Golden Goal

by David Starr

  The boys huddled up beside the coach. Some gave him high fives, while a couple even gave him a hug.

  “For those who don’t know me,” said the coach, “my name is Constable Tyrell Whitebear. I’m a School Liaison Officer with the Burnaby RCMP. More importantly, I’m the coach of the Grandview boys’ soccer team.”

  “Go Eagles! Yay, Coach T!” yelled somebody.

  “That’s right.” Constable Whitebear grinned. “You can all call me Coach T. Practices this year will be Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, and games will be every Monday. The schedule’s not quite set yet, but our first game will be next Monday. I’ll let you know who we play at Thursday’s practice. It’s going to be a good season.”

  “We’ll make the playoffs for sure!” said Claude. “Maybe even win the championships. I have a feeling.”

  Claude may have been right before with his ‘feelings’, but Dylan doubted that Grandview would win a single game. They had no chance at the playoffs. Of the forty elementary schools in the district, only the top eight made the playoffs. Those eight were the best schools, Dylan knew. Schools like Regent Heights.

  This would have been Dylan’s third year of school soccer at Regent. They’d won last year at Fifth Avenue. The year before they had come in second, losing to Lakewood by just one goal.

  “Dylan,” said Coach T. “You don’t seem to share Claude’s confidence.”

  “No — yes, I’m sure we’ll do fine,” Dylan said. He stumbled over his words, his cheeks burning.

  “To have a successful season we’ll have to play good soccer, of course. But more importantly, we’ll have to believe in ourselves and each other. We will all have to play as a team, to work together, to trust each other, to care for each other. If we do that, it won’t matter to me if we make the playoffs. We’ll have done something far more important than winning a trophy.”

  Dylan could hardly believe his ears. What kind of coach said stuff like that? It doesn’t matter if we make the playoffs? We have to care for each other? No wonder these losers never won anything. Claude was crazy to think this team had a chance.

  “Right,” said Coach T, opening the mesh bag. “Let’s get started. Take a ball and get loosened up.”

  Dylan watched Abbas lift his ball off the ground with the top of his foot. He bounced it on his right foot half a dozen times, then changed to his left. He juggled with his knees, and then raised it high with a nifty kick. When the ball was still in the air, Abbas smacked it hard with his left foot, sending the ball cleanly into the net.

  “Well done, Abbas,” said Coach T. “I see you’ve been practising.”

  Abbas looked at Dylan. Let’s see you do better.

  No problem, Dylan thought, flipping his own ball off the ground. He bounced it from foot to foot, knee to knee a dozen times, as easily as if he were walking to school. The other players stopped what they were doing. Word of the fight between Abbas and Dylan had spread across the school like wildfire. Everyone knew what this was really about.

  With the entire team watching, Dylan kicked the ball high into the air. He lowered his head and caught it on the back of his neck between his shoulders. It was a trick he’d practised with Tony and Emmanuel for hours. Then, with the Grandview team cheering him on, Dylan quickly flipped the ball back over his head, and blasted it between the goalposts. Dylan smiled. Abbas looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

  “Not bad,” said Coach T. “Not bad at all. I think we are going to have a very interesting season with you two on the team!”

  7

  The Scrimmage

  Thursday was a perfect day for soccer. The winter sky was empty of clouds. It was cool but not cold, and the gravel field was dry for once. In the middle of drills, Dylan watched Abbas dribble the ball through a line of red cones. Abbas was fast, but he never lost control. It was like the ball was attached to his foot with a string.

  After the dribbling drill, Coach T set up the portable nets. No matter how many times he kicked the ball, Abbas never missed. When it was Dylan’s turn, he concentrated as hard as he could on his own shot. There was no way he would let Abbas show him up.

  “Okay, guys,” Coach T said when the drills were done. “Let’s play a little game. Six on six. Abbas, Claude, Dylan, Abdul, Mo and Jake on one team. The rest of you on the other. We’ll play half field.” Jake was a Filipino boy in Dylan’s class and Mo was one of several boys from Afghanistan in the school. Abbas didn’t seem happy to be playing with Dylan.

