Go Long! (2 page)

Kessler's luncheonette was an old-fashioned soda shop that had been there for over fifty years. It was only a block
from Cave Spring High School—Matt's new home.

The twins had come over here to practice with him on the high school field—even though it was also the home field of Cave Spring Junior High, one of the Eagles' main rivals.

The three friends sat on swivel chairs at the counter and made fast work of their food and shakes. They were just about done eating when the front door swung open and in walked Cody Hansen.

“Yo, gentlemen!” he called out to them, raising a hand in greeting. “What's shakin'?”

“
We
are,” said Tiki, lifting up his shake to demonstrate.

“Hey, are you guys psyched for this season or what?” Cody asked, high-fiving the twins. “We're going all the way to the State finals this year, dudes.” Looking at Matt and raising an eyebrow, he added, “We've upgraded at all the skill positions—like quarterback.”

It was a dig at Matt, and Ronde and Tiki both knew it. Ronde winced, feeling for Matt. But he needn't have worried—Matt Clayton was not the type to take an insult lying down.

“Cody, my friend,” he said, “you've got all the skills, but you've still got a lot to learn. Why don't you win a game or two for the team first, before you start shooting your mouth off?”

Cody turned away from Matt and back to Tiki and
Ronde. “Hey, you dudes want to throw it around? The field's empty.”

“Uh, no thanks,” said Ronde. “We just got done—”

He was going to say that they'd been practicing with Matt, but Matt interrupted him.

“That's a good idea,” he said, and took one last sip from his shake, draining it to the last drop. “You guys should get used to playing together.”

He clapped Ronde and Tiki on the back. “See you guys around. Say hi to Coach for me, huh?” He dropped a few dollars on the counter and left, shaking his head.

“Cody, man, why'd you have to diss Matt?” Tiki asked.

“Chill, Barber,” Cody said, frowning. “Matt Clayton is ancient history. This year, I am ‘the man.'”

Ronde sighed, rolling his eyes. He'd seen Cody Hansen act like this before. Cody wasn't exactly modest—and he could be totally impossible when he got going.

Maybe it was because his uncle Sven was once the backup quarterback for the Cleveland Browns, and his cousin Nels was a linebacker for Clemson. Cody had several family members who were well-known athletes, and he was always, always bragging about them.

“That's right, from now on, I am the straw that stirs the drink,” Cody went on. “In the Eagles' nest, I am the Big Bird. It's all in the genes, my friends. All in the genes.”

Sure, he was hotdogging it, more to be funny than
anything else. Just like when Matt Clayton did his little touchdown dance earlier that day. But for some reason, Ronde didn't find Cody's act the least bit funny.

“You finishing that burger?” Cody asked him.

Ronde looked down at the remains of his lunch. “No, man, I'm full,” he said.

“You mind?” Cody asked. But even if Ronde had minded, it would have been too late. The rest of his burger was already stuffing Cody's left cheek. “Mmmm! Good! How 'bout you, Tiki?”

“Don't be touching my food, man,” Tiki said, drawing his plate closer to him and farther away from Cody's reach. “This burger is
mine,
understand?”

“Whatever,” Cody said. “Come on, let's get out on the field and toss it around.”

“Not today, dude,” Ronde told him. “We're tired out.”

“We've been practicing all morning,” Tiki added.

“With Clayton?”

They nodded.

“Forget him, will you? He's yesterday's news.
I'm
the guy you've got to work out with. This is
our
year, remember?”

Ronde couldn't argue with that. It didn't matter that he liked Matt Clayton better. Cody was the leader of their team now, for better or for worse.

Ronde just hoped it wasn't for worse.

•   •   •

“AAAAHHHHRRRRGGH! Put me down, Paco!”

They were all at the bus stop, clowning around while they waited for the bus to take them to their first day of classes. Paco Rivera, their old pal, was practicing his tackling techniques on Tiki and Ronde, who were much smaller than he was.

Paco released his death grip on Ronde, who collapsed to the ground. “There's got to be a penalty for crushing,” he said, rubbing his sore ribs.

