End Zone (4 page)

“Oh, just 'cause I'm supposed to be working hard as team mascot, not pursuing other interests.”

“That's wack,” Tiki told him. “I was writing a column for the school paper, remember? Answering letters from readers like you.”

“I remember,” Cootie said. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“You already thanked me.”

“Right. Point is, you quit, because it was distracting you from your main thing.”

“Right. But . . .”

Cootie looked at him. “But what?”

“Nothing,” Tiki said. He'd been about to say that while Tiki was actually playing in the games, Cootie was just leading the cheers. But then he realized, just in time, that Cootie was probably as passionate about what he did as Tiki was about his own “main thing.” So he said nothing. Instead, he clapped Cootie on the back and said, “You ready for Thursday?”

“
So
ready,” Cootie said, beaming. “Perfect season, here we come! Hey, with you and Ronde, how can we lose, right?”

“Uh . . . right,” Tiki said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He sure hoped Ronde and the defense would do their part, holding the vaunted Pulaski offense to a couple touchdowns at most.

“Oh, by the way,” Cootie said. “Don't tell anyone, but I've got a bet going with Fisher Smith, the mascot for Pulaski.”

“A bet?”

“Yeah! Whoever's team loses, that mascot has to go to the other school and parade around their cafeteria,
in costume
.” He giggled at the thought of it. “He's gonna be so humiliated!”

“Uh, yeah,” Tiki said, feeling even more antsy.

Cootie suddenly seemed to realize that there was another possibility. He turned to Tiki, his eyes wide. “Oh, no. Promise me you won't let that happen, Tiki!”

“I . . . I promise,” Tiki said, regretting the words already. Sure, it was bad luck to say things like that—a jinx, they called it—but what choice did he have? What else could he have said to Cootie? He
had
to promise—to guarantee victory!

Great
, he thought, as he went outside to meet Ronde for their ride home on the late bus.

As if he didn't have enough pressure on his shoulders already!

THE MOMENT TIKI GOT ON THE BUS, RONDE KNEW
something was up with him. On the silent ride home, he tried to imagine what his twin was going through. It wasn't that hard to figure.

Sure, it would be tough—for all the Eagles—to make up for Manny's absence. But at least the defense would be playing at full strength. Ronde's job would be the same as always.

For the offense, it was a different story. All the blockers would have to work doubly hard—and, in addition to their regular plays, they would have to remember all the new ones put in for Tiki and Hayden.

Those two were under the most pressure of anyone, Ronde knew. Hayden, because he—who had rarely even gotten to play, and never when it really counted—was suddenly stepping into Manny's key role.

But on the field, Ronde reasoned, things would actually be tougher for Tiki.

No one was expecting much from Hayden Brook. And he wouldn't be called upon to pass very much, unless the Eagles fell far behind.

As for Tiki, not only would he be expected to do his usual magic—this time, he'd have to be the Eagles' “Mr. Everything.”

No wonder Tiki didn't feel like talking, Ronde thought. He tried to keep the conversation light over the mac and cheese dinner their mom had left for them before going off to her second job, where she had to work until ten o'clock.

Only late that night, as they lay in their beds in the dark, did Ronde speak up, in a soft but firm voice. All evening, he'd been thinking of what to say and how to say it, and he figured it was now or never.

“Tiki?”

“Huh?”

“Listen, I've just gotta say something.”

“So, who's stopping you?”

“Right. Well, I just want to say that you've been under pressure before, and most times you've come through just fine. Flying colors, man.”

“I know,” Tiki said. “But this is different. We've got a perfect season on the line, and it all comes down to me.”

“Not
all
,” Ronde corrected him. “The whole team has to come through. Not just you. If the blockers don't do their job, you can't do yours. If the defense doesn't get us the ball back, you won't have time to do your thing. It's a team game, Tiki, no matter how much we all depend on you.”

“I keep thinking of Manny,” Tiki confessed. “We've got to win this one for him.”

“We've got to win it for
all of us
,” Ronde said.

