Soccer Duel (9 page)

“It was only one goal,” Renny corrected him. “I dished off to John on the other one.”

“Big deal,” Jordan said. “It was the rest of us who stunk up the joint Did you see how our midfield and defense collapsed when Bryce came at them?”

“Not really,” Renny said. “I was busy trying to get free downfield”

And on and on it went until, finally, he told Jordan he had to get off the phone. The call had made his head swim, so he decided to go for a walk.

Out of habit, he headed for the soccer field. He was rounding the corner of the clubhouse when he ran smack into Bryce The two boys stared at each other.

“Hey,” Bryce said finally. “What's up?”

Renny shrugged. “Just decided to take a walk, that's all.”

“Me, too.” Bryce squinted at the setting sun “Listen, wanna go get a bite to eat? Maybe Conroy's?”

Renny was surprised but tried to hide it. “Yeah, all right,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could.

Soon they were walking down the street side by side, silently. Renny waited for Bryce to say something.

Finally, he did. “I saw you after the game today. You looked kind of down.”

Renny shrugged. “We lost,” he said.

“I know, but … well, I noticed you were alone. Your mom didn't come down to see you?”

“She works on Saturdays. She's a real estate agent. It's big day for showing houses.”

“Same with my mom,” Bryce said, smiling sadly.

“She's in real estate, too?” Renny asked,

“Nah, she works in a store,” Bryce explained. “Busy, busy. Never has time to come see a game.”

“I don't think my mom's into soccer, really,” Renny said. “She pretends to get excited about it, but I can tell her heart isn't in it. My dad used to take me to all my games….”

“Uh-huh,” Bryce said. “When's the last time he saw you play?”

“Last year in Haverford,” Renny said. “What about yours?”

“Third grade,” Bryce said.

“Wow!” Renny couldn't disguise his surprise. “How come he never comes to see you?”

“He lives way over in Oakmont. That's a good three hours from here. No time for Bryce Junior.”

“Still,” Renny said, “he could come and see you play once in a while.”

Bryce frowned. “Let's change the subject, okay?”

“Okay.” Renny was silent for a moment. “You were awesome today,” he said finally.

Bryce looked at him sideways, then shrugged. “Thanks. I was mad. At you.”

“Me?”

“For beating us Friday afternoon,”

“Oh. Well, sorry,” Renny said.

“Get out of here; you're not sorry — you shouldn't be, anyway,” Bryce said.

The two boys fell silent again.

“Listen,” Bryce said suddenly, coming to a stop on the pavement. “About what happened with Turk Walters — I just want to say I'm sorry I was such a jerk.”

“Uh-huh,” Renny said, not letting Bryce off the hook just yet.

“I guess I was afraid of you getting into the play offs and playing better than me,” Bryce went on. “Which still could happen, I guess.”

“You want to know something funny?” Renny said. “I think the reason I played so good on Friday afternoon was because Turk told me the whole story right before the game.”

“I was afraid of that,” Bryce said. “I never told him to try and hurt you, by the way.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess I still feel bad about it.”

“Forget it,” Renny said. “I came out of it okay, right? No harm done. You won't do it again.”

“I sure hope not,” Bryce agreed. “Funny, though, how we both play better when we're angry. I mean, now that we've talked, who are we going to be angry with?”

“I think we should both just go out there and play confident. If we both do our best, it'll come down to how well the guys behind us play.”

“Yeah, I like that,” Bryce said. Then he stopped walking again. “Listen, I don't really feel like ice cream. You?”

“Nah,” Renny agreed. “Maybe tomorrow, after the game.”

“Yeah!” Bryce said. “No matter who wins, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Renny said, putting out his hand. Bryce took it. “So we're friends, no matter what, right?”

“You got it;” Bryce said, shaking Renny's hand hard. “You know something else? You're better than Isaac Mendez ever was.”

“Really?”

“Really. I mean it. He never made me take my game to a higher level the way you did.”

“Huh. I guess that goes both ways. You helped me raise my game, too.”

“Cool.” Bryce smiled. “Well, I guess I'll head home from here, okay?”

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Right.” Bryce turned to go, then stopped and turned back. “Good luck,” he said. “I mean you personally, not the Hornets, of course.”

