Kevin the Star Striker

by Joachim Masannek

  Slowly I pulled the key from my pockets.

  “Tight!” Tyler said, as a huge grin spread across his face.

  That same grin, however, disappeared forever from Alex the cannon’s face. “Grounded for ten days with a complete soccer ban,” was his sentence. Alex watched stone-faced through the fancy living room window at One Woodlawn Avenue as his father lugged three garbage bags through the gate and to the street. The bags were filled with his soccer gear. It took him over five years to save up for that equipment. And now it was going to be tossed into the back of a garbage truck that sat rumbling at the curb.

  “It’s not fair!” The words pounded in Alex’s head as he absentmindedly played with the globe that rested on the small sideboard next to the window. “It’s just not fair. No one can live without soccer. No one in the world. The whole round world …”

  Then something amazing happened. That famously silent grin formed on Alex’s face. He tapped the globe once and watched it turn over ever so smoothly. After that, things happened very quickly. The screws that held the globe in place on the stand were a piece of cake. And in a heartbeat, the equator landed on the hardwood floor and the North Pole received a powerful kick. Alex fired the globe against the living room wall, over and over again. “Complete soccer ban? I don’t think so!” he thought, and with his knee he lifted the ball up into the air until it almost kissed the ceiling. “And now a bicycle kick!” And then his thoughts became reality. Alex jumped up, gathered momentum with his left leg and mercilessly followed with his right. With a resounding thud, his foot hit the coast of Madagascar. The globe shot towards the wall like a cannon ball, bounced back, and flew through the only surviving living room window with an explosion of glass! Meanwhile, outside at the gate, Alex’s father was watching the garbage truck drive off with his son’s soccer gear, when the globe came crashing through the window. Alarmed, his father spun around and saw the earth as he had never seen it before, just before it hit him in the head. Alex’s father was stunned. He traced the earth’s trajectory, and there was his son standing framed in the shattered window, equally stunned.

  “That’s ten more days,” he said between his teeth with a quivering voice. Alex could only numbly nod, and watch as his father picked up the globe, threw it up in the air and catapulted it into the sky with a shot that impressed even his son. “Ten plus ten, that’s twenty. You’re grounded for twenty days. Is that clear?” His father’s words cut as sharply and deeply as those knives of glass that lay shattered on the front lawn.

  But Alex did not hear those words. His mind was in the clouds as he watched the globe climb into the morning sky to meet it, higher and higher, then descend past the rising sun, down down, faster and faster, hitting the ground in the neighbor’s driveway, cracking and bouncing one last time before coming to rest on the neighbor’s flower bed, broken in half. Bummer! This really was the end of the world.

  Kevin’s Dream

  The day that followed that fateful morning was sad and dreary. On our way to school, the sun disappeared behind clouds that hung low and seemed to sit on the rooftops of our neighborhood, so grey that all color was drained from them. The world was in black and white. At school, all the other kids were laughing and happily telling the teachers their plans for spring break. But that didn’t bring the color back. When the teachers asked us what we were going to do, we had nothing to tell. We were silent. We were silent for Alex, who was grounded for twenty days. We were silent for all of us.

  We tried to drive back winter, and winter won. Winter didn’t just win; it dug in its heels and refused to leave. Wherever we looked, there was nothing but snow and ice. There was no way we could play soccer. Grounded or not, spring break was ruined. That’s why when the final bell rang, none of us jumped for joy. All around us, kids were running to their freedom. But we walked very slowly, each one of us an island of despair and disappointment. The only sounds we heard were the sounds of our own footsteps plodding through the slush, and water dripping from the icicles on the roofs.

  Although unplanned, we all gathered at the soccer field, sullen and defeated. We sat on the old bleachers and looked out over the snowy white soccer field and the trees bordering it, their branches heavy with snow. Larry’s stand next to the entrance was still locked up tight, and the icicles on the gutters were dripping steadily into the puddles below.

