Touchdown for Tommy Read online

  Tommy gave an extra spurt to his running.

  He went over! A touchdown!

  This time Fred made the extra point. The Pirates won the game — 13 to 7.

  Although he was happy to have made the touchdown, Tommy wasn’t as happy as the other members of the team. One touchdown wasn’t going to make up for all those mistakes he had made.

  13

  The football field wasn’t the only place where Tommy needed to show improvement. Tommy’s schoolwork was suffering. The report card he brought home for the quarter period proved it. Most of his marks were C’s. He even had one D. And in the space at the right, where the teacher wrote her comments, Ms. Bleam’s smooth handwriting said that Tommy had shown a lot of intelligence in his work at the beginning of the school year, but lately he seemed to lose interest. He could be a good student if he tried.

  Mrs. Powell read that and said, “What happened, Tommy? Why have you lost interest in your schoolwork?”

  Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. He did know, though. He was worried that the Powells might not want him after another month or so. How could anybody study and be smart in schoolwork with that on his mind?

  Mrs. Powell called Ms. Bleam on the telephone. She arranged to talk with Ms. Bleam in person the following evening.

  The next night, Mr. and Mrs. Powell left the house after supper. Tommy and Betty stayed home. They watched TV and played with Wag.

  “Do you like Ms. Bleam?” asked Betty.

  “Sure, I do,” said Tommy.

  “Maybe you should bring home your books to study,” Betty suggested.

  “Maybe,” said Tommy.

  “I do,” said Betty.

  Tommy didn’t answer.

  An hour later, Mr. and Mrs. Powell returned. They talked with Tommy in his room.

  “School is something we have all attended sometime in our lives, Tommy,” said Mrs. Powell softly. “Probably some of the things we must do make us unhappy. On the other hand, many things we do in school make us happy. The important thing is, though, that school prepares us for our later lives. We grow up and find our way into this big world of ours. We become doctors, or lawyers, or accountants, or painters, or professional football players, or any one of a thousand other things we choose to be. But only if we get the education we need when we’re young will we be prepared for the higher education that comes later on.”

  Tommy drank in her words. His mother had never talked to him like this.

  “Both Mr. Powell and I would like to see you grow up well prepared, Tommy. We’re both certain you can do better in school, because you have shown us around home that you’re a pretty smart young boy. Ms. Bleam thinks that if you study more, your marks will certainly go up. Isn’t that what you want, Tommy? To have your marks go up?”

  Tommy nodded. But he was thinking, too. You’re not going to keep me here, are you? You’re telling me this so that wherever I go from here I’ll try to behave myself, and study my lessons. You don’t really, really care, do you? You’re just telling me this because in a little while you’ll be rid of me. Somebody else will take care of me for a while. You just want me to remember that you have been nice to me. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Powell? Isn’t that so, Mr. Powell?

  They left him and went downstairs. Tommy undressed and went to bed. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

  He tried to study harder in school. He brought his books home and studied. One evening he stayed after school and came home on the late bus.

  “Where were you?” Mrs. Powell asked worriedly. “Detention?”

  “No,” replied Tommy. “Ms. Bleam wanted me to stay. She helped me with my lessons.”

  14

  On the last Thursday of October, the Thursday before the last football game, Tommy came home from school and picked Wag up in his arms. Wag licked his face.

  Mrs. Powell was busy making supper. She hardly looked at Tommy and Betty as they came in. She said, “Hello, kids,” and kept working.

  Tommy didn’t notice anything at first. Later he realized that Mrs. Powell wasn’t humming or singing to herself as she generally would. She was very quiet, as if something was on her mind.

  Finally Mr. Powell came home. He was his usual, cheerful self. After greeting everyone in the family he said, “Well, it’s our last practice session tonight, Tommy. Ready to go to the field?”

  “Anytime,” said Tommy.

  Mr. Powell changed his pants for an old pair. He put on his sweatshirt and heavy coat. He started to follow Tommy out of the door.

  “Oh, Bob?” said Mrs. Powell.

  Mr. Powell turned. “Yes?” he said.

