First and Ten (8 page)

Matt could hardly contain himself on the sidelines. He wasn't playing, but it was almost more exciting to watch the end of this game. It was like some of those last-minute nfl cliffhangers that had mesmerized him on Sunday afternoons. The game was down to the wire.

The next two downs didn't go as well for the Stingers. James was sacked for a one-yard loss, and then Steve Chase dropped an easy seven-yard pass that he should have caught. That left third down with the Stingers desperately needing to keep the drive alive.

The large Central crowd was cheering, “DeeFence! DeeFence!” as the Stingers broke their huddle. Once again, James dropped back into the shotgun. He took the snap, began to roll to the right, but then he reversed his field and went left, away from his wall of blockers. Three Central defenders, including Pierce, were furiously bearing down on the South Side quarterback, who by now was on a dead run toward the left sidelines.

Just as it appeared certain that James was going to be caught by his pursuers for a huge loss, his left arm flashed forward. He had managed to get away a long pass down the left sidelines. The ball was headed on a high spiral toward Brown and the Wildcat defensive back who was still covering him tightly.

The two players went up for the ball and crashed violently into one another in midair. Matt and his teammates could hear the collision all the way over on the far sidelines. The ball tipped off Nate Brown's fingers, hung delicately in the air for what seemed like a second, and then it fell toward the ground. But the Stingers' receiver somehow managed to snake his left hand around the ball as he descended to the turf. Brown had made an unbelievable one-handed catch to move the Stingers to the Central fifteen-yard line.

The South Side bench was going crazy over the circus catch. But their celebration was short-lived. Although Brown had made a spectacular play, he had also injured himself. He was still lying on his back on the field as the officials spotted the ball for the next play.

Coach Reynolds sent Matt, Phil and Charlie onto the field to help Nate. It was his right ankle. The ninth-grader had twisted it as he crashed to the ground. The managers each grabbed an arm and Matt helped hoist Brown as they maneuvered the star receiver to the sidelines.

There were less than two minutes left on the clock now, and Coach Reynolds again called a time-out. “Kyle,” he said, looking at his quarterback, “if we can get this in the end zone, it's our game.”

James nodded, the sweat dripping from the portions of his face visible inside his helmet. “I want to run the ball—quarterback keeps—for the next two downs,” Coach continued. “Keep the ball in the middle in case we need to go for a field goal.”

Once again, the Stingers trotted onto the turf. Central's defense was already lined up and waiting. On first down, James stumbled slightly as he took the snap from Steve Donnelly. Pierce smelled the play right away and leveled James behind the line of scrimmage. South Side had lost a yard. It was second down, and the clock was ticking.

The next play wasn't much better. James took the snap and tried to bull his way up the middle. But he wasn't going anywhere against the swarming Central defense. He had gained just over a yard. It was third down, and Coach Reynolds had seen enough. “Time-out!” he shouted.

There were thirty seconds left on the clock as the players once again headed to the sidelines. “We need to go for a field goal on this play,” Coach told the players. “If we try to score again, we might run out the clock before we get a chance to kick. The field goal's the way to go, especially with Nate out.”

Matt looked over at Brown, who by now had a large ice bag taped to his right ankle. Assistant coach Kevin Stone interrupted his thoughts. “Hill, you're holding,” Stone reminded him.

Matt hadn't immediately realized what Brown's injury meant. Of course he would be holding for this kick. Nate was the first-string holder and he was Nate's backup. Matt quickly pulled on his helmet, did up the chin strap and listened intently.

“It's not a long kick,” Coach Reynolds said to Ricky Jackson, who had been warming up by booting a ball into a practice net on the sidelines. “You've made a million of these in practice, son.”

Ricky nodded confidently at the coach. The players once again broke their sideline huddle, heading onto the field for the game-deciding play. Matt felt pretty confident. He had held the ball for plenty of field-goal attempts since practice began a month ago. Just as long as he got a good snap from Donnelly…

Matt's thoughts were broken in the huddle by Ricky Jackson. “Guys, we're going for the win,” he said, looking around at his teammates. “Hill, when you get the snap, lateral it to me. Then head for the shallow end zone, right side. I'll get it to you, okay? Just catch it.”

