Betting Game (9 page)

“You
lose,
” Luka repeats. “Understand?”

And he’s gone.

How can I do this? Screw up too much, and Coach will pull me. Play too well, and we’ll score too many goals.

“What’s the matter?” asks Alex. “Aren’t you excited?”

I put on a big smile. But my teeth are clenched so tight my jaw aches. “Sure. Best day ever! Just a lot to think about.”

“I know! I mean, we should trample all over these guys, but still…” He bounces up and down on his toes and stretches his fingers. I wish he’d just shut up.

The door opens and Gil comes in. Never thought I’d be glad to see him. But now Alex talks to him instead.

Win by a goal. No more than a goal.

Before long, everyone’s here.

I feel like heaving. Sweat crawls down my back.

Alex elbows me. “You okay? You look a little green.”

I nod.

“I don’t feel so great myself. And just look at Gil.”

A muscle’s twitching in his cheek.

“Don’t sweat it, Jack. Just pour it into the game.”

I nod again.

A goal. No more than a goal.

Alex punches me in the shoulder and heads to the net. I give him the thumbs-up and nod. Gil stands on the left, buzz cut bleached by the lights.

Here we go.

The ball comes straight for me, right from the kickoff. Vancouver fans out, moving in fast-forward. The ball zigzags between them. Short, neat passes. I check for support and charge forward to slow my man down. Balance on my toes, wait for it. Watch his hips.

“On him!”

But I’m too slow. He dekes by me like I’m a pylon.

I sprint after him, but he’s gone. Someone else picks him up. He gets a shot off, but Alex tips it wide.

They’re good. Really good.

Goal kick. The ball sails up the field. Danny traps it and sends Gil in on a through ball. Julio races up the line. Gil finds him, then heads for the back post. It comes in laser-fast, and Gil side-foots it into the corner.

Goal!
We’re 1–0 and two minutes in!

Before I know it, they’re on us again.

The play surges back and forth, back and forth. I’m caught in the ebb and flow. Struggling to keep up with a faster pace, a stronger offense. I rub my shoulder—a rougher game. No wonder Vancouver made it to the semis!

And then I remember.

That one moment is all it takes for my man to sneak by.

I’m on his tail, but I’m not fast enough. He chips it. Alex leaps up, and his fingertips brush the ball. But it’s not enough to send it over the bar.

Alex kicks the ground and scoops the ball out of the net. Tie game.

I never thought that keeping the spread down would mean letting Alex down too.

I don’t know if I can do this.

We pull ahead by a goal in the second half. Then we pull ahead by two. So when a Vancouver player dances in, I hesitate. Just for a split second.

Maybe it’s the stress. Lack of sleep. I don’t think I let him turn me on purpose.

I chase him hard all the way to the net. That’s how I see it happen. Just like in the movies. Everything slows down. I see it clear as can be. But I can’t move fast enough to stop it.

Shooter’s going full tilt.

Alex sprints right at him.

Shooter fires at the last second, flat and low and rock-hard.
Boom!

Alex dives for it. Snags it. Hugs the ball.

Shooter can’t stop. He leaps over Alex. And as he goes over, he clips him in the head with his cleat.

It takes forever to reach him.

“Alex! You okay?”

My fault—it’s my fault.

That’s all I can think.

He sits up and rubs his head. He blinks a few times when he sees us all crowding around.

Coach kneels down beside him. “You all right, lad?”

“Yeah. But it feels like a truck hit me. Did I make the save?”

“You did.” Coach grins. “And the nice policeman there is giving the truck driver a speeding ticket.” He points to the ref holding up a red card.

The trainer is pretty sure Alex doesn’t have a concussion, but Coach sends him off anyway. A few minutes later, I join him when I roll my ankle on a late tackle. We watch the last fifteen minutes from the sidelines.

It’s the hardest fifteen minutes of my life. Because I’m cheering for the Lancers to win. But I’m afraid Vancouver won’t score. And if they don’t score, the biggest loser will be me.

When the final whistle blows, our team goes crazy. Alex and the rest of our bench
run onto the field to join them. But the team won’t abandon me. Gil and Danny run over and hoist me on their shoulders. They carry me into the celebration.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Not because of my ankle. Because the final score is 3–1.

