Betting Game (11 page)

Watching.

Waiting.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The celebration is finally over. We’ve relived every epic goal. Every heroic save. Every awesome tackle and pass. There’s nothing left but dirty socks, sweaty uniforms and the three of us.

And one terrifying text.

big mistake

Now we kick off a more dangerous game. Alex and Gil have explained the plan. Everything is set up.

“Text him,” says Alex.

“Okay.” I give them a crooked smile and a thumbs-up. “Here goes plan B.”

I pull out my iPhone and close my fist around it. It takes me a couple of deep breaths to unclench my fingers and turn it on. When I do, it just sits there, slick and shiny. Harmless.

This better work. My phone may be bulletproof. But I’m not.

i can explain. i have your money

where r u

the locker room

alone?

yeah

I put down my phone and stand in the middle of the room. Alex and Gil circle around with last-minute instructions.

“Keep him talking.”

“But stay cool.”

“Yeah. Don’t make him mad.”

“Stand right there. Don’t move.”

I swallow. “Got it.”

“And don’t forget—”

“Got it. Just go.”

The door closes with a bang, and it’s so quiet, I can hear my breath.

Footsteps. All at once the door opens. Luka comes in. But he’s not alone. He’s got two big buddies with him.

We’re already off the playbook.

Luka walks right up to me. He shoves me back a step. “Are you stupid?” Shove. “You couldn’t lose?” Shove.

He’s keeping his voice down. Good. Not good.

“You were down to ten men. For fifteen minutes!” He backhands me, and I stumble back. “And you couldn’t lose?”

I hold one hand up to my face. Calm. Stay calm. But my heart is banging.

“No. You had to win. Just like yesterday. Big mistake.” He raises his hand again.

“I told you! I—I can pay you.” I back away, holding up my hands. “I have the money!”

“Too late for that.”

Stay cool. Don’t make him mad. Keep him talking.

“But I can still help you. With my system.”

He looks back at his buddies. “I love gamblers with systems. They make me rich.” Their laughter bounces off the walls.

My face gets hot. “Then why did—?”

“You were useful.” He rolls his eyes. “Talk, talk, talk. Who is in. Who is out. Who is coming back.”

“I didn’t mean to. I thought you—”

Just stand there. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep him talking.

“I know. Our little career talks.” He’s right in my face. “Have you seen the car I drive? You think I need a university education?”

His voice drops to a guard-dog growl. “You’re the one that needs an education.”

Don’t. Run. Don’t. Fight back.

He shoves me again and again. “I’ll teach you—what happens—when you don’t—listen—TO ME!”

He snaps his fingers. One of his thugs rams me into my locker. My head bounces off the shelf so hard I see stars.

Water bottles rain down and roll around on the floor. And my phone falls too.
It tumbles off the shelf behind me and bounces off my shoulder. It clatters onto the tile floor in front of me, dragging my eyes with it.

The screen doesn’t break. The phone doesn’t even stop recording.

Luka scoops it up. His eyes flick from me to the flashing red light.

Danger, danger!

The corner of his mouth turns up. He turns the phone so it videotapes me.

“Say goodbye, Jack Attack.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

All at once, Calamity Crossing blares from my phone. Luka nearly drops it.

Then his phone rings.

A rap tune plays across the room.

“We Are the Champions” comes from the showers. And a whole chorus of sirens from the hall.

Luka freezes.

“Jack! Come on!”

I dash for the showers. The door slips open, and Gil and Alex pull me inside.
We force the door shut. Lock it. Lean on it.

Just in time.

They pound on the door. What would those fists have done to me?

Then we hear a crash. It’s the locker-room door.

“POLICE!”

I breathe again. I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the cold tiles. I start shaking like someone dumped a cooler of ice over me.

Alex and Gil give each other high fives. They whoop and jump in the air. The sound rebounds off the walls and rattles around inside my skull.

Alex crouches down. “You okay, Jack?”

I nod and lean my head back. “Ow! Except for this lump on the back of my head.” I touch it and wince.

I was terrified of Luka. But what comes next is pretty scary too.

The police march off Luka and his muscle-bots. It gets very quiet in the locker room.

“You can come out now,” says a voice from behind the door.

Alex and Gil strut out. Easy for them. They’re heroes. I lag behind.

A police officer looks us over. “You boys okay?” she asks.

We nod.

“Which one’s Jack?”

I take one slow step forward.

“We have a couple of people who want to speak to you.”

That’s it. I’m going to jail. I hope she doesn’t take me away in handcuffs.

She opens the door. Mom and Dad rush in. Coach is right behind them.

And for once, I can’t find the words.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Two hours and a trip to the police station later, Dad drives Mom and me home. Coach, Alex and Gil are already there, sitting around the kitchen table. They stop talking the moment we come in.

“So?” asks Alex.

I take a deep breath. “I won’t be charged.”

The tension lifts. Questions bubble up.

“What happened to Luka?” Gil asks.

“They arrested him. He’ll probably get off with a fine. I’m not on the hook for the money. But I will have to testify.”

“Just a fine? Won’t he come after you?” asks Alex.

“That’s what I was worried about,” says Mom. “But the police said he’ll back right off.”

“The gambling ring is based in the Ukraine,” Dad explains. “Jack’s account is small potatoes. They’ll write it off as the cost of doing business.”

“Especially Luka,” I add. “The fine’s a slap on the wrist, but coming after me could land him serious jail time. He’ll just go fishing for another gullible player.

