by David Starr
The rest of the Regent players laughed at the comment. They had a beautiful turf field, proper benches and lights. Dylan was more aware than ever that the Grandview field was uneven and dirty, and still had puddles.
“Yeah, chickens,” said Tony, chuckling as a Regent midfielder began to cluck.
“They’re not chickens. They’re losers,” sneered a red-headed midfielder. His name was Liam. Dylan remembered not liking him very much. Liam was a bully with sharp features and beady eyes. He reminded Dylan of a rat. “Loser field, loser uniforms, loser school, loser kids.”
“What did you say?” asked Dylan, his face red with anger. He looked over to Abbas. Dylan was sure that Abbas would be as angry at the comments as he was. Instead the other forward acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
“Ref? Are you going to do something about this?” asked Coach T from the sidelines. The Regent coach and parents had either not heard the awful comments — or were ignoring them.
“That’s enough, boys,” said the referee. “Tell your team to be a little more respectful,” the ref added to Coach Alvarez. “I’ll red card the next player who says something out of turn.”
“Regent: focus on the game,” Alvarez said. But Dylan could tell by the smile on his old coach’s face that he thought the comments were funny.
Dylan’s cheeks burned. Never in his life had he wanted to beat a team so badly. Blow the whistle, ref, he thought. Let’s get started.
Grandview won the toss. The whistle blew and Dylan back-heeled the ball to Claude. Just as they’d practiced, Dylan sprinted down the left side while Abbas kept pace on the right. Dylan looked downfield toward the Regent goal and Emmanuel, their goalie.
“Dylan!” shouted Claude. He booted the ball high in the air. As always, Claude’s pass was flawless. It cleared the heads of the midfielders and bounced high in the dirt. Dylan picked it up and sped toward the goal. Two Regent defenders, Christian and Owen, were all that stood between Dylan and Emmanuel.
“Here!” cried Abbas. Dylan looked quickly to his right. Sure enough, Abbas was wide open. A quick flick of the ball was all it would take, and from that range there was no way Abbas would miss. But then Dylan wouldn’t get to score on his former friend. Besides, Dylan was better than Christian and Owen, and he knew it.
There was a gap between the defenders. Dylan raced toward it, eager to clear the space and blast the ball into the net. The distance closed quickly, five metres, then three. Soon Dylan would be clear. One more step and he would shoot. Try to save this, Emmanuel, he thought. But out of nowhere Owen’s foot reached out and took the ball away from him. Dylan stumbled, fell hard into the dirt, and rolled to a stop just a metre away from Emmanuel.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that to score on me,” Emmanuel grinned.
Dylan ignored him. He hurried back down the field, not looking at Abbas. If Dylan had passed they would be celebrating a goal. Instead, Dylan watched in horror as Owen launched the ball downfield to the rat-faced midfielder Liam. Liam passed it to Tony, who easily beat Carlos, then blasted the ball past Michael into the back of the net. It was 1–0 for Regent Heights.
“Come on, boys, you can do this,” encouraged Coach T as play started again.
For the next fifteen minutes, the two teams played a scrappy, defensive game. Nobody seemed able to get past the other team’s midfielders, and they shared possession equally. Suddenly, Jun won a contest for the ball with a Regent forward. He lobbed it up to Claude. Claude kicked it to Dylan who had anticipated the play and moved to an open space on the field.
The ball bounced high on the dirt. Dylan controlled it with his chest and rushed to the wing as Abbas and Claude followed. Christian and Owen dashed toward him, cutting off the angle, forcing Dylan toward the sidelines.
I’ll show you, Emmanuel, he thought as the goal line approached. “Dylan!” cried Claude. “Over here!” Both Claude and Abbas were wide open. But all Dylan could think about was slamming the ball over Emmanuel’s head himself.
I can do this, he thought. I‘ve scored from sharper angles before. Fifteen metres away from the goal line, far to the left of the net, Dylan leaned into the ball. He kicked harder than he’d ever kicked before. The ball flew in the air like a rocket toward the net — then sailed harmlessly out of touch a good two metres wide.