“Why does it have to be Pulaski?” Tiki moaned. “Why couldn't it have been some easy team like Jefferson or Martinsville?”

“There are no easy games,” Ronde said. “Not when you have this much on the line. Might as well climb the highest mountain, not the lowest.”

They fell silent again, and Ronde racked his brain for something else to say. At last, he fell back on humor. “Hey, if you get too tired, we can switch uniforms at halftime, and I'll go out and be you.”

That got the desired result—a stifled hoot of laughter from Tiki's side of the room.

“Seriously!” Ronde said in mock anger. “What's so funny? I know all the plays from practicing with you in the street!”

“Those Wildcat receivers will have you too tired out to play offense,” Tiki said.

“What? Give me a break! I'm shutting them down, brother. They are not scoring. Not one time.”

“Just concentrate on your own thing,” Tiki told him. “I've got my end.”

“You sure now?”

There was a second's silence. Then, “I
said
I've
got
it.”

“All right, then,” Ronde said. “G'night.”

“Night.”

Ronde hoped that he'd helped lift some of the cloud
that was following Tiki around. But hope was all he could do. He fell quickly to sleep and dreamed of disaster on the field.

•  •  •

The bad luck started early, with the Wildcats winning the toss and electing to receive. On the opening kickoff to Pulaski, Ronde was shoved from behind, knocking him out of the play just as he was about to tackle the ball-carrier.

He came up yelling for a penalty, but the refs had missed the foul, and he knew it wouldn't help to argue. So Pulaski started its first drive deep in Eagle territory.

Ronde and company kept them from scoring that first time, but the Pulaski punt landed Hidden Valley on their own thirteen yard line.

Tiki started off on fire, bursting through the line for eight yards, then another six, then another seven. But soon Pulaski wised up, and started shifting extra men onto “Tiki-watch.”

The Eagle drive began to sputter, bogging down at their own thirty when Tiki kept getting dragged down for no gain. Adam had to punt, and once again, the Wildcats began a drive in good field position at their own forty-eight.

This tug-of-war went on for the whole first quarter of the game. But each time the Eagles got the ball, they were farther back in their own end. And each time Pulaski took
over, it was deeper into Eagle territory. Finally, early in the second quarter, they pushed it across the goal line for the game's first touchdown.

The Hidden Valley crowd had come primed for a perfect end to their perfect season. Instead, the game had started out in the worst possible way.

Pulaski had been a juggernaut all season. Except for their one-point loss to the Eagles in week three, the Wildcats hadn't lost a single game. If they beat the Eagles this time, by more than one point,
they
would be crowned league champions instead of Hidden Valley!

Cootie looked miserable, even though he had a big phony smile plastered on his face. “Gimme an
E
!!” he yelled through his megaphone, and the crowd responded. “Gimme an
A
!!”

But there was a note of desperation in his voice. Nobody wanted the Eagles to have to come from behind—not against a team like Pulaski.

Ronde gave the Eagles hope with a great runback to the Eagle forty-three. Then Tiki managed to rip himself free of three Pulaski defenders, and break down the sideline all the way to the Wildcat sixteen!

But that was as far as they got. Pulaski's defense was big and fast, and they knew who was getting the ball every time—Tiki. They piled on him like concrete blocks, and every time he got up from the bottom of the pyramid, he looked more tired and sore than the time before.

The Eagles managed an incredibly long field goal, thanks to good old Adam Costa, who basically never missed.
Well,
thought Ronde,
at least we're on the scoreboard.

Ahead by 7–3, Pulaski went to work on their next drive, striking through the air. They completed short passes to their tight end, their halfback, and even their fullback, taking them all the way to the Eagle thirty. So far, they'd avoided Ronde completely, and had even avoided Justin at the other corner, by throwing short up the middle, forcing the Eagle linebackers into coverage.

Ronde knew that couldn't last. Sooner or later the Eagles would overreact and cover too tightly. That's when the Wildcats would throw the bomb.

