Play resumed, and Renny stayed back on defense, waiting for the action to flow his way. After a couple of missed shots, the ball was kicked out by the Crush's goalie, and now half a dozen players were headed right for Renny, with the ball up for grabs.
Renny rushed out to kick it back the other way. He got there well before the onrushing players and laced into it, sending it toward the Crush goal.
Renny stopped, and most of the other players turned around to follow the play. But one kept coming. Before Renny could brace himself, Turk Walters banged into him again. Renny was blasted backward by the blow. The back of his head thudded hard against the ground.
Again, there was no whistle. The referee, following the play, had missed this foul, just as he'd missed the last one.
Renny wanted to go over to the ref and complain. But that would just make Turk Walters think he was a wimp. No, Renny decided. He would take his revenge on the field!
Abandoning his position, Renny ran forward to midfield and took control of the loose ball. Forgetting that he was supposed to be playing defense, he scooted forward with the ball right down the middle of the field. He outran everyone but two defenders, who stood their ground in front of him. One was Turk Walters.
“Come on, punk, come on,” Turk beckoned him. “Try getting by me.”
Renny kept coming. At the last moment, Turk rushed forward, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Normally, Renny would have deked him and kept on going, shifting directions just enough to make Turk fall all over himself.
But what Renny hadn't realized was just how much Turk had scared him with his threats the previous day — and with the first two dirty hits he'd laid on him today. With Turk coming at him, screaming, Renny froze, then panicked. He kicked the ball away and ducked to his left, curling over to avoid getting hit.
Turk stopped just short of him, then laughed. “Chicken!” he said.
Renny looked to see what had happened to the ball. It was being rushed back upfield by the Crush — right past his own abandoned defensive position!
In no time, the goal was scored and it was 2-1 in favor of the Crush. “Good going, punk!” Turk said. “You just cost your, team a goal!” He laughed nastily. Renny heard it as he trotted back to his own sideline.
“Coach, I —”
“Sit down and take a rest, Renny,” Coach Mc-Master said. “You were supposed to be playing defense — what happened? Who told you to play center striker? And if you're gonna do that, at least take the shot! Don't pass it away to somebody who isn't there!”
Coach had never talked to him like this before. Truth was, he hadn't had to, Renny realized.
“You looked like you were afraid to get hit again,” the coach said. “You can't play afraid, Renny — this is a contact sport.”
“He was fouling me, Coach!” Renny protested. “Twice he hit me when nobody was looking. That's how I hurt the knee!”
The coach looked back at him soberly. “You're saying he hurt you deliberately?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Which kid?”
“Number Eight,” Renny said. “Turk Walters.”
“I'll say something to the ref at halftime,” the coach said. “Meanwhile, rest that knee. I'll put you in for the second half.”
“But I need to get back in there —”
Just then, another roar came from across the field as the Crush scored yet again.
“Three-one. We're dead,” Jordan Woo said. “We are such toast.”
“Shut up, Jordan!” Renny said, irritated more at himself than his teammate. “We've still got time to come back. You've got to believe, Jordan! You've got to believe!”
Halftime came and went. The boys downed sports drinks, caught their breath, and gathered around their coach.
“Look, just keep hanging in there,” Coach Mc-Master told his team. “We're only down by two goals. We're going to try to find Renny one on one, okay? I spoke to the ref just now about the boy who's been fouling him. We're going to see if we can get a call, maybe get a penalty shot. You okay with that, Renny?”
“You bet, Coach,” Renny said.
He'd been thinking about what Bryce McCormack had told him out on the trail the day before. “Be a little more aggressive,” he'd said, “or the other team might try to intimidate you.”
Well, they'd succeeded, Renny had to admit. But the game wasn't over yet. Remembering what Bryce had told him about doing the unexpected, Renny made up his mind to take the shot if he had it, since the Crush had to be thinking he was scared of getting hit.
“Try to be more selfish,” Bryce had told him. “Gotta keep surprising them.”