“Dylan! We were open!” said Claude in disbelief.
“I thought I had the angle,” Dylan said weakly, hurrying back to position.
With just seconds to go in the half, Regent Heights scored again. It was Liam who scored with a low, bouncing kick that rolled off Michael’s fingertips and over the line. Regent Heights: 2, Grandview: 0.
“Halftime!” the ref shouted, blowing his whistle.
12
Red Card
Laughing and congratulating Liam, the Regent Heights team left the field, their mood much lighter than Grandview’s. The Eagles were frustrated. They were playing as well as Regent Heights and at the very least the score should be tied.
Coach T pulled Dylan aside. “Listen, Dylan, I get it,” he said. “They’re your old team and your old friends and you want to beat them. But both times you chose a low percentage shot when you should have passed to a teammate who was open. This is a team game. We can’t afford to be selfish, even if we think we have good reasons.”
“It’s not like that, Coach,” Dylan protested. But he didn’t even believe himself. “I thought I had the shot.”
“You’re a completely different player from last week,” said Coach T. “Your head’s not in the game. Honestly, Dylan, if Alvin and William were here, I’d bench you right now for your own good. But we can’t afford to go down to ten players. You’re going to play defence for the second half. Carlos will move up to midfield, and Claude will play forward.”
“Defence?” Dylan was horrified. He’d been a striker for as long as he’d played soccer.
“Defence,” Coach T repeated. “You’re playing like a one-man-show. We can win this game. But they’ve gotten to you. You have to shake it off. If you can’t, we don’t have a chance of beating these guys.”
* * *
When the second half started, it looked like Grandview would pull even. The Regent players had laughed at Grandview’s dirt field, but they were having a hard time playing on it. The Regent players were used to smooth, even turf where balls didn’t take strange bounces or slow down in a patch of mud. These things didn’t bother the Grandview players one bit.
The Grandview players were working hard as well. Carlos wasn’t as good a midfielder as Claude, but five minutes into the second half, he made a great tackle. He took the ball and kicked it through the legs of a Regent Heights player, right to Abbas’s feet. Abbas took off. He faked a shot that pulled Emmanuel off his line, then slid the ball to Claude, who tapped it into the open net. The Grandview team and the students on the sidelines cheered. Regent Heights: 2, Grandview: 1.
With twenty-five minutes left in the game, the momentum had shifted. The Grandview team seemed to have shaken off their nerves, and were playing with confidence. Regent Heights was the best team in the district, but Grandview was now only one goal down and they were playing like they could win.
“We got this, guys!” Claude said, encouraging the team as play started again. Every one of the Grandview Eagles was pumped. Everyone except Dylan. He had dreamed of this day, of getting back at Tony and Emmanuel. Instead he’d been moved from forward to defence. Instead he was playing terribly. Dylan was desperate. There had to be something he could do.
A few minutes later he had his chance. Liam sprang Tony free with a smart pass. Tony deftly avoided the Grandview midfielders and headed toward the net. Dylan clenched his teeth and squared up to face Tony.
Tony was good. But Dylan had played with him for years. Dylan knew all of his moves. Tony usually did a shoulder fake to the left to throw the defender off-bala
nce. Then he’d drag the ball sharply to the right, and race wide-open to the net. It wasn’t fancy, but Tony was fast, and most times he managed to fool the defender. But Dylan wasn’t most defenders. He would stop Tony in his tracks.
Tony raced right toward Dylan, as if he wanted to show his old friend who was better. There was no way Dylan was going to let that happen. Dylan backed up into the penalty box, waiting for Tony to make his move. Suddenly Tony was there, so close Dylan could see right in his eyes. I have you, Dylan thought, his heart pounding in his chest.