“Of course. Good luck to you, too. See you on the field.”

Renny stood there for a while, watching Bryce's figure retreat into the gathering darkness of the spring evening. Then he turned for home.

When he got there, he picked up the phone and dialed long-distance information. “The number of a McCormack in Oakmont, please,” he said.

“Do you have a first name for the party?” the operator asked.

“Can you give me all of them?”

“I have twenty-seven McCormacks in Oakmont, sir, and fifteen MacCormacks. Would you like all of them?”

“Uh … no, I guess not,” Renny said, defeated. Then he remembered something Bryce had said:
“No time for Bryce Junior.”

“Could you try under the first name of Bryce?” Renny asked the operator.

“I have only one B. McCormack. Would you like that one?”

Renny took the number and dialed it. It rang four times. Then a machine picked up. “Hello, this is Bryce,” a man's voice said. “Leave a message,' including your number, and I'll get back to you.” A beep followed.

“Hello,” Renny said. “Mr. McCormack, I'm a friend of your son's, and I just wanted you to know he's got a big soccer game tomorrow morning — the biggest one of his life. He's a great player, Mr. McCormack, the best. And … and you really should see him play, at least once.”

He took a breath. Tears were in his eyes, and Renny couldn't figure out why. And then he knew — it was as if he were talking to his own dad, except he was saying words he would never say to his dad.”

“You should go to the game,” Renny said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Or at least call to wish him good luck.” Renny paused a moment. “I hope you get this message … and I hope you listen. You have a really good kid for a son. You should treat him better.”

Renny slowly hung up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he went into the kitchen to give his mom a hug.

20

T
he stands were packed on both sides of the field, and all along the sidelines people were camped out to watch the big game. There was a sound system with a microphone, and the league commissioner was there to announce the game and give out the trophies afterward.

Bryce recognized kids from every team in the league. A lot of them came up to wish him good luck, but some didn't. Bryce knew why. At one time or another, he'd probably shown them up — outplayed them, dissed them, fouled them, or just plain made them look bad.

It would take a long time to get people to notice he'd changed, Bryce realized. But something inside him
had
changed. Renny Harding had shown him that you could be a great competitor without playing as if you were the only one on the field.

Well, today he was going to show what he was made of. Bryce didn't feel nervous, really — more like he was flying above it all, like in the last game. He knew he was going to have a good one.

Renny huddled with his teammates and their coach. They all looked at each other, including Isaac Mendez, who was there in uniform, with his ankle in a soft cast now. “You ready to go get that championship trophy?” the coach asked his team.

The Blue Hornets put their hands together and raised their voices in a mighty shout. “Goooo, Blue!!”

Even Jordan Woo seemed excited. “Still betting on the Yellow Jackets?” Renny asked him with a wry smile.

“Kind of,” Jordan admitted. “But I figure we might as well go down fighting.”

“Jordan!” Renny said, grabbing both Jordan's shoulders and shaking him. “Snap out of it! Today's our day; I can feel it!”

“
Your
day, maybe,” Jordan said. “Our day, mmm … I don't know.”

“The odds are fifty-fifty actually,” Norm Harvey said, stepping forward. He was wearing a Blue Hornets uniform, too — with the number 00 on it.

Renny had to laugh. “Hey, cool uniform, dude!” he said. “You've got to admit, there are no uniforms in chess.”

“Please,” Norm said, rolling his eyes. “I am only wearing this ridiculous thing in support of the team.”

“Jordan,” Renny said. “Speak to Norm here about team spirit, okay? I've got to get out there.”

He ran out onto the field with the other starters and took his position. The ref blew his whistle, and the big game began.

On his first rush, Bryce left three Hornets on the ground where they fell, skidding, while trying to stay with him. He faked the shot, then passed to Erie Dornquist, who one-timed it past the goalie for the first score of the game.

Bryce clapped his hands once, then trotted back toward midfield. He felt no desire to do his usual “victory dance” this time. He let Eric hotdog it around the field. The team was only up one goal. Bryce wasn't ready to celebrate yet. This game was far from over.

