Soccer Duel Page 2

  “Ah, we're here!” Norm said as they walked into the air-conditioned coolness of Conroy's. Renny led the way to the bar, and they plunked down on a pair of red rotating stools.

  “What'll it be?” asked Conroy, a big bald man with a fringe of white hair and a walrus mustache. Renny didn't know if Conroy was his first or last name; everyone just called him Conroy. Conroy's place was more than just a luncheonette — it was a piece of the past. It sold old-fashioned candy by the pound and served homemade ice cream. On the back wall was a huge painting of a farm that made it seem as if you were looking out the front windows of a farm-house, watching cows munching on grass and chickens pecking the ground.

  “Two ice-cream sodas — choco-van,” Renny said.

  “The usual, huh?” Conroy said with a laugh. He got busy making their sodas.

  “So go on,” Norm said. “You were saying how soccer is just like chess?”

  “Okay, what I mean is, they're both popular all over the world and they both use strategy.”

  “You could say that about a lot of things,” Norm pointed out. “But I could never be good at soccer.”

  “Who said you have to be good at something to appreciate it?” Renny argued. “For instance, that second goal I scored today—”

  “Oh boy, here we go again,” Norm interrupted. “You score a couple of goals, and now I have to hear about it forever. No, go ahead, I insist. It's all so fascinating.”

  Renny frowned. Norm didn't realize what a big day this had been for him. “All season, I've been sitting on the bench, Norm. You ought to know what that feels like.”

  “Oh, I do,” Norm said. “That's why I don't play soccer.”

  Useless, Renny realized. Norm was never going to get it about soccer. Too bad. If he really understood the game, he'd see that you had to think ahead, to anticipate your opponent's next move and outma-neuver the other guy — just like in chess.

  Conroy put their ice-cream sodas in front of them. “Enjoy,” he said with a smile, and went over to deal with another group of customers. Looking up, Renny saw that one of them was Bryce McCormack.

  “Ugh. I hate that kid Bryce,” Norm said softly. “He once bounced a soccer ball off the back of my head in third grade.”

  For a second, Renny felt the urge to laugh, picturing the ball ricocheting off Norm's head. But he stifled himself, realizing with a pang how much it must have hurt Norm's feelings. “That was a long time ago,” he said instead. “Maybe he's changed.”

  “Yeah? Well, I'll tell you one thing — it's never going to happen again, because I'm never getting on another soccer field, and I don't think I'll be getting into advanced P.E. any time soon.”

  Renny looked over Norm's shoulder at Bryce, who glanced up and saw him. “Hey!” Bryce called out with a smile and a wave. “How you doin'?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Renny said, surprised.

  Bryce gave Conroy his order, then got up and came slowly over to Renny and Norm. “Nice game today,” he told Renny, offering his hand.

  Renny was taken off guard. He would have thought he was the last person Bryce would want to talk to, seeing as how he'd just helped ruin the Yellow Jackets' undefeated record. But it seemed just the opposite; Bryce appeared eager to talk to him.

  So Renny shook Bryce's hand. ‘Thanks,” he replied.

  “Scuse me,” Norm mumbled, slipping off his stool. “I've gotta go to the bathroom,” From behind Bryce's back, Norm made like he was throwing up.

  Bryce didn't notice. “Excellent game,” he told Renny, nodding his head seriously.

  “Thanks,” Renny said, flattered. He'd been congratulated a lot in the past few hours, and getting hoisted on his teammates' shoulders was something he would never forget. But hearing it from Bryce, arguably the league's best player, meant a lot.

  Renny noticed Bryce squinting at him in a weird way, as if he was sizing him up. Suddenly, Renny felt uncomfortable, and a little scared. “You played good, too,” he offered.

  “Not good enough,” Bryce said flatly. “You played better than me.”

  Now what am I supposed to say to that? Renny wondered. “I don't know about that….” he said, feeling his face redden.

  “Your team won, didn't it?” Bryce insisted. “That means you played better, bottom line — that's it; no buts.” He squinted at Renny again. “So, how come I never heard you could play?”

  “Well, I've only lived here for eight months,” Renny explained. “I played center striker where I used to live, but, you know… here, I ride the bench because the Hornets have Isaac Mendez.”

