by Edward Bloor
Betty Bright took off toward Victor, and I was right behind her. She reached out and grabbed Tino, who was closing in on the Lake Windsor fullback with murder in his eyes. She pulled him with her to the spot where Victor was lying. His eyes were open, but he had a dazed look.
She said, "Victor, can you understand me?"
He said to her, "I'm OK. I'm ready to go." He was strangely calm, like he didn't know, or remember, what had just happened. He sat up quickly. "Really, Coach. I'm OK. I'm ready."
Betty Bright said, "No, I gotta check you out on the sideline for a while." She called to the referee, "Substitution." Then she turned to me. "Paul Fisher, you're in." Victor struggled to his feet. She held on to him while she called the rest of us around her and said, "This is where it happens. This is where losers act like losers and winners act like winners. This is where they send some fool out here to punch you in the face. If you retaliate, you're playing their game. If you get focused on soccer, you're playing your game."
She walked Victor off the field and the action resumed. We had a free kick coming from the spot where the foul took place. The referee put the ball down and blew his whistle. The Lake Windsor players, who had huddled together after the goal, were slow getting back into position. I saw this and screamed, "Go!" I kicked the ball as hard as I ever have, over the heads of the surprised defenders. Our front line took off and flew past them. Tino ran the ball down in the left corner, pivoted, and crossed it with his right foot. Maya slapped it to a dead stop on the ground as a Lake Windsor fullback skidded past her; then she powered it into the back of the net. Bang! It happened that fast. That's how it had gone all season; that was our trademark. We struck swiftly, with just a couple of passes, and bang—into the goal. 1–0.
The Lake Windsor team was in confusion. They were yelling, "Offsides!" But it wasn't offsides. They'd been caught flatfooted. Their goaltender didn't have a chance.
After that Gino and Tommy took over. They started picking the ball up at midfield and either dribbling it themselves or passing it to each other. And they started shooting. Gino can drive the ball harder than anyone I have ever seen, on a straight line, from outside the penalty area. He grazed the top of the crossbar with one that Shandra didn't even get close to. He then made her dive to deflect one away for a corner kick. He and Tommy worked a series of short passes all the way in to the penalty line. Tommy reared back to kick it, and Shandra charged out, sliding into him for a block. But Tommy faked the kick, pulled the ball back, and flipped it over her into the open net. 1–1.
Shandra got up slowly, holding her stomach. The Lake Windsor players ran out to celebrate with Tommy. I watched Shandra stagger back to the goal. She looked feverish, weak. She held on to the goalpost, bent over, and vomited a white liquid into the grass.
I turned and saw Betty Bright hurrying toward her. At the same time, Cesar, our smallest substitute, came running onto the field. Victor had named him Cesar Salad. He only got in in absolute blowouts. He ran right up to me and yelled, "Fisher Man, coach says that I'm in for you and you're in for Shandra." He handed me a red goalie's shirt to wear.
I pulled the shirt on and ran down to the goal just as the coach was leading Shandra away. I placed my heels on the goal line and looked out. The Lake Windsor players had lined up in the distance, ready to come at us again. I thought, Wait. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.
I was numb; I felt like throwing up, too. But there was no time to think about it. Gino took the ball away from Henry D. like he wasn't even there and came sprinting right up the middle of our defense. Dolly tried to slide into him, but he was too quick. He flicked the ball to the right, hurtled over her, and came at me one-on-one. I was flat back on my heels when he fired the shot, a bad shot, right at me. I moved my arms to grab it, but they never came together. The ball bounced off my face, knocking my goggles up and knocking me back into the goal net. The ball bounced right back to Gino, who tapped it in. It was 2–1.
Gino himself pulled me out of the netting. "You all right, Mars?"
"Yeah."
"You better get ready, Mars. I'm comin' back."
"Yeah. Yeah."
His teammates mobbed him. Mine didn't even look at me.
