Football Double Threat Page 2

  Out came the Pythons offense. Liam took off his helmet and slumped on the bench, dismay etched on his face. A few players, including Rocky, offered him halfhearted murmurs of encouragement, but Liam just looked away.

  Meanwhile, the Pythons defense was back on the field. They tried to keep the Stars from scoring, but failed. With the score now 21 to 14, the two teams lined up for the extra-point attempt.

  “They’re going for two!” Coach Royson warned his team.

  That’s just what happened — or started to, anyway. The Stars center snapped the ball to the quarterback. The quarterback skipped back several steps, pump-faked the ball, and then began to run it in himself. He’d only gone a few steps when Alan Dobbs, one of the Pythons defensive ends, broke free and charged him.

  The quarterback never saw the tackle coming. Wham! Alan slammed him from the side. The ball squirted from his grasp and shot straight up into the air.

  Quick as a wink, Bobby darted forward, nabbed the ball before it hit the ground, and took off!

  5

  The Pythons and their fans roared and cheered as Bobby’s cleats ate up the yards. Three Shooting Stars players pounded after him, but Bobby had a few steps’ lead. He made it past the Pythons’ thirty, their thirty-five, the forty — and had an open field in front of him!

  “Go! Go!” Rocky yelled. He jumped up and down, whooping loudly.

  The Stars hadn’t given up, though. As Bobby approached their twenty, one of them made a desperate lunge for Bobby’s feet. Bobby stumbled. For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall. But he righted himself and danced the last yards into the end zone.

  Fweet! Touchdown!

  Then there was another whistle blast. The Stars coach had called for a time-out.

  Bobby was breathing hard but grinning from ear to ear when he jogged to the sideline.

  “That was awesome!” Rocky cried.

  Coach Ward was just as effusive with his praise. “Well done, Bobby! That’s the kind of heads-up play that marks the difference between a good player and a great player!”

  Rocky saw the coach glance over at Jared as he spoke those words. Jared returned his gaze for a split second before getting up and walking onto the field for the extrapoint kick.

  He moves like he has all the time in the world, Rocky thought, wondering again why Jared was playing for the Pythons when it was so obvious he had no interest in the game.

  Bobby’s touchdown — and the extra point, another successful kick by Jared — seemed to take the wind out of the Shooting Stars sails. Their play after the kickoff was sloppy and they quickly lost possession. Their defense was just as lackluster. When the final buzzer sounded, the score was Pythons 28, Stars 14.

  The two teams walked through the “good game” hand-slap lines and then went their separate ways. Rocky was happy his team had won, although part of him wished the game had been a little less lopsided at the end. Still, a win was a win — and he wasn’t about to complain!

  The mood in the locker room was raucous. Boys rehashed the game in loud voices, laughing at other players’ mistakes and bragging about their own good plays. Then Joe picked up a water bottle, stood on a bench, and squirted water into the air. Those caught in the sudden cold shower roared with surprise. They turned on Joe, pelting him with sweaty socks and spraying him with water from their own bottles.

  The floor turned wet and slippery beneath Rocky’s muddy cleats. He sat on the bench to take them off. Suddenly, a loud wail pierced through the laughter — it came from Bobby, who appeared from around the corner. He had taken off his gear and was just in a pair of shorts. He was singing out loud and drumming to a beat. Only he knew what the song was, though, because he was listening to it on Rocky’s music player!

  “Very funny, Bobby,” Rocky said. He got off the bench and held out his hand. “Ha, ha. Now give it back!”

  Bobby gave Rocky a wicked grin, stuck the player in his waistband, and snapped his fingers in time to the music.

  “Hey, come on,” Rocky said, louder this time. “Take the player out of there, man! You might damage it — or worse, sweat all over it!”

  Bobby danced a circle just out of Rocky’s reach. Then he stopped next to bench, turned his back, and began to play air guitar. It was a perfect imitation of Rocky’s earlier performance. The other players started laughing.