  Mrs. Powell looked at Tommy and smiled. “Go ahead, Tommy,” she said. “Mr. Powell will be right out.”

  Tommy walked out, closing the door softly behind him. He frowned. What was the matter with Mrs. Powell? What was she acting so funny about? Was she telling Mr. Powell something that she didn’t want him to hear? Was it something about him?

  A minute later Mr. Powell came out of the house. He started the car and they drove to the field. Whatever Mrs. Powell had said to him stayed with him. But one thing was sure: He wasn’t as happy as he had been when he had first come home from work.

  The team practiced forward passes and brushed up on their plays. Mr. Powell explained to the boys a new play he wanted them to try in their final game Saturday. The play was similar to the end-around that they had used many times already.

  The team would line up in T-formation. The quarterback would receive the ball from the center, pivot, and give the ball to the left halfback. The halfback would run to the right and then cut sharply around the right end. In the meantime, each player had to take out his man and block him.

  The Pirates ran through the play half a dozen times. Finally two teams were picked. They scrimmaged. They worked the play.

  “Good!” said Mr. Powell. “Okay! Let’s try some pass plays!”

  After an hour of practice, the boys were tired and happy to go home. Tommy bathed and went to the supper table, his hair combed neatly back. He felt starved.

  They had ham, potatoes, and peas for supper. Mrs. Powell had baked a chocolate cake for dessert.

  At last supper was over. Dishes were done. Tommy went into the living room and sat down. Something was wrong. Everybody was too quiet. He watched television for a while, but he couldn’t get interested in the program.

  Why was everybody so quiet? Even Wag didn’t seem to be filled with the pep he usually had. What was going on?

  Tommy looked at Mr. Powell, but Mr. Powell was busy reading the evening paper.

  After a while Mrs. Powell came into the room. The paper rustled in Mr. Powell’s hands as he folded it and put it down.

  Mrs. Powell said, “Tommy, I — I have some news for you.”

  Tommy’s eyes widened. He stood up. “What is it, Mrs. Powell?” He tried to keep from shaking.

  “Mrs. Kilbourne called today. She said that she’ll be bringing over a married couple Sunday. They want to talk to you. They are interested in adopting a boy about your age.”

  Tommy’s breath caught in his throat. Suddenly what he had wanted to say for a long, long time poured out.

  “Why don’t you adopt me? I want to stay with you! Can’t you understand? I want to stay with you!”

  “I know you do, Tommy,” Mrs. Powell said gently. “And we want you, too.”

  Tommy stared. “You do?”

  “Yes, Tommy. But a foster home cannot adopt a child it is boarding. Except on rare occasions.”

  “You — you mean you can’t adopt me even if you wanted to?”

  “That’s right, Tommy. But we’re going to try. We’re going to try very, very hard to keep you with us.”

  15

  Tommy went to his room. He picked up a book and sat on a chair. The book was about football. He had read a few chapters of it already and loved it. But he could not get interested in the book now. All that filled his mind was Sunday.

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bsp; He had tried hard to do the right things. He guessed he did, because the Powells would like to keep him. Only now they probably couldn’t, because foster parents did not adopt the children they boarded. Except on rare occasions, Mrs. Powell had said. Did that mean that there was a chance they could adopt him?

  Presently the door, which Tommy had left partly open, squeaked open wider. Tommy looked up.

  “Wag!” he murmured.

  Wag trotted into the room. He looked at Tommy sadly, as if he knew that Sunday might be a tragic day for Tommy.

  Tommy picked Wag up in his arms. He stroked Wag’s thick shining fur.

  “Came to see me before I left, didn’t you, Wag?” said Tommy. “You know how I feel, don’t you? I hate to leave, but that isn’t up to me, Wag. It isn’t up to the Powells, either. Because they want me here. It’s up to somebody else now, Wag.”

  Wag licked Tommy’s chin. Tommy pressed the puppy against his neck. “Maybe I could take you with me, Wag, if I left. At least, we’d be together, then, wouldn’t we?”