Tony ducked his shoulder, just as Dylan thought he would. Dylan wasn’t biting. Instead he lunged at Tony, swinging his foot where he knew the ball would be. But instead of booting the ball, he hit something else. Tony shouted out in pain and collapsed onto the field, grabbing his shin.
“Tweet!” went the ref’s whistle as his other hand reached into his pocket. Dylan was confused. Why is the ref showing me a red card? Why is he pointing to the penalty spot?
Then Dylan realized what he’d done. He’d hurt Tony. His kick was a blatant, ugly foul. He was being sent off and Regent Heights were getting a penalty kick. A red card! He’d never had a red card in his entire life. In a daze, Dylan walked to the sidelines.
He left the field and stared back at Tony, who was only now getting up with the help of Coach Alvarez and another Regent Heights player. Coach T was saying something to Dylan, but all he heard though the blood rushing in his ears was a distant mumble.
Back on the field, Liam lined up at the penalty spot. Tony was the best penalty kicker on the Regent Heights team. But with Tony’s leg hurt, Coach Alvarez had decided someone else should take the kick. Michael stood on the line, knees flexed, ready to dive.
“Tweet!” went the whistle again. The entire Grandview team and the students on the sidelines held their breath. Liam leaned into the ball and drilled it high to the left. Michael had guessed wrong. He jumped to the right, leaving the net wide open. There was no way Liam could miss. Regent Heights: 3, Grandview: 1.
Whatever confidence the Grandview Eagles had, it quickly disappeared. Down to ten players and losing by two again, they were easy victims for Regent, who easily scored three more goals.
The fulltime whistle blew. The final score was 6–1 for Regent Heights. It wasn’t just a loss for Grandview. They had been absolutely destroyed.
“Go shake hands, guys,” said Coach T. Win or lose, sportsmanship was important to him. Heads hanging low, the Grandview Eagles lined up on the field. “You too, Dylan,” said Coach T.
The thought of shaking his old friends’ hands, of looking into their eyes after this defeat made Dylan want to throw up. Reluctantly, Dylan joined the line.
“I told you they were a bunch of losers,” said Liam.
“Dirty too,” said Tony, limping past, a scowl on his face. He didn’t even pretend to shake Dylan’s hand.
I’m so sorry, Tony, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dylan tried to say to Tony, but nothing came out. Instead, he walked back to the sidelines in silence.
“Eagles, huddle up,” said Coach T. About to give some sort of pep talk no doubt, thought Dylan.
Whatever it was, Dylan wanted no part of it. A giant sob erupted in his throat. He was nearly in tears. And there was no way he would let Tony or Emmanuel — or even Abbas and Claude — see that. Without waiting to hear what Coach T was saying, Dylan sprinted off the field toward the school.
13
True Friends
His whole body shaking with tears, Dylan rounded the corner and slumped against the school’s brick wall. He’d lost his dad, his home, his school and his friends. Even then, Dylan had somehow fooled himself into thinking that he could get over it. What a fool he’d been. Things would never be right again. Lost in his misery, he didn’t hear footsteps approaching until somebody stood right in front of him.
Through his tears Dylan saw Abbas and Claude. “What do you want?” he sniffed. “To yell at me because I lost us the game? To call me a loser?”
Abbas said nothing. Instead, he slid down the wall and sat in silence beside Dylan. Claude sat down on Dylan’s other side.
“I was born in Syria,” Abbas finally said. “I was six when my family left because of the war. There were five of us. My mother and father, and my older brothers Naser and Ali. We crossed the border and lived in Turkey.”
Dylan stopped crying and looked at Abbas. “In a refugee camp like Claude?”
“No. We lived in an apartment in a small town near the border. We didn’t like it very much. My dad couldn’t work. We couldn’t go home to Syria, and it was against the law for us to leave Turkey. We were stuck. But at least I had my brothers. They were a lot older than me, but we were very close. We used to play soccer together all the time. They wouldn’t let me win just because I was younger, either. I had to work very hard to score on them, especially Ali. Ali was a very good goalie.”