Yes, he was going to be more selfish this half. Coach had set up the play for him, and if Turk hit him now, everyone would be watching.
He looked up at the bleachers. Bryce was gone.
Oh well, Renny thought. It was nice of him to watch part of my game, anyway.
He ran out onto the field as fast as he could, getting a loud cheer from his psyched-up teammates as they followed him.
As soon as the Hornets got control of the ball, they set up to feed Renny in the offensive zone. Turk Walters watched and waited, muttering so Renny could hear him, “Come on, punk, come on, I've got you….”
The ball came to Renny. He dribbled toward Turk, who rushed at him again, yelling like a banshee.
Renny kept charging. At the last minute, he grabbed the ball between his shins, at the same time executing Bryce's “flying spin” move. He'd tried it out in the driveway before heading for the field that morning. The move worked — as he came out of the spin, he was almost past the startled Turk. Instinctively, though, at the last instant, Turk stuck out his foot and tripped Renny. It was nothing compared to the fouls he'd committed in the first half. But this time, the ref — and everyone else — was watching.
Renny fell, and the ball spun free. The whistle blew harshly. Turk jumped up into the air, yelling as if he were in pain. “No!” he said. “It was a clean hit!”
“Penalty shot!” the ref said. “Flagrant foul in the zone!”
“Let me take the shot!” Renny said to his team mates.
“I've got a stronger shot,” John Singleman pointed out.
“I'm taking it,” Renny insisted “I'm the one who got fouled, and I'm going to put it in!”
Without waiting for an argument, Renny raised his hand and went over to where the ref had placed the ball. He backed up a few paces, measuring them off carefully. Then he sized up the goalie and took a deep breath.
Renny ran at the ball and reared his foot back to kick. At that split second, the goalie leaned to his left ever so slightly. That was the direction Renny had been planning to kick the ball. In midkick, he diverted his foot just a little, so that the ball glanced off the side of his foot, near the little toe. The goalie, prone on the ground after a fruitless leap to stop a kick that never came, watched the ball trickle in behind him. The Hornets leaped into the air, screaming their heads off.
“Lucky shot!” some of the Crush called out. “He muffed it!”
Renny turned to them. “Nothing lucky about it,” he said, before high-fiving his teammates.
Less than a minute later, Renny was at it again, leading a rush right through all three defensemen. Renny's shot hit the post but caromed right back to John Singleman, who shot it home. The score was tied 3-3, all thanks to Renny's new “selfishness.”
A few minutes later, after an attack by the Crush had been turned back, Renny found himself up against Turk again. He put his body between Turk and the ball, cradling it, pushing back against Turk to make him give ground.
That got Turkis temper up, as Renny had hoped it would. The big defenseman gave Renny a hard shove. “Get off me!” he yelled.
The ref's whistle blew. “Number Eight, Orange — that's your second flagrant foul. You're out of the game!”
“What!” Turk exploded. “He hit me first!”
The ref blew his whistle again and poi
nted toward the sidelines. Turk backed off, still staring furiously at Renny.
Let him steam, Renny thought happily. He can't touch me now.
With very little time left and the score still tied, Renny knew that Turk's ejection had given him the chance he'd been waiting for. Getting to the ball, he kicked it as far as he could toward the Crush zone, then ran for all he was worth to catch up to it.
John Singleman was already there, trying to get around the defense. Renny got free and called for the ball. John passed it to him.
All second half, whenever he'd gotten the ball in the zone, Renny had taken the shot. Now, when the Crush rushed up to deny him, he remembered Bryce's advice to keep them off balance. Renny lifted the ball with his foot and headed it over the defenders, right to Brian Cardone, who was on the right wing.
Brian quickly turned and shot. The ball went just past the goalie's outstretched hand and into the net. At that very moment, the ref's whistle blew three times, signaling the end of the game. The Blue Hornets had won!
The whole team went wild. “We're in the playoffs! We're in the play-offs!” Jordan Woo kept saying. “I knew we could do it! You've got to believe!”