  Rocky flushed a dull red. Then he lunged toward Bobby, intending to pin his arms at his sides and wrestle the player free.

  The tackle caught Bobby off balance. His feet slipped on the wet concrete floor and he fell. As he did, his legs slammed against the bench’s edge. Rocky fell on top of him.

  Crack! There was a sound like a dry branch snapping in two. For a split second Rocky thought the sound was his music player breaking. Then he heard someone cry out in pain. The cry came from underneath him — Bobby!

  Strong hands lifted Rocky up and off. Bobby dropped to the floor and rolled onto his back, grasping his leg and writhing in agony.

  The coaches came running. “Just lay still, son,” Coach Royson said, kneeling alongside the whimpering boy. “Let me see what is the matter.”

  The coach’s body was blocking Rocky’s view so he couldn’t see what was wrong. But when he heard the coach suck in his breath, he guessed it must be bad. Coach Ward’s hurried 911 call confirmed his guess.

  Twenty minutes later, Bobby was in an ambulance on his way to the emergency room. The other Pythons were slowly and quietly gathering their gear. The coaches were in deep conversation in the office. And Rocky was sitting on the bench — the bench where his best friend had just broken his leg, thanks to him.

  There was a strange whispering sound near his feet. He looked around and saw his music player lying on the floor. Music was piping from the earbuds.

  Rocky picked up the player and stared at it without really seeing it. Instead, he saw his friend’s face, contorted with pain and as pale as snow.

  It’s all my fault, he thought miserably. If I hadn’t been such a selfish jerk, Bobby would be fine.

  He switched off the music. It’s all my fault.

  6

  Pythons, gather around!” Coach Royson and Coach Ward emerged from the office. They looked grim.

  “I just got off the phone with Bobby’s mother. I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” Coach Royson reported. “He fractured his femur just above the knee. He’s out for the season.”

  There was a collective groan of dismay. A few players shot Rocky angry looks. He avoided their eyes but couldn’t stop the red flush from creeping up his neck to his face.

  Then Coach Royson called his name. “Rocky, I’d like you and Jared to join me and Coach Ward in the office, please.”

  Rocky swallowed hard and stood to follow the coaches. He wondered if he was going to be chewed out for causing Bobby’s accident. But, if so, why was Jared coming along too? Jared hadn’t been anywhere near where the other boys were horsing around.

  Coach Royson settled into the chair behind his desk. “Grab a seat, boys,” he said. “Coach Ward has something he wants to talk to you about. Coach?”

  “I know you’re both upset about Bobby,” Coach Ward said, “and we are too. That being said, we’re going to need someone to play safety. I think the two of you might be good candidates.”

  Rocky’s jaw dropped. “Really? Wow, I —”

  “Before you give your answer, Rocky,” Coach Royson interrupted, “I want you to think long and hard about what it would mean. Being a two-way player — that is, playing both offense and defense — can be very demanding. You’d be doing a great deal of running. And you’d have to bone up on your tackling skills too.”

  “That would mean extra practice time with me — and with Jared, too, of course,” Coach Ward put in. “So if you’re not able to commit to that, for whatever reason, you need to let me know now so I can talk to another player.”

  Rocky’s head was spinning. He had thought he was going to be yelled at, not offered the chance to play Bo
bby’s position! Then he thought of something.

  “Coach Royson, what about Vincent? He’s our sub. Won’t he expect to take over for Bobby?”

  The coach took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Vincent is moving out of state next week,” he said in a tired voice.

  “What?” Rocky cried in surprise. “He never said anything about that!”

  “He didn’t know. His parents only told him — and Coach Ward and me — last night. In any event, he will not be around to replace Bobby. That’s why we’re talking to you and Jared.”

  Rocky had almost forgotten the other boy was there. Jared hadn’t said a word throughout the discussion, although Coach Ward had made it sound as if he had already agreed to train for the safety position.

  Now Jared spoke up for the first time. “Why me?” He sounded wary.

