Soccer Duel Read online

  Today was Bryce McCormack's day, and there seemed to be nothing Renny could do about it.

  18

  Man, you were amazing! That's the best I've ever seen you play!” Eric Dornquist said to Bryce as they downed sports drinks at halftime.

  Bryce felt as if he were dreaming. All through the first half, he'd seen the whole field at once, as though he were hovering over it. Somehow, he knew where to go, which way to dribble, when to fake, and when to bull ahead. He'd been patient with his shots and unselfish in his passing. “Yeah, I guess I played pretty good.”

  “The game's not over!” Coach Hickey barked at him. But Bryce could see he was smiling. “Keep your heads in it, and we'll win it!” He patted Bryce s shoulder. “That's my boy,” he said fondly.

  Bryce grinned.

  When play resumed, he focused his energy out onto the field, muscling the opposing players aside to get control of the ball. Once he had it, he passed it off to the midfielders and tried to get open for the pass. Soon he was back in the groove.

  On the next play, he made a quick pass to Eric, then scooted ahead to receive the return pass. He got there just in time, and right near the goal. The shot was easy, too. Right past the goalie before he could even leave his feet.

  Bryce let out a whoop as he ran back into position to await the start of play. Why had he been so worried all this time? Renny Harding was an okay player, but put Bryce's best game against Benny's and it was no contest!

  The final score was 6-2. Bryce had scored three goals and assisted on the other three. This time it was he, not Renny Harding, who was carried off the field on the shoulders of his teammates. Renny had finished the day with one measly goal and one assist.

  They were even now. Each boy had had one great game and one lousy one. Each team had beaten the other convincingly. The series was knotted at a game apiece, with everything riding on tomorrow's contest.

  “It's gonna be another blowout,” Bryce told his teammates quietly as they gathered around the coach.

  “Let's not let them get back into it now,” Coach Hickey told his team. “We've got the momentum; let's not give it up. Play the same game tomorrow as you did today, and we'll be the champions.”

  The team gave a huge cheer that was echoed back to them by their fans. Bryce looked up into the stands, where all the parents were sitting. A lot of them were clapping encouragement, calling out their kids' names. Some of them were even waving to him, calling out his name, even though he wasn't their kid.

  That was nice, Bryce thought. They all cared about him because he was a good athlete. But they didn't really know him. Would they still like him if they did?

  Suddenly, Bryce found himself thinking about his dad. That long, dark; scraggly hair hanging straight down behind his ears. The smile with the deep-set eyes and the crooked teeth. He'd been such a cool dad when Bryce was little. Now he hadn't had a phone call from him in almost two months and hadn't seen him in more than a year. Why had he gone?

  Bryce blinked back the tears, angry at himself for letting the memories overcome him. He should be celebrating, but instead he was down in the dumps. What did it all matter, if your parents weren't there to see how well you'd done?

  “Hey, kid!” Bryce turned around at the sound of the voice behind him. He knew that voice. It was Coach Harrelson!

  “That was some mighty fine soccer you played out there today,” he told Bryce.

  ‘Bryce tried to say thanks, but nothing came out, so he just nodded.

  “You seem pretty glum. Anything the matter?” the coach asked, his brow furrowing.

  Bryce shook his head and smiled.

  “Good,” Coach Harrelson said. “You should be proud of yourself today. Not many boys have your kind of talent, and if you can keep using your head the way you just did, I see great things in your future. Great things.” He stuck out his hand.

  Bryce reached out and shook it. “Th-thanks, sir!” he managed to say.

  “I'll be back to see you tomorrow. Good luck out there.” The coach winked, then turned and walked away.

  Bryce was floating on air. He looked across the field and caught sight of Renny walking away, looking down at the ground as he went. He was alone. Apparently his parents hadn't come to see him play, either.

  To his surprise, Bryce found himself feeling sorry for Renny — and angry at himself for messing up what could have been a great friendship. Right then and there, he vowed that if he ever got the chance, he'd make Renny see that he was sorry for having betrayed him.

  19

  Renny had just gotten off the phone with Jordan Woo. For half an hour, he'd been trying to convince Jordan that the Hornets still had a chance to win the championship. “Not unless Bryce comes down with appendicitis or something!” Jordan had moaned.

  “Did you see him today? Forget it!”

  “We've beaten them two out of three,” Renny pointed out. “I just had a bad game, that's all.”

  “You? You had a bad game? I don't call getting two goals a bad game. Ha! I wish I could score a goal just once!”

  “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. “Ab
out 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

  The 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.”