Falling Star

by Robert Rayner

  Edison tried to ignore the flutters of anxiety he felt at the mention of the game ahead. He supposed it helped to know you were choking because you’d lost your nerve.

  But how did you get it back?

  7

  North Bay

  Although North Bay was only a few kilometres north of Shanklin Bay, it seemed a world away. The streets, wide and laid in a grid pattern, were deserted. Edison stared at abandoned gas stations, boarded up stores, and playgrounds with broken, rusting equipment. The houses were identical, little boxes in yards that contained a patch of lank grass, a snarling dog chained to a battered kennel, a discarded refrigerator, or a car on blocks. Many of them were empty, their windows smashed.

  On Grand Parade, where a sign said Business District, a group of men standing outside Bubba’s Bar and Grill scowled as the van went by. One leaned to spit deliberately. The post office was boarded up, and a sign outside a church said For Sale.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” said Linh-Mai. “It’s like a ghost town.”

  Mr. Field turned in his seat. “It’s a mining town, but the mine closed two years ago. Now it’s a nothing town. People want to move away because there’s nothing to stay for, but they can’t sell their houses because there’s nothing for people to come here for, so they’re stuck.”

  North Bay Regional School was at the end of a road leading off Grand Parade, tucked under a wall of rock that rose steeply behind the town. A group of high-school students shooting baskets stopped when they saw the van. On the field beside the school, a soccer team in grey shirts and black shorts was warming up.

  A woman with a tired face and flowing black hair streaked with grey approached the van as they climbed out. “I’m the coach. You’re late. Let’s get started.”

  Edison changed quickly and jogged around the field while he waited for the rest of the team. The now-familiar foreboding was settling over him like a clinging web. He sprinted, hoping to shake it off by making his pulse race through exertion rather than through anxiety. If only he could relax, he thought, maybe he could control the nerves that crippled him on the field.

  He went into his usual warm-up routine. By the time he was running backward across the field, he found most of his teammates alongside him.

  “We thought we might play better if we did the same warm-up as you,” Linh-Mai explained.

  When they stopped to focus and envisage, Edison tried to imagine scoring, but all he saw was himself choking and missing open goals.

  Mr. Field called the team together. “We’ll play 4–4–2. Steve and Edison, see if you can bang in a few goals, eh? That’s all. Just go play.”

  The North Bay players were finishing their warm-up with shooting practice, and a tall red-headed girl was firing fierce shots at goal. The high-school students who had been playing basketball had sauntered across to the field and one of the North Bay players, a broad squat boy who looked older than his teammates, had joined them. North Bay lined up for the start and, as he rejoined his team, the students shouted, “Kill ’em, Beast.” When Brunswick Valley lined up, one shouted, “You’re going to get a kicking from the Beast.” Mr. Grease wandered over to them and they scattered toward the basketball court.

  Steve took the kickoff and tapped the ball to Edison, who passed back to Julie and set off toward the North Bay goal with Steve. Julie passed to Shay, who dribbled upfield. Steve positioned himself on one side of the penalty area, where the Beast and another North Bay defender jostled him. Edison moved wide of the goal on the other side, and two defenders moved with him. As he watched Shay looking for one of his strikers to pass to, Edison found himself keeping at least one defender in the way, making it impossible for Shay to pass to him safely. He was hardly aware of doing it until Shay passed to Steve. Despite being hemmed in by his markers — the Beast elbowing him and the other holding his shirt — Steve got the ball. Now Edison knew he should run into the space closer to the goal where Steve would send the ball. But he hesitated — just long enough for one of the defenders to reach Steve’s pass before he did. Even now he could still tackle the defender, try to rob him of the ball and get a shot at goal, or at least block the clearance he was about to make. But again he hung back. As the defender cleared, at the same time as Edison moved too late to challenge, Edison saw what he was doing.

  He was avoiding the action, because doing nothing was better than screwing up. It wasn’t something he’d planned. It just seemed to happen.

  “Jeez, Edison,” Steve shouted. “Get stuck in.”

  Edison nodded an apology and ran back to help his defence.

  With North Bay on the attack most of the time, he hovered between Brunswick Valley’s goal area and midfield. Several times he weaved around opponents, when he was sure he could beat them, but was careful not to get in a position where his teammates would expect him to shoot.

  Only once in the first half did Edison find himself with a scoring chance, when Toby broke up a North Bay attack and punted the ball out to Jillian. She passed ahead to Steve, who set off down the wing. The Beast charged in from the side and Steve swung toward him. They crashed together and Steve’s head jolted back as the Beast’s flailing arm caught him under the chin, but he scrambled the ball past him and kept going. Two more defenders ran out to block his path, leaving Edison unmarked. Steve rounded the first defender, but the second jumped in front of him and met him sideways, so that Steve’s face smashed into his shoulder. As Steve reeled back, clutching his nose, the ball rolled between where the goalkeeper crouched on his line and where Edison waited. Edison thought he could beat the keeper to the ball and stab it into the net. But the keeper might get there first. Or Edison might get the ball and miss the empty net.

