Goal Line (3 page)

Then the bell rang for last period, and Tiki had to get to class. His English teacher was Ms. Adair. She was nice and cheerful, but also no-nonsense. No sooner did they all sit down than she started handing out a bunch of papers, and writing instructions on the board for all sorts of things.

It took him a long time, but Tiki wrote everything down. Just when he was done, and was sticking all the papers into his backpack, she started in again.

“Now, class,” she began, “I'm happy to announce that Hidden Valley Junior High School will be participating in the President's National Essay Contest!”

She was wearing a big, happy smile, but the murmur that went around the classroom was anything but happy. Tiki knew why, too.

Half the kids didn't like writing, because they weren't good at it, or they thought it was boring, or it took too long when they would rather be doing something else. The other half just figured this essay contest boiled down to more work, on top of everything else all their teachers made them do.

It seemed to Tiki that every teacher thought that the only work you had to do was the work
they
gave you.

“The topic of the essay will be ‘the true meaning of a famous American saying.' As you all know, we use famous sayings all the time, and almost never realize what they mean or how they came to be famous. This is your chance to explore the saying of your choice. That's why this contest is so exciting! You get to choose whatever saying you like.”

Kathi Sienkiewicz raised her hand. “Ms. Adair?” she asked.

“Yes, Kathi?”

“What if we don't want to do it?”

Another murmur rose from the class. Tiki whistled low. Kathi sure had guts to ask a question like that—one they all wanted the answer to.

“The contest is mandatory, Kathi,” said the teacher.

“Manda-what?”

“Manda-tory. It means you have to, dear. Every student at Hidden Valley will be writing an essay, and anyone can win!”

“Even seventh graders?” Kathi asked, not happy about it. Kathi was a ninth grader and felt that ought to give her special privileges.

“Anyone!” Ms. Adair said brightly. “Maybe even someone from this class! Wouldn't that be thrilling?”

Tiki rolled his eyes. He wondered whether “Oh, brother!” would qualify as a famous saying.

“You will have two weeks to write your essay, which should be no less than one thousand words. That's about five double-spaced pages.”

“
Two weeks
to write a
thousand words
?” another student piped up.

“That's right,” said Ms. Adair. “I know it's not much time, but Dr. Anand wants you all to improve your writing skills, and she knows we teachers don't give as much homework the first weeks.”

A groan went up from the class. They all knew that no matter how little homework you got the first two weeks, it always felt like a lot, because you hadn't done any all summer. Now they'd all have to do this stupid essay on top of everything else!

The bell rang to signal the end of the school day. Tiki stuffed the essay announcement into his book bag with the rest of the papers and filed out of the room. He had no
idea what he'd write about, but he could think about that later. Right now he had someplace more important to go—

Football practice!

Coach Wheeler took one look at Tiki and said, “
Whoa
. Son, we're gonna have to get you another uniform—one in a larger size, for sure.”

Tiki beamed, and so did Wheeler. They both knew what Tiki's larger size meant to the team. More power, more yards, more points, and more wins!

“Good to see you back, Tiki,” said Wheeler, clapping him on the back. “Why don't you get out there and help with the rookies?”

Today was tryouts, and the new crop of seventh graders looked really good. Was it Tiki's imagination, or were they much bigger than seventh graders used to be, back when he was one?

What were they feeding kids these days? he wondered. Whatever it was, they must have been eating a
lot
of it. Even though he'd grown so much, most of these seventh graders were
still
bigger than he was!

Tiki and the regulars from last season all greeted one another, slapping five, making cracks, and horsing around. Then Coach Wheeler blew the whistle, and they lined up on offense, facing a defensive line of new, nervous-looking faces.

Tiki remembered what it had been like back when he
and Ronde had been trying out. Every play could make you or break you. If you messed up and a coach saw it, they'd give you a bad mark for that skill. And if you got enough bad marks, you didn't make the team.

Tiki took a handoff on the first play, and put a move on the defensive end that left him grabbing two handfuls of air.