I took off my goggles and cleaned them. When I pulled them back on they were smeared with blood. I looked down and saw a dark red spray of blood on the goalie shirt. My nose was bleeding. I bent over, pinched the bridge of my nose, and blew out as much blood as I could. I twisted the shirt around and cleaned my goggles again on the back of it.
Dolly called over, "Fisher Man? You all right?"
I sure was. "Yeah," I yelled. "Let's go."
Now I felt it. I was into it now. They came right back at us. Gino ripped a long shot that I dove for and caught in midair. I leaped to my feet and kicked it away. For the rest of the half I was awesome; I was zoned. I stopped everything they sent my way. I punched shots away; I deflected shots over the goalpost; I came out and slid into them before they could get shots off. The half ended like that—with a relentless Lake Windsor assault that produced nothing. It was still 2–1.
We spent the halftime sitting in a semicircle by the far goal, eating our tangerines. Victor would be going back in for the second half. Nita, who was struggling, would not.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Coach Walski was standing next to me with his clipboard. He looked at Betty Bright and said, "Coach, this goaltender of yours is not eligible to play. He wasn't eligible to play for me, and he's not eligible to play for you."
Betty Bright stood up and faced him. They were the same height. "Oh? Is that right?"
"This is your official warning. I'm going to talk to the referee next."
"You are? So what makes him ineligible?"
"His address, for one thing. Now, we can talk this over at a hearing, if you like. I'm just here to tell you that the County Sports Commission won't recognize him as eligible, so you're going to forfeit this game if you put him back in."
"Is that how it is?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."
"Uh-huh. Did you see my other goaltender? Her mother had to drive her home because she's sick. Did you see her? She's Shandra Thomas."
Coach Walski stared at her blankly as Betty Bright continued.
"Do you know where she lives, Coach? She lives in Tangerine, with her mother and her brother. Do you know who her brother is? He's Antoine Thomas! Your football star at the high school here? Antoine Thomas lives in Tangerine, too. Now, are you sure you want to play that county-eligibility game with me?"
Coach Walski took a step back. His face seemed to flatten out, like she had hit him with a shovel. He said, "I'm sure Antoine Thomas has a different address."
"I'm sure he does. But he doesn't live there. I can take you and show you, or any officials of any commission, exactly where he lives."
Coach Walski continued backing away. This time he didn't stop. "All right. All right. Let's just play ball."
Betty Bright snorted in disgust. "Yeah. Let's all play ball." She jerked her thumb toward the field, and we all hopped up. She pointed an angry finger at me. "Get in that goal, Fisher Man."
The return of Victor in the second half made a huge difference. Lake Windsor could no longer double- and triple-team Maya. Victor took control of the middle of the field, which meant that we started to play the game up at their end instead of down at ours. Gino and Tommy still broke out with the ball and worked their plays, but I was always there. I saw each play as it developed. I thought one step ahead of them each time.
Maya couldn't shake the crowd of defenders around her inside the penalty box, so she started coming out to the wings. She made a neat move with the ball to get loose in the corner, then she crossed it, hard and low, right across the front of the goal. Tino and a Lake Windsor defender both lunged for it and smacked into each other. The ball squirted through everybody and landed right at the foot of the one guy nobody was worrying about, Cesar Salad. He was wide open. He stopped the ball calmly and ki
cked it into the net. 2–2.
We lined back up quickly. The battle for the middle heated up. The Lake Windsor players started to get desperate, started to kick the ball away. We were playing with confidence, and with the clock on our side.
Tommy and Gino were now going all the way back into their own end of the field to pick up the ball. They had to. They weren't getting any help from anybody on their team. They were their team.
The referee was already glancing at his watch when they made a final charge. Tommy picked up a loose ball at midfield and looked for Gino. He drove a long, high, looping pass into the penalty box that Gino and Victor both went up for. They collided and twisted in midair. Victor crashed down on top of Gino, right at the penalty line.
The referee blew his whistle. No, I thought. No! You can't call that a penalty!
Both coaches came running out onto the field. Victor jumped up, screaming, "I played the ball, man! I was going for the ball!"