  He hesitated for a fraction of a second — so short a time he was sure only he would be aware he could have moved faster — before launching himself forward. The goalkeeper dived on the ball and Edison jumped over him.

  Steve sneered, “Scared of getting dirty, Mr. Superstar?”

  Edison knew it was his fault Brunswick Valley had wasted a scoring chance. But it wasn’t just his fault. The midfielders should have been following up and one of them could also have tried for goal. Instead, they’d been strung across the field in perfect formation, as if they were more concerned with looking good than with hustling for the ball.

  At halftime, Mr. Field said, “Relax, guys. Play your usual game. Run and hustle.”

  But the second half started the same way, with Brunswick Valley keeping formation and passing carefully to keep possession, without ever managing to mount any threatening attacks. The North Bay players, on the other hand, seemed to be holding in reserve the ability to strike when they chose. The red-headed girl quickly fired off a couple of shots at goal. Amy saved the first one easily, but was caught out of position by the second and just managed to scramble it away with her feet. When North Bay won a corner kick, the Beast positioned himself in front of Amy. She backed away but he moved with her. The ball sailed across the goalmouth. When Amy tried to jump for it, he stepped backward onto her cleats, anchoring her to the ground, while the ball fell to the red-headed striker, who shot into the net.

  As Brunswick Valley pressed for an equalizer, North Bay dropped back into two lines of five players strung across the field to block every attack. Edison, looking at his teammates, thought, They’re playing too carefully. He corrected himself: We’re playing too carefully. But he couldn’t bring himself to break out of his caution. He was too afraid of choking. It was better to play it safe.

  Only Steve was playing with the frenzy Edison had seen in the casual practice game at school. When Linh-Mai made a long clearance for Steve to collect and run at goal, the Beast elbowed him off the ball. Steve fell, but picked himself up and gave chase. He caught up with his opponent on the edge of the penalty area. As he moved in to tackle, the Beast swung his arm sideways, hitt
ing Steve in the eye. Steve moved in again and this time managed to poke the ball free. He fired it at the goal just before the Beast crashed into him, flattening him. The surprised goalkeeper didn’t move as the ball cannonaded off a goalpost and bounced toward Edison. Edison looked at the referee, expecting him to call a foul on Steve, but the ref waved play on. Before Edison moved toward the loose ball, a defender cleared.

  Edison heard Steve give a disgusted snort.

  With only minutes left in the game, Edison was resigned to defeat. He thought he’d got through the game without appearing to choke, but he certainly hadn’t helped his teammates when he probably could have won the game for them. He didn’t know what made him more ashamed — choking or playing it safe.

  Then the North Bay goalkeeper let the ball slip from his hand as he attempted a long throw out. It hit one of the fullbacks who was standing nearby and bounced back toward the net. The goalkeeper and the fullback fell over one another, and the ball trickled into the net.

  When the game ended with the score level, Mr. Field greeted his team with, “We got lucky.”

  “I guess so,” said Shay with a wry grin.

  “Why were you playing so carefully, all of you? Why didn’t you play your usual game? I said to just go play, and to run and hustle.”

  Shay looked around at his teammates. “It didn’t seem right, scrambling and hustling after the ball, like we were in a fool-around practice game. Now we’re champions — sort of — we should look like champions, shouldn’t we?”

  “You should look like yourselves. And play like yourselves. We won our division because we played with such zest and fun. Now it’s almost like we’ve forgotten how to enjoy our game.” He surveyed the serious faces of his team and added, “Come on, guys. It’s not the end of the world. Let’s try to play our old game against Long Island tomorrow.”

  “We’ll have to play better — now that we have to win the next two games,” said Shay.

  “That’s all of us play better,” Steve muttered with a glance at Edison, who was standing at the edge of the group, leaning against the van. Steve’s shirt and shorts were covered in mud, and his knees were red and raw from the falls he’d taken. His nose had a crust of blood under it, and his forehead and eye were bruised. Edison’s knees were clean, and his shorts and shirt looked as if they’d just come out of the wash.

  Edison turned away and rested his head on the side window, glad of the cool glass against his forehead.

  Mr. Grease, who’d been cleaning the windshield, walked around to him and said, “Okay?”

  Edison nodded.

  Mr. Grease grunted. After a pause, he nodded at Mr. Field. “Ask him about pressure.” He grunted again and returned to his window cleaning.

  By the time the team had changed and were climbing in the van, everyone seemed to be regaining their good spirits. The twins were chattering excitedly about Long Island.

  “We used to live there,” Jillian announced for the third time.

  “Until we were five,” said Jessica.

  “You mean, until last year?” said Toby.

  Jillian said, “Ha ha.”

  Edison pulled the tour itinerary from his pocket. They were staying at the Wharfside Motel in Back Harbour tonight, so they could get the first ferry in the morning to Long Island. He wondered what the Wharfside Motel was like, and whether he’d have to share a room with Toby and Steve again. He didn’t mind sharing with Toby, but he was sick of Steve sniping at him.

