“I’m not complaining,” said Toby, still smiling.
As he spoke, Mr. Grease strolled around the corner. He looked critically at Toby and told Edison, “I’ll watch him.”
Feeling his stomach churn, Edison retreated to the lounge, where Steve and Shay were leaning back in their seats, their eyes closed. Julie staggered in, sat beside Shay for a moment, then rose and said, “I may as well stay in the bathroom.”
Two hours later, when the ferry nosed alongside the wharf on Long Island, the rain had stopped and the wind was dying down. Edison found Toby and told him, “We’ve arrived. We’re tied up at the wharf.”
“That was the best ride of my life,” said Toby.
Mr. Grease followed the line of ferry traffic through a huddle of cottages at the end of the wharf and onto the single island road. They passed several busy wharves before coming to the school, which consisted of a low building with two wings forming a courtyard sheltered from the wind and the sea. The soccer field lay behind the school, and beyond it was the sea. A crowd of islanders of all ages applauded when Mr. Grease stopped in front of the school.
A woman with a square face and jaw and short coppery hair strode forward. “Welcome to Long Island. I’m the coach, Hannah Guptill. We have a surprise for you — a lunch in honour of your visit!”
She threw open the door of the school and the smell of fish chowder wafted out. Edison held his breath while Steve turned away, his hand to his mouth, and Shay stifled a groan. Julie ran behind a clump of alders and threw up.
“Great,” said Toby. “I’m starving.”
Mr. Field said weakly, “That’s very kind.”
Hannah Guptill took his arm and led him inside. The twins broke free of the hugs they were receiving from their old friends and followed them. Edison wondered if it would be rude to refuse the meal.
The Long Island team served lunch. Edison sipped listlessly at his soup, trying to avoid the slimier bits of chowder, as he watched Mr. Grease finish three bowls, and the twins two each. Across the table, Toby dreamily spooned chowder into his mouth, hardly noticing when an empty bowl was removed and a full one put down in its place.
Edison was one of the first to leave the table. He ventured out by himself to the field. The sun had come out and the wind was now a gentle breeze that riffled the sea into a series of sparkling troughs stretching to the horizon. A stack of lobster traps beside the field had toppled over and grass was growing through them. Beyond the field, boats were pulled up on the shingled beach and nets were laid out to dry.
As players from both sides drifted out to the field, the twins introduced some of their old friends to the Brunswick Valley team.
Jessica said, “This is Cousin Buddy.” The Long Island centre forward waved.
Jillian pointed to another forward. “This is Junior Green.”
“And here’s Cousin Rachel,” said Jessica, flinging her arm around one of the island midfielders.
When Hannah Guptill called the Long Island team together, the Brunswick Valley players gathered around Mr. Field.
“How shall we play?” Shay asked.
Mr. Field waved them away. “Just go play. Have fun.”
Edison wondered how they were going to play an important game when most of them could hardly stand up. He’d forgotten about focusing and envisaging, but it didn’t seem to matter. As he listened to the waves rattling the pebble beach, and felt the rough grass under his feet, he reflected on what a contrast the Long Island soccer field was to the grounds he used to play on. The contrast was not just in the surroundings, the pitch, and the way Mr. Field coached, but also in the carefree way his new friends played, the way he’d decided he was going to try to play.
He stood close to Steve for the kickoff, and Steve said, “I’m going to throw up if I run.”
Edison said, “I’ll try to get in positions for you to pass without moving too much.”
“Remember what I said,” Steve urged. “Keep trying — and you’ll get your nerve back.”
When the game started, Edison felt as if he was playing in slow motion. Every thought and action was an effort as he tried to shake off the effects of the ferry ride. He could tell that his friends were in even worse shape. Steve was still on the halfway line, while Julie and Shay were moving even less. Whenever the play allowed, they stood bent over with their hands resting on their knees. Jason and Brandon were helping Linh-Mai in defence because Toby kept gazing dreamily out to sea. The twins, meanwhile, were racing all over the field, playing with the exhilaration Edison imagined they must have felt as young children kicking a ball around on the beaches of their island home.