Renny had to laugh as his teammates hoisted Brian skyward to put him on their shoulders. Jordan had been the biggest pessimist on the whole team. Arguing hadn't convinced him — only Renny's brilliant play on the field had made a believer out of Jordan.
So why should I hold it against him? Renny thought. We're in now — and no matter what happens from here on in, nobody can take that away from us. Not ever.
12
By the middle of the first half, Bryce had had enough. He couldn't stand to see Renny beaten up any more. So he'd headed for Conroy's, where he knew the winning team would soon show up.
As he sat there, sipping a glass of milk and picking at a plate of fries, he thought of Renny getting stomped into mush by Turk Walters. It was all his fault, Bryce knew. He had done something awful, and his punishment would be the gift of getting the Orange Crush as a play-off opponent.
He wondered what Turk would say when he walked in. Bryce could picture the big, mean grin he'd be wearing. He hated Turk Walters almost as much as he hated himself at that moment.
But it wasn't Turk who burst through the doorway with a big smile on his face. It was Renny Harding! Renny came in yelling, “We did it!” at the top of his lungs, followed by ten other Blue Hornets, all high-fiving and whooping it up.
Bryce sat there, frozen. He was totally unprepared for this unexpected turn of events. Unbelievably, the Blue Hornets had won!
Renny saw him and came up to him. “Guess what?” he told Bryce, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We beat the Crash, four-three!”
“Hey, all right,” Bryce said with a weak smile and a little nod. “Good for you.”
He looked at Renny to see if he could spot any major wounds. But no, there was nothing… a little limp, maybe, but certainly nothing like Bryce was afraid would be there.
“I'm glad you're okay,” he told Renny truthfully. “I saw you get hit a couple of times.”
“Awww,” Renny said with a warm smile; “I'm okay. That kid Turk is really a dirty player! He was purposely trying to hurt me.”
“Yeah…” Bryce mumbled, looking away.
“He had me messed up for a while there,” Renny confessed. “I was starting to shy away from the action. But then I thought of what you told me.”
“Me?” Bryce turned to look at Renny again.
“ ‘Don't let them intimidate you,' you said,” Renny reminded him. “You were my inspiration out there today.” He clapped Bryce on the back. “So now we get to face off in the championship series. It's going to be so cool! Two out of three, Blue Hornets and Yellow Jackets, for the title. I can't wait.”
“Me neither,” Bryce said, his mood darkening.
You and your big mouth, a voice inside his head said. First you set Turk after him — who probably would have gone after him anyhow — then you give Renny the piece of advice that helps him win! Now his team's in the championships. How are you going to feel if he outplays you and walks off with the MVP trophy? Who's Coach Harrelson going to be impressed with then, huh? You stupid loser!
Bryce winced and tried to shut out the little voice.
“Got a headache?” Renny asked. “What's the matter, aren't you feeling well? You haven't even touched your fries.”
“What are you, my mother?” Bryce asked sharply. Then he pulled back, seeing the hurt look in Renny's eyes. After all, Renny was a good kid. He hadn't done anything bad to Bryce, other than play good soccer. It wasn't as if he'd purposely shown him up or anything like that. “Sorry,” he managed to say.
“Anyway, thanks again for the advice,” Renny said. “It sure did the trick today. See you at the championship!” He went to join his teammates.
Bryce nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “And this time, I'll know you're coming.”
Bryce paid for his uneaten fries and left the store, still torn about everything that had happened.
“Hey, McCormack!”
Bryce came to a sudden stop as Turk Walters loomed up in front of him, scowling. “Oh, hey, Turk,” Bryce said. “I heard you lost. Too bad.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Turk said darkly. ‘Too bad for you, you double-crossing bum!”
“What are you talking about?” Bryce asked, annoyed.
“That was some great ‘advice’ you gave me,” Turk said. “You lost us the game, jerk!”
“Oh, yeah? How'd I do that?” Bryce asked, not giving an inch.