  In prior years, all this was different. In prior years, soccer season started the last day of school, the day Larry opened the stand. In prior years, this meant that for two whole weeks, we’d play soccer all day long. But all we could do this year was build a snowman. And Roger, oh my God, Roger the hero did just that. He built a snowman in April. I couldn’t believe it. How could anyone know so little about life?

  I looked at Tyler, who was sitting right next to me. “This can’t be it,” he said softly. “This just can’t be all there is.”

  He looked at Alex. Alex just got up, picked up his backpack, and left without a word. Danny followed him. He was grounded, too, and had to go home.

  “Hey, Alex!” Roger yelled as he tried to put the second snowball onto the first to create his snowman’s body. “I think this weather is brilliant.”

  And then Roger got what he deserved. He fell backwards onto his behind. The snowball exploded in his lap. All you could see in the heap of snow was Roger’s head.

  “Just imagine what it would be like if you were grounded for twenty days and the sun was shining. It could be a whole lot worse!” Roger tried to make us laugh, but Alex and Danny didn’t even turn around.

  “Come on,” Diego said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  But we stayed put and just stared at him. That’s when Diego exploded with frustration. “This sucks!” he said, and walked away.

  Everyone followed him. Everyone except me. I stayed put, tightly clutching the spare key to the hamster cage, shaking my head, totally worried things weren’t going to get any better. And later, at home, when my dad was watching the news after dinner, I was still clutching that key.

  The weather report finally came on. “Please,” I thought, “please let it be spring.” Next to me, Tyler kept his fingers crossed so tightly he almost tied them in a knot. But even God wasn’t listening. Better weather was not in the cards.

  Later that night, I was in the top bunk. I clutched my new cleats in one hand, the key in the other. It was already past ten. Outside, drops from the icicles were splashing on the ground faster and faster, and I couldn’t fall asleep.

  “You know what, Tyler?” I asked.

  “No,” Tyler answered from the lower bunk. He was still awake, too.

  “I really wanted to see it.”

  “See what?” Tyler asked.

  “That bicycle kick. Oh man! You can’t make this stuff up! A globe hits the living room wall, flies through the window, BAM! Right into his father’s head! I wish I could have seen the look on his face.”

  “Whose face, Alex’s?”

  “Dude, I’m talking about his dad!” I had to laugh. I couldn’t help it.

  “What’s so funny?” Tyler scolded me.

  “Come on, no dumb questions. Picture his face,” I said and leaned down over the edge, grinning down at Tyler.

  For a few moments my brother was completely still. Then a grin spread across his face as his imagination took over. “Yeah. I can see it. BAM! at the living room wall. SMASH! through the window, and SMACK! right on the head.” Tyler laughed, but then I was all serious again.

  “Now what?” My brother asked, noticing.

  “This can’t be for nothing,” I answered.

  “Don’t worry, it wasn’t,” Tyler responded. He grew all serious now, too. “Alex paid through the nose. He is grounded for twenty days.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said. “He sacrificed everything, you get it? Alex sacrificed himself. For us. He was really wild. A real … what’s the word … a real martyrist, or something like that. And that can’t be for nothing.”

  Thi
s time Tyler was quiet. Maybe he even agreed with me. Anyway, at some point I must have fallen asleep. I dreamed about Alex. I saw his bicycle kick. BAM! the globe hit the wall, SMASH! through the window, and SMACK! right into his father’s head. I laughed and laughed and climbed into the sky alongside the globe, through the clouds, past the sun, and heading toward the stars. I circled around the moon twice before I crashed back down to earth, and the globe shattered.

  “I don’t like sad dreams,” I was thinking while I was dreaming. But then something happened. The snow all around the globe melted away and the first daffodils poked through. It was amazing.

  Tyler, the Pain!

  The next morning something tickled my nose. I slowly opened my eyes and instantly shut them tight again. “Oh man, it hurts!” I blinked carefully at the blinding sunlight. The frost on our window had disappeared. What?! I leaped out of bed.

  “Tyler!” I yelled, sliding down the ladder of our bunk bed. I pulled away his blanket. “Tyler! Wake up!” But Tyler was not there.