The Long Island players, finding themselves unchallenged over most of the pitch, gradually moved into Brunswick Valley’s end, keeping up a constant attack. Edison dropped back to reinforce the defence, telling Steve as he passed him on the centre line, “If you get the ball, try to keep it while the twins and I get upfield.”
Cousin Buddy centred and Edison jumped for the ball, colliding with Junior Green, whose elbow caught him in the stomach. Edison bent double, fearing he was going to throw up. Junior apologized.
Edison said, “It was my fault.”
Junior insisted, “It was my fault.”
The referee handed Amy the ball to restart the game with a goal kick. She sent the ball into the Long Island end and resumed the conversation she’d been having with Cousin Rachel and Toby. “If I lived here I’d spend hours wandering on the beach.”
“Not in the winter you wouldn’t,” said Cousin Rachel. “You’d get blown off it.”
“And I’d have a little boat and float around listening to the seabirds calling and the water lapping around the boat …”
“The waves would lap right over you. Remember what it was like on the ferry?”
Toby asked, “Was it rough?”
The Long Island goalkeeper cleared the ball the length of the pitch. It rolled past Toby, who was still talking to Amy and Cousin Rachel. He watched it and a moment later said, “Was that the ball?”
It rolled on to Cousin Buddy, who passed to Junior Green.
Amy was still talking about the island. “The sea is so sparkly and I love the sound of the waves crunching the little rocks …”
Junior Green shot into the net at the same time as he explained, “They used to be big rocks. The reason they’re little rocks is they’ve been pounded so hard by the sea.”
A few minutes later Junior hit Toby on the head with the ball when he crossed from the wing. He rushed to him, asking, “Are you all right?”
“Why?” said Toby.
“I kicked the ball and it hit you on the head.”
Toby reflected. “Did it?”
At halftime Hannah Guptill looked critically at Shay and Julie, who were sitting on a rock, their heads down, and pronounced, “You two are going to the sick room.”
Matthew, who’d left the field halfway through the period, said, “Can I come, too?”
The Long Island coach told Mr. Field, “I’ll give you one of my players to keep the sides even.”
“No need,” said Mr. Field. “The twins do enough running for four.”
When the game resumed, Edison thought, We’re a goal down and we look as if we’re going to lose the championship. And I don’t really mind because I’m enjoying the game anyway.
Linh-Mai intercepted a cross from Cousin Buddy and scooped the ball out to Jessica on the wing. Jessica raced into the Long Island end of the field, weaving past one defender and sprinting past another. She centred low across the goalmouth and Edison, struggling to get upfield to support her, reached the ball ahead of a Long Island back. He could try a shot, or he could pass to Jillian, who had stationed herself in the goal area. Without giving himself time to think about what could go wrong with each course of action, he blazed the bal
l at goal. It flashed just wide of the post.
Steve shouted, “Keep trying!”
A few minutes later, Brunswick Valley broke out of defence again. This time it was Brandon who started the move, sending the ball to Steve, who kept it while Edison ran past. Steve looped the ball high toward the Long Island goal and Edison positioned himself under it. The twins pranced in front of the goal, shrieking, “Here!” Edison set himself to head the ball in their direction, but he didn’t meet the ball with the centre of his forehead and it glanced sideways towards the goal. The Long Island keeper, who had run to cover a shot from the twins, could only watch as the ball flew into the net.
He said, “Nice header.”
Edison grinned ruefully. “It was a mistake. Sorry.”
Steve shouted, “Told you it would pass.”