“The officer told me I’m lucky I followed my teammates’ good advice. I did the right thing. Eventually.” I mimic the detective’s frown and serious voice. “
Using rather unconventional methods
.
Not something I recommend
. But she also said it was creative. And effective.”

“I heard her tell the story twice while we were there,” Dad says. “Using PhoneList got big laughs. Especially getting the police to set their ringtones to sirens.”

“Nice touch, Alex,” says Gil.

They slap their palms together.

“You were right, Gil. What they really wanted was to get their hooks into me.” I swallow hard. “They would never have let me go.”

I fight the burning in my throat. “I just want to say I’m sorry. To all of you. Thanks for sticking by me.”

“And for rescuing you,” says Alex.

“Creatively,” adds Gil.

I give a shaky laugh.

Then I turn to Coach and force myself to look him in the eye. “I don’t know what to say, Coach. It was a really stupid mistake.”

“It was,” he says sternly. He pats me on the shoulder. “But it won’t happen again.”

My chest gets tight. “That’s for sure. They’ll kick me out of the academy for this.”

“Well, lad…that’s up to the club. But I have a few ideas.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Orientation Day. Cars pack the Lancers Center parking lot. Parents and players are milling around inside and out like tourists at Disneyland. Guides are already leading around groups. The new players are easy to pick out—the wide-eyed wonder is a dead giveaway.

I walk past the trophy case. It’s lit up brighter than a night game. I double back to admire the new addition, a golden cup big enough to hold a soccer ball. The inscription
sparkles in the light.
National Champions—Durham Lancers Academy U17-U18
.

Gil walks up as I’m standing there. “Looks good.”

I grin at him. “So good I want to keep it for another season.”

We bump fists and join the rest of the team in the dining room.

“Seen our trophy yet?” I ask them.

“Yeah. Seen our schedule?” asks Danny. “First game’s in two weeks. Guess who we play.”

His face gives it away.

I groan. “Not Port Peterson?”

“Ding-ding-ding! That is correct.”

“I hate those guys.”

We talk about summer and school and the new season until Alex says, “We’re up in five minutes. Ready for Coach’s speech?”

“As long as we get to hear Jack do it first,” says Danny.

“Yeah!” the other guys chime in.

“Okay, okay.” I stand and muss up my hair. I hold the back of a chair like it’s a lectern. “Awrrright, lads. I have a few rrrules.”
I stare at Danny. “I want your eyes and ears on me at all times. So no cell phones on the field. No texting. No exceptions.”

I wag my finger. “Now, practice is at 5:00
AM
, twelve days a week. You must be on time, every time.” I tap my watch. “Or you hand-wash all the socks and knickers.”

That gets a laugh from everyone.

“Those of you who think you’re the next Messi?” I scowl at them, one at a time. “You’re sadly mistaken.” I point to Alex and Gil. “You needn’t look further than these two lads.”

Alex grins and shakes a fist at me.

“Ha!” says Danny. “Some things never change.”

But one thing will. I’m making a speech of my own this year, for a team of my own. I’m coaching the Under-10s as part of my community service.

I bet some smart-mouthed kid will imitate me too. But I wouldn’t put money on it.

Author’s Note

The match fixing in
Betting Game
was inspired by real events in the
CSL
, a Canadian semiprofessional league. Though two academy teams played in the
CSL
at the time, they were not involved.

Match fixing is a global problem. Slick criminals like Luka do target soccer players. That’s why teams as young as Under-12 are beginning to attend sessions on match-fixing prevention and education.

The academy teams in the story are completely fictional, with a ten-month season and schedule loosely based on the U.S. Soccer Development Academy.

Acknowledgments

This book was a team effort.

My critique group, Critical Ms, kicked it off. Thank you to Erin Thomas, who showed me the way; Bill Swan, who showed me the news; and Ruth Walker, Gwynn Scheltema, Kim Moynahan, Jocelyne Stone and Nora Landry, who encouraged me through thick and thin. I’m also grateful to my extended writing family: Writescape, the Writers’ Community of Durham Region and CANSCAIP.

To my dear pen sisters, Theresa Dekker, Deb Rankine and Ruth (again), thanks for writing yourselves into my life.

My thanks to the team at Orca Books, especially my editor, Amy Collins, for your patient coaching and generous feedback.

Thank you to John Lay for the learn-to-play clinics that put me on the pitch, and to my teammates on the Durham Divas, especially Jill Stewart, for making the beautiful game so much fun. I’m also grateful to
my home club, Whitby Iroquois, where at least one O’Connor has played, refereed or coached every year since 1991.

Thanks to the experts who supplied important facts and details—any mistakes are mine. Toronto FC gave me a peek into academy life and a tour of the KIA Training Ground. Detective Sergeant Bill Sword told me what makes Luka tick and explained illegal gambling and game fixing to a writer who won’t bet a quarter on a card game. Elite players Tyler Swan and Jordan Sutherland graciously answered many nosy questions.

Most of all, I thank my home team—my husband and kids—for the boundless support. You hugged me when I was grouchy, listened patiently when I read and advised me on soccer and teenagers and cell phones and bookies. Special thanks to my daughter Anne: you helped me kick the soccer and the plot into shape. I love you all. You make my life a beautiful game.

Heather M. O’Connor knows all about warming up a keeper. Three of her kids played keep for rep teams. In 2006, after fifteen years on the sidelines, the devoted soccer mom bought some cleats and joined a team. Heather is a freelance writer, editor, author and mother of five (and grandmother of two). She lives in Whitby, Ontario, with her family and her yellow Lab, Lady. Her biggest thrill while writing this book was touring the Toronto
FC
Training Ground. Go, Reds!