End Zone (9 page)

Fiorilla was tackled at the Pulaski thirty. There were three minutes left in the game, and now it was the Eagles who had the last, best chance of winning in regulation.

Ronde could only stand and watch as the Eagles' offense took over. Hayden handed off to Tiki, who fought through the mob of defenders and dragged two of them down to the twenty-two.

But then the Wildcat defense held firm, batting away two straight passes.

It was Costa time. Adam trotted onto the field, looking calm and collected. Ronde grinned. Nothing ever rattled that guy—at least not on the football field. Sure enough, he split the uprights, giving the Eagles a 17–14 lead with just two minutes left to play.

Pulaski got a big runback out of the kickoff, and started out near midfield. They surprised the Eagles with a run on first down, and Ronde gritted his teeth as the officials spotted the ball at the Eagle thirty-eight.

Another ten yards and the Wildcats would be in range of a tying field goal.

He couldn't let that happen! He
wouldn't.

On first down, he blitzed, doing a complete 360 to avoid the running back's block. He slammed into Jeremy Halper only a second after he got the pass off. Lying on top of the Pulaski QB, he heard the roar.

He sprang up to see Justin Landzberg running with the ball! Because of Ronde's pressure, Jeremy Halper had thrown an interception!

Justin was brought down at the Eagle forty, and the crowd went wild. Eagles' players hugged one another and jumped up and down. With only thirty seconds left, they'd just cemented their biggest victory yet!

That's when Ronde felt something hard bump into him.

“You guys cheat!” Jeremy Halper was yelling at him. “You stole this game!”

“Stole, nothing,” Ronde shot back, yanking off his helmet. “We won it fair and square. You're the ones who played dirty.”

Next thing he knew, Ronde felt Jeremy's fist crashing into his cheek. “OW!” he cried, stumbling backward.

Ronde saw red. Everything was blotted out, except the strong urge to hit Halper back.

“RONDE!” came a loud voice behind him—a voice he knew as well as his own.

Tiki put a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, man. It's
over.
We've got them beat. Don't take a stupid penalty now!”

Ronde forced himself to swallow hard and contain his fury. Looking around, he saw the officials trying to separate other players who were yelling at one another. Apparently, he and Jeremy weren't the only ones close to fighting.

No flags were thrown in the end, because the only punch thrown had been by Halper, and the officials had missed it.

The teams lined up, Adam kicked a squibber. The returner was buried by a half dozen Eagles, and the final gun sounded!

In the midst of the giddy celebration, Ronde saw Jeremy Halper slamming his helmet to the ground.

Ronde felt a twinge of embarrassment. He'd let the kid get away with hitting him.

Still, he was glad he hadn't punched Halper back. It could have cost the Eagles the game, or more probably, gotten Ronde suspended for the Eagles'
next
game. And that would have been too high a price to pay for the pleasure of getting even.

Tiki was right. Fighting never solved anything, anyway.

Ronde shook off the bad feelings and dove headlong into the wild celebration on Hidden Valley Field.

COOTIE HARRIS WAS THE STAR OF THE BIG PEP
rally held that Saturday evening at the school gym. The Eagles' mascot did flips, somersaults, and cartwheels, and led the bleacher creatures in Eagle cheers and songs.

Tiki and Ronde weren't new to pep rallies. There'd been one last year too, on the way to their state championship. But to Tiki, the rally he liked best was the one
after
they'd brought home the trophy.

Rallies like this one,
before
they'd even won the
league
championship, could only jinx a team. If they went on and won, great, but it was what everyone expected. If they
lost
, though . . .

Tiki thought back to the mirror breaking over Thanksgiving. He knew it was supposed to mean bad luck. He also knew that was just a superstition. But where did superstitions come from, he wondered? How did they get started? There must have been a real case of bad luck, way back in the day, for people to start talking about it, right?

And the mirror hadn't been the end of things either. Ronde's lucky penny went missing the week after, and twice, Tiki's path had been crossed by a black cat.

