Goal Line (9 page)

He knew he should be happy, but he wasn't. Sure, he had a lot to be happy about at Hidden Valley—a football starter, the winner of the essay contest, taller and bigger and stronger than his identical twin—but the Eagles and their future crowded his thoughts.

Yes, they'd won their first two games. But this last one had been a real nail-biter. The Eagles could easily have lost. They'd been behind at halftime, and their many rookies and eighth graders had made a ton of mistakes. Ronde had had to throw a fit to get them to play their best in the second half, and even then the Eagles had barely pulled out the victory.

What was it going to be like next time they fell behind? Because it was a long season, and Tiki knew they would not always have a big lead to sit on. Were locker room
explosions going to be a regular feature? And would they always work to inspire the team?

Tiki thought not. Getting yelled at once might get you to play harder, but getting yelled at all the time was no good for anything. You just got down in the dumps and played worse.

The Eagles locker room had been happy after the game. But he wondered if some of the players were mad at Ronde now. He guessed he'd find out at practice if there were lasting hard feelings, but he knew for sure that things had better improve if the Eagles wanted to repeat as champs, let alone have an undefeated season.

That was another thing that bothered him. All this talk about going undefeated was no good. It made them think about the distant future instead of concentrating on this game, this play, this moment.

There was so much he wanted to say to his teammates. Maybe he'd give another speech, just for them, he thought. Then he shuddered at the vision. Giving speeches was not his thing, even if he had done well at it last week.

He filed off the bus with the rest of the kids, still full of worry. But before he could duck inside the school building, he was waylaid by Laura Sommer. “Hel-lo! Earth to Tiki?” she began, grabbing him by the arm and turning him to face her.

Laura was tall with long blond hair, and had thick
glasses with black frames that sat off-kilter on her nose. “We need to talk,” she said in a tone that didn't allow for argument.

She practically dragged him off to the side, until they were standing next to the big elm tree that shaded the school entrance. “What's up?” he asked her.

“I have a favor to ask you,” she began.

“Uh … okay.” She probably wanted to do an interview with him for the school paper, he figured. Something about winning the prize and giving the speech.

“We're always looking for a new angle, for something different,” she explained, motioning with both arms like she was showing him the shape of a newspaper. “And we've decided—‘we' meaning me, Mrs. Flanagan, and the rest of the editors—that we'd like you to join the staff of the
Weekly Eagle
!”

“What?
Me?
I don't—”

He was about to say that he didn't get it, but she didn't give him time.

“We've been looking to do an advice column. You know, answering letters from kids who have problems. And we thought, who better than you?”

“Huh?”

“You were so great giving that speech—everyone thought so—and you obviously understand so much about everything.”

“But I—”

“And I hear kids have already started asking you for advice. So we figured you could be our new star columnist! Say yes, okay? Good. It's a deal.”

She grabbed his limp hand and shook it, like it meant they had a deal. Laura was persuasive, Tiki had to give her that. Pushy, some would have said.

“I—”

“Great!” she chirped, giving him a big smile full of braces. “So we'll print an announcement in this week's paper, asking for letters to be sent to ‘Dear Tiki,' and then you can start answering them in the next edition!”

She clapped her hands together and squealed with joy, jumping up and down. “Fantastic!”

“I, um…”

“Great. I've gotta go,” she said, trying to escape with her victory intact.

But Tiki snapped out of it just in time. Grabbing her by the arm before she could get away, he said, “Hold up, Laura. Wait a second.”

“I've gotta get to class,” she said, looking worried.

“Yeah. Me too. It's just—I don't know about this.”

“What?”

“You know, this job. I don't know if I'm cut out for it.”

“What do you mean? You're perfect for it! We all agreed!”

“I didn't agree.”

“Sure you did. You just did! I'm a witness!”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Tiki said, shaking his head. “I never said anything.”

“So you didn't say no, either.”

“Not yet,” he said.

“Great! So I've gotta go.”

“Just a second,” he repeated, hanging on to her arm.

Just then Suzie Shiobara came up to them. “Hi, Tiki,” she said. “Did you think about my question?”

Tiki's jaw dropped. He'd forgotten all about it. He'd kinda promised her an answer, but he hadn't even thought about her problem!

“Uh, yeah, I've been giving it a lot of thought,” he said, stalling.

“And?”

“Well, it's complicated, and I've got to get to class.”

Suzie's face fell. “This is so important to me,” she said. “And I was counting on your advice.”

Laura's eyes lit up. “Well, guess what? Tiki's going to be doing the advice column for the
Weekly Eagle
! He can answer your question in this week's edition, since he's already got your question. The paper comes out day after tomorrow! Right, Tiki?”

She turned to Tiki and cocked her head questioningly. Tiki looked from her to Suzie and back again, then swallowed hard. “Uh, I guess,” he said, flashing Suzie a big smile.

“Of course, your privacy will be totally respected,”
Laura told Suzie. “No names or anything—strictly anonymous.”

Except for me
, thought Tiki miserably. How had he ever let himself get talked into this?
Man
, he thought, shaking his head as he headed for homeroom.
I wish I'd never won that essay contest.

“What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Ronde,” Tiki said grumpily. “Let me be. I'm trying to think.”

“What are you doing? Homework?”

“Sort of. Quit looking over my shoulder!”

“What?” Ronde pushed away the arm Tiki was using to hide his notebook. “What are you doing, writing a love letter?”

“Shut up!” Tiki said, giving Ronde a shove.

“If it isn't, then, why are you hiding it?”

“I'm not hiding it,” Tiki said. “There. See for yourself.” He took his hand away and let Ronde have a good look at his first “Dear Tiki” column.

“What is this?” Ronde said, screwing up his face in confusion. “Who is ‘Dear Troubled'?”

