Soccer Halfback Read online

  “Well,” said Jabber, “I suppose I should tell you. I’m going to buy new soccer shoes.”

  Pete looked at him. “Oh? Whose have you been wearing?”

  “One of the guys’. An old pair.”

  “I guess that clinches it then. Your playing soccer, I mean.”

  “Sort of,” Jabber answered quietly.

  They arrived home and found their mother and Karen setting the table for supper. Karen was seventeen, a senior at Birch Central, a budding poet, and senior editor of the school paper. She looked so much like her mother that they could pass for sisters.

  “Well, I guess we’ve got this timed pretty well, haven’t we?” said Mrs. Morris. “Who won?”

  “We did,” said Jabber, taking off his jacket. “Four to two.”

  “Do anything?” asked Karen. “Scorewise, I mean.”

  Jabber saw Pete heading into the next room, apparently uninterested in the conversation.

  “I scored twice,” said Jabber.

  “Good!” exclaimed Karen cheerfully. “I wish I could’ve gone, but I had some layouts to take care of for our school paper. How was the crowd?”

  Jabber shrugged. “So-so. A handful.”

  “A handful? That’s all?” His mother stared at him, unbelieving.

  “That’s right. School soccer hasn’t started to draw the people yet like football does. But it will. It just takes time.”

  “Was Pete at the game?” his mother asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. I thought he was going to go hang-gliding. Well, I’m glad he didn’t go there.”

  Jabber knew that she wasn’t crazy about Pete’s love for hang-gliding. It was a dangerous sport, she contended, and he could easily break a leg, or suffer worse injuries.

  She asked Jabber no further questions about the game, proceeding only to get the supper done and put on the table. The smell of roast beef and potatoes really stimulated Jabber’s hunger, and he couldn’t wait to get at them.

  As his mother promised, supper was on the table in a minute. The four of them sat down and began their evening ritual. Jabber was first to finish, not realizing he had practically gulped it down until he glanced at the others’ plates. Even Pete had a few spoonfuls left on his.

  “Really were hungry, weren’t you, brother?” Pete said, grinning. “Well, a lot of wild running and not getting anyplace will do that. Personally, it would drive me up a wall.”

  Jabber stared at him, then looked away, ignoring his brother’s snide remark. Pete was implying that a player ran a lot more in soccer than he did in football.

  So what? thought Jabber. What difference did it make? Each sport had its own characteristics, didn’t it? But Jabber said nothing.

  He noticed how quiet his mother had become. Now and again he looked at her, trying to catch her gaze, to read the thoughts behind her somber blue eyes. But she didn’t give him a chance. He felt that she was holding back something from him, something that seemed to be bothering her.

  It was when she was passing him the dish of beef for the second time that she broke her silence.

  “Your Uncle Jerry called while you were gone,” she said to Jabber. “He wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh? He say about what?”

  “Yes. He wants to take you to the Cornell-Colgate football game Saturday. He has a couple of tickets to it. He bought only two because he knows that Pete is playing Saturday too.”

  Jabber frowned, glanced at Pete, then back again at his mother.

  “What lousy luck,” he said. “I’m going to the high-school game, Mom. I’d like to see the Cornell-Colgate game, but I would rather watch Pete play.”

  “I told him I thought you would,” she said.

  “Darn! I hate to disappoint Uncle Jerry. He’s always so good to us.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind. He had quite a time making a decision himself on which game to see. But he had bought the tickets some time ago. He says that he’ll try to sell them and go to the high-school game. I told him that he shouldn’t. He can see Pete some other time.”

  Uncle Jerry was Mom’s older brother. He and his wife Doris had no children. Jabber was certain that that was the reason the friendship between Uncle Jerry and his nephews and niece had become such a tight bond. He was a hardware store manager, and often stopped by with a supply of groceries for his sister’s family.

