As Gibb got ready to kick, Matty had no idea what to do. Oh, how big that goal seemed again, how wide.
Gibb seemed sure of himself, as if he sensed how Matty felt. Gibb hadn’t missed a penalty all season. He looked like he couldn’t miss this one. As he stepped back, about to run forward and kick the ball, he had a big grin on his face.
“Save it, Matty!” Kathy Lee shouted—just what Matty didn’t need to hear.
“Stick it in his ear, Gibb!” yelled Tommy Schmidt.
Gibb pointed to Matty’s right and began to run at the ball. Matty started to lean that way. Too late, Matty knew Gibb had tricked him. Gibb banged the ball into the other side of the goal, and then jumped up with a fist in the air, laughing. Tommy cheered and lifted him off the ground.
“Faked you out, Wells!” Gibb pointed at Matty. “Beat you again, air-brain!”
Matty just stood there, feeling dumb. He didn’t anticipate at all—hadn’t even moved for the ball. It also bothered him that Gibb was so rude. Well, that was Gibb. Even though Gibb had invited him to the party, he still wasn’t a real friend.
Coach Gray called them all together.
“Great practice, kids, especially you, Matty. Now be ready for a tough game Sunday!”
“We’ll beat ’em easy!” Tommy shouted. “No problem! They won’t have a chance, just like Gibb beat Wells on that penalty!”
How Matty wished he’d saved that penalty.
Matty’s mother and Amy waited in the car as Matty slouched off the field, his head hanging. His mother smiled at him.
“You looked great out there today,” she said as he got into the passenger’s side.
“I guess,” he mumbled.
“Upset that Gibb scored? Come on. It was only one time the whole practice. You can’t be glum about that,” Mrs. Wells said.
“No.” He thought a moment, then said, “Gibb invited me to his birthday party on Saturday, but I don’t think I’ll go.”
Amy was shocked. “You won’t go to a birthday party?”
Matty grumbled.
“A birthday party?” Amy leaned over the seat, her eyes wide. “You won’t go to a birthday party?”
Matty stared at the other kids getting into cars or walking home. He was in no mood to hassle with Amy, who had sat back in shock.
“Why not?” Matty’s mother asked.
“I don’t think he really wants me to go. He just asked me because … somebody else … probably told him to be nice to me.”
Matty didn’t say that he thought Kathy told Gibb to invite him.
“Well, Matty, he invited you, didn’t he?” Mrs. Wells said, starting the car. “Why not give him a chance to be a friend?”
“Yeah,” Amy said. “It’s a birthday party!”
“You be a friend first and see the good side of people,” Mrs. Wells said, as she turned the steering wheel, pulling away from the field.
There was Gibb, holding hands with Kathy. Walking along together—the top girl and the top boy in Matty’s school.
“Gibb has all the friends he needs,” Matty said.
“Kathy’s his best friend,” Amy said.
“No one has all the friends he needs,” Mrs. Wells said.
“Hey, Wells, you were awesome today!” Mike Lee called out as they drove past him. “See you at the party! Be there, dude!”
“Matty, you have to go,” Amy piped up again. “Mike wants you to go.”
Mike’s compliment did make Matty feel better, and he waved back. Finally, he felt like one of the team, one of the Canyon Cannons. He suddenly decided he’d go to Gibb’s party after all.
Matty had Bobako to thank for this change. Too bad Bobako hadn’t taught him how to save a penalty kick.
Chapter Ten
Trouble With Gibb
The afternoon of Gibb’s party was warm and sunny, and all the popular kids at the middle school had come. That meant most of Matty’s usual friends were not there, of course.
But they made him feel welcome, especially the guys on the soccer club, like Mike Lee and Bill Stein. They wanted to know how he’d learned to play goalie so well. With heavy rock blaring in the background, the three of them sat on a picnic table, drinking punch, talking about Bobako.
Gibb was nearby, tossing horseshoes with his father, Tommy, and Kathy. At first, Matty didn’t want to say that Bobako coached the Rovers. What would they think if he said the coach of the opposition had taught him how to play in goal? It was crazy.
