Soccer Duel (7 page)

“Anyway, thanks again for the advice,” Renny said. “It sure did the trick today. See you at the championship!” He went to join his teammates.

Bryce nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “And this time, I'll know you're coming.”

Bryce paid for his uneaten fries and left the store, still torn about everything that had happened.

“Hey, McCormack!”

Bryce came to a sudden stop as Turk Walters loomed up in front of him, scowling. “Oh, hey, Turk,” Bryce said. “I heard you lost. Too bad.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Turk said darkly. ‘Too bad for you, you double-crossing bum!”

“What are you talking about?” Bryce asked, annoyed.

“That was some great ‘advice’ you gave me,” Turk said. “You lost us the game, jerk!”

“Oh, yeah? How'd I do that?” Bryce asked, not giving an inch.

“Your advice got me kicked out, that's how!” Turk shouted. “First it gave them a penalty shot, which that kid Renny converted, by the way. Then I had to watch from the sidelines while they scored the winning goal. You think they would have scored if I'd been out there?”

“I don't know. Probably,” Bryce said. “That kid Renny's good. Besides, I didn't tell you to foul him
dirty.
You did that on your own. Face it — you should have listened to me when I told you to forget the whole thing.”

For a minute, Turk looked as if he were going to haul off and take a swing at Bryce. But evidently he decided Bryce was too tough. “I'm gonna get that kid,” he growled, kicking the dirt.

“You'd better leave him alone,” Bryce said.

“What are you, his protector or something?” Turk wanted to know.

“He's a good kid,” Bryce said. “You leave him alone or I'm going to have something to say about it, you hear me?”

Turk's eyes narrowed as he stared back at Bryce. He nodded menacingly, then walked right past Bryce, muttering, “I hear you, McCormack. I hear you, all right.”

Bryce looked after him, shaking his head. Turk's a real loser, he thought. Renny Harding has a hundred times more going for him.

Bryce thought about the upcoming championship series. Only one team would come out the winner. He and Renny might never meet head on, because they'd both be playing on the front line, but it would still be a contest between the two of them. Each was his team's best player, the one the team looked to when a crucial score was needed.

There would be only one MVP. Coach Harrelson would be watching every game, and he would remember how each boy played when it came time to select the JV team's center striker next fall.

Bryce wasn't worried or scared, just determined. He walked up his front steps, smiling. This was going to be interesting. May the best man win, he said to himself.

13

T
he two-out-of-three championship round was scheduled tightly, with games on Friday afternoon, Saturday at noon, and Sunday at noon if necessary. It was almost Memorial Day weekend, and baseball season had begun. Space on the field was scarce.

Renny was driven to the first game of the series by his mom, on her way to show some houses to potential buyers, Renny got out of the car and ran to join his teammates. He had never been so excited in his entire life! He couldn't wait to go up against the mighty Yellow Jackets. He knew Bryce was going to score his share of goals this series, but Renny was determined to do the same for his team. Bryce had inspired him to take the leadership role on the Hornets.

He wasn't worried that Bryce would hate him if the Hornets won, either. Renny felt sure that he and Bryce were friends now. That was the best part about this championship series. The only thing better would have been if he and Bryce were on the same team.

Suddenly, Turk Walters was standing opposite him. “Hey, Harding,” he said. “I've got to talk to you.”

“What do you want?” Renny asked sharply. He had no desire to talk to Turk, unless Turk wanted to apologize for trying to hurt him.

“C'mere,” Turk urged, waving for him to come closer.

Reluctantly, Renny did so. “I've got to warm up,” he said impatiently. “Make it fast.”

“I just wanted you to know,” Turk said with a mean little smile, “that it wasn't my idea to rough you up.”

“Who told you to do it? Your coach?” Renny asked disbelievingly.

“No,” Turk said. “As a matter of fact, it was Bryce McCormack.”

Renny looked at Turk, dumbfounded. “Get out of here; I don't believe you.”

“Why? You two such good buddies?” Turk prodded.

“We get along okay,” Renny shot back. “He wouldn't do something like that.”

“Oh, no?” Turk asked, the mean little smile returning. “Why don't you. ask him, then? Watch his eyes. You'll see.” Turk took a few steps away, then turned back to Renny. “The eyes don't lie, Harding. Oh, and hey, for what it's worth — I hope you kick the pants off those guys.”

