The Scorpions reacted well to his return. Many of the plays depended on a strong center forward, and although Willie was a fine substitute, his skills didn’t match Mark’s. And since Mark had had some time to cool down — both physically and mentally — he was ready to step back into his role and help his team to victory.
But it didn’t look like a victory was going to happen. The Slickers had the ball and were passing it in circles around the defending Scorpions. They came closer and closer to setting up a goal attempt.
And then Harvey Kahn blocked a Slicker wing’s pass to another player. The ball slammed into his kneecap and ricocheted across the field at a weird angle. Evan Andrews caught it with his right leg.
He dribbled it across the midfield line. Then he passed it up to Mark.
At first, Mark thought he was in the clear and could take a shot at the goal. But there were just too many players from both teams in his way. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Scorpion streaking downfield with no one else near him.
It was Craig. Somehow or other, the redheaded backfielder had just dropped out of the picture, and no one was covering him.
Mark protected the ball long enough for Craig to get into position. Then he booted it to him.
Craig controlled it and aimed a kick toward the goal.
It just cleared the underside of the crossbar and sailed into the net.
Goal!
The Scorpions went ahead on the scoreboard and, with only seconds left, closed out the game with a win.
When the Scorpions came off the field, Craig drifted over to the end of the bench, where Mark was knocking the mud off of his soccer shoes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Mark said, surprised.
“You sure didn’t look it earlier,” said Craig. “Half the time you were all over the ball. The other half, you wouldn’t get near it! Were you trying out a new strategy to confuse the defense or something? Because if you were, you should have let the rest of us in on it!”
Even though Mark knew Craig was just joking around, he felt a flash of anger. He couldn’t help retorting, “Well, I helped make our two goals, didn’t I? Made you look pretty good, too!”
“Whoa!” said Craig, holding up his hands. “I knew it. There is something eating at you! Don’t deny it. Spill it.”
“Why?” Mark shot back. “Talking about it won’t do any good!”
“Talking about what?” Craig pressed.
“About what Vince pulls out there every time we’re on the field together!” Mark said finally. “I’m — I’m — I’m just so bugged by that guy! He acts like I’m not even on the team most of the time. But that wouldn’t bother me if it weren’t for the wisecracks he makes about me. He doesn’t — he — he —”
Craig stared at Mark. Then he shook his head and said, “Man, you’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of Rhode Island! Did it ever occur to you to confront Vince with this stuff? Just talk to the guy, Mark. If you don’t let him know where you’re coming from, the whole team is going to suffer.” He stood up and finished his cup of water. “It’s like I tried to tell you before: It’s better to talk about it than to keep it all bottled up. I’m gonna get a refill. See you on the bus.”
Mark watched him walk away.
Just like that, Mark thought. Just tell someone you have a problem. But what if that someone doesn’t hear what you have to say? What then?
For some reason, the image of his parents arguing at the last soccer game flashed through his head.
What then? he thought again.
10
When his grandparents picked him up outside the locker room that night, they had already heard about the game.
“Craig’s mother called. She was so excited about him having made a goal,” Grandma Conway said. “She said you had a bad fall during the game. Are you okay?”
“It was no big deal,” Mark said. He preferred not to remember that that collision with Eddie had mostly been his fault.
“Really? Well, she sounded concerned. In fact, didn’t Coach Ryan have you sit out for a while because of the injury?”
Mark squirmed. He wasn’t convinced that was why the coach had taken him out of the game. But he didn’t want to say as much to his grandparents. He didn’t want to lie, either, though. So he just sat silent for the rest of the ride home and hoped his grandparents would let the matter drop.
They didn’t. The minute they walked into the house, Grandpa Conway said, “Young man, you sit down here. Mother, you come sit, too.” There was a tone in his voice that told Mark not to argue. He flopped back into his chair and folded his hands.
Grandpa Conway had never acted this way before. There hadn’t been one serious talk, the kind his parents used to have with him, since he’d moved back to Knightstown to live with them. Hearing him talk this way reminded Mark that his grandfather was a father, too. Mark suddenly wondered what it had been like for his own father growing up here. Somehow, he had a feeling he had been given a much looser rein than his father had had — but that that rein was about to be tightened.
Grandpa Conway cleared his throat. “Now, I’m sure not an expert on what it’s like to be a teenager these days,” he began, “but I’ll bet they’re every bit as moody now as they were when your father was growing up. One minute everything’s fine; the next it’s like the world is about to come crashing down around you. And it’s my opinion that most of the time what seems like a mountain to a teenager is really just a molehill.”
Grandma Conway nodded. Mark sat silent, not looking at either of them.
Grandpa Conway continued: “However, in your case, I think you’re doing just the opposite.” Mark’s head shot up. His grandfather nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Mark, you’ve got a mountain of turmoil you should be dealing with — but you’re trying to pretend it’s just a molehill.”