I lose.

The celebrating ends. The locker room clears. Reality hits.

Win by a goal. That’s all we had to do to make everyone happy. But we won by two. I pound my fists against my head. How much did Luka put on the game? He’s here. I know he’s here. What will he do when he finds me? My stomach lurches. I probably deserve it for what happened to Alex.

I can hardly catch my breath. I think I’m going to puke. Then I hear these ugly sounds. They’re coming from me. I’m crying, and I can’t stop. All of a sudden, I’m a leaky balloon.

Alex sits on the bench beside me and waits for me to pull it together. He bumps
his shoulder against mine. “What’s going on, Jack?”

I search his face and look at the lump on his head. “You’re okay, right?”

“Sure, I’m okay.” His forehead is all scrunched up. “But you’re not.”

“I was afraid—I’m so sorry!” I see it all again. I slam my fists into my head, but I can’t make it go away. “That was my man. I should’ve stopped him. I could’ve stopped him.”

“You tried.”

“I did. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. H-he wanted me to lose, but I was trying to win. You believe me, don’t you?” But if I can’t convince myself, how am I going to convince Alex?

“Believe you? Believe what?
Who
wanted you to lose?”

Just then the door to the showers crashes open and hits the wall. A dozen empty water bottles wobble on their shelf and tumble to the floor.

It’s Gil. He blows past us, slamming locker doors and kicking over the garbage can.
Then he wheels around and comes back. Before I know it, he’s grabbed my jersey and hauled me to my feet. His hands are shaking, like he’s holding a grenade and he’s already pulled the pin. Any second he’s going to blow.

Alex doesn’t say a word. He just stands up so we’re shoulder to shoulder. Gil’s eyes flick from Alex to me. We’re frozen like that. Then he lets me go and wipes his hand off, like he’s handled something filthy.

“Told you it made sense, Alex,” he growls. Then he kicks open the door and storms out.

It doesn’t take Alex long to put together the pieces. His eyes open wide, and the tips of his ears get all red.

“Gil was right! About Luka. About everything. You’ve been gambling.”

I sit down with a thump. “Since April. On the first team.” I look up to meet his eyes. I swallow hard. “I lost a few bets. Not a lot. But it adds up.”

“So you owe him money.” Now it’s Alex who looks like he smells something rotten. “How much?”

I mumble, but he hears the number clear enough.

His mouth drops open. “Ten grand? How can you lose ten grand in three months?”

I give a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either.”

“I still don’t get it.” Alex puts his hands on his head. He paces away and back. “What does that have to do with our game?”

“Luka said—he made me promise—to—”

“To what? Lose? You tried to make us lose?”

“No! Not lose. Just…not win by as much.” I can’t look at him. I bury my head in my hands.

“You let me get kicked in the head for a bet?” He cranks up the volume. “You risked the championship? Gambled with the future of every guy on that team? For a fricking bet?”

“Look, I know, okay?” I stand up, and now it’s me yelling. “I know! But what was I
supposed to do? He put a gun to my head. He told me what to do. Or else he’d—well, or else. He’s probably waiting outside to jump me right now.”

“A gun?” He sits, hard. The bench shudders under his weight. He looks at me. “A real gun?”

I remember how cold the gun felt. “Pretty real.”

Alex’s breath goes out in a huff. “What have you gotten us into?”

He looks at the door, then back at me. It’s like we’re seven years old again, figuring out how to tell our parents we busted the kitchen window with the soccer ball. Again. He’s just as lost for answers today.

He sighs. “We’ll work something out. Okay, bro?”

Protecting me from Luka? Covering a gambling debt big enough to buy a car? We aren’t seven years old anymore.

“You think he was at the game?” Alex asks.

I nod.

“Then he saw what happened. It wasn’t your fault, right? You tried.”

I just stare at him.

He blinks. “Okay. So, he’s pissed. As long as we can get to Mom and Dad, we can get to the car. He can’t cover all the exits. And he has to get us alone.”

Us
. Somehow, knowing Alex is on my team makes me feel a little better. Then I squirm. I bet Alex doesn’t feel any better.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“How are we going to get out of here? He could be waiting anywhere.”

“I guess we—
shh!
” Alex puts a finger to his lips.