  “I know what your check is each week,” he had said to her one day when she protested about his bringing the groceries. “Even with that insurance money you got from John’s death, you’ve had tough sledding. Don’t worry about me. Or Doris. She’s with me every bit of the way. If we weren’t able to help you out a little, we wouldn’t. So don’t worry about it. Okay?”

  He was a big bear of a man, and as an ex—football player he took an avid interest in the athletic activities of his two nephews.

  “Mom,” Jabber said, “has Uncle Jerry said anything about my playing soccer?”

  “Well — yes, he has.”

  “He doesn’t like the idea, does he?”

  She shrugged. “Well, figure it out for yourself. He played football. And your father played football.”

  “And Pete plays football,” Karen added aggressively. “So what? Just because they played football does Jabber have to follow in their footsteps? Horseradish! He’s got a mind of his own. He should do what he wants.”

  Jabber stared at her, startled. She usually didn’t speak up on his behalf so boldly.

  “Let’s drop the subject,” suggested Mrs. Morris. “The last thing I need is a headache over this silly discussion.”

  Karen looked at her, grim faced. “Silly? Mom, I know as well as you do that none of you like the idea of Jabber’s playing soccer. I’ve heard you say at least two or three times that Daddy would have liked to see Jabber play football, too, if he were going into any sport at all. Now, didn’t you say that?”

  Mrs. Morris fixed her eyes on her daughter. She wasn’t angry, but it wouldn’t take much more for her to arrive at that point. “Yes, I said that, Karen,” she said. “But you don’t know everything, my dear daughter. Jerry told me that he’ll help pay for part of Pete’s college expenses, and also Javis’s, but he would like to see Javis play football.”

  “And if ‘Javis’ doesn’t play football?” Karen’s eyes flashed. She hardly ever called Jabber by his actual name.

  “He’ll still help pay for it,” answered Mrs. Morris. She appeared calm, but Jabber knew she was trying hard to hold back her emotions. “Your uncle is not inhuman, Karen. He cares for all of you. He just would be happier if Javis, like Pete, would follow in your father’s footsteps. That’s all.”

  “When did Uncle Jerry say he’d help pay for Pete’s and my college expenses, Mom?” asked Jabber curiously.

  “A few weeks ago. Maybe a month.”

  “And you said it was okay?”

  “No. I said it wasn’t okay. I told him there were scholarships available for children whose fathers were dead. But he said he’d help anyway. You should know your uncle. If he says he’ll help pay, he’ll help pay.”

  “He’s the greatest,” said Pete, smiling.

  Jabber looked out the window. Dusk was falling fast. The forecast was for rain, and colder that night.

  It was a miserable day, he thought. In more ways than one.

  4

  Birch Central won the game on Saturday, 28 to 24. Pete scored a touchdown on a thirty-four-yard run, and set up another one when he caught a sixteen-yard pass from his quarterback.

  Uncle Jerry hadn’t been able to sell his tickets to the Cornell-Colgate game, so he had gone to it alone. He called later, saying that Cornell had squeezed out a 15-to-14 victory over Colgate, and that Aunt Doris had caught a cold.

  “At least that’s what she said to me,” Uncle Jerry said to Jabber over the telephone. “But she coughs so much from smoking so many cigarettes a day I don’t know whether it’s really a cold, or an excuse to stay home.”

 
Jabber laughed. Uncle Jerry always said that his wife had two vices, one of which was smoking. He never said what the second one was, and Jabber suspected that keeping it a secret was just meant to tease Aunt Doris.

  Jabber had a math test on Monday morning, and still had several problems to go when the period was over. Mrs. Williams gathered up his paper with the rest of the students’ anyway.

  “How do you think you did?” Mose asked him as they left the classroom.

  “I think I flunked,” said Jabber.

  “Flunked? I thought it was a snap.”

  “You would. You’re a genius.”

  “Oh, sure. One day I grab a ninety-two in a math test, and I’m a genius. If I had half your brain —”

  “You’d be twice as dumb as I am,” said Jabber.

