Hat Trick (3 page)

He was surprised to see his brother on the phone in the kitchen. Usually, this time of day, Greg was showering up after soccer
practice. He was even more surprised to hear his brother shouting angrily.

“So I missed one lousy practice. I think I
earned a day off after my performance last game, don’t you?” There was a long pause. “Oh, yeah? Well, if getting a hat trick
isn’t such a big deal, then how come no one else has done it this season? Like you, for instance?”

Greg looked around and saw Stookie staring at him; his face reddened and he shouted into the phone again. “Anyway, I don’t
hear Coach Williams bawling me out for not being there today. So why don’t you just stuff a sock in it, Roger?” He hung up
the phone with a bang, then faced Stookie again.

“Well, what do
you
want?” he demanded.

“Uh, nothing,” Stookie stuttered. He couldn’t believe that Greg had just hung up on his best friend. That would be like Stookie
hanging up on … Lou.

Or Lou lying to me.
The thought pierced his brain like an arrow.

Greg stalked to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. After a few moments, he pulled
out the milk and poured himself a glassful. He drank it down without stopping, wiped his mouth, and
thunked
the glass on the counter top.

“Guess you’re wondering what
that
was all about,” Greg said, jerking a thumb toward the phone.

Stookie gave a half shrug.

Greg laughed harshly. “Turns out Roger is jealous of me because of that newspaper article. He said he was glad I hadn’t shown
up at practice today, so he didn’t have to watch me hot-dog all over the field. Said that I was more concerned with personal
glory than helping the team to win. Can you believe that?” Greg shook his head. “After I single-handedly led the team to victory,
last game. Sheesh. How sore can a guy get? Oh, well. Who needs him?”

Greg walked into the living room, turned on the TV, and surfed through the channels. After five minutes, he clicked the TV
off again.
He climbed halfway up the stairs toward his bedroom, then stopped and came back down. He paused uncertainly and finally came
back into the kitchen.

“What are
you
staring at?” he muttered. “Shouldn’t you be out playing with your little friends?” He stormed past Stookie to the garage.
Moments later, Stookie heard him pedal away on his bike.

I
should
be out playing with my friends,
Stookie realized.
But for some reason, my friends don’t want to play with me. At least, one of them doesn’t.

S
tookie tossed and turned that night. The next day at practice, he was cranky from lack of sleep. Seeing Lou made him even
crankier. Usually, he and Lou joked around before practice began. Today, the two boys stood as far apart as they could.

Coach Bradley clapped his hands to gather the team together. “I’ve got a new offensive play to teach you today.” He asked
Roy and Jerry—a substitute and a regular striker—to help demonstrate. “It’s a pretty simple move, really—as long as the two
players involved
are in good communication. It’s called a fake crossover. We’ll use it when we have a direct free kick near the opponent’s
goal.”

He placed a soccer ball on the ground. “Both players line up as though they’re going to take the kick. One stands here,”—he
pulled Jerry five feet to one side of the ball—“the other over here.”

He walked Roy farther away from the ball, on the opposite side from Jerry. The boys and the ball now formed a lopsided triangle,
with the ball as the point nearest the goal.

“Now here’s the tricky part,” the coach said. “Jerry and Roy both start toward the ball.” He set both boys in slow motion.
“Jerry pulls his foot back as if he’s going to take the kick—but instead of connecting with the ball,
he steps over it.”
Jerry stepped over the ball.

“A split second later, Roy takes the kick.” Roy nudged the ball with his foot.

“If all goes well,” the coach said, “the defense has been so busy watching Jerry that
they’ve ignored Roy. So Roy’s kick takes them completely by surprise. Lots of times, the ball winds up in the goal. But just
in case it doesn’t,”—he put his hand on Jerry’s head—“Jerry is in prime position to follow the kick and gain control if necessary.
And Roy shadows him.” The two boys walked a few steps. “Okay, any questions?”

Bundy Neel raised his hand. “How do the two players know which one is actually going to take the kick? Won’t they collide
if they don’t know?”

“Yeah,” Jason Shearer added. “Some of our players can’t afford any more knocks on the head!”

The coach raised an eyebrow at Jason. “Talking about yourself, Jason?” The other players laughed. “Let’s come up with a signal.
The person who will take the kick will raise his or her arm in the air. Okay?”

Everyone nodded.

“Let’s pair off and give it a try, then. To
start, let’s have strikers pair up with strikers, and then halfbacks with halfbacks. Then we’ll mix it up. Rest of team, just
watch for now, then we’ll have you get in position.”

Jerry and Roy, already paired up, stayed together. That left Lou and Stookie staring at each other.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Lou finally growled. “I suppose you’ll want to take the kick. After all, making a goal is what
you Norrises live for, right?” He kicked the ball to Stookie, then turned away.

S
tookie and Lou had never played together so poorly. They kicked each other’s shins, tumbled over each other’s feet, and even
collided so hard they fell flat on their backs. When the coach finally signaled for them to switch partners, Stookie was bruised
and angry. His play improved with his halfback partner, Dewey, but his mood did not. He couldn’t wait for practice to end.

But when it did, Coach Bradley asked Stookie and Lou to stay for a moment.

“Okay,” he said, hands on his hips. “What’s going on between you two?”

Stookie looked sullenly at Lou, who stared at the ground. Since Lou didn’t answer, Stookie did.

“Lou’s jealous of me.”

Lou’s head shot up. There was fire in his eyes. “
Jealous
of you?” he cried. “What for?”

“Because I’ve come closer to scoring a hat trick than you have!” Stookie retorted. “And everyone knows that’s what every striker
should do!”

“Who told you that? Your big brother?” Lou rolled his eyes. “Just because he got his name and picture in the paper doesn’t
make him an expert on soccer. Oh, he’s a good player and all, but I heard he’s been kind of a jerk since that hat trick. In
fact, I heard he might get kicked off the team for missing practices. And even his best friend can’t stand to be around him
anymore, because all he
talks about is his hat trick, hat trick, hat trick.” Lou shook his head. “And you want to be just like him? Unbelievable.”

Stookie was stunned. He turned to the coach.

“But, getting three goals in one game means … means …”

“Means you could be hogging the ball and not letting anyone else take shots on the goal,” the coach quietly finished for him.
“Which is just what you did in the game against the Black Hawks—and why you spent the second half on the bench instead of
on the field.”

He sighed. “Stookie, if there’s one thing I want all my players to learn, it’s teamwork. There’s no room for superstars on
the Soccer ’Cats. That’s why none of my plays focuses on one particular player. Instead, each play gives more than one ’Cat
a chance of helping the team to win. Take the fake crossover, for instance.”

Stookie hung his head. The coach hadn’t yelled at him, but he might as well have. Stookie felt awful.

“Lou,” he said. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I didn’t realize I was being such an idiot. What can I do to make
it up to you?”

Lou chuckled. “Don’t sweat it.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Well…maybe there is something you can do.”

“What? What?” Stookie asked eagerly.

“Stick around and work on the fake crossover with me some more. We really stank at it today!”

S
tookie and Lou walked home together forty-five minutes later. Stookie was sweaty and tired, but happier than he’d been all
week.