  Claude, on the other hand, seemed very pleased. “I have a feeling we’re going to win for sure,” he beamed. “You two are the best players on the team.”

  There were no goalies for the scrimmage. Coach T set up the nets and when the players were in position, he blew his whistle. “This is just practice but play hard,” he told them. “I want to see some energy out there.”

  Claude started with the ball, playing midfield. Mo and Jake slid back to defend. Abbas and Dylan played forward, Dylan on the left and Abbas on the right. Both boys sprinted down the field as Claude moved slowly up the centre. Dylan watched as Abbas stutter-stepped, faked out the defender, and raced to an open spot on the field.

  Claude lifted the ball into the air. The kick was perfect, landing at Abbas’s feet. Without breaking his stride, Abbas took the ball and sprinted toward the small goal.

  The defenders, Steven and Jun, moved quickly to cut him off. Abbas was good, but there was no way he could deke out both of them. But both defenders on Abbas meant Dylan was open. Using a clever back heel, Abbas flicked Dylan the ball. With no defenders to worry about, Dylan raced toward the goal and kicked the ball at the small target. The ball rolled into the net. His team erupted in cheers.

  “That was a good pass, Abbas,” said Dylan. It was the first time he’d actually spoken to Abbas since Tuesday morning in Ms. Bhullar’s office. Dylan didn’t like Abbas, but he was an awesome soccer player. The pass had been beautiful. It would be poor sportsmanship not to thank him, and Dylan’s dad had taught him to be a good sport.

  Abbas’s face broke into a surprised grin. “The goal was okay too.”

  The scrimmage continued. Claude was an excellent midfielder, Dylan realized, with a gift for making amazing passes. Like a quarterback throwing the ball to receivers, Claude took charge of the offence. He passed the ball equally to Dylan and Abbas. Dylan and Abbas might not have liked each other, but that didn’t stop them from playing very well together.

  Not like how it was with Tony, Dylan told himself. After all, he’d played with his best friend since Kindergarten. But Dylan had to admit that Claude, Abbas and he had something his old coach at Regent would have called chemistry.

  When Coach T ended the scrimmage, Dylan’s team was up 7–2. Dylan and Abbas had three goals each, with Claude picking up the other one.

  “That was great!” Claude said as they hustled toward their coach.

  It was, Dylan had to agree. He was sweaty, tired and thirsty, but felt better than he had for weeks.

  “Gather ’round everyone,” said Coach T. “I have our schedule. We play eight games in the regular season,” he said looking at a sheet of paper. “Six at home and two away. Our first game is next Monday against Griffith Park at their school.”

  “Griffith Park’s only a fifteen minute walk from here,” Claude told Dylan. “That’s good.”

  Dylan was confused. He was used to each team playing half their games at home and the rest at another school. It was nice to have so many home games, but it sounded a bit unfair. “Why do we get to play so many home games?” he asked.

  “I asked the coaches at Brentford and University Hill if they were okay coming here instead of us trying to go there,” Coach T explained. “They said it wasn’t a problem.”

  “Most of our parents don’t have cars. And it’s too hard for us to get to schools that are far away,” explained Jake.

&n
bsp; “Oh,” said Dylan. He hadn’t thought of that. Since moving to Grandview his mom had sold their car — as well as most of their other things.

  “Who do we play after Griffith Park, Coach T?” Mo asked.

  When Coach T answered, he looked directly at Dylan. “Our second game of the season is against a school from the north side called Regent Heights. I think you may have heard of them. They won the championship last year. Normally we would stick to the south side, but I like our chances this year and I wanted to see how we match up against the best team in the district.”

  * * *

  Within days of starting at Grandview, Dylan realized that he had friends there. Claude was great. And Dylan liked Jake, who was also a great soccer player. Jake was small, but he could dart around the field, sticking his legs out like a striking snake and steal the ball from an attacker.