  “Had Isaac Mendez,” Bryce corrected, shaking his head. “His ankle's broken. You can forget about him this season.”

  Renny hadn't heard the news, and suddenly he was in a confusion of emotion. He felt terrible for Isaac but elated at the same time. He was now second-string center striker, right behind John Single-man. From now on, for at least a few minutes every game, he would actually get to play las favorite position!

  Guilt washed over Renny. Only a real lowlife would be happy to hear that Isaac's ankle had been broken.

  Bryce must have read Renny's expression wrong, because he said, “Don't worry about losing Isaac. The way you played, your team still has a shot at the play-offs You beat us, right?”

  There was something strange in the tone of Bryce's voice. Something angry, something unsatisfied. But it quickly passed. “Anyway, like I said, you're really good, Harding. It was painful watching you beat us.”

  Bryce smiled then — a real smile. “They should have put me in on defense. I would have stopped you.” He clapped Renny on the shoulder. “See you in the play-offs, huh?”

  “Hope so,” Renny said. They gave each other five, and Bryce went back to his stool at the far end of the bar.

  Renny sipped his ice-cream soda and stared straight ahead, imagining the future…. He was the star center striker of the Blue Hornets … they were in the play-offs, fighting it out against Bryce McCormack's Yellow Jackets. The two stars were best friends off the field, archrivals on it… .

  Norm returned from the bathroom. “What did jerko want?” he asked, bending over his straw and sipping his soda.

  “Just to tell me ‘good game, ’“ Renny said.

  “He's up to something,” Norm warned Renny. “Trust me; I've known him longer than you.”

  “Come on, Norm. Lighten up, will you? Lose the black cloud.” He gave Norm a gentle push on the arm, sending him spinning around on his stool.

  But for an instant, as he thought about what Norm had said, Renny wondered if his chess-playing friend might be right. Something about that tone in Bryce's voice …

  4

  Well? What do you think?” Eric Dornquist asked as Bryce sat back down on his stool. “Is the kid for real or not?”

  Bryce gave his teammate a long look and a slow smile. Then he waved to Renny Harding and his nerd friend Norm, who were leaving Conroy's. Bryce smiled wider, remembering how funny Norm had looked that time in third grade when he'd hit him in the head with a soccer ball.

  Bryce swiveled back around to look at Eric. “Harding's a one-shot wonder,” he said. “He took us by surprise, that's all. Once people realize he's fast and start paying attention to him, he won't be able to get off a good shot. Even if he does, he doesn't get much on the kick. I mean, just look at him. He's not exactly gigantic.”

  Eric laughed. Bryce relaxed and enjoyed the moment. He remembered how thrilled Renny had been that Bryce had even talked to him. Ha! That smile when he'd told the kid how great he was? The kid would be a pushover if they ever met on the field again.

  “No, I'm pretty sure today's game was a fluke. Come on — the kid wasn't even second-string on his team!” Bryce laughed. “Anyway, we'd better get the word out, so the other teams know about him.”

  “Who are they playing next?” Eric asked.

  Bryce took out the schedule he always kept in his back pocket. It had taken a beating over the long weeks of the season, but i
t was still semi-readable.

  “Only two more regular-season games,” Bryce said. “They play the Red Scorpions and the Orange Crush.” The sly smile broke out on his face again. “No way they make the play-offs. They have to beat both those teams, and there is no possible way, now that Isaac Mendez is out for the season.”

  “You're sure Renny Harding doesn't pose a threat?” Eric asked.

  Bryce smiled. “As sure as I'm sittin' here. I'm gonna stick around after our game next week, just to watch him get stung by the Scorpions. Yeah. I'm gonna enjoy seeing that.”

  Bryce threw some money down on the bar to cover his ice-cream soda, then left Conroy's. It was time to head back home. He had some phone calls to make.

  “Hey, McCormack!” A strong hand grabbed Bryce by the shoulder and spun him around.

  “Jake Henry!” Bryce shook hands with Crestmont. High School's all-star goalie. Jake was only a sophomore, but he was already starting for the varsity squad and was on his way to being all-county.