“Man, have you been pumping iron all summer?” Tiki asked.

“My dad's been working me out on the free weights,” Paco said. “Feel that muscle.” He made a muscle, and his biceps popped up about three inches.

“Whoa,” said Tiki, feeling it and making a face like he was touching a cockroach. “That is just sick.”

“We're gonna have a monster team this season,” Paco said, grinning and nodding. “Can you spell ‘undefeated'?”

“Hey, man, let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Ronde warned him. “We've still got to get out on that field and prove we're the best.”

“It's a done deal, brother,” Paco assured him. “Did you hear that Cody Hansen went to his uncle's football camp over the summer? He throws a perfect spiral now, every time—and he can throw it fifty yards!”

Ronde would have bet it wasn't true—probably just Cody bragging again—but he didn't argue. The bus had arrived, and it was time to get on board for another year of school.

They rode the five miles in what seemed like five seconds. By the time they'd finished saying hello to all their bus-mates from last year, they were already there!

“Hey, you guys,” Paco said as they got off the bus. “There's Coach! Let's go say hi.”

Coach Steve “Spanky” Spangler was standing near the steps that led up to the school's main entrance. He was talking to Mr. Pellugi, his assistant coach, who was also a Phys Ed teacher.

It looked like they were having a pretty serious conversation. “Maybe we'd better wait till after school,” Ronde said, holding Tiki and Paco back.

But Paco wasn't listening. “Yo, Coach!” he yelled, raising his hand for a high five as he approached.

Coach Spangler looked up, seeming startled. He didn't smile—just gave a little half wave and turned back to Mr. Pellugi, resuming their conversation.

“Whoa,” said Paco, backing away and joining the Barbers as they headed up the stairs. “That was weird.”

“They must be talking about something important,” Ronde said. “I guess it just wasn't a good time to say hi.”

“I guess not,” said Paco, but he didn't sound convinced.

Tiki was looking back over his shoulder at the two coaches, a worried expression on his face.

Whatever it was they were talking about, Ronde thought, it definitely wasn't something happy. Coach Spangler had his hand on Mr. Pellugi's shoulder and was talking intensely.

Ronde sure hoped everything was okay. It was way too early in the season for trouble to raise its ugly head.

TIKI WATCHED THE HAND OF THE CLOCK ON THE
wall as it ticked off the seconds till the end of last period.

Wow,
he thought, as Mr. Mills droned on and on about the Dark Ages,
a minute is a really, really, really long time!

When you had to sit on a wooden desk chair for fifty minutes at a time, seven hours a day, Monday through Friday, all year long, it could be total torture. Especially if the teacher was a real nerd and not the least bit entertaining.

It was even worse with a teacher like Mr. Mills, who spoke like he was talking in his sleep.

Only six more minutes till the bell rings, and football starts,
Tiki told himself, sighing heavily.

Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

Actually, it had been a really good day until this last period. All his other teachers were at least okay—and two of them, Ms. Simms, his Science teacher, and Mr. Kaye, his Math teacher, were a lot
better
than okay.

Tiki thought it was going to be a fantastic school year—until he stepped into Mr. Mills's bone-deadly World History class. Tiki was afraid he might die of boredom before the period finally, mercifully ended.

Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

Only
five
minutes to go.

As Mr. Mills went on describing just how dark the Dark Ages really were, Tiki's mind wandered back to those dark looks between Coach Spangler and Mr. Pellugi. He wondered what they meant.

Maybe one of the Eagles' key players had suffered an injury—like last year, when Matt Clayton broke his leg at summer camp and missed the first part of the season.

Matt had come back just in time to help them win the championship, but Tiki could imagine how the coaches would feel if the injury curse struck again.

“In the year 1000, people took baths only once a year,” Mr. Mills was saying. “That's why weddings traditionally happen in June—right after everyone's annual bath . . .”

Tiki felt glad that he lived in the modern age, not back in the Dark Ages. He could only imagine how bad people must have smelled back then.