“Hey, stay loose, yo,” Tiki told the kid as he passed him on his way back to the huddle. “It's gonna be all right. Just play proud.”

It was his mom's saying, and it had become his and Ronde's motto. He didn't know if the kid got the meaning of it, but Tiki was pretty sure he got the general idea.

The next time Tiki ran his way, the kid dove, grabbed him by the ankles, and brought him down.

“That's the way!” Tiki told him, helping the boy up. “What's your name?”

“Rob Fiorilla,” the kid said, grinning shyly.

“Tiki Barber.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Rob.

Tiki chuckled. He still couldn't quite believe he was so famous that even seventh graders, new to the school, knew who he was.

“Did you see the play that kid just made?” Tiki asked as Ronde came jogging up to them.

“You're just slow today,” he told Tiki, chuckling.

“This is my twin brother, Ronde,” Tiki told Rob. “Ronde, meet Rob Fiorilla.”

“Your
twin
?” Rob repeated, looking at one, then the other, and squinting his eyes. “How come you're so much bigger?”

Tiki could practically see the steam coming out of Ronde's ears. Luckily, Coach Pellugi called the defense away for drills and Ronde and Rob jogged off together, leaving Tiki and the offense behind.

Coach Ontkos gathered the other players and the would-be Eagles around. “Okay,” he said. “Let's see how you kids can catch the ball.”

Tiki spotted two tall skinny boys with long legs and arms. Amazingly, it seemed there might now be
two
sets of identical twins on the Eagles!

They lined up along with the others, then proceeded to run several patterns, with starting quarterback Manny Alvaro throwing to them. The tall, lanky twins each made spectacular grabs.

Their names were Felix and Frank Amadou. They had moved to Roanoke from Haiti last year, and English was still their second language. More important, they were at least three inches taller than Tiki, even now that he'd grown some.

Ronde, covering them, was giving up at least six inches. The Amadou brothers had long strides. They could jump, they had good hands, and they even busted a few choice moves Tiki thought might be worth using himself.

“Sign those two up!” Paco said in Tiki's ear.

“Ow!” Tiki said. “Hey, don't make me deaf, man!”

“Sorry. I'm just excited,” said Paco.

“I hear that. I think we might have Sam Scarfone's spot covered too.”

He meant the defensive end position, which Sam had starred at the past two years. Rob Fiorilla had a lot to learn, but he also had all the talent he'd need to stop a running back with Tiki's kind of skills.

Not only was the new crop of players looking exceptional, but all the returning Eagles were bigger, stronger, and more experienced. All except Ronde. Manny Alvaro in particular looked like he might turn into a real star this season. Yes, the Eagles' future was looking very bright this afternoon, Tiki thought.

But just then the sun hid itself behind a dark cloud. At the same instant a shout went up from the other side of the field, where the tryouts for defense were going on.

“Shut up!” The words rang out loud and clear. It was Ronde's voice!

“Make me!” came the reply. And now other boys were holding Ronde and his opponent apart. Whistles blew, and coaches came running.

Tiki ran too, as fast as his longer, stronger legs could carry him. If he had to defend his brother, he would. But it would be better to stop the fight before it got started.

By the time he got there, luckily, things had already
calmed down. The other boy had gone off to his next drill, along with most of the other kids. Ronde stood where he was, steaming, each of his arms held by one of his teammates.

“What's up, Ronde?” Tiki asked.

“Some punk seventh grader was messing with me.”

“What does that mean?” Tiki pressed him.

Ronde stared off into the distance, where the offending kid was trying out at cornerback—Ronde's position. The kid was big, much taller than Ronde, and with longer legs. He seemed to have pretty good skills, too.

“Wow,” Tiki said as the kid knocked away a pass that would have been a sure completion. “He's gonna be good. Look at the size of him!”

Then he realized what he'd said, just as Ronde's fist came crashing into his arm. “Sorry, dude. I forgot. Sorry. Sorry.”