“How did you get here?” asked Dylan.
“We lived in Turkey for almost five years,” Abbas said. “We were getting desperate to find a better life. So my father decided that he would try to go to Europe. I hadn’t even heard of Canada back then.”
“If it was against the law how did he manage to leave?” Dylan asked, forgetting about his own sadness.
“If you had enough money you could get a ride on a boat to Greece,” Abbas said. “So my father, Ali and Naser decided to go. They planned to settle in Norway or Germany or someplace. Any place better than where we were. Then they would get jobs, save up money and send for us. The trip to Greece was dangerous and very expensive, but my father said it was worth the risk. Besides, he told us they would be fine. My mother and I kissed my father and brothers goodbye. We were all crying, but my father said he would see us again soon. And then they left. I went to play with some friends. A few hours later I went home. We were having dinner when a man came to the door.”
“What did he want?” Dylan asked. An awful feeling was growing in his stomach.
Tears welled in Abbas’s eyes. “He told us that the boat had sunk a few kilometres from shore. My father and my brothers had drowned. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mother fell to her knees and just screamed and cried.”
Dylan listened in silence. He knew about bad days like that all too well.
“It was the worst day of my life.”
Abbas continued after a while. “A few months later, my mother and I were asked by United Nations people if we wanted to come to Canada. That’s how I came here.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Dylan asked. “You haven’t said a word about your family to anyone before.”
Abbas turned to Dylan. “I heard that boy from the other team when he called you a loser. I am still learning English, but I know that the same word can mean different things. His meaning was to insult you. To say that you were no good. Yes, you are a loser. But not how those other boys meant it. I am also a loser. So is Claude, Mo and everyone on our team. We are losers because we have lost things and people that are important to us. We are losers because we have lost our homes, family, even our countries. But we have survived. We have overcome that loss. And because of that we are stronger than they can ever be. It isn’t a bad thing to be a loser. It is something to be proud of.”
Dylan’s tears returned. “But how do we overcome it? How did you get past losing your parents and your brothers?” Dylan had lost his father, but not his whole family, not his whole country. He couldn’t believe he could ever have the sort of strength Abbas was talking about, the kind Abbas and Claude showed every day.
“I was angry about it, just like you,” replied Abbas. “I still am sometimes. I used to fight all the time. But my friends understand me and help. That’s what friends do.”
“I had friends at Regent Heights. But they left me,” said Dylan.
“Then they were never really your
friends. True friends don’t leave when things get tough,” Abbas said. “Friends support you. And we are your friends.”
Dylan ran an arm across his eyes to dry his tears.
“See you tomorrow at school?” Claude asked, standing up. “And at practice too, right? Six more games before the playoffs. I have a feeling we will get another chance to play Regent Heights before the season is over.”
“Yes,” Dylan replied, a faint smile on his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Dylan told his mom everything when she got home. He told her about meeting Emmanuel and Tony at the mall, and how he’d not been invited to the party. He told her about the game, and what Abbas said afterwards. When he was done, it felt like a huge weight was taken off his chest.
“I just feel so bad you didn’t tell me about Tony and Emmanuel,” his mom said. She brushed tears away from the corner of her eyes. “If you want to stay in touch with those guys I’m sure we can find a way. I could find an inexpensive phone for you. I can’t afford anything fancy or even a SIM card right now. But there’s wireless and I’m sure…”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Dylan said. “Everyone I want to talk to these days is either in this apartment or at school.”
“I’m so proud of you, son,” his mom said, hugging him tightly. “Abbas and Claude sound like very nice friends to have. The kind who will stick with you, especially when things are tough.”
His mom was right, he realized. When he was at his lowest it was Abbas and Claude who had come to see if he was all right. It was Abbas and Claude who understood, who really understood, what he was going through. And it was Abbas and Claude who accepted him for who he was and forgave him for screwing up in the game. They were friends, the very best kind.
True friends.
14
The Dinner Party