Sure enough, Renny broke free off a throw-in and forced a corner lack. Bryce could only watch helplessly as the ball stayed in the Yellow Jackets' end, fought over by a swarm of players from both teams. He knew the Hornets had scored when the roar went up from that end of the field. And he knew who had gotten the goal when they started shouting his name: “Ren-ny! Ren-ny! Ren-ny!”

Bryce was the next one to draw blood, though. His team kept control after the whistle, and he drifted downfield to the right of the ball, which was being dribbled by Eric Dornquist on left wing.

Bryce saw an opening behind the defender, called out to Eric, and ran into the gap. The pass from Eric found him perfectly in midstride. Bryce kicked the ball softly toward the front of the goal, then beat the goalie to it as he came out to smother the ball. The shot dribbled into the net. Bryce felt himself rise into the air as he tripped over the goalie, did a full somersault, and came up standing. He raised his arms in triumph as the crowd applauded. Now it was his name they were chanting!

Renny was really into it now. He promised himself that this next goal was his and his alone. The Hornets couldn't afford to allow the Yellow Jackets a two-goal lead, and with Bryce taking a breather, now was the best time to tie up the game again.

Renny deliberately went out of position to his right, causing a small crowd to congregate around him and away from the ball. Then he seized his moment and rushed back to center, three steps ahead of the defenders. “Qver here!” he shouted to the left-winger, John Singleman.

John sent the ball downfield, and Renny ran to keep up with it. It landed in front of him, bouncing toward the last defender. Renny got there first, headed the ball over the defender, and deked around his left. The defender whirled around, too late. Renny already had control of the ball, with only the goalie to beat.

Renny took his time. He could feel the other defenders racing toward him. At the last moment, he faked twice, then kicked. Just as he'd guessed, the goalie had gone for the second fake, thinking it would be his real move. Renny had outmaneuvered him, and the game was tied, 2-2!

It stayed that way until halftime. Renny collapsed on the sidelines, exhausted. He had played the entire half and had never stopped running.

“I'm holding you out for the start of the second half,” Coach McMaster told him. “You're all flushed.

Drink some fluids. Don't worry; I'll get you back in there.”

Renny didn't argue. He knew the coach was right. Bryce McCormack was big and strong enough to play the whole game without any more rest, but Renny wasn't. He only hoped the game stayed close till he got back in.

“Dad?”

Bryce couldn't believe it. He was staring into the eyes of his father, who was looking back at him through tears.

“Hello, son,” he said softly. “I've been sitting here the whole time, just watching you.” He smiled. “You keep it up and you're going to have you a trophy. You know something? You're even better than I was when I was your age.”

Bryce's eyes widened, “Really? You mean that?” Bryce had seen the old photographs, the dusty trophies. His dad had been all-state in high school, in three different sports!

“I'm sorry I haven't been around to see you more often, son,” his dad said. “I don't know… sometimes I think what's going on in my life is so important.” He laughed without joy. “Funny, huh? I guess this is what's really important, right?”

Bryce nodded and swallowed hard. “I'm glad you came, Dad,” he said, and the two of them hugged. His father ran a hand through Bryce's hair and said, “I'm going to make it my business to get to know you again… . If that's okay with you.”

“It's great, Dad,” Bryce whispered, hugging him tighter.

“Yellow Jackets!” Coach Hickey shouted. “Let's go! Gather round!”

“I've got to go,” Bryce said.

“You get out there and nail it down, Junior,” his father said. “I'll be rooting for you.”

With Renny on the sidelines, the game rapidly began to tilt in favor of the Yellow Jackets. When Bryce hit an incredible shot, with two defenders on him, to put his team back into the lead, Renny sprang up and ran over to Coach McMaster. “Put me back in; Coach!” he demanded. “I've got to get back in there!”

“All right,” McMaster said. “Singleman! Come out for a breather!”

“What? Why, Coach? We need him on the wing!”

“I've got to get my subs in there sometime,” Coach McMaster explained. “League rules — everyone gets at least ten minutes of playing time, finals or no finals.”

Shaking his head but understanding, Renny headed out onto the field. Possession kept changing hands over the next five minutes, until finally John Singleman was put back into the game. Now that Renny had some real help up front, the Hornets were able to sustain a rush. It ended with Singleman putting a comer lack right onto Renny's foot, ten feet in front of the goalie. One swift kick later, the score was tied again!