Soccer Duel (8 page)
Renny closed his eyes, but sleep just wouldn't come. He thought about what Norm had said about the MVP trophy. It would be nice to get, he conceded.
But then he realized it would also be okay if he didn't win it. It didn't matter to Renny, so long as his team won the championship. He'd had so much success already, it was beyond what had been his wildest dreams at the start of the season. But Bryce…
“He's probably been counting on winning the MVP trophy all season,” Renny whispered in the dark. All at once, he felt he understood what had made Bryce seek out Turk Walters.
He was desperate, Renny thought. I guess it means more to him than it does to me. And I'll bet when Isaac got hurt, Bryce thought the championship was in the bag. And then I came along… .
Suddenly, Renny didn't feel angry with Bryce any-more. Maybe Bryce had suggested to Turk that he foul Renny hard, but a kid like Turk wouldn't have needed much encouragement.
There was one thing Renny didn't understand, though. Bryce had sicced Turk on him, but then he had encouraged Renny to be more aggressive on the field. Was it possible Bryce had had second thoughts about his dirty little trick? If he had, then he couldn't have helped Renny more. Without Bryce's inspiration, Renny would never have raised the level of his game so quickly. He had always been timid on the field; he realized that now. And he would never be timid on the field again — thanks to Bryce.
“Today must have been one of the worst days of his life,” Renny breathed. If the Blue Hornets won the championship tomorrow, Renny promised himself that he wouldn't rub it in Bryce's face.
But something told him this play-off wasn't going to be that easy… that he hadn't heard the last of Bryce McCormack.
B
ryce lay in bed, unable to sleep. His anger was like a red film in front of his eyes. He tossed and turned, burning for revenge.
His whole life he'd been a winner. Now, all of a sudden, he was in danger of being not only a loser, but the goat. If the Yellow Jackets didn't win the championship, everyone would think it was Bryce who had choked under pressure. “He was good,” they'd say, “but not good enough.”
If the Blue Hornets beat them tomorrow, Renny Harding would win the MVP trophy, no doubt about it. And Coach Harrelson would pick Renny Harding to be JV center striker next fall. Bryce would ride the bench. He would sit there, hoping Renny Harding would go down with a broken ankle, just the way Isaac Mendez had, so that Bryce would get his chance.
Bryce made a face. “I really am a loser,” he said out loud. “I nearly got the kid hurt once already — now here I am thinking about him getting injured.” He sighed. “I was the best soccer player in this league. So how come he's playing better than me? How come his team won today?”
He realized he'd never asked himself these questions before. It wasn't that Renny had more talent — Bryce was stronger, bigger, more of a natural athlete. But Renny Harding was thinking ahead, and working with his teammates. “Not being a hot dog like me,” Bryce mused, recalling Coach Harrelson's description of his play. Renny was the best player on his team, like Bryce, but unlike Bryce, he didn't ignore his teammates and try to do it all himself.
All at once, he wasn't mad at Renny anymore. It had come to Bryce that in order to beat the kid, he had to play like him. Renny expected Bryce to hog the field, not give one of his teammates a chance for glory.
Well, Renny and his Blue Hornets were in for a surprise. Tomorrow, Bryce was going to pull his team back into this thing — by playing soccer Renny Harding's way.
T
he following morning, Renny woke up feeling tired. He hadn't slept much, and his stomach was churning restlessly. He went downstairs, where his mom had made him some pancakes, but the smell of them made him feel even sicker. “I'm not hungry,” he told her, pushing his plate away.
“Are you okay?” his mom asked, concerned, coming over to him and feeling his forehead for a fever. “You don't feel hot. But maybe you ought to get back in bed and rest today.”
“Are you kidding me?” Renny blurted out “I have to be at the game!”
“Okay, I know it's very important to you,” his mother said soothingly. “But your health is important, too.”
“I'm not sick,” Renny insisted. “Just tired … and a little nervous.”
Just then, the phone rang. His mother answered it, and when she heard the voice on the other end of the line, her expression darkened. “Oh, hi,” she said unenthusiastically. Then she held out the phone to Renny. “It's your father,” she said.