“We don’t know exactly what happened out on the soccer field today,” his grandmother said. “But Mrs. Crandall seemed to think you were about ready to blow your stack at one point. I suppose getting hurt on the field could have been part of the problem. I mean, in the game against the Tigers you fell pretty hard — and neither your grandfather nor I could believe the change that came over you! It was like watching something just boil over.”
“But we think something else entirely has been adding fuel to that fire,” his grandfather added. “We hoped that you might come to us to talk about it. But you haven’t. So now we’re going to do what we can to force you to let off some steam.”
Mark sat there frozen. He couldn’t look at either of his grandparents. His insides were all churned up, and he felt like he was going to break into a million pieces.
He knew his grandparents would wait until he was ready to say something. Finally he decided to tackle the easier problem first.
“I guess I might have been a little angry at some stuff that’s been happening on the soccer field,” he admitted.
“Is that it?” his grandmother prodded gently.
Mark shrugged.
“What about your mother and father, Mark?” Grandpa Conway said softly. “Doesn’t it make you kind of mad that they both keep trying to win you over to their side? Because I don’t mind telling you, it makes me mad to watch them do it.”
At last Mark looked up. “It does?” he asked.
“You bet it does. I will always love both of them, Mark, but there are times I just want to wring their necks!” Both his grandmother and grandfather smiled ruefully.
“I — I guess it does make me a little angry. I mean,” he continued in a louder voice, “I feel like — like — like a soccer ball in the middle of a close game sometimes! Both teams want to get ahold of me, but they have to fight each other to do it! But it’s no big deal,” he finished, embarrassed by his outburst.
“See, there you go again,” said Grandpa Conway. “It is a big deal. Your parents are just so busy trying to hurt each other that they don’t seem to realize that t
hey’re hurting you, too. They should be able to put aside what’s bothering them about each other to make things a little nicer, a little easier, for you during this whole thing.”
As Mark listened, his eyes filled with tears. They were the first tears he had cried in a long, long time. But it felt good to let it out, he realized. It felt good to be able to talk about all the confusing feelings he’d been trying so hard to ignore for so long.
Grandma Conway got up and came over to him. She crouched down and held him in her arms. “I know,” she said, “I know it has to feel real bad. But you can’t hold it in or you’ll just explode.”
“Talk to your mother and father, Mark,” said his grandfather. “When you’re ready, talk to them and make them listen. Believe me, they’ve been acting dumb. It’s about time they realized it.”
Mark gulped. The idea of confronting his parents terrified him, but he knew that his grandparents were right. But still …
“Do you really think it’ll make a difference? Do you think they’ll pay any attention to me if I say something?”
Grandpa Conway looked him square in the eyes. “If you’re asking if their feelings for each other will change because of something you say, then no, Mark, I don’t think so. But I do know that it’ll help you burn up some of that anger you have inside and that it will make them open their eyes a little wider to what they’ve been doing to you. And that alone will make it worth your while.”
With that, he pushed himself up out of his chair and said, “Now, then. Mother, you go put your feet up, and Mark, you get your body into a shower. I’m cooking dinner tonight.”
As Mark was toweling off a few minutes later, he realized how right his grandparents were. He did bottle things up too much. Although he was a little embarrassed at having cried in front of them, he knew it had been as cleansing for his emotions as the shower had been for his body. But the situation with his parents was only part of the problem.
Craig hadn’t been talking about the same thing as his grandparents, but his message wasn’t any different. Some of the anger stored in the depths of Mark’s gut had another name on it — and the label read “Vince Loman.”
Might as well do a test run there before tackling the big one, Mark thought grimly.
11
Mark had noticed that Vince often rode his bicycle to school. He checked it out on his way into the building the next morning. Sure enough, the bike was in the rack. So, after practice, Mark got cleaned up in record time and waited out near the bike rack for Vince to show up.
It didn’t take long. Vince came down the path toting his schoolbooks and gear bag over his shoulder. When he saw Mark near the bike rack, a dark look came over his face, but he didn’t say anything.
“I want to talk to you, Vince,” said Mark.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t have anything to say to you, so just get out of my way.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I have a lot to say to you.” He took hold of the handlebars of Vince’s bike. “For one thing, I don’t like the way you’ve been acting toward me.”
“Let go of my bike!” Vince snapped. “Or do I have to make you?”
He stood up next to Mark, fists clenched.
Mark took a deep breath but didn’t back down.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers out of you. What did I ever do to you? It’s like you wish you never laid eyes on me! You treat me like I’m the enemy. I don’t care if we never became friends, but I can’t pretend that you’re not the best soccer player out on that field. I’ve tried to make things work between us out there, for the sake of the team, but you act like you’re playing against me!”
Vince stared at him stonily for what seemed like an hour. Mark was ready to give up, when he finally spoke.
“You say you’re playing with me,” said Vince. “Sounds good, but it isn’t like that at all. You’re such a good player, you think everyone should do things your way. And you’re not quiet about telling them how it should be done, either. You’re the new guy on the team, some hotshot from England, so everyone’s excited about everything you do. Even the coach, for Pete’s sake! You take every chance you can get to show off your skills. From the very first practice, you’ve been trying to impress everyone. Me? They take me for granted. They forget that I’m the one they voted captain last year, that I’m the MVP who led them to an 8-and-3 record!”