  Tommy’s throat ached. He said nothing for a long while. He just sat and held Wag and did some thinking.

  Soon an idea popped into his mind. He would get the Powells something — something to show how he appreciated what they had done for him while he had been with them. Just in case the welfare people didn’t let them adopt him. He wished Mrs. Kilbourne had something to say about it. She’d let him stay with the Powells.

  Mr. Powell had tried to teach him good sportsmanship, too. Maybe I haven’t learned much, thought Tommy. But I must have learned some.

  Where was he going to get the money to buy them a gift, though? He couldn’t ask the Powells. He wanted this to be a surprise. And what should he buy them?

  What could he buy that wasn’t expensive but that all three of them would like?

  Tommy thought about those things far into the night as he lay in bed. He watched the moonlight on the window shade. He heard the heavy branches of the big oak tree in the backyard creak from the strong wind.

  After school on Friday, Tommy went over to David’s house. He told David that a married couple was coming to see him Sunday and that they might want to adopt him.

  David stared. “But you don’t have to go with them, do you, Tommy?” he asked.

  “I suppose not,” said Tommy. “But if the Powells can’t have me, it makes no difference where I go. I want to get something for Mr. and Mrs. Powell and Betty. They’ve been very nice to me. I can buy Betty a doll. But what shall I buy Mr. and Mrs. Powell?”

  “Let’s ask my mother,” said David. “She’ll help.”

  Mrs. Warren was surprised when David told her that some people were coming to see Tommy on Sunday and that they might want to adopt him. “So Tommy wants to buy each of the Powells a present,” said David. “What do you think he should get them, Mom?”

  She thought a while. “Well,” she said, “it depends on how much Tommy wants to spend. How much money do you have, Tommy?”

  Tommy blushed. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t have a penny.”

  “Then how —” Mrs. Warren paused.

  She smiled. “Tell you what. An advertisement came in the mail yesterday. Let’s look through it for ideas. We’ll decide what you want for the Powells, then we’ll figure on how you will earn the money to pay for it.”

  They looked through the pages of the advertisement. Finally Tommy decided on a shaving set for Mr. Powell and a set of earrings for Mrs. Powell. They could use those things. A doll for Betty wouldn’t cost much. Mrs. Warren added the costs together. The total was much higher than he’d expected.

  “Rats!” exclaimed Tommy, his hopes shattered. “I guess I won’t be able to buy anything for them. Where will I get that much money?”

  “You’ll earn it,” said Mrs. Warren. “Matter of fact, I know exactly what you can do for a starter. David, take Tommy downstairs with you. Gather up all those cans and bottles. I’ll give Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Burling both a ring. I’ll bet they haven’t recycled their cans and bottles in months. When you boys have everything ready, Mr. Warren will pile it into his pickup truck in the morning and take it to Lewiston for you. How does that sound?”

  Tommy smiled broadly. “Sounds great!” he said.

  “Okay. Get a move on. I’ll make those calls.”

  Tommy’s heart beat wildly. He raced out of the room and down into the basement after David.

  16

  Early Saturday morning Tommy asked Mr. and Mrs. Powell if he could go to Lewiston with Mr. Warren and David. David had asked him to go along, he said.

  “Of course, you may, Tommy,” said Mrs. Powell, smiling. “We’ll be gone from home for a while this morning, too. We’re going to see Mrs. Kilbourne and find out what we can do about having you become a member of our family.”

  Tommy gaped. “You are?”

  “Yes. We want you as much as you want us, Tommy. Maybe the welfare people will be kind enough to see things our way, and make all of us happy.”

  “I — I hope so!” breathed Tommy.

  Mr. Powell handed Tommy a duplicate key to the house, just in case he came home before they did. Then he squeezed Tommy’s shoulder playfully. “Be sure you’re back by game time.”

  “I will!” said Tommy with a laugh.

  The pickup truck was loaded with cans and bottles.

  “How much do you think they’ll bring in, Mr. Warren?” Tommy asked anxiously as they drove along the highway toward Lewiston.

  “It’s hard to tell,” replied Mr. Warren.

