Shots on Goal (10 page)

Coach puts out his hand, palm up, like he’s yielding the floor to Joey. Joey takes it.

“Some of you guys don’t even care if we win.” He’s staring at Herbie. “You slack off. You smoke, you drink.”

“You drink,” Rico says.

“Hardly ever,” Joey says. “You don’t pass because you’re jealous. You say shit about me behind my back.”

“Whoa,” I say. “This ain’t about you.”

“Like hell it ain’t. If you guys wanted to win half as much as I do we’d be undefeated.”

I just shake my head. He knows I want it, too.

Joey sits down on the bench and starts untying his shoe.
Everybody’s quiet, staring at the floor or into space. Joey’s got tears in his eyes, but I think I’m the only one who notices.

Maybe he does want it more than I do. Maybe he scores goals and wins all the wind sprints and gets to make out with Shannon because he won’t accept anything less. Maybe I need to face up to that.

The silence breaks with a thud as he flings his shoe into his locker. He gets undressed and walks toward the showers, and the rest of us are still sitting there on the benches in our uniforms.

Coach leaves the room. We sit with our mouths hanging open, eyes fixed on the ceiling or the floor or the lockers. The room smells like dirt and sweat. And the only sound is the hissing of the shower in the other room.

I stop at Joey’s house on the way to the school Saturday. We’re playing Laurelton at home. We’re only 1–2–1 in our last four league games, 5–3–2 overall. We’ve fallen to third place, but Greenfield has lost another one also, so we can still get back in the race. East Pocono’s in first.

We tied Laurelton last month, and they’re tough. They upset Greenfield last week. And the way we’ve been playing we could be in trouble.

Joey’s father tells me to come in. He’s built like Joey, but a little fat in the face. He says Joey’s not ready yet. “The man worked until midnight last night,” he says.

“At the restaurant?”

“Yeah. Somebody called in sick, so he went in. He said it was packed.”

“It usually is on Fridays.”

I look around the living room, which is loaded with trophies and plaques. Lots of them are Joey’s, but not all. There’s Sturbridge Little League Coach of the Year. Fifth Place, Masters Division, Greater Scranton Triathlon. Champion, Men’s Kayak, Pocono Whitewater Classic.

“Big game today,” he says. “You guys need a win.”

“We sure do,” I say.

“Just get the ball to the man,” he says, winking at me. “Get the ball to the man.”

The team is quiet warming up, but we seem more focused. We’ve got a lot to prove to ourselves. I haven’t heard one word from anybody about Joey’s tirade after the last game, but I know it’s on everybody’s mind.

We’ve got four games left: Laurelton today and Midvale on Wednesday, then East Pocono and Greenfield the following week. We lose any one of them and we’re finished. Even a tie might put us out of the race.

Joey is over on the sidelines with a ball, juggling and stretching. He hardly said anything on the way here. I tried a couple of times to get a conversation going, but he just mumbled and shrugged. The rest of us are shooting at Herbie, going two-on-one.

It’s a sunny day, warm and breezy. We probably have the biggest crowd in Sturbridge soccer history, about two hundred people. Joey’s parents are here. Shannon and Eileen, too. Even Herbie’s parents.

Coach calls us over. “New beginning,” he says. “Look inside yourselves, fellas. You can start fresh today or you can pack it in. It’s up to you.”

We’re all quiet for a few seconds. “Anything to say?” Coach asks. “Joey?”

Joey shakes his head.

“Dusty?”

“Just kick ass.”

“Anybody else?”

More quiet. Coach says, “Let’s go,” and we trot onto the field.

Joey scores about three minutes into the game, taking a pass from Trunk, maintaining control of the ball as he fights through a pack of defenders, and driving it deep into the net. The crowd yells like crazy, but nobody on the field says much.

Joey scores again midway through the second quarter, receiving a throw-in from Hernandez, sprinting toward the goal line, stopping short and pivoting as a defender overruns him, and bulleting it into the goal from twenty feet out.

He makes it 3–0 just after halftime, intercepting a pass at midfield, going straight down the center, turning his back on a midfielder, then knocking the ball between the guy’s legs, recovering the ball, and simply outrunning that midfielder and a defender, heading straight toward the right corner of the goal but managing to drive the ball in the opposite direction, sending it cleanly into the upper left.

The crowd goes wild. Joey keeps a stern expression on his face, not looking at any of us.

Coach brings in some subs for the fourth quarter and puts me and Rico on the front line with Joey and Trunk. It’s my first chance to play forward this season.

Late in the game Joey nearly scores again, sending a high, hard shot toward the upper right corner of the goal. Their goalie leaps and gets a hand on it, deflecting it over the crossbar.

We set up for a corner kick; Trunk’s taking it. He lofts it in front of the goal, and everybody goes up for a header. One of their guys gets it, but he doesn’t hit it far and I get control near the top of the box. I take one step toward the
goal, then slide it to my left, where Rico is open. He knocks it forward and gives a quick fake to his right. The goalie takes the fake, dodging in that same direction, and Rico kicks it past him into the goal.

Rico throws both fists into the air and I run over and grab him around the waist, lifting him off the ground. We sprint back toward midfield, and Hernandez comes running up to meet us. It’s Rico’s first goal for this team.

We’re back in a groove now, playing like champions. When the game ends Herbie takes his shirt off and twirls it around his head. We’re yelling and clapping and jumping up and down. Rico goes around slapping palms with everybody.

Everybody but Joey, who walked off the field alone.

