Go Long! (7 page)

“Yeah, shut up, Tiki!” Sam Scarfone said, getting up and staring down Tiki with his six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound frame. “Quit dividing the team! We've gotta be united, or we're going down.”

“Yeah!” a bunch of the others agreed.

Tiki looked to Ronde for help, but Ronde kept silent. He didn't want the team members ganging up on him like they were on Tiki.

Tiki frowned, grabbed his books, and said, “Later.” He walked away, and Ronde went after him.

“Tiki, wait up!” he called after him. Tiki didn't stop, and Ronde had to run down the hallway to catch up with him.

“Tiki, man, I—”

“Why didn't you back me up, yo?”

“I . . .”

“You were scared!”

“Was not!” Ronde defended himself.

“What, you agree with them?”

Ronde shrugged. “Not really . . .”

“Why didn't you say anything, then?”

“'Cause in a way, I think Cody's right about Wheeler—sort of.”

“What?”

“I mean, the video was
okay
—just kind of boring after a while. But that ‘close your eyes' stuff is totally wack.”

“It is not!” Tiki insisted. “Listen, if Mr. Wheeler thinks it'll help us, we should try it. I mean, he's the coach, right?”

“I guess. . . .” Ronde wasn't sure how in-charge Mr. Wheeler really was. “I'm not sure he knows what he's doing, Tiki.”

“Well, don't you think we should give him a chance?”

“Yeah . . . but Cody—”

“Never mind Cody!” Tiki insisted. “He's just a kid, like us. This whole team is following Cody, when we should be listening to Coach.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

“Man,” Tiki said, shaking his head and looking at Ronde, “you should think about it.”

“I
am
thinking about it.”

“You should think again, then.” He sighed. “Well, I've got to go.”

“Me too.”

“See you after school.”

“Yeah.”

Ronde headed for his next class, shaking his head sadly. He and Tiki
always
agreed about stuff—well,
important
stuff, anyway.

But this time it was different, and Ronde felt miserable about it. Still, he knew Tiki must be feeling even worse. After all, Ronde had most of the team on his side.

In sticking up for Coach Wheeler, Tiki was pretty much alone.

•   •   •

Ronde stood at the goal line, waiting for the kickoff from Patrick Henry Junior High. His whole body wanted to tense up, but he told himself to stay calm, stay relaxed. The blood was pounding in his ears, and every breath sounded like a freight train inside his head.

He saw the ball rise into the air off the kicker's foot. It went up, up right into the setting sun. Ronde winced and shielded his eyes. Where in the word was the ball? It couldn't be gone.

No, wait, there it was! It was sinking back down toward him, spinning end-over-end. “Don't fumble,” he told himself. “Stay relaxed . . . stay loose . . . catch it soft. . . . cradle it. . . .”

He caught the ball out cleanly and took off like a shot straight down the field. From every direction now, he
could see the purple jerseys of the Patrick Henry Junior High Patriots closing in on him. Hands tore at his jersey, but they were going the wrong way, and his momentum made them lose their grip. Ronde veered to his left, then to his right, and then downfield again.

Behind the thunder in his ears that was his breathing and his heart, he could barely hear the Patrick Henry fans in the stands, screaming, “NOOOO!”

He raced down the field—to the forty, the thirty, the twenty . . .

“Ooof!”

He was slammed down onto the turf. But this time—unlike in the first game—Ronde held on to the ball!

He got up slowly, dusted himself off, and jogged off to the sidelines. He exchanged a high five with Tiki as his brother took the field along with the rest of the offense.

Ronde took a seat on the bench. “Nice going, Barber!” Coach Pellugi said, slapping him on the back. Now that Coach Wheeler was actually with them on the sidelines, Coach Pellugi was back to being the defensive coach.

Ronde watched as Cody took the snap from center, faked a handoff to Tiki, then ran a naked bootleg around to the weak side.

The Patriots were taken completely off guard, and before they could recover, Cody had turned the Eagles' excellent field position into their first touchdown—on the very first offensive play of the game!