  Mr. Warren drove to the recycling yard. A tall, bushy-browed man stepped out of a small shack that had a sign over the door: OFFICE. Mr. Warren talked to him. Then he unloaded the cans and bottles as the man counted them. The man had a pad and pencil. He wrote figures on the pad each time he finished with a boxload.

  Finally all of the cans and bottles were counted. The man figured up the amount. “That’s a nice load,” he remarked. He told Tommy how much it was worth.

  Tommy stared. “That much?” he said.

  The man’s shaggy brows arched. “That’s what it comes to, son.”

  Mr. Warren grinned at him. “That should do it, shouldn’t it, Tommy?”

  “You bet!”

  In the pickup truck Mr. Warren handed Tommy the cash. “There’s your money,” he said, cracking a grin. “How does it feel to be a businessman?”

  “Good!” Tommy said. “But half the money really belongs to David.”

  “Well,” Mr. Warren said, “I suppose you could argue it that way, but we won’t. It’s all yours, Tommy!”

  “Oh thank you, Mr. Warren! Thank you, David!”

  They drove onto the main street in Lewiston. Mr. Warren parked the truck. The two boys and Mr. Warren then went into the store that had mailed out the advertisements.

  Tommy bought the doll, the shaving kit, and the earrings. He told the clerk to wrap them up separately.

  “May I buy some tags?” he asked Mr. Warren.

  “You sure can. Let’s get those next door.”

  Tommy bought tags on which to write names. When they returned home, Mrs. Warren wrapped each gift in beautiful wrapping paper. Tommy wrote the Powells’ names on the tags and fastened the tags to the gift boxes.

  Then he carried them to the house, unlocked the door, and put the packages in his room.

  He played with Wag while he waited patiently for the Powells. At noon the telephone rang. Tommy ran to it, his heart racing with excitement. He picked up the receiver.

  “Tommy?” a pleasant voice asked.

  “Yes. This is Tommy.”

  “This is Mr. Powell, Tommy. We won’t be home for a couple of hours yet. Get something out of the refrigerator for your dinner. And then go to the football field. I’ve already talked with Mr. Adams. Okay, Tommy?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Powell.”

  “We may have some good news for you, Tommy,” said Mr. Powell. “See you this afternoon.”

  17

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bsp; The crowd at the football game was the largest Tommy had ever seen. The sun shone brightly. People wore sweaters instead of coats. It was Indian summer weather.

  The Pirates were playing the Jets. When the game started, Tommy was on the bench.

  The Pirates won the toss. They chose to receive. The teams lined up and the Jets kicked off.

  David caught the ball on the twenty. He carried it to his thirty-five. He tried an end-around play, lost a yard, then threw a forward pass to Nicky Toma. Nicky snared it. He galloped for ten yards before a tackler brought him down.

  The Pirates rolled on to the Jets’ twenty-two-yard line, then were penalized fifteen yards for holding. Second and twenty-five. The ball was now on the Jets’ thirty-seven-yard line.

  Mr. Adams sent in Tommy. “Tell David to throw you a pass,” he said. “Make it good, fella!”

  “I’ll try!” cried Tommy.

  In the huddle Tommy told David what Mr. Adams had said.

  “Okay. Number sixteen. Let’s go.”

  The teams lined up. David barked signals. The ball snapped from the center. David caught it, ran back, and lifted the ball to his shoulder.

  Tommy shoved his man aside, then ran past him down the field. Two of the Jets’ backfield men started after him. Tommy raced toward the sideline. Underneath him a white stripe flashed by. Then another.

  David’s hand snapped forward. The ball sailed through the air in a spiral.

  Tommy stared. The throw was too far!

  Tommy picked up speed. He stretched out his hands. He ran faster — faster! And then the ball was zooming down … down.

  Faster! Run faster!

  The ball struck Tommy’s fingers. It bounced up. He had lost the ball!

  But, no! There it was, in the air again! He reached for it. He caught it and tucked it safely against his body.

  And then his feet couldn’t keep up with the forward motion of his body. He fell and rolled over.