  Hardly anyone spoke as they drove through the bleak streets of North Bay and headed south on the highway. From the corner of his eye Edison could see Shay already asleep, and soon Julie dozed off, leaning against him. Toby and Amy were talking quietly on the back seat, and he thought the twins were sharing a book, because he could hear pages turning.

  Two hours later, as Mr. Grease pulled into the Wharfside Motel, Mr. Field said, “Lights out at ten, and no noise after that. Share rooms like before.”

  8

  On the Wharf

  The Wharfside Motel consisted of a row of connected cabins with a restaurant at one end. The cabin Edison was sharing with Steve and Toby contained two single beds, a blow-up mattress on the floor, and a closet-sized bathroom. It had one little window that looked across the road to the open sea. Edison said he’d take the mattress. It meant he’d be further from Steve. As he lay on it, he could hear Shay, Matthew, Jason, and Brandon in the cabin on one side, and the girls in the cabin on the other. At first he thought their voices were coming through the thin walls, but then he realized he was hearing them through the heating vent in the floor beside his mattress.

  There was a knock at the door and Mr. Field peered in. “I have messages for Toby and Edison.” He consulted a note in his hand. “Toby, your mother says you’re allowed to take something for seasickness tomorrow if you want. She’s just found the permission slip I sent home with you.”

  Toby made a tutting sound. “She’s always losing things.”

  “She says she found it when she was cleaning your room. That was the first she’d seen of it.”

  “Really?” said Toby innocently. “How strange.”

  “Would you like a couple of my pills?”

  “Nah, thanks,” Toby said confidently. “I don’t need them.”

  Mr. Field looked at another note. “Edison, your mother says she’ll be at High Park to watch the game.” He looked up. “That’s good. We’ll need all the support we can get against the Academy.” He glanced back at his notes. “Nothing for you, Steve.”

  “Figures,” said Steve.

  When Mr. Field had gone, Steve asked Edison, “Why’s your ma coming to watch us play High Park?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Why didn’t she watch us play Centreville and North Bay?”

  Edison shrugged.

  “Why just High Park?” Steve persisted. “Are you trying to get in there or something?”

  Edison didn’t answer.

  Steve, who was lying on one of the beds, raised himself on one elbow and said slowly, “That’s it, isn’t it? Your ma’s going to get you into High Park.”

  “You don’t just get into High Park,” said Edison. “You have to try out.”

  “Like you’ll have to try out, coming from Canterbury, and with your folks knowing who to talk to so they get you in.”

  “My coach at Canterbury recommended me, and the sports director at High Park said our game with them could count as my trial. All right?”

  Steve snorted and flung himself down on the bed with his face to the wall.

  Toby put on the TV and lay on his bed watching a game show, while Edison settled back on his mattress and closed his eyes. He was sick of being needled by Steve, but he had only two more days to put up with it. That was how many hours? It was nine-thirty, Sunday night, and they’d be home around five-thirty on Tuesday night, so that made twenty-four hours until this time tomorrow, and another two-and-a-half until it was Tuesday, and then …

  He must have dozed off. The TV was still on, but Toby was in the bathroom. Steve hadn’t moved. He seemed to be asleep. Edison glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes until lights out. Ten more minutes to put up with Steve. He decided to spend them outside, in case Steve woke and started at him again. He slipped outside and closed the door quietly behind him.

  He could make out the open sea on the other side of a wall of rocks across the road. A few steps beyond the motel, the road ended where the wharf began. A cluster of lights illuminated the far end where the ferry came in, and a few more lights spaced out along the dock threw pools of light. It was raining and the wind was picking up. He could hear the slap of waves against the sea wall, and his face was growing sticky with the salty spray that the wind was flinging across the road.

  “You make me sick.”

&
nbsp; Edison turned. Steve was standing in the cabin doorway.

  “Get lost.” He set off toward the wharf.

  Steve followed, saying, “You’re a total screw-up, but it won’t matter, will it? You’ll still walk into High Park.”

  Edison spoke over his shoulder. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “I tried out for High Park and they turned me down.”

  Edison remembered the Eagles coach saying someone from Brunswick Valley had tried out for the Academy. So it had been Steve. “That’s not my fault.”

  “You ought to know what sort of place you’re getting in to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do you want to know why I didn’t get in?”

  They were on the wharf, in the darkness between two pools of light. The choppy sea glistened beyond the low wooden barrier at the edge of the wharf. It was raining heavily.

  Edison stopped, his back to Steve. “I don’t give a toss why you didn’t get in.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway. I had a trial, and I got in. Then two days later it was, ‘oh, sorry. On reflection we’ve decided you’re unsuitable for High Park.’ So Mr. Field bugged them for a reason, and guess what they told him about why I didn’t get in.”

  “I told you already. I don’t care.”

  Steve repeated, his voice rising as he spat the words, “Guess what they told him. They said I was unsuitable because I had inadequate parental support. Translation: We found out your old man’s inside and that means you and your folks aren’t good enough for us.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Wrong.” Steve jabbed Edison in the shoulder. “It’s your problem because screw-ups like you get into High Park without even trying and that means there’s no room for me.”