“But Coach said—” Once again Matt was interrupted.

“I'm changing the call,” Jackson said. “Let's go. On two.”

The South Side players broke their huddle and lined up in field-goal formation. Matt, now nervous, waited for the ball to be snapped by Steve Donnelly. The snap came, right on target. Matt caught it and saw Ricky Jackson run toward him as if he was going to kick the ball. As Jackson had directed in the huddle, Matt did not place the ball down for the field goal. Instead he lateraled it to the backup quarterback and headed for the end zone.

Matt was wide-open as he crossed the goal line. He looked back for the pass but instantly knew it wasn't coming. Lionel Pierce had once again guessed the Stingers' play from his middle linebacker position. The Wildcat star had streaked around the line of blockers and leveled Ricky Jackson before he could even raise his right arm to pass. As Matt looked backward, Pierce's imposing figure was still prone on top of the dejected Jackson.

Matt glanced across the field at the South Side bench. Coach Reynolds had thrown his clipboard to the ground in disgust. The Stingers had lost the game 10–7 and, just as the coach had feared, the clock had run out before South Side could re-huddle. It was not going to be a happy bus ride home.

The players from both teams shook hands, and the Stingers headed for the yellow school buses that had brought them there. One by one, the dejected South Side players filed into their seats. Matt was on the same bus with Ricky Jackson, Nate Brown and Kyle James. He noticed Coach Reynolds step into the front of the other bus and deliver a few words to the players. Then the coach came over to their bus.

“No meeting today, guys,” he said, calmer than Matt would have predicted. “We'll hash this one out Monday at practice. Good effort.”

The coach paused before taking his seat at the front of the bus, directly behind the driver. “Hill and Jackson,” he said, looking at the middle of the vehicle where Matt and Ricky sat a couple of seats apart. “I want to talk to you guys when we get back to the school.”

Matt gulped. He didn't have to be a psychic to know what that meeting was going to be about. Going for a touchdown on a fake field goal directly against the coach's orders had cost the Stingers a huge tie. Matt wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all.

The bus ride back to South Side took just a couple of minutes. Matt wished it could last a lot longer. He suspected the experience at the other end wasn't going to be pleasant, and he was right.

He and Ricky Jackson followed the coach to his office adjacent to the locker room. “Have a seat, boys,” Coach Reynolds said.

The coach cleared his throat and looked directly at the players with his steely eyes. “Let's get something straight right now,” he said, his voice firm and cold. “I am the coach of this football team. Period! When I call a play, I want that play run. I don't want another play run. Do you guys understand?”

Both players nodded solemnly. Neither said a word.

“Then why the heck did you try that fake field goal? That cost us the game. Do you guys realize that?”

Again, both Matt and Ricky nodded.

“I can't let this go without a punishment,” the coach continued. “It wouldn't be fair to the other kids on the team. They worked hard all game; they deserved better than this. So I am suspending you both for next week's game against Churchill. You will practice, but you won't play. You'll both be third-string for the week and have to earn back your spots in the depth chart.”

Matt was reeling. All he had done was follow his quarterback's call in the huddle. He had known that they should have run the play Coach had called on the sidelines, but what was he supposed to do in the situation? The Stingers had no time-outs left. The clock was winding down. Matt had simply done the only thing he possibly could in what had been an impossible situation.

He was just about to defend himself when he heard the voice beside him. “Coach, I have to say something,” Ricky said slowly, looking over at him. “It wasn't Matt's fault. I changed the play in the huddle. I told him I was the quarterback and it was my call. He shouldn't be suspended too.”

Coach Reynolds mulled this over for a second and then spoke. “Okay, Hill. You can go now. I'm going to let you off with a warning this time.”

Relief welled up inside Matt. “Jackson, we have more to talk about,” the coach continued. “You stick around.”