“That's the girl who sent in the letter.”

“What letter? What do you mean, ‘sent in'?”

Tiki sighed. “It's an advice column. For the
Weekly Eagle
. You know, like ‘Dear Abby.' Only this one is ‘Dear Tiki.'”

“Oh, that is so lame,” Ronde said, shaking his head. “Tell me you're not doing that.”

“I am,” Tiki said, sighing. “I got myself roped into it.”

“By who?”

“Laura Sommer.”

“Ooohhhh,” Ronde said, understanding at once how Tiki could have gotten himself cornered into something like this. Laura was not a person who took no for an answer.

“All right. Have a look, since you're so nosey anyway,” Tiki said. “Maybe you can even help me out.”

“Oh, no. Don't look at me,” Ronde said, backing away. “I don't even want to
see
it. You're not getting me involved. No way.”

“Don't you want to help other kids with their problems?”

“Hey, don't look at me,” Ronde said. “You're the prize-winning writer.”

“You won honorable mention, remember?” Tiki pleaded. “And you're always the one who gives the best advice. Look what happened in the locker room at halftime!”

“I was just telling them what you said in your essay,” Ronde shot back.

“Come on, Ronde!” Tiki begged. “I need a little help!”

“A little help?” Ronde said. “Okay, I'll give you a little advice. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Now,
that's
a famous saying!”

“Ronde…”

“I've gotta go watch TV. My favorite show's on in five minutes.”

Before Tiki could stop him, Ronde was off to the living room, leaving him alone in the kitchen. The remains of their dinner were still on the table. He and Ronde would have to clean up and wash the dishes before their mom got home from work.

She'd left their dinner for them, as she always did when she worked late. Tiki knew he shouldn't complain about his own problems. Their mom had it much harder than either of them—two jobs, and she never complained. Ever.

Sighing, Tiki took up his pen again and tried to think of an answer to Suzie's problem.

Dear Tiki
, her letter to him began. (He'd written it himself, based on what she'd asked him in person.)
I have a problem. My teacher is always being mean to me. What should I do? Signed, Troubled.

Dear Troubled
, Tiki had begun his reply. But that was as far as he'd gotten. He had no idea what Suzie should do about her mean teacher. Sometimes teachers were just mean, or they just didn't happen to like you, and what could you do about that except just take it?

He squeezed his eyes shut, searching for a better response, something that would make Suzie feel better, even if it didn't make her problem go away. Finally something came to him:

Dear Troubled,

I know how you must feel. I mean, we've all had teachers we weren't wild about. They're like the rest of us, really. They sometimes have bad days, and say stuff they're probably sorry for later. But it's not okay for your teacher to call you out in front of the whole class. Hurting your feelings isn't going to help you learn better.

I know it hurts, but telling everyone how mean your teacher is won't solve your problem, and it might make things even worse.

My suggestion is that you hold your head up, even when your teacher makes fun of you, or other kids laugh at you. Also, I advise you to write a private note to your teacher. Tell him or her how you felt when they made fun of you. I'm sure if they knew, they'd feel sorry about it and wouldn't do it again. At least I hope not.

If this doesn't work, and they only get meaner to you, then you've got a real problem and you should probably tell the principal, or at least your parents. Good luck, Troubled, and let me know how it works out!

Tiki put down his pen and shook out his hand, which was starting to cramp. Had he really just written all that? Thinking back, he couldn't recall a time when he'd written that much, straight out of his head, in one quick shot. Had it really taken him only ten minutes?

After closing his notebook, he went to join Ronde in
the living room. There'd be time to do the dishes after they were done watching TV.

Ronde was shocked to see him. “What, did you give up already?” he asked.

“I'm done.”

“What?”

“I did it.”

“You mean …?”

“Yeah, man. It's finished.”

“Can I read it?”

“You can read it—in the
Weekly Eagle
, like everybody else.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, my foot. If you wanted to see it in advance, you should have helped me do it.”

So saying, he plopped down at Ronde's side. “So,” he said, grinning, “what'd I miss?”

The next day Tiki stopped into the newspaper office after school to drop off his column before going down to football practice.

“How'd it go?” Laura asked him, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

“Okay, I guess,” he told her, handing over the page from his notebook.

“Everyone's really excited about this,” Laura said
brightly. “I told some kids in PE, and a bunch of them said they were going to write in and ask for advice. Pretty soon you're gonna have six letters a week!”

Tiki felt sick to his stomach. “Six? No way.”

“Yes way!” she replied, giving his arm a squeeze. “You're already a success, and you haven't even had your first column in print. Wowie-zowie!!”

“Yeah,” Tiki mumbled. “Wowie … whatever.”

“Do you want to see how we do the pasteup and layout?” she offered.

“Uh, some other time, okay?” he said, his stomach churning. “I've got to get to practice.”

“Oh! Right. Of course. I forgot about the football thing.… Well, see ya!”

Tiki got out of there as quickly as he could. Six letters a week!? It might as well have been a mountain of them crashing down on his head.

Sure, it had taken him only ten minutes to do that first response, but he couldn't count on ideas coming to him that fast all the time! When he'd agreed to do the column, he'd thought it would be only one letter a week, or two at most.

“The football thing,” as Laura had called it, was way more important to him, and it took up most of his free time. How was he supposed to handle all this extra responsibility?

He arrived in the locker room still feeling anxious, although his stomach was no longer threatening to turn over. He dressed in his practice uniform and ran out onto the field, happy to be outside, playing the game he loved, and not thinking about other people's problems.

Except he couldn't seem to shake the thoughts that kept creeping into his brain. He kept seeing Suzie Shiobara, and her sister Charlene, and Matt Dwayne, and the other kids from Laura's PE class, all calling his name, waving pieces of paper that held their problems for him to solve—