the field. He dodged, spun, twisted. And then he was tackled on his own twenty-eight-yard line.

  The Pirates went into a huddle.

  “Get ready, Fred,” said David. “We’ll try number fourteen.”

  They broke out of the huddle and trotted to the line of scrimmage. The backfield lined up in T-formation. The quarterback stood behind the center. The fullback stood behind the quarterback, with the two halfbacks on either side of the fullback. Tommy Fletcher was at left end, Nicky Toma at right.

  David called signals. “Eighteen! Twenty-two! Six! Fourteen!”

  The ball snapped from the center. It thudded into David’s hands. David quickly spun around and shoved the ball into Fred Wilkins’s hands. Fred raced toward the left end. Tommy blocked his man. Then he charged ahead to block the backfield man running in to get Fred. He lost his breath a moment as a Bullet player blocked him. Fred was tackled.

  “We gained three yards on that play,” said David breathlessly. “Let’s try a pass to Tommy.”

  The teams lined up.

  “Four! Twenty-one! Sixteen!”

  The ball snapped from the center. Tommy pushed past his man and raced down the field. His rubber cleats kicked up sod.

  Then Tommy turned. The ball was curving down at him. Close by, running with their legs pumping hard, were two Bullet players.

  Tommy reached for the ball. He caught it! He brought it against his chest — then fumbled it! The ball bounced wildly on the ground.

  The referee picked it up and returned it to the thirty-one.

  “Third and seven,” said David in the huddle. “Let’s make this one good. Number eight! I’ll take the ball around the left end.”

  The Pirates formed a single-wing back formation. The quarterback stood behind center a little farther back than he did when the team was in T-formation. The fullback and the two halfbacks stood at his right.

  The ball snapped from the center. Tommy charged forward and held his man with a shoulder block. David swept around the left end. He ran eleven yards and was tackled.

  The crowd cheered. First down!

  Substitutes replaced men on both sides. Steve Marcham took Nicky’s place at right end. A whole new backfield came in. David and the others went out. But Tommy stayed in.

  The ball was in the Bullets’ territory, on the thirty-eight-yard line.

  “Let’s get ’em,” said quarterback Jerry Miller, who had replaced David. “Let’s try number four.”

  They lined up on the scrimmage line. Jerry called the signals and took the snap from center. Jerry pressed the ball against his stomach and rushed through the right tackle. A two-yard gain.

  Second down and eight yards to go. Jerry hurled a pass to halfback Henry Collins. It was intercepted! The Bullet player who caught the ball pivoted and started to run crosswise on the field. Then he charged straight forward. He headed toward Tommy. Tommy went after him. Suddenly a man swept in front of Tommy, blocking him so that he couldn’t reach the runner.

  Tommy stuck out his foot. The runner tripped and fell.

  Shr-e-e-e-k!

  The referee shoved out an arm, palm down. A personal foul!

  Tommy hung his head. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing. He had forgotten about rules. Kids back home used to trip runners a lot, even though they knew it wasn’t right.

  The referee picked up the ball, stood on the line of scrimmage, and pointed toward the Pirates’ goal posts.

  “Fifteen-yard penalty for tripping!” he shouted.

  Tommy was taken out. Mr. Powell motioned Tommy to sit beside him. Tommy did. He pulled a blanket around him.

  “How come you tripped that runner?” asked Mr. Powell. “You know that’s illegal.”

  “I know. I just didn’t think,” said Tommy.

  He was sorry. But what good was it to be sorry now? He had had his chance to make a touchdown when David had thrown him that pass. He had fumbled it. Then, to make matters worse, he had purposely tripped a runner. He knew that tripping players was a penalty. But when he had realized that he couldn’t tackle that runner, he just hadn’t thought about penalties. He had played so much football without knowing the rules that he had forgotten that you were not allowed to trip. He couldn’t tell that to Mr. Powell, thou
gh. Mr. Powell would think that he was just making excuses.

  The first quarter ended with the ball in the Bullets’ possession on the Pirates’ sixteen-yard line.

  Soon after the second quarter started, more substitutions were made. David and the other backfield starters went in.

  “Okay, Tommy,” said Mr. Powell. “Go in and send Jack out.”

  A minute later, the Bullets threw a forward pass that went for a touchdown. A kick between the goal posts gave them the extra point.

  The Pirates slumped their shoulders hopelessly.

  “Come on!” David Warren shouted. “Let’s look alive!”

  The Pirates received. They carried the ball back to their thirty-two. They gained five yards on an off-tackle play, then a first down on a seven-yard pass to Nicky Toma.

  They moved on down the field, then lost the ball on a fumble to the Bullets.

  The Bullets brought the ball back up the field. They were within five yards of the Pirates’ end zone when the half ended.

  In the third quarter, the Pirates put on power. They played with all the skill they had. They kept moving like a small army across the white stripes toward the Bullets’ goal line. Slowly. Surely. Then — an end-around run by Tim McCarthy scored a touchdown!

  But they missed the conversion.

  Score: Bullets 7, Pirates 6.

  In the fourth quarter, the Bullets showed that they were not going to let the Pirates run over them. They moved up the field, making short gains of two yards, four yards, seven yards. Short gains, but they added up to first downs.

  The Bullets crossed the halfway mark into the Pirates’ territory. First and ten. Then second and six. Then third and two. Again a first down. Again first and ten.

  Then the Bullets’ quarterback threw a short pass over the line of scrimmage. It was intended for his end. But another pair of hands reached up to steal the ball. Tommy Fletcher’s!

  Tommy pulled the ball against his chest and galloped like a young colt down the field. The Bullets’ backs chased after him. Tommy kept running, putting more speed in his legs. The white stripes rolled one by one underneath him. He crossed the twenty, the fifteen, the ten. Close behind him he heard the hard-running footsteps of a Bullet player. Then he felt the player’s fingers touching his back.