Edison was feeling better all the time, and was already running up the wing when Steve received Jason’s pass out of defence and sent the ball on to him. Edison found his way barred by two defenders and passed back, at the same time cutting behind them. Steve staggered a few steps forward with the ball and, as the defenders moved toward him, tapped it between them for Edison to continue upfield. Another defender moved to challenge him. He feinted to go right, and as the defender moved with him, tucked the ball through his legs and collected it behind him, all without breaking stride. Only two defenders remained between Edison and the goal. With no one to pass to, Edison ran full tilt at the first of them, watching the defender’s eyes close as he braced himself for the expected collision. Then he swerved around him. As the last defender approached, Edison spun in a full circle, rolling the ball under his foot, so that he passed the defender with his back turned. The goalkeeper crouched ready. Edison looked up, preparing to shoot. He stumbled on a patch of rough grass and crashed heavily to the ground. The Island goalkeeper, watching Edison’s fall, took his eye off the ball, which trickled past him into the net.
“Great move,” said the keeper.
“Fluky goal,” said Edison. “Sorry, again.”
A few minutes later, the referee ended the game.
Steve slapped Edison on the back. “Two goals!”
“Two lucky breaks, you mean.”
“But now it’s passed.”
“What’s passed?” said Toby, joining them.
“Being a screw-up — and a jerk,” said Edison.
11
High Park
High Park was a huge area of woods and fields in the middle of Dorchester. Mr. Grease steered the van into a line of cars moving slowly on the winding road that led to the school. He parked beside the soccer field, near a cluster of outbuildings behind which the gabled roof of a tall old building rose.
A bell rang and students appeared. They wore blue sweaters and grey pants or skirts. On the far side of the field, spectators were settling along the sideline with lawn chairs, rugs, and picnics. Edison looked for his mother, but he didn’t think she’d arrived yet — if she had, she would have been all over him, hugging him and asking him how he was doing and telling him how much she had missed him. He’d been gone for all of three days, after all.
A tall man, with a nose like an eagle’s beak and grey hair in a perfect brush cut, marched across to where Mr. Field and the team were clustered by the door of the van. He stood with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back and barked, “Good morning, all!”
Mr. Field said, “Hey, man.”
The newcomer went on, “I am Morgan Spear, coach of the High Park Memorial Academy soccer team. We’re always happy to welcome teams to High Park — and even more happy to beat them.”
Edison didn’t think he was joking.
Coach Spear swept his arm toward the old building with the gabled roof. “Shall we proceed to the dining hall? Lunch is about to be served. I believe today it’s chicken and asparagus casserole, followed by Bavarian apple torte. You’ll be our guests, of course.”
Toby’s eyes widened.
They followed Coach Spear to the old mansion, crossing a lawn like a golf green and skirting a three-tiered fountain on the way. He led them up a steep flight of steps into a wide lobby lined with old team photographs. Edison peered closely at one of them and read beneath the faded black and white picture Soccer: 1903–4.
A group of students in red-and-white band uniforms hurried through the lobby with their instruments. They clattered down the steps and headed for the field.
The dining hall was a long room with rows of tables covered in white cloths. Students lining the tables were talking quietly as they ate.
“They have tablecloths,” said Julie.
“Remember they’re to eat off — not to wipe your nose on,” said Toby.
* * *
After lunch they changed in spacious locker rooms with gleaming tile floors and individual showers, then set off for the field. There they found the band parading at one end, while cheerleaders in red-and-white uniforms performed at the other. The crowd of spectators was still growing.
“It’s like a carnival,” said Toby.
The High Park team was already on the field. They were standing in two lines, their hands behind their backs, while Coach Spear marched up and down in front of them, talking loudly.
Mr. Field led the Brunswick Valley team to the van, where he sat in the doorway. The players sprawled on the grass around him.
Some of Coach Spear’s words wafted across the field to Edison. “… One or two good players … some very weak ones, particularly in defence …”
Edison glanced at Linh-Mai and Toby, hoping they couldn’t hear.
Mr. Field said, “High Park is the best team in the province, and one of the best in the country. They have scouts, so the players will know our strengths — and our weaknesses.”