“Bobako’s coaching was really hard work,” Matty said, glancing at the bruises and scrapes on his arms and legs so that Bill and Mike would notice. “But it was worth it.”
“You mean you actually like playing goalie?” Bill asked.
Mike answered that question.
“Whoa, if I could play goalie like that, I’d really like it, too,” he said. “Even Gibb couldn’t score against him.”
Gibb overheard that comment and turned to say, “Oh yeah? I scored that penalty easy.”
After tossing a horseshoe that rang off the spike, he said, “You guys didn’t score against us, so we won, and that’s all that matters—one to zip, losers!”
Mike rolled his eyes and laughed along with Bill. It amazed Matty to see how important winning was to Gibb. Even now, he and his dad argued about whose horseshoe had landed closer to the spike. Gibb had to win in everything he did. While the argument went on, Kathy walked over to the picnic table to get a cup of punch.
“Here comes Mrs. Moore,” she said. “Time for the cake.”
Out of the kitchen door came Gibb’s mother with the cake and thirteen lit candles. Everybody cheered as she laid it on the picnic table. Mrs. Moore turned off the loud music. They sang “Happy Birthday” with a few of their own verses about looking like a monkey and acting like one, too. After blowing the candles out, Gibb opened his presents.
Matty gave Gibb an oldies CD that Kathy took to play in the stereo system. It was a great CD that Matty had made himself from songs off his iPod. It had songs like “Yakety-Yak” and “A Hundred Pounds of Clay.” Mike and Kathy knew the songs, too, and so did most of the adults who were there. Gibb and the other kids had never heard most of them before.
Anyway, Matty thought the atmosphere was a lot nicer while those songs played. People could actually hear each other talk.
To Matty’s surprise, a little group gathered around him to ask more questions about Bobako and playing goalie. The town newspaper had done a short write-up about the game, and it seemed like everybody here knew about it. The paper said it was the “local champs” against the “international hotshots.” Gibb, his father, and Tommy were tossing the football around nearby. “Up on the Roof” was playing, and everything was nice—as nice as Matty had ever felt.
Kathy asked, “I wish your friend Bobako could come coach the girls’ junior varsity next year—I’m going out for it.”
“I wish we had him with the boys’ team,” Bill Stein said. “If he could make Matty so good, he’d be great for the rest of us.”
Gibb threw the football to Tommy and then came over to them.
“You guys better do something,” he said. “’Cause I won’t be around to win games for you. I’m playing football next year, so you’ll be without your scorer.”
“Don’t brag, Gibb,” Kathy said. “Anyway, if Matty plays goalie, his team will be super next year.”
“Right,” Gibb said with a slow smile. “The great Bobako’s best student. What is this guy, Wells, a witch doctor, with some magic potion from the jungle?”
He started to bug his eyes out and wiggle his fingers in front of his face. Anger began to rise in Matty. His face flushed red.
“You’re rude!” Kathy said, annoyed, so that the others felt embarrassed.
Gibb tried to laugh off Kathy’s comment.
“Hey, how else could he make Wells play like that? He probably used zombie oil or shrunken heads or—”
Matty sprang forward and gave Gibb a hard shove that t
hrew him back a few feet. At first, Gibb was just surprised. Then he stepped forward, pointing at Matty, who held his ground.
“Wells, you ever do that again, and I’ll—”
“Don’t talk about Bobako like that!” Matty was ablaze with anger.
Mike stepped between them.
“He’s right,” Kathy said, her face flushed. “And you were wrong, Gibb!”
“Okay, okay,” Gibb said, obviously not wanting to spoil the party. He apparently had not expected Matty to be so furious.
“Chill out!” Tommy Schmidt said. “Gibb’s just goofing. Chill out.”
Matty tried to recover as he said, “Bobako’s a great coach that’s all. In fact, he’s coach of the Rovers.”
That made all the soccer players gasp and chatter excitedly together. If Bobako was so good a coach with Matty, how was he with the Rovers, who already knew how to play soccer like pros? The Rovers must be great.
Mr. Moore was there by then, listening in as he poured a cup of punch.