“Your advice got me kicked out, that's how!” Turk shouted. “First it gave them a penalty shot, which that kid Renny converted, by the way. Then I had to watch from the sidelines while they scored the winning goal. You think they would have scored if I'd been out there?”
“I don't know. Probably,” Bryce said. “That kid Renny's good. Besides, I didn't tell you to foul him dirty. You did that on your own. Face it — you should have listened to me when I told you to forget the whole thing.”
For a minute, Turk looked as if he were going to haul off and take a swing at Bryce. But evidently he decided Bryce was too tough. “I'm gonna get that kid,” he growled, kicking the dirt.
“You'd better leave him alone,” Bryce said.
“What are you, his protector or something?” Turk wanted to know.
“He's a good kid,” Bryce said. “You leave him alone or I'm going to have something to say about it, you hear me?”
Turk's eyes narrowed as he stared back at Bryce. He nodded menacingly, then walked right past Bryce, muttering, “I hear you, McCormack. I hear you, all right.”
Bryce looked after him, shaking his head. Turk's a real loser, he thought. Renny Harding has a hundred times more going for him.
Bryce thought about the upcoming championship series. Only one team would come out the winner. He and Renny might never meet head on, because they'd both be playing on the front line, but it would still be a contest between the two of them. Each was his team's best player, the one the team looked to when a crucial score was needed.
There would be only one MVP. Coach Harrelson would be watching every game, and he would remember how each boy played when it came time to select the JV team's center striker next fall.
Bryce wasn't worried or scared, just determined. He walked up his front steps, smiling. This was going to be interesting. May the best man win, he said to himself.
13
The two-out-of-three championship round was scheduled tightly, with games on Friday afternoon, Saturday at noon, and Sunday at noon if necessary. It was almost Memorial Day weekend, and baseball season had begun. Space on the field was scarce.
Renny was driven to the first game of the series by his mom, on her way to show some houses to potential buyers, Renny got out of the car and ran to join his teammates. He had never been so excited in his entire life! He couldn't wait to go up against the mighty Yellow Jackets. He kn
ew Bryce was going to score his share of goals this series, but Renny was determined to do the same for his team. Bryce had inspired him to take the leadership role on the Hornets.
He wasn't worried that Bryce would hate him if the Hornets won, either. Renny felt sure that he and Bryce were friends now. That was the best part about this championship series. The only thing better would have been if he and Bryce were on the same team.
Suddenly, Turk Walters was standing opposite him. “Hey, Harding,” he said. “I've got to talk to you.”
“What do you want?” Renny asked sharply. He had no desire to talk to Turk, unless Turk wanted to apologize for trying to hurt him.
“C'mere,” Turk urged, waving for him to come closer.
Reluctantly, Renny did so. “I've got to warm up,” he said impatiently. “Make it fast.”
“I just wanted you to know,” Turk said with a mean little smile, “that it wasn't my idea to rough you up.”
“Who told you to do it? Your coach?” Renny asked disbelievingly.
“No,” Turk said. “As a matter of fact, it was Bryce McCormack.”
Renny looked at Turk, dumbfounded. “Get out of here; I don't believe you.”
“Why? You two such good buddies?” Turk prodded.
“We get along okay,” Renny shot back. “He wouldn't do something like that.”
“Oh, no?” Turk asked, the mean little smile returning. “Why don't you. ask him, then? Watch his eyes. You'll see.” Turk took a few steps away, then turned back to Renny. “The eyes don't lie, Harding. Oh, and hey, for what it's worth — I hope you kick the pants off those guys.”
As Renny watched Turk lumber off, he felt suddenly sick to his stomach. Could it really be true? Bryce had been so nice to him, so friendly — had it all been a big lie? Had Bryce really played him like that?
Just before the game, Bryce approached Renny, hand extended. “Hey, good game, okay?” he said with a warm smile.
Renny stared back at him coldly. “Did you tell Turk Walters to come after me?” he asked, staring into Bryce's eyes.
Soccer Duel Page 5