“ . . . it's also why the rich used so much perfume,” Mr. Mills finished. “Any questions?”

Tiki's eyes went back to the clock on the wall. Why did they put clocks on classroom walls? he wondered.
It just made you think about being stuck in school on a beautiful day.

Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .

RRRING!

Finally! Tiki grabbed his notebooks and his new textbook and stuffed them into his book bag. While the other kids milled around, talking to each other and blocking the aisles, Tiki tucked his book bag under his arm like a football and dodged his way between them, pretending they were defenders trying to keep him out of the end zone.

Classes were over for the day, and nothing—nothing—was going to keep him from making it to the locker room!

He sped down the hallway, drawing a whistle from an annoyed hall monitor. But Tiki didn't stop—he didn't even slow down. Not until he'd made it down the stairs to field level and through the double swinging doors into the boys' locker room.

“Hey, Barber's here!” someone shouted, and instantly, everyone got up and cheered, high-fiving Tiki.

“Welcome back, Ronde!” said wide receiver Fred Soule, clapping him on the back.

“It's me—Tiki.”

“Gimme a break,” Fred said. “How'm I supposed to tell you apart when you're not wearing your uniform?”

Everyone laughed, and Tiki couldn't help joining in.
He wished football season went on all year long.

Finding his way back to his locker from last year, he found that it was empty and waiting for him. On the bench in front of it was a pile of new stuff.

On top of the pile was a set of pads and a plain blue number two practice jersey. Underneath was a blue jersey with yellow stripes and numbers for away games. Beneath that was a white jersey with yellow stripes and numbers—that was for home games. There were two pairs of white pants, six pairs of blue socks, and last but not least, a new white helmet, with a blue number two on one side and that fierce blue eagle on the other side, its claws extended outward.

“Awesome!” Tiki said under his breath as he started changing. Somehow, he only ever felt well dressed when he was in his full football uniform. No other feeling came close.

He trotted out onto the field for the first time this new season, his cleats piercing the perfect green grass, a big smile plastered across his face.

“Hey, Barber!” a voice yelled. “Heads up!”

Tiki turned, and the sizzling spiral Cody had thrown him without warning hit him square in the chest.

Tiki flinched but somehow caught the ball cleanly and flipped it back to Cody.

“Nice catch,” Cody said, nodding with approval. “Soft hands—I like it, I like it!”

With any luck, that pass would be repeated dozens of times this season, with devastating effect on their
opponents. But Tiki couldn't help wondering what Cody would have said if he'd dropped the ball.

It didn't take long to find out. When Fred Soule, the Eagles' number one wide receiver, jogged out onto the field from the locker room, Cody pulled the same stunt on him. Except that Fred juggled the ball and dropped it.

“Oh, no! Hands of stone!” Cody groaned. “Better dip your hands in some glue, Soule.”

“How 'bout warning me next time?” Fred said, annoyed.

“Gotta be heads up, yo,” Cody said coolly. “If you're not ready to catch the pass, someone else will be ready to take your spot. Right, Barber?”

Tiki walked away, pretending not to hear. If Cody was going to act like a brat, Tiki wanted no part of it.

He sure wished Matt Clayton was still at Hidden Valley. It would have been so much more fun to be in the backfield with someone he really liked.

Ronde trotted out onto the field, wearing his new number five practice jersey. “Come on, Tiki,” he said, “let's go watch the seventh graders try out.”

Tiki was just as curious as Ronde to see what kind of new talent had shown up for tryouts.

And there was a lot of it. This year's crop of seventh graders was even bigger and stronger than the kids in Tiki and Ronde's class. None of them were as fast as the Barber brothers, but then, not many kids were.

The coaches saw Tiki and Ronde coming and signaled for them to hurry up. “I want you two to help work with these new guys at the drill stations,” Coach Pellugi told them. “Don't take it easy on them, either. We need to get a real good look at them.”

Tiki and Ronde led a group of seventh graders over to the rope grid, designed for broken-field running, Tiki's and Ronde's specialty.