“Hey, Tiki . . .”

“Huh? What?” Tiki stared up into Cootie's concerned face.

“You okay, dude?”

“Y-yeah. Why?”

“'Cause you look kind of spaced-out.”

“No, no, I'm okay, man. I'm fine. Fine!” He smiled and nodded to show that he was just as excited as the rest of them. Cootie, satisfied for the moment, turned away, back to the business of working up the crowd.

Soon, Tiki fell back into his own private thoughts. Manny had been knocked out of his quarterback spot for the last two games. They'd somehow managed to win without him. But just today, Manny had told them he was still on the disabled list—doctor's orders.

So Hayden Brook was going to be the man again, for the third game in a row.
Well, at least he has some big-game experience now,
thought Tiki, looking over at Hayden.

The kid looked confident, all right. He was already being treated like a star by most of the kids in school—especially his fellow eighth graders. Three cute girls surrounded Hayden now—two of them cheerleaders. Hayden was beaming with pride.

Tiki suddenly had a sinking feeling—one he'd had
before. Sure it was good to be confident—but Hayden looked
way too
confident.

North Side had a record of 11–1, and they'd done it all with their defense. The Rockets had a ferocious pass rush and good cover guys. Hayden would really be up against it this Wednesday.

Tiki thought of the broken mirror again. Was the bad luck Manny going down? If so, it hadn't hurt the Eagles—yet.

•  •  •

Monday at lunch, the team's tables in the corner of the cafeteria were mobbed with people. Hayden was holding court, telling everyone about certain plays in the Pulaski games—plays featuring heroics by
him
.

He wasn't bragging, exactly, Tiki thought. He sounded humble, saying how scared he was when those big guys were coming at him—but
still
 . . .

Two girls were holding up a banner that said, E
AGLES
—S
TATE
C
HAMPS
A
GAIN
!

That did it. Tiki felt the anger rising inside him as he went over to them and said, “Put that thing away.”

“Huh?”

“Why?” The two girls looked disappointed, but they lowered the banner and started rolling it up. “What's wrong with it?”

“We're not state champs again, that's what's wrong with it,” Tiki said. “We're not even league champs yet. All you're gonna do with that is jinx the team.”

The two girls looked hurt, and Tiki felt sorry he'd said it in such a mean way. But he still thought it was wrong to act like champs before you were champs. Wrong—and bad luck, too.

“Hey, give 'em a break, Tiki,” Paco said. “Everybody knows who the best team is. Right, yo?”

A cheer went up from everyone around.

“Maybe so,” Tiki said. “But we've still got to win the games.”

“Oh, yeah,” Rob Fiorilla said, grinning and nodding. “That's right.”

“We're gonna stomp North Side,” Cootie said, holding his arms skyward, as if he were the one who was going to do the stomping.

Tiki laughed and shook his head. Cootie had to weigh in at about 120 pounds—in
shoes.

“Those Rockets are gonna fizzle!” Justin Landzberg said, making a raspberry sound that had everyone cracking up.

Tiki shook his head again. This was more than he could take. If he couldn't stop them all from crowing, he didn't want to be here.

Turning his back on the celebration, he went to the food line, got his lunch, and ate alone in a far corner of the cafeteria.

He didn't really blame his teammates for feeling good—no, not good,
great.
They'd come through, minus
their star QB, against Pulaski, their archrivals—twice in a row. They had every right to crow about it—especially the young ones who'd stepped up to the plate when the Eagles' stars were neutralized.

Tiki didn't want to spoil their good time—that's why he'd sat at this empty table, far away from “Eagle Corner.”

He didn't know why he felt so anxious. Was it really the broken mirror and the black cats? Or was the constant pressure starting to get to him?

He was well aware that he'd run for only twenty-three yards in the last game against Pulaski. Was he losing his magic touch? Or was it the curse of the broken mirror?

North Side's D was even better than the Wildcats'. How was he going to be able to carry his team to the League Championship?