  “Listen — who are you playin' next week?”

  “The Black Jacks,” Bryce told him. “We'll mop the floor with them. Why?”

  “You'd better play good, dude. ‘Cause Coach Harrelson is gonna be there.”

  “Coach Harrelson?” Bryce straightened up, paying close attention now. “He's coming to see the Town League games?”

  “He's scouting for this fall's junior varsity squad. And I told him to watch out for you; said you were center striker material.”

  Bryce felt his heart hammering. He grinned from ear to ear, proud as he could be. “Thanks!” he said to Jake.

  “De nada,” Jake said. “Don't mention it. You've got the goods. I didn't lie to the man.”

  “Cool,” was all Bryce could say. He could see himself now, a freshman starting for the junior varsity team at center striker!

  “Like I told you,” Jake added as he opened the door to Conroy's. “It's your big chance to impress him — so don't depress him, all right?”

  “I hear you,” Bryce said. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “Just be good. I talked the talk. Now you gotta walk the walk.”

  Jake disappeared inside. Bryce took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Coach Harrelson was coming to see him play! And Jake had already built him up way high — maybe too high, Bryce realized. It would have been better to surprise the coach, coming out of nowhere, with no expectations — the way that kid Renny had done it today.

  Now Coach Harrelson would already be expecting Bryce to play like a star. Bryce felt a coil of fear creep up his spine. He couldn't win! If he played great, the coach would have already been expecting it. And if he didn't play well? If he didn't score a single goal against the lowly Black Jacks?

  Bryce didn't even want to think about it. He trudged off toward home, the ice-cream soda he'd just finished churning in his stomach.

  5

  So in order to qualify for the championship round, your team simply has to win its last two games, is that it?”

  “You have the makings of a great team statistician!” Renny said, clapping Norm on the back. “We really need to know stuff like that, but we don't have time to figure it out.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Norm said. “Be grateful I'm coming along with you today,” The two boys walked side by side toward the field. It was the following Saturday, and Renny had finally talked Norm into watching him play.

  “Hey, isn't that Bryce McJerk on the field?” Norm asked, suddenly hanging back. “You told me he wasn't going to be here,”

  “I said we're not playing his team,” Renny corrected him. “His game must just be ending.”

  But it wasn't. It was only the start of the second half, as they soon found out. Play had been delayed because the ref's car wouldn't start that morning.

  “What's the score?” Renny asked John Singleman, who was standing on the sidelines.

  “Six-three Yellow Jackets,” John told him. “Bryce has four goals. Oops. Make that five.”

  A roar had gone up from one side of the field, where the Yellow Jackets and their fans were whooping it up. Bryce pumped his fists into the air and ran down the field, then went into a triumphant slide, shimmying to a stop.

  “That kid is a one-man team,” said a man standing next to Renny. The man wrote some notes on a pad he was carrying. He frowned and shook his head. Renny thought the man looked familiar.

  “Hey.” He nudged Norm. “Who's that guy?”

  “That guy?” Norm looked past Renny. ‘That's Coach Harrelson.”

  “The high school coach?” Renny breathed, turning to sneak another peek before the coach looked up from his pad.

  “He's checking out players for next year's junior varsity squad, I heard,” John Singleman said. “You play like you did last week and he's gonna notice.”

  Renny gave an embarrassed laugh. “I probably won't even play much. You're first-string now; I'm just subbing for you.”

  “Nuh-uh,” John said, shaking his head. “Didn't you hear? Coach is going with you first half. He's gonna ride the hot hand.”

  “Huh?” Renny couldn't believe his ears.

  “You're starting, man!” John told him. “I'm moving over to left wing to make room for you. Hey, I hear you were awesome last week!”

  Renny still couldn't believe he was starting. If only his mom or his dad were here!

  He looked again at Coach Harrelson. “He said Bryce McCormack was a one-man team,” he said to John Singleman.

  “Well, he is,” John acknowledged. “That kid is good. Trouble is, he knows it. Get what I mean?”

  “I get what you mean,” Norm broke in.

  Renny was too preoccupied to react to Norm's comment. He was starting at center striker today! He looked out onto the field, watching Bryce move with the ball, bowling over defenders with his combination of aggressiveness and size.