As Renny watched Turk lumber off, he felt suddenly sick to his stomach. Could it really be true? Bryce had been so nice to him, so friendly — had it all been a big lie? Had Bryce really played him like that?

Just before the game, Bryce approached Renny, hand extended. “Hey, good game, okay?” he said with a warm smile.

Renny stared back at him coldly. “Did you tell Turk Walters to come after me?” he asked, staring into Bryce's eyes.

The eyes flickered in panic for just a split second.

“Uh, no!” Bryce said, a little too hotly. “Did he tell you that?”

“You did, didn't you.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Bryce cleared his throat. “I was just discussing strategy with him, that's all. Hey, I never thought he'd try to hurt you.”

“Uh-huh,” Renny said. He sneered at Bryce's still-outstretched hand. Bryce lowered it. “See you on the field, Bryce,” he said. He turned his back on Bryce and ran off toward the Hornets' bench, a white-hot coal of anger and hurt burning in his stomach.

When the whistle blew minutes later to start the game, Renny was everywhere. He reached the ball before anyone else could, constantly a step ahead of all the other players. And his shots, when he took them, were much more powerful than usual. Before ten minutes had passed, he had already scored two goals and just missed on a third.

After each goal, Renny looked over at Bryce and caught his eye. Then he pointed straight at him, as if to say, “In your face,”

Bryce stared back at him, and Renny could see that he was angry, too. But Renny didn't care. He was on a rampage, and nothing was going to stop him until he'd rubbed Bryce's face in it for betraying him like that!

After the second goal, Bryce controlled the ball for the Yellow Jackets, driving, the play into the Hornets' zone. Renny saw an opportunity and sneaked up on Bryce from behind, diving and spearing the ball with his foot.

Bryce lost control of the ball, and it went straight to Jordan Woo, who was playing some of his rare minutes on defense. Jordan wound up and kicked it hard. For once, he hit the ball square, and it floated over everyone's heads back downfield. Renny was right behind it, racing to take possession. He ran the length of the field, bearing down on the goalie.

Only one defender stood in his way. Renny froze him with a fake to the left, then went around his right side, unimpeded. He kicked the ball straight up to the height of his head, then made as if to head the ball into the goal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the goalie commit himself to the left — so when the ball hit the ground in front of his foot, Renny kicked it to the right side of the net.

The stunned goalie never had a chance. Renny could hear the roar of approval, and it was coming from both sides of the field. As he trotted back toward the center line, he gave a little wave of acknowledgment. They were cheering for
him!

His anger drained right out of him, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction. Bryce had betrayed him, but he'd also been Renny's inspiration. And now Renny was getting his revenge, in the best possible way.

14

A
t first; when Renny had accused him, Bryce felt guilty. When Renny had scored his first goal, Bryce figured it was only right, considering. Even the pointing didn't bother him — much. But when Renny had shown him up like that, stealing the ball from him and going all the way with it, Bryce had had enough.

The score was 3-0 already. But there was still another half to play. “We just have to be patient,” Bryce told his teammates, “and wait for our opportunities. Follow me into their zone. I'll try to create something.”

When the second half began, Bryce went out to the center circle expecting to see Renny facing him down. But Renny was not there — it was John Singleman instead. So where was Renny?

Bryce looked around for him. There he was, with the midfielders. What was going on? he wondered.

Bryce soon found out. Apparently, Renny had convinced his coach that with a three-goal lead, he should be put in as a midfielder to shadow Bryce wherever he went. For the first ten minutes of the half, every time the ball came to Bryce, Renny was there, harassing him, denying him possession or a clear lane. The only thing Bryce could do was to pass the ball away under the ferocious pressure.

Bryce could see that if this kept up, the game would end with the score just as it was. I've got to break out of this! he told himself.

He knew that if he succeeded in getting deep into the Hornets' zone, Renny would have to abandon position to follow him. That would leave one of the Yellow Jackets' midfielders unguarded.

Bryce took the ball and forced it forward, trying to run around Renny. But Renny, with his speed, kept cutting Bryce off. Finally, Bryce had had enough. He gave Renny a sharp shove with his forearm, creating some elbowroom between them.