  “You’re one of the fastest kids on the team,” Coach Royson explained. “And from what I’ve seen in practice, you have a good instinct for defense. Coach Ward told me you played midfield on your soccer team, right?”

  Jared nodded.

  “That explains it, then. You had to be fast and able to read the offense to play that position well.”

  “You had to know how to kick too,” Coach Ward put in. “That’s why we made you our kicker.”

  Jared let out an impatient huff. “Kicking a soccer ball is totally different from kicking a football. Everyone knows that.”

  Rocky squirmed uncomfortably at the disgust in Jared’s voice. Coach Royson gave Coach Ward a meaningful glance. Coach Ward’s face twitched, but other than that he didn’t show any sign of anger. Instead, he spoke lightly and carefully.

  “Yes, that’s true, Jared. And playing defense in football is different from playing defense in soccer.” He leaned forward and fixed his gaze on the boy. “The question is, are you up to learning the position or are you going to back down from the challenge?”

  Jared returned the gaze. “I’m not going to back down!” he replied.

  “Good.” Coach Ward straightened. “Then it’s settled. You and Rocky will have extra practices with me to learn the safety position. I’ll be in touch with the time.”

  “Thank you, boys, you may go now,” Coach Royson said.

  Jared stood up fast, his metal chair scraping against the floor with a loud shriek. Rocky was about to follow him out the door when Coach Royson called him back.

  “Rocky, Mrs. Richards asked if you’d deliver Bobby’s gear to their house. You can drop it by tomorrow. Bobby should be home from the hospital by then.”

  The sound of Bobby’s bone snapping suddenly echoed in Rocky’s memory. He shook his head to clear it out and said, “Sure thing, coach.”

  “Good. When you do, would you bring him one of these too?” The coach handed him two heavy cardboard boxes. “The other one is for you, of course.”

  Rocky almost groaned aloud when he saw the boxes. They each contained thirty big chocolate bars. The candy was for the team’s fund-raiser; they cost a dollar each and every player was required to sell a boxful to help pay for equipment and league fees. They had three weeks in which to sell them all. Any unsold bars could not be returned. The player had to pay for those himself.

  The fund-raiser was one of Rocky’s least favorite duties — knocking on the neighbors’ doors was only really fun at Halloween. But he had no choice in the matter, especially since after buying his music player, he didn’t have thirty dollars. Promising the coach to bring Bobby his candy as well as his gear, he picked up both boxes and left.

  7

  The next afternoon, Rocky loaded Bobby’s gear bag onto the back of his bike, stuck the box of candy into his backpack, and rode to Bobby’s house. The load on his back seemed light at first, but as he rode, the pack’s straps dug deeper and deeper into his shoulders. When he finally reached Bobby’s driveway, he took off the pack and rubbed the sore spots with relief.

  “You think that hurts,” a wan voice said, “you should try having your leg broken.”

  “Bobby?” Rocky looked around but didn’t see his friend. “Where are you?”

  “Back here, on the screened-in porch.” A hand waved from behind an open window.

  Rocky picked up the gear bag and backpack and made his way to the porch. He pushed open the door and stared.

  Bobby was sitting in an easy chair with a video game controller in his lap. Next to him was a small table with the television remote, a bowl of chips, and a tall glass of root beer. A pair of crutches lay on the floor. And one of his legs was propped up on an ottoman, a thick white cast extending from the top of his thigh to below his knee.

  “Whoa,” Rocky breathed. He sat on the floor next to him. “Does it — does it hurt?”

  Bobby shrugged but didn’t stop playing his game. “Yeah. Especially at night.”

  “Oh.” Rocky didn’t know what to say after that. Then he remembered why he’d come. “I brought some stuff for you.”

  He held out Bobby’s gear bag. Bobby glanced at it but didn’t reach for it. “Just put it on the floor,” he mumbled.

  Rocky set the stuff next to the crutches. Then he pulled the box of chocolate bars out of his backpack. “Um, I’ve got your fundraiser candy here too,” he said. “You want me to put that with the other stuff?”

