Football Nightmare

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright © 2001 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group, USA

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at hachettebookgroupusa.com

  First eBook Edition: September 2001

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-04217-8

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  1

  DEE-fense! Dee fense! DEE fense!”

  The crowd’s screaming was beginning to sound desperate, Keith Stedman thought, as he stood on the sideline and checked the clock for about the millionth time in the last few minutes. The clock didn’t show good news.

  There was exactly one minute and ten seconds left in the game. Seventy ticks of the clock — and Keith’s team, the Bucks, trailed by four points, 21–17.

  All the opposing team, the Renegades, had to do was grind out another first down, and that would be that. Bye-bye, victory; so long, championship; farewell, undefeated season.

  Hello, wait until next year.

  Keith wondered if losing got any easier with time. He doubted it.

  The Renegade fullback plunged into the line and picked up three yards. The Buck coach, Greg Bodie, signaled for a time-out, which meant that they were down to only one. Across the field, the Renegade fans were jumping up and down and high-fiving each other.

  Keith turned and looked up into the bleachers behind him. His parents and little sister, Traci, were there. Mr. Stedman looked grim, and even nine-year-old Traci, who knew roughly as much about football as she did about nuclear physics, wore an unhappy expression on her freckled face.

  Next to him, Keith’s best buddy, Heck Szymanski, kicked the turf and muttered to himself. Heck was the Buck’s top running back, with great balance and the ability to shift into high gear and leave defenses in the dust … when the offense had the ball. Keith was a rangy wide receiver who knew how to run a good pattern. But neither of them could do their thing when they were standing helpless on the sideline while the clock ticked away.

  “If we could just get one more shot at it,” said Heck. “We could beat these guys, I know it.”

  Keith sighed and nodded glumly. “Yeah … if. But you know they’re not going to throw any passes or laterals.”

  “Not unless the quarterback suddenly goes crazy,” agreed Heck. “The only chance we have is if they fumble and —”

  Heck’s next words were drowned out by a roar from the Buck fans. Startled, both boys stared out on the field. While they had been talking, the Renegades had put the ball in play.

  And they had fumbled! The fullback had failed to hang on to the handoff from the quarterback and the ball had squirted loose. A pile of players lay tangled together, some in red Buck jerseys and some in green Renegade ones. Somewhere under the pile was the ball. The referee began moving the players away while Keith and Heck watched and held their breath.

  Finally the ref picked up the ball and signaled that it now belonged to the Bucks.

  “YES!” screamed Heck, as the Buck offense raced out on the field. Coach Bodie grabbed Billy Brundage, the Buck quarterback, and gave him some last-minute instructions.

  As they huddled, tackle Cody Aarons clenched a fist and shook it. “We can do it!” he yelled.

  But Keith knew it wouldn’t be easy, not with under a minute left and only one time-out to use. A field goal wouldn’t do it; the Bucks needed a touchdown. And they were sixty-five yards away from pay dirt.

  Billy Brundage began by whipping a pass to Warren Flatt, the tight end. Warren ploughed ahead for twelve yards before lunging out of bounds to stop the clock.

  Then Billy dropped back, faked a handoff that fooled nobody on the defense — everyone knew that Billy had to air it out — and tossed a swing pass to Heck out on the flat. Cody threw a smashing downfield block and Heck tightroped down the sideline for a gain of nine. The ball was now on the Renegade forty-four, but the clock showed just twenty seconds left.

  The Bucks lined up fast. Billy called for a play that sent Keith deep on a fly pattern while Warren went over the middle. After the snap, Keith sped down-field, but a Renegade safety stayed with him step for step. Billy had to throw to the tight end, who got the first down with yards to spare, but was unable to get out of bounds. The Bucks burned their final time-out.

  The ball was on the Renegade thirty-eight yard line; there were only nine seconds remaining. Billy trotted off to talk to the coach. The Buck fans were screaming for a score, and now it was the Renegade rooters’ turn to call for “DEE-fense.”

  Billy ran back on the field and the Bucks huddled.

  “Listen up,” he said. “We’re gonna try the halfback option. Keith, you’re going long again. Heck, think you can throw it?”

  Heck nodded. “Sure. And you know Keith can catch it.”

  Keith felt his pulse racing and tried to stay calm. The halfback option meant that Billy would lateral to Heck and hope that the Buck defense would converge on him, looking for a run. Heck would draw the defense in, and Keith would be able to get free downfield. Then Heck would toss him the ball, and Keith would take it in for the winning TD.

  Billy looked at his teammates. “This is it,” he said. “You guys on the line, you gotta hold off those rushers and give this a chance to develop.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Cody said. “We’ll be there.”

  The ref whistled. The clock started.

  “Okay,” Billy said. “On two. Let’s go!”

  The Bucks ran up to the line and Keith split out to the left. The noise was deafening, especially from the Renegade fans trying to drown out Billy’s signals.

  “Set!” Billy yelled, his voice just audible over the roar. “Hut one! Hut two!”