But it was too late. The referee grabbed the ball and placed it on the penalty line, twelve yards in front of me.
Coach Walski asked, "How much time is left?"
The referee answered, "This is it." He turned to Betty Bright. "The penalty occurred right before the end of regulation."
"Yeah, sure it did," she snarled. She walked up to me. "You ready for this?"
"Yeah."
"What are you gonna do?"
"He always hits his penalty shots high and to the left. That's where I'll be."
She nodded. Then she smiled, lowered her voice, and said, "Now I wish I'd given you more playing time."
The players from both teams lined up outside the penalty box. Everyone except Gino and me. He looked at me, touched the ball with his foot, and stepped back three paces. The referee blew his whistle. Gino's head snapped up and he sprang forward—one, two, three steps. I catapulted myself into the air, high and to his left.
But Gino didn't kick it there. He had fooled me completely. He went the other way with it. I was a fool, flying through the air. I was a fool, landing on the ground. I closed my eyes and buried my head in my arms, trying to block out the whooping cheers.
Then I snapped my head up. It was Victor's voice that was whooping. I turned and looked back at the goal. The ball was not in the net. It was off to the right, and still rolling away, down into the sinkhole. Gino had missed. He had missed to the right.
The rest of the War Eagles mobbed me and hoisted me up. We all started to jump up and down and whoop together. I stopped and stepped out of the pack when Gino came over. He patted Victor on the back and said, "Congratulations." Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Mars, you were in my head on that shot. You made me miss. You made me choke."
I shook my head vehemently. "You didn't choke, Gino. You missed. That's all."
He wasn't the least bit upset. "It's cool. I don't mind. It's only a game, Mars."
As he walked away, I was still shaking my head. I said out loud, but too low for him to hear, "Maybe to you it is."
Spectators were out on the field now. Someone tapped my shoulder and said, "Good game, Paul." I knew that it was Kerri, but by the time I turned around she was already walking away with Cara. Joey wasn't with them.
Luis Cruz pounded me on the back and said, "I didn't know you were a goalie! Great game. Great game."
I said, "Thanks, I'm glad you think so."
Then Mom was standing in front of me. She said, "Are you OK?"
"Yeah."
"Now, what does this mean, Paul? Are both teams co-champions?"
"No. We're the champions. We have the better record. We're 9–0–1; they're 9–0–2."
"Oh. Now, do you want a ride home?"
"No. I want to go back on the bus."
"That doesn't make sense, Paul. I'd have to follow the bus all the way over there and then drive you right back here."
"That's right, Mom. That's what you're going to have to do."
She thought about it, then put her hands up in mock surrender. "OK. I give up."
I worked my way back toward the bus, shaking hands with a couple more Lake Windsor players. Mr. Donnelly called out, "Come over here, Paul!" He and his photographer had set up a shot with Cesar and Maya. It was comical. Maya towered two feet over Cesar. "Come on, we need you to balance out this shot."
I shook my head. "No, sir. It shouldn't be me. It should be Victor."
"Then let's get Victor, too. Where is he?" Mr. Donnelly located Victor and posed the four of us for the front page of tomorrow's sports section.
When we all got back to the bus, the coach called out, "How many, Victor?"
"Fifteen, Coach."
Betty Bright closed the door and turned to us. She pointed at us and said, "You're number one. You're second to none."
Victor grabbed Cesar from behind and shook him. He declared, "His name is Julius Cesar now, the emperor of Rome!"
We pulled out of the Lake Windsor campus, whooping and yelling, with our caravan of fans behind us. When we got to the downtown stretch of Tangerine, everybody in the row started honking horns and flashing lights. People came out of the shops along the main street; cars pulled over and stopped to see what all the commotion was about.
I'll never forget that ride home. When we got to Tangerine Middle, the bus doors opened, and the War Eagles got out to find their separate rides, to go their separate ways. I was the last to get off. I was crying when I finally climbed down the stairs with my shoes over my shoulder.