  Bobby didn’t take his eyes off the television screen. “I guess. Although I doubt I’ll get around to selling any of it.”

  “You have to sell it,” Rocky reminded him. “If you don’t, you have to buy it yourself. Besides, the coaches won’t like it if you don’t even try.”

  Bobby thrust the controller away then. “Big deal. It’s not like I’m going to be playing or anything. I’ll just be sitting on the sidelines like a lump. If I even bother going to the games.”

  Rocky’s stomach gave a sudden, hard squeeze of guilt. “Bobby, I’m so sorry about your leg,” he said in a low voice. “If I had just let you use my music player, you wouldn’t be sitting here with that cast.”

  Bobby toyed with the hem of his T-shirt. He seemed on the verge of saying something but didn’t. Then he sighed. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter now. I’m out for the season and nothing’s going to change that.”

  “Yeah,” Rocky agreed lamely. “It, um, it really stinks.”

  Bobby shook his head angrily. “You know what stinks the most? The fact that Vincent is taking over my position. I mean, I like the guy and all, but it still kills me to think of him playing my spot.”

  Rocky gulped. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bobby might not have heard about Vincent — or that he might resent the person replacing him on the field.

  “Actually, it’s not Vincent,” he told Bobby. He explained how their teammate was moving.

  Bobby stared. “So who are they putting in my position?”

  Rocky took a deep breath. “Well, Jared, for one.”

  “The kicker?” Bobby’s anger flared into outrage. “He doesn’t even want to be on the team!”

  “I know. But he said he’d do it.”

  Bobby shook his head in disgust and then asked, “So who else?”

  “Who else what?”

  “You said, ‘Jared, for one,’” Bobby reminded him impatiently. “So who else?”

  “Oh. Right. Um, promise you won’t be mad?”

  Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Who is it, Rocky?”

  “It’s me.”

  Bobby blinked in surprise. Then his expression turned blank. He turned away from Rocky, pushed a button on the controller, and restarted his game.

  Rocky stared at his toes, miserable. For more than a minute, the only sounds came from the television.

  Then, his eyes on the screen, Bobby asked, “You think you’ll be any good at it?”

  “Not as good as you,” Rocky replied loyally. “You’re the best.”

  His answer earned him a twitch of a smile from Bobby. “You got that right.”

  “I’ll probably mess everything up! Totally! And Jared? Forget about him! Like you said, he doesn�
��t even want to be there.”

  He started telling Bobby about Jared’s reactions to Coach Ward’s comments, but Bobby cut him off abruptly. “Rocky, listen, my leg’s kinda hurting.”

  Rocky took the hint and stood up. “I gotta go anyway. Got to sell some candy, you know?”

  Bobby glanced down at the chocolates for the first time. “That box looks heavy.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Bobby was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be considering something. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Say, Rock Star, I don’t suppose you could . . . oh, never mind.”

  “Could what?”

  “No, no, it’s too much to ask.” Bobby picked up the controller but didn’t start playing. Instead, he looked at the box of candy again. “It’s just that . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, I’m not very good on the crutches and, like I said, my leg hurts. I don’t know if I can go door-to-door to sell all those chocolate bars. My mom just started a new job so I doubt she can drive me. My dad’s on this new health kick so he probably won’t want to be near it. And I don’t have thirty dollars to pay for them.”

  Rocky finally got what Bobby was driving at. “You want me to sell your candy for you?”

  Bobby looked up hopefully. “Would you?”

  Rocky grinned. “Not a problem! It’s the least I can do since . . . but first, if your leg can stand my company, let me take a turn at that game. It looks awesome!”

  But Bobby held the controller out of reach. “Forget it, man! You’ve got doorbells to ring! Now get outta here!”

  8

  Rocky spent the next hour and a half biking from one house to another with Bobby’s candy. Unfortunately, many people turned him away, saying his teammates had beaten him to the sale. Still, he managed to sell twelve bars — leaving eighteen to go. Eighteen, plus his full box of thirty, he reminded himself, making forty-eight chocolate bars in all.