  Mo was funny, even-tempered and, like Abdul, from Afghanistan. Steven was a First Nations kid from Vancouver Island. Jun was Korean, and William and Alvin were twin brothers from Taiwan.

  Their goalie, Michael, a tall, red-headed boy, was born and raised in Vancouver like Dylan. Junior was from Liberia, Carlos from El Salvador. Abbas, Dylan learned, was from Syria. But Dylan didn’t know how long Abbas had been in Canada, or much of anything about him for that matter — none of the boys did.

  Abbas wasn’t exactly a friend, though things had been much better between them. They didn’t speak to each other often, but at least they hadn’t fought again. Both still had bruises on their faces from the fight, but they were fading, as were the bad feelings.

  Maybe his mother and Ms. Bhullar had been right after all. Dylan actually looked forward to the feel of the ball against his feet. It felt good to play, but what was even better was making friends. He hadn’t realized just how lonely he’d been.

  8

  The Mall

  “Regent was your old school wasn’t it?” asked Claude. The boys were eating their lunch in Ms. Jorgensen’s classroom. Today Ms. Pucci had served them mac and cheese.

  “Yeah,” said Dylan. “I went to Regent Heights since Kindergarten.”

  “How come you moved to Grandview?” asked Mo. “Regent Heights is pretty fancy I hear.”

  “My dad died. We couldn’t afford to stay in our old house so we had to move.” Dylan hadn’t told anyone how he’d ended up at Grandview. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone either, but it just slipped out. Dylan hoped the guys wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  “My dad’s dead, too,” said Mo. “I don’t really remember him. He died in the war back in Kabul when I was just a baby. We moved to Canada when I was five.”

  “My dad’s in the Philippines,” said Jake. “My mom was a nurse back there, but she works as a caregiver here. We’re trying to save money to bring him here.”

  “What about you, Claude?” Dylan asked, glad the guys were no longer asking him questions. “How did you come to Grandview?”

  “It’s not really that interesting,” said Claude, quiet for once.

  “Are you crazy?” said Junior. “They should make a movie about you!” Claude blushed at the comment.

  “No, really, I’d like to hear it,” said Dylan, “but only if you want to.” He understood how difficult it was to talk about losing someone you loved.

  “I grew up in Congo, in a place called North Kivu,” Claude began. “There was a war. One day when I was six and my sister was fifteen, soldiers came to my village. My mother and father told us to hide in the forest. We didn’t want to leave them, but we obeyed. We heard shooting and screaming and then we saw a fire. We waited a few hours for the soldiers to leave and then went back to our house.”

  “What did you see?” Dylan asked. All the boys were listening intently.

  “Our house was burned down and my parents were dead,” Claude said. “There was no way we could stay in our village, so my sister and I left. We walked for weeks, hiding from soldiers. We crossed the border into Tanzania and we were taken to a refugee camp.”

  “Refugee camp? What’s that?” Dylan felt awful for his new friend. Claude was so happy and cheerful, Dylan couldn’t imagine such terrible things happening to him.

  “It’s a place where people who have fled their country go,” said Claude. “It’s like a city of tents, run by the United Nations. There wasn’t much to do there. There wasn’t a school. So I pretty much just played soccer. Sometimes aid workers would give us balls. Other times we would make our own out of rags and string.

  “We lived there for three years until we came to Canada,” Claude continued. “I registered at Grandview. My sister finished high school, and then she went to college. She’s studying to be a nurse and works part time.”

  “I’m going outside,” said Abbas suddenly. He quickly got up from the table and left.

  “What’s his story?” Dylan asked. He wondered what could have made Abbas so upset. Was it Claude talking about refugee camps?

  Mo shrugged. “Abbas came here last spring from Syria. He doesn’t like to talk about it. But whatever happened to him before he came to Grandview must have been pretty bad.”

  * * *

  Dylan quickly forgot about Abbas when his mom got home from work.

  “Get your coat on, Dylan,” she said. “We’re going to Metro Mall.”