  “Tyler?! Where are you?” I whirled around the room. “It’s finally spring! Spring!”

  I excitedly pointed toward the window. Tyler suddenly appeared in front of me, dressed in his soccer gear, grinning. Ready. “You don’t say, sleepyhead,” he said, and tossed my soccer gear at me. “Hurry up! Or else it’ll be fall before we get to the soccer field.”

  I clocked a world record that day. That’s how quickly I jumped out of my pj’s and into my soccer gear. In a single stroke, all was right with the world again. Wow! I had been right. Alex’s sacrifice had been worth it. When you’re really wild, I realized, nothing bad will ever happen to you.

  Unless you have a brother, and that brother is a pain. While I was working on my world record, Tyler took the spare key from my bed, unlocked the hamster cage, and grabbed my ball.

  “See you at the soccer field, slowpoke!” he yelled, waved at me and ran out of the room with my ball.

  “Hey, that’s my ball!” I protested, and ran after him while I was still putting on my other shoe. “Stop!”

  Tyler ignored me.

  “You want it so bad, come and get it!” he yelled back, and ran down the stairs and into the dining room, where he almost collided with my dad, who was just coming out of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.

  “Watch out!” my dad grumbled, jumping out of the way at the last moment. Then he saw the soccer ball. “Whoa! Wait a minute! Stop right there! Where did this ball come from?”

  “Oh! This ball? This is… Kevin’s ball!” Tyler answered and ran through the kitchen out into the back yard. My dad turned towards the stairs. Bad idea. At precisely that moment, I jumped from the third step to the last step and right into him, and his coffee cup spilled and the hot liquid poured all over his shirt.

  “Watch out!” he grumbled again.

  “Yes, yes, I will!” I hissed impatiently. “But Tyler is right!”

  “Really? Right about what?” Now my dad was really annoyed. “I know that ball. And it sure didn’t fall from the sky.”

  “You’re right, dad, it’s my ball! You gave it to me for my birthday. Tyler, I’m warning you. Stop right now!” I yelled, slipping past my dad, running through the kitchen and out into the back yard, chasing down Tyler.

  But Tyler was already in the street. Behind him, the garden gate banged shut. I flung it open and ran after him. That was my ball! The year’s first shot on the soccer field was clearly mine, not my brother’s. I ran as fast as I could, when suddenly someone shouted something to me: “Hey, slow down.”

  It was Tyler, calmly sitting on top of my ball, leaning against our back yard wall. I stopped dead in my tracks for a moment, then stomped over to him, steaming.

  “That’s my ball!” I hissed.

  “No kidding,” Tyler responded, grinning broadly.

  “Then give it to me!” I was now standing directly in front of him.

  “Not a chance!” Tyler grinned. “First, you have to thank me.”

  “Excuse me?” I could hardly believe my ears. “Are you nuts?!”

  “No, but you are.” Tyler kept on grinning. “What do you think Dad would have done if you just marched in there carrying your soccer ball? What would you say? ‘Good morning, Dad, wow, it’s perfect soccer weather today, so thanks for forgetting all about the broken lamp and the fact that we’re grounded! We’re going to go play now.’ Do you think he would have let you go?”

  “Tight,” I muttered under my breath so he couldn’t hear. Tyler was right for a change. The trick with the ball was so clever. Wish I would have thought of it. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “You’re a pain, you know that?” is what I said.

  “Right back at you,” Tyler said, got up and tossed the ball to me. “Here! That’s why we are brothers.”

  “Exactly!” I responded with a grin. “Unfortunately,” and threw the ball at his chest. Tyler caught it like a goalie.

  I wouldn’t expect anything less.

  “Good shot!” he said. And then he took off.

  “Hey! That’s my ball,” I yelled and ran after him.

  “Then think fast!” Tyler laughed and tossed it back to me. That’s how we ran all the way down the street. Happy.

  Long Gone ‘Cause Nothing Can Stop Us!

  Of course spring didn’t just hit Wilson Street this morning. All over town, against all odds, my friends’ feet were itching to go, and every single one of them tried to get to the soccer field as early as they could.