It didn't make it any easier that everyone was counting on him.

He thought about Ronde. Where
was
his twin, anyway? He hadn't shown up at lunch yet.

Tiki wondered if Ronde was feeling the same sense of impending doom. . . .

•  •  •

That night, both Tiki and Ronde had to study for finals. They sat at the kitchen table, papers and books strewn all around them.

It didn't help. Neither boy could really concentrate on his schoolwork.

“Where were you at lunch?” Tiki asked.

“I was studying,” Ronde said. “In the auditorium.”

“Really? Since when do you ever do that?”

Ronde sighed. “Well, I didn't really want to come to lunch and sit around yukking it up with the guys and all,” he explained.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Tiki was not surprised that Ronde shared his distaste for the strutting and goofing around. This was a serious time for all of them—or it should have been, anyway.

“What's gonna happen with Hayden if things start to go wonky against the Rockets?” Tiki wondered.

“I don't know,” Ronde said, shaking his head. “He's gone a little off the deep end, hasn't he?”

It wasn't really a question, so Tiki didn't bother to answer.

“You know,” Ronde finally said, “he's a pretty good player. He can be as good as Manny, in his own way.”

“Manny's a proven gamer,” Tiki said. “That counts for something, even though it doesn't show up in the statistics.”

“True.” Ronde tapped a book rhythmically with his pencil. “Well, we'd better get back to work.”

“Yeah . . .”

Neither boy did, though. They were still talking football when their mom came home from work at nine o'clock. They were so absorbed in conversation that they didn't even say “hi.”

“Are you all talking football?” she asked, dropping her bag on the floor and putting her hands on her hips. “Is that what you call studying?”

“Aw, Mom,” Ronde said. “It's too hard to concentrate, with the big game coming up on Wednesday.”

“Too hard to concentrate?” she repeated. “What about your big test you've got Tuesday—as in, tomorrow?”

“Ronde's right, Ma,” Tiki said. “We've been trying, but it's impossible!”

“Let me remind you boys of something you might not want to hear,” she said, leaning against the counter wearily. “Do you see how tired I am? I worked two jobs today, just to make enough to pay the rent here and put food on the table and clothes on our backs.”

Tiki and Ronde looked down at the table. Tiki knew his mom worked hard. He wished she didn't have to work two jobs, that she could make enough from just one job to support the family.

“I want you boys to get good grades and go to college,” she said. “Grades are more important than championships. A championship is nice to remember years later—but good grades lead to making a better living for the
rest
of your
life
. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, Mom,” they both answered.

“Good. Now get back to your books—and don't give me any more of this ‘impossible' nonsense.”

Tiki and Ronde knew she was right—but right now,
grades didn't
feel
as important as a championship. Nevertheless, they both finally got down to it, and managed to really study for an hour before bedtime.

•  •  •

That hour of study helped them get B's and A's on all their finals, and on Wednesday they marched into the locker room together feeling pretty good about themselves.

That feeling disappeared when they saw how their teammates were acting before the big game.

Three of them were throwing water at one another out of paper cups, laughing and giggling. Two others were play-wrestling.

“Yo!” Tiki yelled.

“Tiki!” they all greeted him. “Ronde! Yo!”

“Hey, settle down, you guys,” Ronde told them.

“Yeah, we've got a game to get ready for,” Tiki added.

“This game is in the bag!” Alister Edwards said. “We've got Rio back, dudes!”

Rio Ikeda grinned, showing them his ankle, which was wrapped in an ace bandage. “No limping!” he reported, giving them a thumbs-up.

“And we've got Manny for the regionals!” Justin told them. “His doctor just gave him the okay to play.”

That really was good news, Tiki had to admit—
if,
that is, the Eagles
got
that far. First they had to win today's game against North Side. And the Eagles seemed to think it was going to be an easy victory.

Fine, so long as they got out to an early lead, thought Tiki. But what if they didn't? How would the Eagles react if their confidence got shaken?