Sure enough, after two running plays were stuffed by Rob Fiorilla, the Eagles' big defensive end, the Wildcats went to the air, this time for all the marbles.

Naturally, they threw to Justin's man. Ronde had built up a reputation over three years at Hidden Valley as a shut-down cornerback. Most teams tried to stay away from him. But not many teams had two great receivers to throw to. Pulaski did.

The ball beat Justin by a fingernail, settling perfectly into the receiver's hands for a brilliant TD. An extra point later, and it was 14–3, Wildcats. Cootie looked like a drowning man as he kept trying to rally the forlorn Eagle fans.

Ronde shot a glance over at Tiki. His twin looked worried but determined. Ronde decided that Tiki still had his mojo working, so he didn't say anything to him. Instead, he jogged onto the field and got down to business, returning the kickoff forty yards to the Wildcat thirty-nine. “There you go, bro,” he told Tiki as they crossed paths—Ronde on his way off the field, Tiki heading back on.

“Way to play, Ronde!” Tiki told him. “Watch me now.”

“Walk the walk, brother!”

Tiki was relentless. He'd run the ball every play but three this half. Anyone would have thought he'd be exhausted by now. But here he was dragging two defenders all the way down to the twenty yard line!

Two plays later, the Eagles were at the fourteen, but it was third down now, with four still to go. Tiki was bending over, sucking air into his lungs. Coach Wheeler beckoned him over to the sideline and sent Luke Frazier in with the play.

Ronde patted his twin on the back. “Great job,” he said.

“I couldn't . . . go . . . any more. . . .” Tiki said between big breaths.

“No sweat,” Ronde told him. “Luke is going to—”

No sooner had he spoken than he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Luke got slammed backward for a two-yard loss. Now it was fourth and six from the sixteen, and Adam had to salvage something from the drive by nailing
another field goal to keep the Eagles within eight points.

“Twenty seconds left in the half,” Ronde muttered, strapping on his helmet. “I'm gonna get us a touchdown right now.”

He didn't care if it was bad luck to talk about things you were going to do before you did them. Right this minute, he just wanted to focus like a laser beam, radiate confidence, and force himself to do his very best.

The ball came to him, end over end, but he made sure he had it firmly in his grip before he got started. He put a dazzling juke move on the first defender to reach him, then sidestepped another before darting forward, splitting two more Wildcats and getting into the open field!

The crowd roared, urging Ronde on. He reached midfield, the forty, the thirty, the twenty—and was tripped up at the sixteen yard line!

“Dang!” he said, smacking the ball before handing it back to the ref. “I almost had that one!”

There were still six seconds left in the half. “Go get 'em, Tiki!” Ronde shouted as they crossed paths again.

“One time!” Tiki shot back, giving Ronde a thumbs-up. “Nice going, bro!”

Ronde could only watch now. One play—six yards—seven or even eight points. It could happen . . . it
had
to happen . . . !

The ball came to Tiki—surprise, surprise—and the Wildcats were on him in an instant. One of them punched
at the ball, trying to knock it loose. But somehow, Tiki held on to it—and broke free of his defenders! He was down to the two . . . and now three more Wildcats piled onto him!

He wrestled with them, refusing to go down . . . and reaching out with the ball, he stretched out, trying to put it over the goal line. . . .

SLAM!

A hand reached out and smacked the ball free! It rolled around in the end zone. Ronde jumped up and down as first one Eagle, then another, leaped for the ball only to have it squirt away.

Finally, it was picked up by one of the Pulaski safeties, who ran it out of the end zone and was suddenly out in the open field, heading for the
other
end zone!

“NOOO!!!!” Ronde moaned, along with two thousand fans in the bleachers, as the kid reached paydirt and spiked the ball in triumph.

Ronde sank to his knees and looked back at the near end of the field. There was a yellow flag on the ground! Ronde got up, jumping up and down and awaiting the referee's call.

“Holding—Wildcats!” he shouted. “After the fumble, Wildcat ball at their own six yard line, first down!”