Renny jumped up and took the phone from her. His mom busied herself around the kitchen, making a lot of noise with pots and pans;
“Hi, Dad,” Renny said.
“Hey, sport!” his dad's voice came over the line. “How's everything going?”
“Pretty good,” Renny said. “My team's in the soccer finals.”
“Yeah? That's fantastic! I'll bet you win, too. Are they still letting you start?”
“Yeah, I'm starting every game!” Renny said.
“Good for you. What happened to the other guy ahead of you? Didn't you say you were third string?”
“I was, but he wasn't there one day, so I got to play, and I'm still playing.”
“That's my boy!” his dad crowed. “I taught you well, I guess, huh?”
“I guess; If you come-to our game today, you could see just how well. What do you say?” Renny waited hopefully.
“I wish I could,” his dad said sadly. “But I'm leaving for New York tonight. Got a big business meeting there on Monday.”
“That's okay, Dad,” Renny mumbled. “I understand.”
“No, it's not okay, darn it,” his dad said. “It stinks. A dad should be there for his son's big game.” Renny heard him sigh. “I'm sorry, Renny. I know I've let you down lots of times….”
“No, Dad …”
“I have too,” his dad insisted. “And none of it was your fault. Look, you go out and play your best. Maybe next time, I'll be able to make it out there to see you.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Good luck, son.”
“Thanks. Bye.” Renny hung up, feeling more down than before.
“What did he want?” his mom asked him.
“Nothing,” Renny said. “I've got to. go. See you later.”
“Are you sure you're feeling well enough?”
“Yeah.”
“Renny, you know I've got to work this morning, or I'd love to come and see you play.”
“Sure, Mom. It's okay. Bye.”
“Bye, honey. Good luck!”
“Thanks.” Renny went outside. The morning was gray and foggy, with a little drizzle. Maybe we won't even play, he said to himself. He really did feel sick — weak, and tired, and deeply sad. He hoped they didn't play. Not today.
The game went ahead, even though the drizzle had become steadier. The conditions were slippery, which would be to Renny's advantage. With his moves, the defenders would be slipping and falling all over the place.
“We're gonna be champions!” Jordan Woo was bragging on the sidelines as the players lined up. “Oh, yeah! We're gonna swat the Yellow Jackets! Hornets rule!”
Renny shook his head. Jordan, always so sure they were going to lose, had suddenly become overconfident. “You know, Jordan,” he said, “you should try to keep an even keel a little more.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Jordan asked. “We wiped the floor with them yesterday! We're hot, man! Nobody can stop us!”
Renny gave up. Jordan's moods swung with every breeze.
He could see Bryce warming up across the field. Bryce seemed intensely focused today. He looked totally unaware of his surroundings as he practiced his shots. “This isn't going to be easy,” Renny murmured under his breath.
It wasn't. When the starting whistle blew, Bryce took immediate control. He quickly drove the play into the Hornets' end. Renny waited for the ball to come back toward midfield, but it didn't. Bryce got off three shots in a row, and the third found its mark — a big kick that had Chuck Mathes ducking for cover.
Renny led a drive on the next possession, but Sam Plummer, the Yellow Jackets' goalie, made a big save and sent the ball back downfield.
Bryce again led a rush. But this time, to Renny's amazement, he drew the defense to him, then found the open man on his left wing, Eric Dornquist; with a gorgeous pass. The resulting shot had the Yellow Jackets up 2-0 before five minutes of game time had passed.
Bryce McCormack giving up a chance to shoot on goal? Renny thought. Impossible!
But it wasn't impossible, or the only time in the game Bryce made the unselfish move. He controlled the field that first half — making steals, creating opportunities, and threading passes through double teams to open men. Before die half was over, he had assisted on two more goals.
Down 4-0, Renny finally succeeded in rallying the Hornets for a goal, finding John Singleman with a well-placed corner lack to make the score 4-1 at halftime. But as they gathered around Coach McMaster, Renny could see defeat written on the faces of all his teammates. They had already accepted in their hearts that today was not their day.
Today was Bryce McCormack's day, and there seemed to be nothing Renny could do about it.
M
an, 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.
R
enny 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!”