As he crossed the end zone, Cody dove in, did a somersault, and came up dancing, shaking his hips as he showed off the football. Finally he spiked it between his legs and did a cartwheel before coming off the field.

The other members of the Eagles offense seemed to enjoy the show. After Adam Gunkler converted the extra point, putting the Eagles up 7–0, the offense jogged off the field.

As Ronde went back on along with the kicking team, Tiki passed him. “I can't take that dude,” he muttered to Ronde.

Tiki didn't have to say who “that dude” was. Ronde already knew who—and why.

Ronde ran downfield on Adam's kickoff and took a flying leap at the returner. He knocked him to the ground—and the next thing he knew, he was at the bottom of a pile of players from both teams.

When he was finally able to get to his feet, he realized he needed to sit down and catch his breath. He signaled for Coach Pellugi to take him out for a rest.

Sitting on the bench and drinking a sports drink, Ronde overheard Cody telling two of his offensive linemen, “I'm going to carry us on my back today, no sweat.”

“Hey, Hansen!”

Uh-oh. It was Mr. Wheeler, and he didn't sound too pleased.

“What's up?” Cody asked him.

“First of all, nice touchdown.”

Cody grinned. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“But easy on the celebrations, huh?” Coach Wheeler said. “There's no reason for any of that nonsense.”

“I just thought the team needed a little boost of enthusiasm,” Cody explained.

Coach Wheeler stepped right up to Cody and said, “And if you don't cut it out—right now—I'm going to take you out of this game! Understand?”

“Huh? Cut
what
out?”

“You know what I'm talking about—the disrespect. Don't think I don't know what you're up to behind my back.”

“But—”

“No buts, kid. Just can it, you hear me? Or else!”

Cody scowled. “Yes, Coach,” he said.

“Good,” Wheeler said, and walked away.

Cody stared after him. “Or else
what
?” he said under his breath. “What's he gonna do, bench me and put the new kid in there? If he does, he'd better hope Manny wins the game for him. 'Cause if we lose, Wheeler will be the one who's in trouble, not me.”

Wheeler must have heard him—or at least seen him muttering—because he spun around and got right back in Cody's face.

“Listen to me, son,” he said quietly, staring straight at the quarterback, “I don't care if I have to put a raw rookie in there. I will do it if you don't get ahold of yourself—and
win or lose, this team will be better off. Do you hear me? Keep it up and you will be benched—and not just for one game, either.”

Ronde knew Wheeler was right. Coach Spangler probably would have benched Cody already.

But he also saw Cody's point. Coach Wheeler didn't have much choice when it came to quarterback—not if he wanted to win this game.

Joey Bacino, last year's third-stringer, had moved to California with his family over the summer. The team had only two quarterbacks on its roster—Cody, and the new kid, Manny Alvaro.

Manny had a good arm, all right, and he was a good athlete, too. But he was only a seventh grader. He'd never even played Peewee League football, which meant he'd never really quarterbacked a team before.

Cody looked down at the ground, breathing hard, thinking it over.

Coach Ontkos had wandered over to see what was going on and had caught the last part of the argument. “Why don't you go out there now and prove yourself, Hansen,” he said, “before you start broadcasting how great you are? Win us a game or two before you start strutting around like a circus clown. Remember what Coach Spangler used to say: ‘Players win games. Teams win championships.'”

Cody looked like he'd been humiliated. His face was red, and he was holding his jaw really tight.

Coach Wheeler glanced out onto the field, then patted Cody's shoulder. “All right, that's over now,” he said. “Let's get your head back into the game. It's fourth down, kid. You're on.”

Ronde had to get out on the field to return the Patriots' punt. Luckily, it was a short one, and he was able to run it back past midfield, giving the Eagles good field position for the second time in a row.

Ronde came back to the sidelines, and saw that Coach Wheeler and Coach Pellugi were having a serious discussion while Coach Ontkos called plays for the offense.

Ronde moved closer and overheard Wheeler saying, “I don't know, Pete. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe they should have just given you the job.”