“So, just how good are they?” he asked Matty. “What’s their stats? Who’d they beat?”
Matty said the Rovers had defeated everyone they played, including some teams of sixteen-year-olds from other summer camps. He said they had scored at least five goals a game, and had never been scored on.
Mr. Moore looked at Gibb and winked: “Hey, you’ll change that, right?”
To Matty’s surprise, Gibb seemed to be thinking hard. Then Gibb nodded in reply to his father.
“That’s no answer, Gibb,” Mr. Moore said. “You gonna whump a buncha little foreigners running around in kneesocks?”
Gibb tried to smile, but did not seem so sure.
Kathy interrupted to take the pressure off. “Why don’t you come to the game, Mr. Moore?”
“Me, watch soccer?” he scoffed. “There’s a ball game on the tube—”
“Yeah, Pop,” Gibb said suddenly. “I’d really like you to come.”
Mr. Moore seemed surprised.
“This is the last time I’ll be playing soccer,” Gibb said, “and you never saw me score a goal.”
“If you can score tomorrow,” Mike Lee said.
“Not if! When!” Gibb growled. “I’ll score against those guys tomorrow, and I’ll end my soccer career in a blaze of glory!”
He raised his fist and clapped a high five with Tommy Schmidt.
“Yeah!” Tommy said. “Then we get serious with football!”
Gibb’s father grinned.
“All right, boy, but you gotta make it worth my while if I’m coming!” He gave his son’s head a knuckle rub. “No wimping out! You better score! And you better win!”
Mr. Moore grabbed the football from Tommy, shouted that it was time to play “a man’s sport” and ran to the lawn.
Most of the boys went scampering off behind, trying to tackle him. Gibb first went to the stereo system and shut off the oldies music. Soon, heavy rock blared across the backyard again. Only Kathy and Matty were left by the table.
As Kathy poured them cups of punch, Matty felt down, ready to go home.
“Matty, Gibb didn’t really mean to be nasty,” Kathy said, and Matty knew she was right.
He was glad they hadn’t fought. He still liked Gibb. They watched him playing out on the lawn.
“Boy, he’s always got to be the best at sports, doesn’t he?” Kathy said.
“He is the best,” Matty replied.
“Gibb’s father won’t like it if he isn’t the star tomorrow,” Kathy remarked, sipping some punch. “And if his father’s unhappy, poor Gibb’ll be very unhappy.”
“He’s the star,” Matty said, as Gibb made a leaping catch for the football, and Mr. Moore cheered. “He’ll win for us tomorrow.”
Kathy looked at Matty from above the rim of her cup.
“I know you’ll play great tomorrow, too,” she said, smiling.
As usual, Matty blushed and wished he hadn’t.
“Well, I’m not really welcome here,” he said, “I’m heading back—”
“Yo, Mikey, heads up!” Mr. Moore yelled.
Matty saw the football zipping at him. He made the catch, and Mr. Moore called for him to join the game.
“See, you’re welcome here,” Kathy said.
She smiled as he trotted out to where they were choosing teams. Things were so much different now, Matty thought. He sure was getting a lot of attention.
Chapter Eleven
The Rovers
The day of the game against the Rovers was cool and a little cloudy, perfect for a soccer match. The game was at the high school football field. There were about two hundred people in the stands. A lot of them were kids and adults from the summer camp, and it seemed every Glenvale soccer player was there, too. There were certainly more fans there than Matty had ever seen at his games before.
The large crowd made Matty a little nervous, but he felt pretty good. Gibb still hadn’t spoken to him, but his other teammates encouraged him. Matty was ready to go. He had been waiting for this big game. He was eager to play in goal.
The Cannons were warming up with the ball when the Rovers arrived. They came in a few vans, and Matty’s team turned to stare at them. They looked sharp in dark blue warm-up suits with matching uniforms. They walked confidently to the field, in two lines, many of them smiling.
The Rovers were not bigger or older than the Cannons, but they sure were different. It seemed every continent had a player on the Rovers, even though there were only eighteen boys on the team.