The way to the Hornets' zone was open. But before Bryce could take advantage of the opportunity, the ref's whistle blew, and he pointed to Bryce, indicating a foul.

“What?!” Bryce leaped into the air in sheer frustration. “He was all over me, ref!”

The ref just shook his head. “Flagrant personal foul!” he said. “Free kick, Blue!”

“Nooooo!” Bryce yelled, banging his knees in frustration.

Eric Dornquist tapped him on the shoulder, “You're out, Bryce,” he said. “I'm in for you.”

Bryce looked up, then over at the sideline. Coach Hickey was motioning him off the field! Bryce couldn't believe it.

He walked slowly toward the sideline. “Come on, come on!” the coach urged him. “Hustle, Bryce! What's the matter with you?”

“He set me up for that foul, Coach,” Bryce complained.

“And you fell for it,” Coach Hickey replied, shaking his head. “If you'd stop hogging the ball for once and get your teammates into the flow, this stuff wouldn't happen.”

They both turned their attention to the field, where Renny's free kick had turned into another goal, this time scored by Henry Wilkes. “Four-zip,” the coach said sadly. “I can't believe this!”

Neither could Bryce. The first game was shaping up to be a first-class nightmare — all because Renny had found out the truth about him and Turk Walters.

“Did you see that shot he took in the first half?”

Bryce knew that voice. He turned to see Coach Harrelson talking with another man. Both of them had notepads and pens. They were looking out on the field, where Renny Harding was dancing around with the ball again.

“I thought you said he had a weak shot,” the other man said.

“Guess I was wrong,” Coach Harrelson said. “Or else he's just getting better with age.”

The two men laughed, and Bryce felt tears filling his eyes. He sank down on the bench and turned away from them.

A minute later, defenseman Steve Weintraub came out of the game and sat down with him. “This really stinks,” he said to Bryce,

“Tell me about it. Say, who's the guy with Coach Harrelson?” Bryce asked.

“Don't you know him?” Steve asked. “That's Coach Johnson — he runs the high school varsity team.”

“Oh, great,” Bryce said. “Just great.” Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

It was a mercy when the final whistle blew. No other goals had been scored, but the first game of the championship had been a massacre all the way.

The kid had drawn first blood. Bryce sat there steaming, thinking not about the past, but about the future. I'm not through yet, he swore to himself. It's not over till it's over, Renny Harding.

15

R
enny couldn't sleep. Today's game had been incredible. In fact, the whole last two-plus weeks had been like something out of a dream. He'd become the soccer sensation of the whole town — even Norm Harvey had called to congratulate him.

“You appear to have an excellent probability of winning the championship at this point,” he had said. “In fact, the odds are three to one in your favor. And your stats would appear to put you in line for the play-off's Most Valuable Player!”

“Hey, it was only one game,” Renny pointed out.

“But you've got momentum on your side,” Norm said. “The psychological edge. Fascinating. It's a lot like chess, actually.”

“Hey!” Renny said with a laugh. “That's my line!”

Norm had also mentioned that the high school coaches had been there. He heard they'd been very impressed with Renny.

So now Renny lay awake, thinking about the possibilities. Maybe someday he'd play center striker in high school. Probably not, though. After all, Isaac Mendez and Bryce were both bigger and stronger than he was, and almost as fast. They'd been playing here in town for years, while he had only emerged two weekends ago.

Still, the fantasy was sweet. Renny saw himself playing while Bryce fumed on the bench, waiting to play his paltry few minutes of garbage time when the game was already decided one way or the other. Ha!

It had been fantastic to see the look of pain and fury on Bryce's face at the end of the game today. As his teammates lifted him to their shoulders and chanted his name, Renny, had caught a glimpse of Bryce, kicking a Styrofoam cooler to pieces.

Well, good, Renny thought. He deserved it. He'd pretended to be Renny's friend while plotting against him with Turk. “I could have been hurt,” Renny muttered.

He had really thought Bryce wanted to be his friend. “What an idiot I was,” Renny said to himself bitterly as he stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Why would a popular lad like Bryce Mc-Cormack want to be my friend? No, he was just scoping me out, trying to find my weak points. I guess he thought I didn't have any guts. Well, now he knows I do.