“Hey, Sam,” Pellugi said, putting an arm on Wheeler's shoulder, “it is what it is, huh? Sure, I wanted the job. So did Ontkos. But
you
're the head coach.
You're
the boss around here. If you want to bench Hansen, Steve and I will back you up a hundred percent.”

Wheeler shook his head. “Hansen's right about one thing, Pete—if I bench him and the team goes into a losing streak, I'm the one who'll take the heat for it.”

“Don't let that punk kid push you around, that's my advice,” Pellugi said. “You're being much too easy on him. If you believe in your way of doing things, stick to it.”

“Thanks, Pete,” said Wheeler. “But I don't want to crush his spirit.”

Pellugi shook his head. “I don't know, maybe you're right to give him another chance. It does look like this game's going our way,” he said as Tiki broke through the line and headed down the field.

“I don't know,” Wheeler said, shaking his head. “Maybe I
should
have benched him. It's still early in the season. And Cody's attitude is affecting the whole team. If we get just one or two bad breaks, things could go south in a hurry.”

Suddenly, a cheer rose from the Patrick Henry fans. Ronde's blood ran cold as he saw the reason—the ball was loose, and the Patriots were pouncing all over it! The bad break Mr. Wheeler dreaded had just happened.

Tiki had fumbled the football away, and the Patriots had recovered.

IT ALL HAPPENED IN A BLUR. ONE MOMENT, TIKI HAD
been in full control, darting through the defensive line and breaking into the backfield for a big gain on second down.

And then, suddenly, the ball was in the air; the world was upside down. Tiki found himself flat on the ground, staring up at two big Patrick Henry gorillas who were lying on top of him.

The Patrick Henry crowd was roaring. A whistle was blowing.

The gorillas finally got off him, and now his own teammates were looking down at him, frowning as they helped him to his feet.

“What happened?” he asked Paco.

“You fumbled, dude,” Paco said glumly.

“Did they—?”

Paco nodded. “Come on, let's get off the field before they flag us for delay of game.”

Tiki collapsed onto the bench. No one paid any attention—they were all too busy groaning and throwing
their hands in the air as the Patriots scored a quick touchdown.

“You okay, Tiki?” Coach Wheeler asked, coming over to him.

“I messed up, Coach. I'm sorry.”

“Forget it, son. It's still early. Get yourself together and let's go score some points!”

The Eagle offense trotted back onto the field. It was still the first quarter, and the score was tied, 7–7. But now the momentum was with the Patrick Henry Patriots.

On first down, Coach Wheeler called a crossing pattern, but Cody threw the pass behind Fred Soule.

“You cut too sharp, Soule!” Cody said as Fred came back to the huddle. “Next time, do it like in practice!”

“Come on, dude,” said Fred, “you threw it behind me!”

“I threw it where you were supposed to be,” Cody insisted.

Fred shook his head and sighed. Tiki felt for him. There was no sense in arguing with Cody, and no time for it, anyway. They had a play to run!

On second down, one of the Patriots blew through the offensive line and sacked Cody.

“Come on, you guys!” he yelled at his teammates. “Give me some protection here!”

It was now third down, and everyone knew the blitz would be coming. Coach Wheeler sent John Berra in with the play—Texas Tech, a screen pass for Tiki.

Tiki nodded with satisfaction—it was the perfect play to beat the blitz. He lined up wide, like he was preparing to block the blitzing safety—but at the last minute, he let his man get by. Tiki ran toward the sideline, then turned and reached out to grab the soft lob pass from Cody, which had floated over the heads of the blitzing Patriots.

Too late, Tiki realized that Cody had led him too far. He stretched as far as his arms could reach, but the ball skidded off his outstretched fingertips!

“Can't anyone around here catch the ball?” Cody moaned, throwing his hands up.

Tiki looked at the ground in shame as they trotted off the field, giving way to the kicking team. He'd been the key guy on two plays so far, and he'd messed them both up!

The game seesawed back and forth till just before halftime. No one had scored for the past twenty minutes. Every time the Patriots got close, the Eagles' defense held them off. And every time the Eagles' offense got near the end zone, their own mistakes and penalties pushed them back.