Toby muttered, “Oh dear.”
Mr. Field went on, “So they’ll know to mark Steve and Edison closely, and that means we may have to spring a surprise if we’re going to score.”
“How?” said Steve.
“I’m still thinking. Meanwhile, remember High Park has lots of support, and they mean to intimidate you right from the start. You can bet they’ll attack as soon as the whistle goes, and the crowd will roar them on. I’m afraid all you’ve got cheering for you is Mr. Grease and me, and Mr. Grease isn’t too hot in the cheering department.”
Mr. Grease grunted.
Toby said, “Do you suppose you could grunt really, really loudly?”
The referee trotted on to the pitch. The cheerleaders formed a pyramid while the band launched into the High Park school song and the spectators roared out the words: Yes! We are High Park. And yes! We like to win. Play any way you choose. Try any trick or ruse. It really doesn’t matter — because you’re going to lose! Yes! We are High Park. And yes! We like to win, win, win, WIN!
By the end of the song, the crowd was in a frenzy, bellowing the last two lines as the band crescendoed with cymbals clashing and drums thundering.
The referee beckoned the teams.
Mr. Field said, “Enjoy the game.”
A girl with tawny hair pulled back tightly into a thick braid that swung behind her like a club shook hands with Shay and said, “I’m Heather, the captain. Sorry you’re going to lose.”
The referee spun a coin and Heather called, “Heads.” The coin fell head-up and she said, “We’ll take the kickoff.” She added, with a dazzling smile, “And we’ll score right away.”
Amy was chattering beside Edison. “This is the most important game I’ve ever played in. Well, I haven’t really played in that many games but this is most definitely the biggest. There must be more people here than in the whole of Brunswick Valley. I wonder if I know anyone in the crowd. My mother has a cousin who lives in Dorchester and she’s got kids so …”
From Amy’s other side, To
by advised, “Concentrate on the game. Remember Mr. Field said that High Park will attack right off.”
“Right,” said Amy. “I’m concentrating now, Toby. Don’t worry.” A few seconds later she started, “I love how our blue uniforms look against High Park’s red and white …”
On the sideline, Mr. Field was greeting Mrs. Flood. She waved to Edison and he waved back discreetly.
In the centre of the field, he and Steve faced Heather and her fellow striker. Heather was a head taller than Edison, and wider in the shoulders. While they waited for the whistle to start, she said, “This is Harry.” She jerked her head at her teammate. Harry dwarfed Heather in both height and width. He had close-set eyes and a crooked nose. His black hair gleamed like a wet bathing cap. His eyes were fixed on Amy’s goal and he didn’t seem aware that Heather was introducing him.
Heather went on, “We’re going to give you a whipping. We know about you two.” She smiled at Steve. “You’re Steve and you’ll get mad if we crowd you and you’re no good when you’re mad — right?” She turned her smile on Edison. “And you’re Edison-Superstar-Who’s-Lost-His-Nerve.” She stopped smiling and added, “Don’t expect to find it here.”
12
No Fun
When the referee whistled for the kickoff, the band burst into the High Park school song, while the cheerleaders rattled tambourines and the spectators roared even louder than before.
Edison had to admire the accuracy of Heather’s prediction, as well as how efficiently High Park scored right from the start. At the whistle, Heather back-heeled the ball to one of her midfielders, who kept it while the strikers barrelled up the field. The midfielder lofted the ball into Amy’s penalty area, where Harry, rising easily above Linh-Mai and Julie, nodded the ball across the goalmouth to Heather, who calmly slotted it past Amy.
Looking back from near the centre line, Edison thought, We all kept our positions perfectly, and we did everything right, but we’re a goal down. If we’d hustled, we might have stopped them.
The noise from the crowd and the cheerleaders and the band rose until Edison thought it couldn’t get any higher.
Falling Star Page 7