  “Really?” Dylan loved Metro Mall. The largest shopping mall in Metro Vancouver had Supersports and Electro Video Games, his two favourite stores in the world.

  “I got paid today,” his mom said, “and you need some new clothes and a pair of shoes. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown recently.”

  It was true. For a while now Dylan had felt like everything he owned was shrinking. But he hadn’t said anything to his mom, because he knew they didn’t have much money. “Are you sure, Mom? I can get by with what I have for another couple of months.”

  “It’s fine, son,” his mom said. “I’ve been putting a little money aside. I can afford to get you some new clothes. We’ll do some shopping, and then we can go to the food court for dinner.”

  “Thanks, Mom, that’s a great idea.” They hadn’t eaten out for so long that even mall food sounded like a treat to Dylan.

  They walked out of their small apartment, and instead of turning left on Salisbury, Dylan and his mom went toward the Grandview SkyTrain station. Fifteen minutes later they were on the train, heading the three stops west to the mall.

  “Go and have a look around,” his mom said at the mall entrance. “There are a few things I need myself and I don’t think you want to come with me to buy women’s clothes. We’ll meet back here, get your things and then eat. I feel like Chinese food!”

  There was no doubt where Dylan was going first. There were plenty of stores in the mall where he could buy pants and shirts for school. But only one had what seemed to Dylan like the world’s largest collection of jerseys, ball caps and sports-themed items. Supersports was on the second floor of the mall, so Dylan raced to the escalator. Most likely his mom wouldn’t buy him anything from Supersports. Team jerseys were expensive, but there might be something on sale left over from Boxing Day they could afford.

  Dylan walked into Supersports, looking at the framed and signed Whitecaps, Canucks and Lions jerseys on display. He walked past the shelves of fun stuff, like team piggy-banks and bobble-heads of famous players. Dylan grinned when he saw the clearance rack. The prices were great and Dylan was pretty sure he could talk his mom into getting him something, if only a T-shirt.

  Suddenly Dylan heard a voice he knew. There, by a rack of hockey jerseys, were two very familiar faces.

  9

  Old Friends

  “Tony! Emmanuel!” Dylan called, running over to his old friends. It had been more than a month since he’d last seen them, or even heard from them.

  “Dylan. Hey,” Tony said in surprise.

  “How’s it going?” Emman
uel asked. “How’s the new school?”

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said, “but I sure miss Regent and you guys. When are you going to come and visit? You said you would. But I guess you’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah,” said Tony. “We went up to our place in Whistler over Christmas. We just got back the day before school started.”

  “That’s great,” said Dylan. He’d been with Tony to the Whistler house a few times before his dad got sick. He loved it up there. “What about you, Emmanuel? You do anything fun?”

  “We went to Mexico for a week,” Emmanuel said.

  Dylan felt just the slightest touch of envy, wishing he’d had a fun vacation as well. “You guys want to hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

  Tony shifted uncomfortably while Emmanuel looked down at his feet, silent. “I don’t think we’re allowed to come visit you,” Tony finally said. “My mom said your new place isn’t in the greatest part of town. She says it isn’t very safe.”

  Tony’s words stung Dylan. Sure, Grandview wasn’t as expensive as Regent Heights, and his apartment wasn’t the greatest. But Tony and Emmanuel had been his friends and teammates for years, and that sort of stuff shouldn’t matter.

  “Why don’t I come over to your place, then?” Dylan asked. “We could play video games or whatever you want to do. I’m playing soccer for Grandview, too. Maybe we could kick a ball around. We’re playing each other soon.”

  “Sorry,” said Emmanuel. “I have family stuff to do this weekend.”

  Then Dylan remembered. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it? I almost forgot.” Emmanuel’s birthday parties were the highlight of the year. His family always did amazing things to celebrate the event. “Remember last year? Your parents took us snowboarding at Grouse Mountain? That was even more fun than when we went rock climbing for your tenth birthday!”

  “Yeah, but we’re not really doing much this year,” Emmanuel said awkwardly.