  Diego the tornado was not part of the great sacrifice we all made in our desperate fight against winter. He didn’t break a lamp or shatter a window or destroy the world by bouncing it off his dad’s forehead. He was in bed with the flu. That’s why neither he nor Roger at 1236 Oak Park Avenue were grounded or banned from soccer. However, Diego was still not out of the woods as he stood in the kitchen of 11 St. Charles Street, squinting with total concentration at the thermometer in his mouth. Standing on the other side of the thermometer was his mother, doing the same.

  “Below 99°!” she told Diego. “Below 99°, or no soccer!”

  This was totally unfair and dumb. Yesterday he had to go to school with a 100° temperature. His mother claimed it was an entirely different story.

  “Hmm. Different story, huh?” Diego thought, steaming with anger. He was so steamed he might have blown the top right off the thermometer. Luckily, he had thought of everything, including an ice cube under his tongue. Of course, his mother knew nothing about this cooling method. Saved by the beep! He grinned mischievously, and handed her the thermometer in a flash

  “That’s it then!” Diego said and ran out into the street.

  “And stop worrying about me. I know exactly what I’m doing.” His mother was stunned, but before she could protest he was long gone. She stared at the thermometer in disbelief. 91.5°! Not only did Diego no longer have a fever, he was now close to hypothermia!

  Thanks to his ice cube trick Diego was the first to arrive at the soccer field, and the first to face the new, incredible, and practically insurmountable danger that was waiting for us.

  Ten minutes earlier on Oak Park Avenue, Roger was about to bolt through the door.

  “I’m going to the soccer field!” he yelled to his mother up in her office. “See you tonight!” But then, in an instant, all his enthusiasm and determination vanished from his face. Oh no! This can’t be …!

  “Hello, Roger darling! How sweet of you to wait for us!” Roger couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. On the other side of the door were the three daughters of his mother’s friends, forcing him back into the house like a wall of pink ribbons and lace.

  “Mom! Are you kidding?” Roger yelled for help. “What are they doing here?”

  But his mother was at the top of the stairs already, welcoming the girls, who barely had time to say “hello.” They were already busy pinning a kicking-and-screaming Roger into a chair and torturing him with curlers.

  “Mom! This is my last warning! Tell t
hem to back off!” Roger threatened, but his mother ignored his pleas.

  “Roger, what’s all this fuss?” she said. She was visibly irritated, because she wanted to get back to work as quickly as possible. “Be glad that there’s someone to play with. Your friends are all grounded.”

  “So what? You really think grounding them is going to stop them?” Roger responded. Now he had his back to the wall, but his mother just shrugged.

  “I don’t care what they do,” she said. “You’re staying here!”

  With that, she vanished into her office. Roger turned and faced a wall of pink lace and ribbon. He was surrounded.

  “But Roger darling, you are such a mess!” purred the three creatures from another planet in sugar sweet voices with acid tongues. He spoke very softly to them so his mother couldn’t hear, every word cutting like a razor: “Listen carefully. Try to concentrate, because I’m not going to repeat myself. I am not your ‘Roger darling.’ And I am not a guinea pig for three pre-school stylists. Do I make myself clear?” With these words, Roger charged and blasted through the pink wall, and ran for his life and his freedom.

  He ran and ran and arrived at the soccer field right after Diego, where he was next in line to face the humungous danger awaiting us.

  Compared to Roger, Julian and Josh had an easy escape from Dearborn Street. They were a team, like Tyler and me. While their mother was in the bathroom getting ready for work, they begged and pleaded and whined at the door.

  “Please Mom, the weather is so nice! You can’t do this to us. The others are already on the soccer field. Their parents aren’t this mean!”

  Their mother remained steadfast, and when Julian and Josh wouldn’t stop whining, she charged out of the bathroom to shut them up, only to find a boom box in the hallway blasting out her sons’ whining voices. The real Julian and Josh were long gone. She caught a brief glimpse of them through the living room window as they ran down the street. They were making noise, but it didn’t sound anything like whining.