  Keith concentrated on his assignment and on keeping his breathing steady. On the snap, he took off downfield. Sure enough, he saw the safety who should have stayed with him move toward the line of scrimmage, looking for a run. By the time the guy realized that it might be a pass after all, Keith had ten yards on him.

  There were no green jerseys anywhere near Keith as he looked back for Heck’s pass.

  And here it came, a little wobbly, but right on target. Keith watched the ball arc right toward his waiting hands — a perfectly aimed pass. All he had to do was pull it down and trot into the end zone untouched. The game was theirs, and so was the championship.

  The ball hit his hands …

  … and slid out of his hands and bounced on the field.

  The Buck fans’ happy screams stopped as if they had been cut off by a switch.

  Keith lunged forward, as if he could somehow grab the ball and save the day. He hit the turf and lay there motionless, vaguely aware that the cheering was now coming from the Renegade bleachers.

  Keith didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to face his teammates, or his family, or anybody at all. It was definitely the worst moment of his life.

  Dimly Keith heard the gun sound and he knew that the game was over. He felt like a lot more had ended than just a game … football was ove
r, fun was over … everything was over.

  2

  Keith was helping his father clear away the dishes from the table after dinner when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Traci called out as she raced for the door.

  It was a warm evening in late August. Nine months had passed since Keith had dropped the pass. By now, whole days could go by without Keith dreaming or thinking about the awful moment. His parents and sister had learned not to bring it up, so Keith felt safe from being reminded of that game while he was in the house — unless he dreamed about it. There was no way to control what his brain did when he was asleep.

  The weeks after that game had been rough on Keith. Some photographer from the local newspaper had taken a shot of him lying flat on the field after blowing the catch. The caption under the picture had read “The agony of defeat,” which, Keith felt, pretty much said it all. There had been an article about the game, which Keith had not read. He didn’t need to read it. He had been there.

  Most of the other Bucks had made a point of supporting Keith after the game and ever since then, especially Heck, Cody, and Billy. Heck said over and over that it could have just as easily happened to him, or to anyone. Keith finally had told his friend to just not bring it up anymore, and Heck had agreed, though he wasn’t happy about it.

  But a few guys on the team, and some kids who were not on the team, and even a few adults had said nasty things. Keith was certain that many still were saying them — behind his back, of course.

  He imagined that when some of his teammates were old men, they’d tell their grandchildren about the time the Bucks could have been champs, would have been champs, except that this guy, Keith Stedman, had blown a sure touchdown.

  He’d have to live with this for the rest of his life, he knew. And he didn’t want to talk about it or think about it or do anything that might remind him of it.

  Was that asking too much?

  “Keith!” Traci ran into the kitchen. “It’s Heck and Mr. Bodie! They want to talk to you!”

  Ignoring his father’s puzzled expression, Keith slowly moped out of the kitchen and into the living room, where his friend and the Bucks’ coach waited. They both smiled at Keith, who didn’t return their smiles with one of his own.

  “Hey, bud!” Heck extended his hand for a low-five. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Where have you been, anyway?”

  Keith noticed that his parents had come into the room. Keith managed not to groan out loud, but he knew this was going to be bad.

  “How are you, Keith? Mr. Stedman?” the coach asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” Keith muttered.

  “Hi, Heck,” said Mr. Stedman. “Coach Bodie, good to see you. Heck, would you like some home-made peach pie?, Coach, how about you?”

  “No thanks,” the coach replied, and even Heck shook his head. Heck had never turned down dessert of any kind. Keith shifted from foot to foot.

  “The thing is,” Coach Bodie began, “the Bucks are gearing up for the new season. We had our first team meeting this afternoon, and I’d been hoping to see you there, Keith.”

  “Yeah, me too,” added Heck. “We need you, dude. You’re a major weapon, you know?”

  “There was a team meeting today?” Mr. Stedman asked. He turned to face Keith. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Did you know about this, son?”

  Keith felt embarrassed and nodded. “Yeah. I got a card about it last week, but …” He trailed off, not wanting to continue.

  Mr. Stedman wasn’t going to let it drop like that. “But what? How come you didn’t even mention this to us?”

  Keith’s mouth felt dry and he coughed. He saw his parents exchange a worried frown and looked down at the floor, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes.

  “I was thinking I didn’t feel like playing this year, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

  “Honey, are you absolutely sure?” asked Keith’s mother. “You’ve always loved sports, and especially football.”

  “Yeah, well, I can change my mind, can’t I? People change their minds, right?”

  There was a long, awkward silence, which the coach finally broke.

  “If you don’t want to play, Keith, that’s your decision to make, of course. But I’m sorry to hear it, and the team will be sorry too. I was counting on your being our top wide receiver.”

  Keith continued to stare at the ground. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled.

  Mr. Stedman leaned forward. “Keith? Look at me, son.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Keith raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “Listen, Keith. … What happened in that last game wasn’t that big a deal. People make mistakes, and they go on from there. I’d hate to see you give up something that was important to you just because you made a mistake.”