Mark stared.
“I don’t forget who’s captain,” he said lamely. “And as for MVP, I just told you I think you’re the best player out there.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ll be surprised if anyone else thinks so. Even when I score a goal, half the time it’s because you’ve set me up. You end up getting as much credit as I do.”
“But that’s teamwork,” Mark protested. “That’s what makes for a winning squad. There had to have been someone who set you up all last year, too. What makes what I do out there so different? Don’t you know that you and I could be an unstoppable offensive team if we just worked together?”
“And I’m sure you’ll be able to outline all kinds of neat plays for us, thanks to your near-professional experience in England,” Vince said nastily.
At that, Mark lost his patience.
“Okay, have it your way! If you’re too stupid to see I’m just trying to patch things up between us for the good of the team, then to heck with you! But I can tell you one thing: You have my word on it that I’ll be doing my part in each and every play whether it involves you or not. Coach Ryan and the Scorpions deserve that much.”
Vince swung a leg over his bike. “You think I don’t know that?” Without a backward glance, he pedaled away, leaving Mark standing there.
I hope you do, Mark thought. But I’m not sure you got what I was talking about.
He headed over to the bus stop. A few of the guys from the team were already there.
“Hey, Mark, where’ve you been?” called Charlie Burns. The ruddy-faced Scorpion goalie always had a smile. He was one of the cheeriest guys Mark had ever met.
“Busy signing autographs for the fans?” Mel joked.
“Nah,” Craig Crandall joined in. “Mark’s been talking to his talent agent. You know, lining up those TV commercials.”
“Oh, right,” said Charlie. Then he went on in a deep, husky voice: “Hi, kids, this is Mark Conway. I always drink three quarts of milk before every game. That’s one hundred percent cow juice, and don’t get anything else or you’ll never be a big star like me.”
Then Mel started in, too. “If you want to get the kind of job that means you don’t have to do any real work, try the Mark Conway home course in soccer and become outstanding in your field.” He stopped and looked at the other boys. “Get it? ‘Outstanding in your field?’ As in ‘Out standing in your field’?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” shouted Craig above the groans. “How about this: Hi, kiddies, this is Uncle Mark. Have you tried my home workout video? You can have big muscles just like me for only a few dollars a day. Send in for your thirty-day trial right now!” Craig struck an absurd muscle-man pose.
By now, they were all doubled over with laughter. At first, Mark had still been too steamed to join in the fun. But after a few imitations, even he had to admit his teammates were a bunch of natural comedians. As the bus drove up, he announced good-naturedly, “Okay, you guys, I want to thank you for all your kind endorsements. And I want to tell you about a one-time offer. Play your cards right and you — yes, you — can get to do my math homework, you — yes, you — can help clean up my room, and you — yes, you — can have my autograph for half the going rate!”
“Some deal!”
“A real sport!”
“What a guy!”
The bus took off with a jolt, almost knocking them over like bowling pins. But they were all laughing so hard, no one seemed to notice.
12
Mark arrived at practice the next day with a good feeling. He hoped that some of what he’d said to Vi
nce had sunk in by now. The two of them could lead the team to a league victory if only they could join forces against the opposition.
At first Vince was no different than before. He was icy cold during the warm-up. There was no sign of any change in his attitude. When they were off the field, he ignored Mark completely.
Yet on the field during scrimmage, it was a different story. Plays the coach had outlined weeks before suddenly were working like clockwork. Encouraged, Mark followed his lead as much as possible. Things were far from perfect — but Mark started to think that maybe some of what he had said had hit home for Vince.
* * *
That night, the telephone rang just before dinner. Grandma Conway picked it up in the kitchen. A few seconds later, she called out, “Mark, it’s for you! Take it on the cordless phone in the living room.”
“Okay,” he called back. “Oh, hi, Mom. Thanks for getting back to me. I wanted to make sure you’re still going to pick me up for this Saturday. … You are? Good. … No, I’m just looking forward to seeing you, that’s all. Oh, and I’ve got something kind of important to talk to you about. … No, I’m not sick or anything. Just don’t be late on Saturday, okay? … Great. See you then. Bye.”
He walked into the kitchen, still holding the phone.
“Did my dad say when he would be back from that business trip?”
“He should be in his office now, I would think,” said Grandma Conway.
“Okay if I call him?”
“Go right ahead,” she replied. “I’m going to put some potatoes in to bake. Then I’ll come work on that puzzle with you.”
“Grandma, I haven’t done a jigsaw puzzle in weeks!” he said with a smile. “I’ve been too busy.”
“Well, then maybe I’ll just do one by myself,” she said.
“No, I’ll help you,” Mark said. “I’m not as busy as all that!”
The Comeback Challenge Page 6