Rico’s still flying, so psyched about scoring. He’s sitting on the bench in just his shorts, reliving the moment. Herbie’s on the floor with a can of Coke, leaning against his locker.

“See, I gave him that little juke and he went for it,” Rico’s saying. “He left the whole side of the goal open for me.”

“He got suckered,” Herbie says.

“That’s what makes you so effective,” Rico says. “You never go for that first fake, Herbie.”

I look over at Joey, standing by the door, already dressed to leave. I’m getting ready to give up on this guy if he’s going to keep being such a prick. He’s staring at us. I catch his eye.

“Don’t get carried away,” he says.

Rico frowns at him. “Get bent,” he says.

“It was one win,” Joey says. “We got a long way to go before we’ve got a reason to celebrate.”

“Oh, take a hike, Joey,” Herbie says. “You made your point last time. None of us is as committed as you are, none of us has any guts.”

“It’s true,” Joey says.

“Get a life.”

“Got one.”

“Do you?”

“Better than yours.”

“Is it?”

Joey shakes his head. He calls Herbie a dirtbag.

Herbie gives Joey a salute and says, “Yes, sir, General.”

Joey salutes back, but with just one finger. Then he pushes open the door and leaves the room.

Herbie turns to Rico. “What a jackass,” he says. And they both crack up. I laugh, too, but not as hard as they do.

The guests are fashionably late in arriving, but by 6:50 all seven of us are present. I’ve got the gas grill going on the patio and we’re sitting at the kitchen table munching olives and chicken wings and drinking lemonade spiked with vodka.

Joey keeps saying how tired he is, reminding us that he worked late last night and ran his ass off in the game today. Plus he has to be in by midnight because his parents are concerned about a bad grade in algebra.

I get up and take the plate of steaks out of the refrigerator. I had them marinating in soy sauce and parsley. “How does everybody want these?” I ask.

Everybody says medium except Herbie, who wants his extra well done.

“You might as well eat dirt,” Joey says with a sneer.

“You might as well eat shit,” Herbie answers.

Joey glares at him. Shannon pats Joey’s hand. “What difference does it make how he eats it?” she says.

“No difference,” Joey says. “It’s just stupid to cremate a nice piece of meat.”

Shannon laughs. She makes a fist and shows it to Herbie. “He’ll kick your ass if you ruin that steak,” she says. “And I’ll help him.”

Herbie puts up both palms. “Whoa. I’m shaking.”

She gets up and puts Herbie in a headlock, rubbing her
fist gently into his jaw. “You bastard,” she says. “Charring that poor little steak.”

Herbie’s faking like he’s in agony. Joey shoves back from the table and stands up. He goes out into the living room and turns the TV on to the Penn State football game. He doesn’t come back until I say the steaks are ready.

When I come in with the meat everybody else is at the table and the only empty seat is next to Eileen. Shannon’s sitting between Rico and Herbie.

The girls only want half a steak apiece, so Hernandez takes Shannon’s other half and Herbie says he’ll take Eileen’s. He reaches over and stabs it with his fork, then gets up to put it back on the grill.

“There he goes again with the incineration,” Joey says, sounding disgusted.

Herbie just grins. “What the hell do you care?”

“Just sit down and eat the thing like a man,” Joey says.

Herbie shakes his head. “Okay, Dad,” he says. But he goes out to the patio anyway.

Shannon gets up and says she’s going to floss her teeth. Joey finishes his steak and goes back out to the TV.

Other than that things go pretty smoothly until about quarter to nine, when the bell rings. I open the door and there’s Tony Terranova with four of his friends and a couple of cases of beer.

“Bones, my man,” he says.

“Tony.”

“Thought we’d keep you company.”

“You did, huh?” This could be trouble, but Tony’s not a bad guy. Plus he has a few items with him that would help
the party: the beer and the friends, since two of them are girls. “Why not?” I say, and I step aside to let them in.

They station themselves at the kitchen table and put the beer in the refrigerator. I sit out there, too, and we talk about music and stuff, concerts we’ve been to in Scranton.

The two girls are cute. Dana and Staci. They’re both juniors. Dana has long brown hair. Staci is black, with her hair gathered in a ponytail and one tiny gold earring. The guys are all wrestlers.

Eileen comes into the kitchen after a while and asks me if there’s any lemonade left. I say I don’t know, but I get up to check. There’s enough for half a glass, so I pour it for her.

“Thanks,” she says. “You’re missing some fun out there.”

“I’m having fun in here,” I say.

“Everybody’s dancing,” she says.

I nod. “Not me.”

“Oh,” she says. She looks into the glass, then takes a sip. She shrugs her shoulders and heads back into the living room.

Staci looks at Dana and they both shake their heads. “Oooh, ooh, Bones,” Staci says. “She’s aching for you.”

“No, thanks,” I say.

“She’s not so bad,” Dana says.

I just roll my eyes.

“Go dance with her,” Staci says.

“I don’t think so.”

Staci clicks her tongue. “Don’t be a hard boy.”

“Not interested.”

“You’re no fun.”

I lock eyes with her and smile. “I could be.”

She smiles back but shakes her head slowly. “I think I’ll go out and dance,” she says. She winks at me. “Come on, Dana,” she says.

By ten o’clock Tony and the two guys he brought with him are pretty drunk, and they’re getting loud. When the phone rings I yell, “Everybody shut up! Turn off the stereo.”

I pick up the phone. It’s my mother.

“Everything okay, Barry?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“What are you up to?”