  “It wasn’t just any mistake!” Keith blurted. “It was a huge mistake! It cost us the game and the title! It was on the front page of the paper!”

  Heck jumped in. “Yeah, but … listen, the Renegade fullback? The guy that fumbled? He was almost the goat! If we’d scored, it would have been him, right? That’s just the way these things happen. If we’d had another couple of minutes, we still might have scored and nobody would remember you ever dropped — I mean, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “But it did matter,” Keith snapped. “It mattered a lot, and it still matters. People are still ragging me about it.”

  “Who?” Heck demanded. “Point them out to me and I’ll straighten them out, fast.”

  Keith started pacing back and forth. “It doesn’t matter who. Look, you don’t get it. It didn’t happen to you, so you couldn’t understand. Dad, remember the story you told me? About that baseball player?”

  “Which player?” Mr. Stedman looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean Fred Merkle?”

  “Yeah,” Keith replied. He looked at Heck. “This guy, Merkle, played Major League baseball a long time ago, and he was good, too. But he made one mistake in a big game, just one. And no one ever let him forget it. For the rest of his life, people called him ‘Bonehead’ Merkle. Right, Dad?”

  Mr. Stedman sighed. “Right. But —”

  “Right!” Keith cut him off. “It didn’t matter that he was a good ballplayer, batted .300, was a good fielder. For the rest of his life, he was ‘Bonehead’ Merkle of the New York Giants.”

  “That was different, son,” said Mr. Stedman softly. “That was the Major Leagues, and he was a pro … and it was still unfair. But nobody expects a boy to never make mistakes.”

  “I don’t see it that way. I don’t want to have to listen to people give me grief about that for the rest of my life. So I’ll find something else to do, something that’s not football.”

  “Listen,” Heck said, “if you’d just talk to the guys on the team, you’d see that they all want you back and that nobody blames you for what happened. And if there are one or two creeps somewhere who give you grief, well, who cares what they say? Your buddies know that you’re a great ballplayer, a great pass-catcher.”

  “I think you should do whatever you decide,” Mrs. Stedman said, putting a hand on her son’s shoulder. “But I hate to think that you’ll be unhappy, not being out there with your friends.”

  “Keith?” His sister, Traci, had come into the room and heard part of the conversation. She had an anxious look on her face. “Is that true? You aren’t going to play football anymore?”

  “Right,” said Keith.

  “You won’t change your mind? I like watching you play and cheering for you,” Traci said. “You’re really good!”

  Keith felt that everyone was ganging up on him. He held up a hand like a crossing guard stopping traffic. “Listen up, all of you. I don’t want to play football. And I’m not going to play football. Okay? Understand? End of discussion.”

  He wheeled and walked quickly out of the room.

  3

  When Keith woke up the next morning, he looked out the window and saw that it was a beautiful, sunny day. He felt great … unt
il he remembered what had gone down the previous evening. Then he felt lousy again.

  If only he had held on to that pass, Keith thought, his life would be totally different now. Or if he hadn’t played football last season … or if he’d been an interior lineman, like Cody. Linemen don’t get the spotlight. They miss out on the glory, but they also miss out on the humiliation.

  Mr. Stedman had already left for work when Keith walked into the kitchen. Neither his mother nor his sister were anywhere to be seen. He poured some orange juice, fixed himself a bowl of cereal, and sat down. After drinking the juice, he stared at the cereal for a while and shoved it away.

  He’d always had a healthy appetite, unless he was sick. Until now, at least. He was about to pour the cereal into the disposal when the phone rang. It was Heck.

  “How are you doing?” Heck asked. Keith thought his friend sounded a little cautious, like he was choosing his words carefully, not wanting to have any problems.

  “Good. What’s up?”

  “Nothing much,” Heck replied. “I was just thinking, it’s a nice day, you want to go down to the pool and hang out for a while?”

  Keith’s first impulse was to turn the idea down, but then he thought, Why not? He didn’t want to become a total hermit, did he? And Heck was his buddy, right?

  “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll leave a note saying where I’m going and ride my bike over to your place.”

  “Cool,” Heck said. “See you soon.”

  Keith scribbled a note for his mom and left it on the hall table. He put on a bathing suit and a T-shirt, grabbed a towel and a change of clothes, and stuffed them in his backpack. Then he rolled his bike out of the garage, hopped on, and pedaled slowly down the street. Heck lived just a few minutes away, and the town’s pool and recreation area were also close by. He hoped the subject of football wouldn’t come up today, but he had a feeling that it probably would. Heck could be stubborn and he wanted Keith to play with the Bucks.

  Well, Keith could be stubborn, too. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

  Heck was waiting with his bike when Keith rolled into the Szymanskis’ driveway. Heck shrugged himself into his backpack and the two friends started toward the park, where the town had a large pool and a field that was used for various sports and events.