Still, Tiki thought, it was good that the Eagles would have another strong cornerback. It meant that other teams wouldn't be able to avoid Ronde by throwing to whichever receiver he wasn't covering.

The Eagles had lost a lot of their best players over the summer, but it sure looked like they were restocking with supertalented rookies. Tiki couldn't help feeling they had a real shot at repeating as state champs—
if
Ronde could get over being the smallest guy on the team.

Right now that looked like a great big
if
.

RONDE COULD FEEL THE RECEIVER'S EYES ON HIM
. He could see that sneering smile behind the face guard. He knew what the kid was thinking.

“I may be short,” Ronde said to himself, “but I'm no pushover.”

The receiver's smirk turned into a wide grin. “We'll see about that.”

Huh? Had he heard Ronde's words? How could he have? Ronde had barely breathed them!

No time to think about that, though. The game was on! The quarterback took the snap, and the receiver came straight at Ronde!

Ronde braced himself for the hit. Usually it was him giving the hits, and the receiver taking them. Not this time.

This receiver was huge—a foot taller than Ronde, and at least fifty pounds heavier. Not only that, it was all muscle. Ronde swallowed hard and braced for impact.

But it didn't come. When he opened his eyes (had he really closed them?), the receiver was already past him,
racing downfield, waving his hands and yelling, “I'm open! I'm open!”

The crowd was roaring in Ronde's ears, and somehow he heard every word they were saying. How had the guy gotten past him like that?

He tried desperately to make up the lost ground. But the receiver, with his long legs that took such long strides, had a huge head start.

Not only that, but Ronde suddenly felt like he was running through mud. His legs felt heavy, and the air felt like a thick soup he had to fight through. He looked up and saw the ball sailing over his head, just out of reach.

He frantically tried to bat it down, but it was too high. Everything was out of reach, in fact. The ball, the receiver, the goal line. No matter how fast he tried to run, they all remained out of reach.

Why? Why did he have to be so small? It was infuriating! The receiver had caught the pass now, and was crossing the goal line for a touchdown. Ronde grabbed his helmet with both hands and yelled, “NoooooOOOO!!!!”

Suddenly the earth was shaking. No, wait, it was him—someone was shaking him.

“Ronde!”

“Let go of me!” he cried. “I'm just too little. I can't play anymore! I quit!”

“Ronde! Dude, wake up!”

“Huh?” Ronde opened his eyes, and found himself staring at himself.

No. Wait. It was Tiki. Of course. He'd been dreaming!

“What … hey…”

“Snap out of it, dude. You were having a nightmare or something.”

“Ha. I'll say,” Ronde replied, breaking out into a relieved grin.

So it hadn't happened after all. He hadn't blown anything, or cost his team a touchdown or a game. The season hadn't even started.

But what would happen when it did? Would his nightmare come true?

“Ronde,” said Tiki, “listen up. Just because you're not growing as fast as me, it doesn't mean you've lost your talent.”

“What?” Ronde said, avoiding Tiki's eyes.

“You know what I'm talking about. It's not your talent you have to worry about, dude. It's your mojo.”

“My mojo?”

“Your confidence. Don't stop believing in yourself, Ronde,” Tiki said. “You're still the same guy you've always been.”

“That's true,” Ronde said. “Tiki … was I talking in my sleep?”

“Big-time.”

“Dang.”

“Remember what I said, now.”

“I will. That's good advice. Thanks, Tiki.”

“Don't mention it. Go back to sleep. And no more of those nightmares, okay?”

Almost a week had passed since the start of school. It was Friday, and that morning the new Eagles' team list had been posted in the hallway outside the main office.

Ronde passed the crowd of seventh graders huddling in front of it, looking for their names on the roster. Some kids were yelling “Yesss!” and others were sighing and turning away, disappointed.

Heading to his first class, Ronde remembered the feeling. It had been two years since he and Tiki had first been huddled in front of that list, along with their friends. But that was life. Sometimes you succeeded in reaching your goals, and sometimes you failed.