Steps. Coming down the hall.

No time to hide. Nothing to defend ourselves with.

We close ranks, with our backs to the wall and our eyes on the door.

I hold my breath. My heart’s banging like I just finished suicide sprints.

Go past. Just keep walking.

The footsteps stop right outside the door. I look at Alex and make like I’m ready to run. He nods.

The door swings open.

We jump a mile high.

It’s just the security guard. He stares at us and chuckles.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” He looks around and checks the showers. “Anyone else here?”

We shake our heads.

“I’m locking up. I’ll walk you out. Your folks are waiting down the hall.”

He’ll walk us out! We relax a notch.

“Congratulations. I hear you fellas won.”

He keeps up a steady stream of conversation while we pack our stuff. I feel like a bobblehead doll—my head just keeps nodding and nodding.

“You go on while I get the lights.” He walks into the showers, and his voice is muffled. Light switches go
click, click, click
.

I reach for the door handle but can’t bring myself to touch it.

The guard is back. “Out we go.”

He holds the door open, then turns out the lights. We look both ways, cringing at the hollow
clang
and the scrape of the key in the lock and the guard’s voice echoing through the halls. He doesn’t seem to notice.

We turn the corner, and I see Mom and Dad waiting for us. Thank goodness.

And then I see who they’re talking to. Blond hair. Mirrored shades. Luka.

Mom sees us first, and her arms open wide. “The heroes of the day! What an exciting game. I’m so proud of you.”

She hugs me first, then holds me out at arm’s length. “How’s the ankle? Does it hurt much?”

I duck my head. “No, it’s okay. Or, at least, it will be. It’s all taped up.”

Alex is next. “I was so worried when you went down.” She tips his head to look at his eyes. “Your pupils look okay. No dizziness?” she asks, feeling his goose egg.

“Ow! Mom, it’s just a bump on the head!”

Dad hugs us next, pounding on our backs a little too hard. “Way to go. Best game I’ve
seen all season. Worth the price of admission! Isn’t that right, Luka?”

Luka shakes Alex’s hand. “Good game.”

Then he grips mine, and I feel the small bones crunch together. “Way to win it, Jack. I thought you were going to lose, but you pulled off a win, didn’t you?”

He says all the right things, but I get his message loud and clear. When he releases my hand, I flex my fingers.

“See you around, Jack.”

Don’t bet on it.

As we’re leaving the stadium, Dad takes Alex and me by the arm. “This calls for a celebration. What’ll it be, boys? Burgers? Pizza? Ice cream? Whatever you want, it’s on me.”

Just the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. What I really want is sleep and a locked door. And a plane ticket to Peru.

“Can I get a rain check, Dad? It’s been a long night.”

“You sure?”

“Rick, they just played a hard game,” Mom says. “They have another big game tomorrow. They need their sleep. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” says Alex. “We don’t want any trouble with Coach.”

We have enough trouble already.

A black Stingray peels out of the parking lot, and I watch the red taillights until they’re gone.

Mom takes another look at me. “You all right?” She hugs me again, and I’m afraid I’ll tell the whole ugly story.

“I’m fine,” I tell her shoulder and myself. “I’m fine.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Alex and I lie in our beds talking. I tell him about meeting Luka, and how cool it was to talk about soccer with him. How exciting it was to watch a game that I bet on.

“He listened to me, you know? He asked so many good questions. About my system and the Lancers and sports medicine. But I guess he was just bleeding information. He was just setting me up.” I search Alex’s face. How can I make him understand? “I felt so smart. So cool. So…respected.”

“You never figured it out?”

“Not really.”

But if I’m dead honest? I close my eyes. The phone, the questions. The car. Concert tickets to a band he doesn’t listen to.

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to figure it out.”

“Dad never asked you about it?”

I shake my head.

He frowns. “And you don’t want to tell Mom.”

“I didn’t even want to tell you.”

“Why? I’m your brother. We’ve always—” He looks at his hands, and his voice gets quiet. “But not so much lately.”

“No. But that’s not why.” I’ve been blaming everyone else so long that the words stick in my throat. Once I start, they pour out. “Look. I met Luka before Gil even got here. What happened…it was my own stupid fault.