  In math class the next morning he found out that he had predicted correctly. He had flunked. His mark was a disappointing 63.

  Mrs. Williams called him to her desk after class.

  “That sixty-three mark seemed to be the work of another boy, not you, Javis,” she said. She was one of the very few people — besides his mother — who called him by his actual name. “Didn’t you study for the test? I warned you about it last Thursday.”

  “I studied for it,” he said.

  “But not enough, right?”

  “Right,” he answered.

  “We’re having another one Friday,” she reminded him flatly. “It’ll be a review of what we’ve learned during the last four weeks. I hope that you’ll be able to bone up on it by then. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He was glad that she didn’t start asking him personal questions to determine why he had gotten such a low mark. He didn’t know himself.

  Liar, he thought. You know darn well why you didn’t get a better mark than a crummy sixty-three.

  The reason for it was soccer, and the hassle caused by his choice to play it instead of football. All the rest of his family, except Karen, thought he should play football because Dad had played in college. And Dad was dead.

  An automobile crash took the lives of three community leaders last night as they headed for home from New York and got caught in the storm that hit them just south of Buffalo. Their car slid off the icy road and slammed head-on into a tree.

  Only the driver, Edgar Mills of 213 Willow Street, Birch Valley, survived. The others, John Morris, vice-president of Adams Electric . . .

  His picture was above the newspaper article. A good-looking, broad-shouldered man. Tough, but kind. Firm, yet gentle.

  He never told me he wanted me to play football, thought Jabber. Never.

  Yet Mom and Pete made Jabber feel guilty because he didn’t play football. Even Uncle Jerry’s offer to help with college expenses, as good and kind as it was, made him feel guilty, too.

  Darn it! Maybe I shouldn’t play any sport at all! he thought disgustedly. Maybe I should just be a spectator!

  He went to soccer practice after school. At the other field, which Jabber could see from the soccer field, the varsity football team was working out, too.

  Coach Pike drilled them on one-on-one dribbling, then one-on-two, then on corner kicks. It was a cold day, and the wind was nippy. Only by running around was Jabber able to keep warm.

  He got bone-tired after a while, and he didn’t have a chance to rest. From then on he took it easy, moving fast only when he had to.

  The football team finished before the soccer team did, and Pete stopped by and watched until the soccer team’s practice was over. He didn’t have to wait long. He and Jabber walked off the field and to the locker room together. They got out of their uniforms, showered, and dressed.

  “I’m starved,” Jabber said as they left the school. “I hope that Mom has some big juicy steaks for us. Or even hot dogs and sauerkraut.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” said Pete. “I think this is hamburger night.”

  “Yeah — well, I can go for them, too.”

  They walked for a while without saying anything. Jabber felt that Pete was deep in thought about something. Pete wasn’t one to dwell in silence very long.

  It came out finally.

  “Funny thing happened today,” he said. “Coach Pearce asked me about you.”

  “He did?” Jabber’s eyebrows arched. “Why?”

  “He heard you’re playing soccer, and wondered why you didn’t go out for football.”

  “Oh, man,” said Jabber. “Everybody in this world is wondering why I didn’t go out for football instead of soccer. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. What could I tell him?” Pete was silent for a moment. “Anyway, I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

  Jabber looked at him. He met Pete’s eyes. They were serious. Sometimes he had seen his mother’s eyes looking like that.

  “Football is the game to get into, man,” said Pete. “For us, anyway. You and me. Basketball is out, because neither one of us will ever get much over six feet tall. And we’re just so-so in baseball. But in football we’ve got a chance. We’ve got a chance to play college football, then maybe go into the pros and clean up. There’s money being tossed around like leaves for the football player who makes it big. Even if neither one of us becomes another Joe Montana or Emmitt Smith, we might still make extra bucks doing TV commercials, or endorsing shaving creams.”

  “Or deodorant.”