  “I could never be as good as him,” Renny murmured under his breath. “Plus he's got that killer shot.” As if to punctuate Renny's thought, Bryce put a monster shot past the goalie's left shoulder for his sixth goal of the game.

  Renny knew that his own strengths were his speed, his moves, and his ability to think ahead and be in the right place. Those were all good things, but could they substitute for size, aggressiveness, and a killer shot?

  Renny looked at Coach Harrelson, who was writing in his book again, shaking his head and frowning.

  “He can't believe how good Bryce is,” Renny whispered, awestruck. “Who could believe it? And Bryce is having the game of his life besides:”

  Renny sighed, wishing he were bigger, meaner, more of a banger, more like Bryce. It would have been nice to be the one Coach Harrelson wrote about in his little scouting book.

  6

  Bryce stood on the sidelines at the end of the game. He should have been celebrating, but instead he was feeling confused and a little hurt. He'd scored six goals — six goals! And Coach Harrelson had barely even congratulated him: “Nice job, son,” he'd told Bryce. “You're gonna be a good one.”

  What did he mean, “gonna be”? Bryce wondered. What was he right now — chopped liver? Six goals!

  The second game had started with barely a minute's break, because the whole day had been thrown behind schedule. Bryce noticed that Coach Harrelson had stayed to watch it.

  Bryce saw a soccer ball lying there and felt the urge to smash it a hundred yards down the field, but he restrained himself. Coach Harrelson had probably just gone easy on the compliments. He probably hadn't wanted Bryce to get a swelled head. Okay, he could handle that.

  Bryce glanced at Coach Harrelson. The JV coach was staring at someone on the field. Bryce followed his gaze downfield, where Renny was dribbling the ball into the Red Scorpions' zone.

  Renny was covered by three men. Bryce smiled humorlessly. The Scorpions must have heard about Renny's last game. “Try and score now, shrimp,” Bryce muttered softly.

  At the last minute, though, Renny deked right, drawin
g the defenders off balance, then passed a perfect thread-the-needle to his open left-winger, John Singleman. Singleman shot home the goal.

  Bryce grimaced.

  “Now that's unselfish play. Hey, McMaster who is that kid at center striker?”

  Bryce's gaze snapped back to Coach Harrelson.

  “Renny Harding,” the Blue Hornets' coach replied. “New in town this year. He's subbing for Isaac Mendez.”

  ‘The kid with the ankle? Too bad about that. I wanted to get a look at him. But this kid's pretty good! I like the way he found the open man.”

  Bryce could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears. That stupid kid Renny again! Stealing all the attention away from where it rightfully belonged. How many goals had Renny scored this season, anyway? Nowhere near his own total, that was for sure.

  As if he'd read Bryce's mind, Renny scored his first goal of the game moments later. It came off a give-and-go play, in which Renny passed off to John Singleman, then immediately rushed forward. The winger quickly kicked the ball back into Renny's path, and Renny faked the goalie out before guiding the ball home.

  “What a. lucky shot!” Bryce growled, his voice drowned out by the roar from the Hornets' sideline. “He barely got anything on it!”

  “Yes,” said a voice next to him. “But it still counts. Sometimes brute force isn't the best way to get what you want.”

  Bryce turned to see who had spoken, and saw Norm Harvey staring up at him with a huge grin. Bryce wanted to say something nasty to him, but Coach Harrelson was standing right there. Shut up, Bryce mouthed silently.

  “What? Can't hear you,” Norm said innocently.

  “… and he's not a hot dog like that other kid in the first game,” Bryce heard Coach Harrelson say.

  The words hit Bryce like a punch in the gut. Stung in every fiber of his being, he stormed off, promising himself that he would get even with Renny Harding, and his geeky friend Norm, too — if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Bryce stared at page 256 of his math textbook. He stared and stared. He hadn't done a problem for several minutes. He just sat there, thinking about that same horrible moment over and over again. Hearing Coach Harrelson's voice as he said, “Not a hot dog like that other kid,” meaning him, Bryce. His high school soccer career had ended right there. All his dreams right up in smoke. All because of that stupid Renny Harding!