I crossed over to the white Volvo. Mom looked at me funny. Maybe she was wondering why I was crying. But all she had to say was, "Well, that was quite a ride."
I swallowed hard and managed to say, "It sure was, Mom. It was quite a ride."
Part 3
Monday, November 20
Today was the day when the science group came over to my house. I guess it was a big deal for me. I had never had anybody over to the house except Joey, and who knows if that'll happen again?
Henry D. and I set it all up with his brother, Wayne. Wayne was due to spray for mosquitoes, so he came by to pick up Theresa, Tino, Henry, and me after school. When he pulled up at Tangerine Middle, I saw that he had already attached the trailer with the sprayer on it. We all climbed into the bed of the pickup and rode over to Lake Windsor Downs in the open air (a fact I neglected to mention to Mom).
Everything was cool when we got to the house. I took the group in through the back and introduced them to Mom. Then I led them into the great room. Theresa looked around and said, "This is a real nice place." Tino didn't say anything. He didn't look around, either. Mom followed us in with a tray of Yoo-Hoos and started to hover around. But then Dad came home early from the office, so she went into the kitchen with him.
We dragged some stools into the alcove. I put Dad's IBM through its paces, showing everybody the different fonts, colors, and graphics that we could use. I printed out examples of the ones that seemed best for our report. Theresa studied the hard copies like she was picking wallpaper. She said things like, "I like this for the title page, but let's have it in orange."
It didn't take long to design the final copy of our report. We still had a half hour before Wayne would be finished with his spraying. He had planned to do our street last, so I suggested we go outside, while we still could, and kick the soccer ball around.
That loosened everybody up. Theresa played, too. We passed the ball in a big circle. Tino showed off his foot-juggling moves. I set up a goal in front of the gray wall and they took turns shooting at me.
Then, like in a rerun of a bad dream, I heard the sound of Arthur's Land Cruiser racing up the perimeter road. The whole scene with Joey flashed back into my mind; I started to feel sick.
I looked over at the patio doors. No one was inside. I could feel the blood draining out of my head.
I looked at Theresa, and she said, "Are you OK?"
I just stared back at her, paralyzed with fear, while the scene rolled on. Erik and Arthur came in through th
e gate. They were both carrying gym bags. Erik was in front, followed by Arthur. They stood still and looked at us. Tino, Theresa, and Henry looked back at them, but I couldn't. I just stared straight ahead.
Erik pointed to us and spoke with mock admiration. "Look at this. I think it's great that these farm-labor kids get to spend a day away from the fields."
Arthur nodded, slack jawed. "Yeah. It's touching."
I looked at Tino. He was glaring his mad-dog glare at Erik. I took a step toward Tino and said to him, "Forget it, Tino. They're not worth it."
Tino gave me the strangest look. Was it anger? Pity? He said, "Forget you." He stalked over to Erik with his fists clenched. He stopped two feet in front of him, totally unafraid, and said, "You're a real funny guy."
Arthur took a menacing step forward, but Erik extended his right hand toward him, slowly, casually. I watched that hand, mesmerized. I watched it move like a snake—a slow, casual snake hand—with a gold varsity ring on one finger. Arthur obeyed the hand, but he plunged his own hand into his gym bag and pulled something out—something short, black, and heavy—like a sock filled with lead. A blackjack?
Erik held him in place with the hand and said, as casually as he could, "I don't think we'll be needing that today, Arthur." Then Erik turned his full attention back to Tino, standing insolently before him. The casual snake smile started to slip from his face.
Tino stared up at him and spoke as he had before. "A funny guy, yeah. I see you on the TV, and I laugh all the time."
Erik's face started to contort. The snake smile was gone now, replaced by something else.
But Tino kept it up: "Yeah. I really like that thing you do, Funny Guy, when you pretend to kick a football and then you go flyin' up in the air and then you land right on your ass."
Immediately, faster than I thought he could, faster than Tino thought he could, Erik lashed out, smashing the back of his hand across Tino's face, smashing him so hard that Tino spun halfway around in the air and landed on the grass.