Matt heard the coach begin to speak to Jackson again as he closed the door to the office and headed out of the locker room. On one hand, he felt sorry for Ricky. Not only was he dealing with the coach, but his dad was also going to be steamed when he found out about the suspension.

On the other hand, Matt was also angry with Ricky. He had got him into trouble with the coach and for what? Because he wanted to be the big hero with the game-winning play? He resented Jackson for putting him in that awkward position.

As he left the quiet locker room, Matt noticed his father's dark suv parked on Anderson Crescent, across from the school. His dad waved from the driver's seat and opened the door. “Hey, Matt,” he said gently. “Tough one to lose.”

“Yeah, it sure was,” Matt replied. “We really messed up with that fake field goal at the end.”

Matt's dad didn't say anything about the play. “Hey, chalk it up to experience, kid,” he said. “It's just a game, right?”

Matt nodded. He climbed in the passenger seat and smiled at his father. He was right. It was just a game. But Matt was pretty sure Ricky's dad wouldn't be looking at things in quite the same way.

chapter eleven

The buzz in the locker room Monday afternoon was obvious as Matt and his teammates got ready for practice.

“Did you hear about Jackson?” Reggie Evans said, eyeing Matt. “He's suspended for two games for that play he called against Central. Coach is steamed.”

“So's Jackson's dad,” interjected Kyle James. “I wouldn't have wanted to be that kid on the weekend.”

Almost everyone laughed at Kyle's remark. The entire school seemed to know that Ricky's father had a temper and that he was always getting into fights with coaches and other parents. Matt wasn't laughing, however. He wondered what had happened to Jackson over the weekend. His dad was so crazy about football and, it seemed, just crazy, period.

Matt grabbed his helmet and headed to the field. He was looking forward to running and hitting and blowing off some steam. He had been stewing all weekend about what had happened at the end of the Central game, wondering what else he could have done about it. He had talked to his mom and she was glad he wasn't suspended. But neither she nor anybody else had any answers about how he could have handled the situation differently.

Matt had gotten ready so quickly that he was surprised to see he wasn't the first South Side player on the field. Down at the far end of the turf, a short kid wearing a yellow practice jersey was booting balls through the uprights. And funny enough, Phil Wong was holding for him.

Matt approached the pair, wondering who this new kicker was. He hadn't thought much about it, but it made sense that Coach would audition somebody as a placekicker since Jackson was suspended. Jackson hadn't been doing a great job kicking over the first two games, anyway.

Phil had assembled a large bucket of footballs and was grabbing them one by one for the new player to boot. The kid was good. He was splitting the uprights on these twenty-five-yarders with almost every kick.

“Mattster!” Phil grinned as his friend approached. “What do you think of our new kicker?”

The player in the yellow jersey turned slowly. Matt recognized him now. It was Charlie Dougan. He was wearing a smile so wide that it shone through the bars on his helmet faceguard.

“Hey, Charlie,” Matt said. “I didn't know you kicked.”

Matt was stunned to see Dougan in a uniform. Matt knew that he'd had his leg brace removed, but he didn't realize that Dougan was now cleared to play sports.

“I'm just messing around,” Charlie said, a little nervously. “Coach told me he'd be trying out some new kickers today. I thought I'd give it a shot.”

Phil interjected. “He's good, man. Charlie's got range and he's accurate.”

“Awesome,” Matt said. “Good luck, Doogie. You're looking good so far.”

Charlie went back to his practice, lofting footballs high through the goalposts. Matt knew from his work with Dougan on the pitching machine the previous baseball season that Charlie's technique would eventually be flawless and that he would outwork anybody. Charlie Dougan was the kind of kid who approached tasks ultraseriously. Matt knew he loved sports. It was nice to see him in a uniform.

By now, most of the South Side players were on the field. Coach Reynolds blew his whistle and summoned everybody to midfield. The players took one knee, resting their helmets on the grass beside them.

“Okay, guys,” the coach began. “We all know what happened at the end of the Central game. But what I don't understand is why it happened.”