And could they handle the ball! Right from the start, during warm-ups, they showed their stuff. They juggled the ball on their heads, down to their chests, and back up. They kept it in the air for as long as they wanted to. Then they pounded balls at their goalie, the boy from Senegal, a country in Africa. He dived like a panther, saving every shot, just like Bobako.
As Matty watched, he saw Bobako talking with Coach Gray. Soon, Bobako walked across the field toward Matty, who stood there holding a ball against his chest. Bobako shook his hand.
“Good luck, my friend,” Bobako said with a smile. “I told my team about you, and they want to prove they can beat a good American goalie.”
That made Matty smile.
Bobako took a moment to tell Matty about the Rovers. He told him the countries they were from and who played which positions. He even gave Matty a few hints on which Rover was best at doing what on the field. After a moment, Bobako winked, shook hands with Matty again, and turned away to bring the Rovers together.
“Bobako!” Matty called out. “You never taught me how to save a penalty kick.”
“Aha!” Bobako thought a moment then said, “You have to anticipate where the shot will go.”
“How?” Matty couldn’t imagine anticipating where a penalty kick would go. It happened so quickly.
“You have to know—”
“How do I know?” Matty asked.
“Anticipate,” Bobako said. “And when you know, go as hard as you can.”
Bobako winked and went off to coach the Rovers. Matty felt very alone.
“Go when you know,” he murmured to himself over and over. “Go when you know.”
Coach Gray called the Cannons into a group and gave a speech to get them ready to play. Matty didn’t pay attention. He was too excited.
When the Cannons gave a cheer and went onto the field, Matty heard his parents shout for him to play hard. No matter what, he decided, he just had to do well. He had to show he could be a good goalie.
Matty took his position between the goalposts and drew a deep breath. He slapped his hands together and knew he’d better be ready.
And it was a good thing he was ready.
The Rovers had the kickoff, and they began to pass and dribble down the field toward Matty. Their striker was a tall, blond boy from Sweden. He was their high scorer. It was obvious why, as he beat two defenders. Then he chipped the ball out to the wing to a little guy, very tricky, from Mexico. The wing beat Tomm
y Schmidt easily and crossed the ball back to the Swedish kid.
Right away, it was only the striker and Matty, who began to charge off the goal line toward the Swedish kid.
Suddenly, Matty sensed the tall Rovers striker wanted to score an easy goal and make him look bad. Matty, however, was the one who took charge then. Matty faked to his right, as if he expected the shot to be there. The Rovers player took the fake and kicked the ball with the side of his foot toward the left side of the goal.
Almost casually, Matty changed directions and scooped it up. The blond striker gasped in surprise and grabbed his head, embarrassed at missing such an easy chance. As Matty punted the ball upfield, the Rovers top scorer laughed to his teammates. He was sure he’d soon make up for that mistake.
Matty thought the crowd had cheered, but he’d no time to pay attention. The Rovers had the ball again.
A long pass went out to the Mexican boy. He dashed down the right sideline. He beat Mike Lee and cut in toward the goal. The Cannons crowd was silent. But the Rovers supporters cheered loudly, expecting their first goal. Now only Matty was left to beat. The Rovers wing player darted inside the penalty box, just a few yards from the goal.
But from out of nowhere Gibb raced in. He blocked the wing, slowing him down, and they fought for the ball. It was a great defensive play by Gibb, but it didn’t stop the Rovers winger. He wound up to shoot.
The winger had not counted on Matty, who came barreling in just like Bobako had taught him. Matty crashed against the ball, and the winger flipped right over and landed hard on his back.
The ball went across the end line for a corner kick. The Cannons crowd cheered in delight, but the danger wasn’t over yet. A short boy from Iran took the corner kick. It was a perfect kick, high above the Cannons defense. The tall, blond striker was already in the air, hanging there, about to head the ball in for a goal.
Then Matty went up, and to the Rovers’ amazement, punched the cross away. As Matty came down, he saw another Rovers player get the ball just outside the penalty box. In the next instant, the ball was flying at the goal. But Matty was in the right position. He took the shot on his chest and smothered the ball. Again, he’d made it look easy.
Matty in the Goal Page 4