  “So what? It’s still greenbacks. I don’t know, Jabber. You must be out of your mind. You really must.”

  “I’m doing what I want to do,” replied Jabber. “Do you know how few guys make the pros? Why do you think either one of us would make even one lousy commercial? I want to play for the fun of playing.”

  “But you’ve got to make a living sometime.”

  “I know. But I don’t have to make it playing football.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Pete, somewhat disgustedly. “You know that? I really don’t believe it.”

  “Then let’s not talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay. But one more thing,” said Pete. “I see you haven’t bought new soccer shoes yet.”

  “Not yet,” said Jabber. “But I will soon.”

  “Wish you’d hold off,” said Pete. Then he smiled and poked his brother gently on the shoulder. “Hey, man. How about coming with me to Knob Hill on Saturday?”

  All at once there was a complete change in Jabber’s attitude.

  “Hang-gliding?” he asked.

  “What else?” Pete grinned.

  “Okay. I’ll go with you,” Jabber promised, happy that at last they had gotten off the subject of soccer versus football.

  5

  Jabber spent Wednesday and Thursday evenings studying for the math test on Friday. On the day of the test he sweated over the problems. It seemed that half of them were problems he hadn’t studied about at all.

  Now and then he looked up and saw Mrs. Williams’s fierce blue eyes fastened on him. That made him more nervous than ever. He didn’t know how he finished the test before the buzzer sounded, but he did.

  “Wow!” said Mose as they left the room for their next class. “What a humdinger that was! I’ll be lucky to get sixty!”

  “I’ll be lucky if she’ll have me back in class,” said Jabber.

  Mose looked at him. “I’d be lucky if she wouldn’t have me back in class!” he quipped.

  Mose talked as if he didn’t have a brain in his head. But he was an A student, racking up marks in the nineties most of the time. Playing soccer didn’t seem to affect his studies a bit.

  Pete was late coming home that afternoon. Maybe the football team was practicing, reflected Jabber. But that seemed unlikely. The team had never practiced on Fridays before.

  Pete arrived home at last, an hour later than usual. The look on his face indicated that he was unhappy about something.

  “Where have you been, Pete?” asked his mother. “It’s almost suppertime.”

  “I lost my wallet and was searching for it,” he answered,
his jaw set with anger. “Tony Dranger and a couple of guys and I were playing touch football on the school grounds, and I must have lost it then. We all looked for it, but couldn’t find it.”

  “Did you have any money in it?” asked Karen.

  “Seventy-five bucks. Every dollar I had.”

  “Seventy-five bucks?” Karen echoed. “Why were you carrying that much money with you?”

  “I was going to stop at Smitty’s Sport Shop on the way home and buy me a pair of shoes. Football shoes.”

  Jabber stared at him.

  Pete shrugged. “That’s right, brother,” he said. “After you mentioned that you were going to buy a pair of soccer shoes, I looked at my football shoes and figured I could stand a new pair myself. So — down the drain go the shoes, and somebody else is richer by seventy-five smackers.”

  “Was anybody around?” asked Karen.

  “No one that I saw,” Pete replied.

  Jabber looked sympathetically at his brother. Seventy-five dollars, that wasn’t hay. Now Pete would probably have to look for a part-time job to earn his money back.

  They went to Knob Hill after lunch on Saturday with Tony Dranger. Tony, a senior at Birch Central, had a driver’s license and a beat-up car that seated ten if it had to. They had two hang-gliders strapped to the roof.

  Two other guys and two girls were already on the hill, flying hang-gliders in a wide sweeping turn over the valley below. The hill was steep, making it easy for takeoffs and flying. Jabber had already flown a few times, but not ascending higher than twenty feet or so. Pete and Tony were more experienced, having flown dozens of times and reaching altitudes of six hundred to seven hundred feet.

  Tony parked the car in a lot below the hill. Then he and Pete removed the gliders from the roof and started to carry them up the steep incline.