Soccer Halfback (3 page)

“I studied for it,” he said.

“But not enough, right?”

“Right,” he answered.

“We’re having another one Friday,” she reminded him flatly. “It’ll be a review of what we’ve learned during the last four
weeks. I hope that you’ll be able to bone up on it by then. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He was glad that she didn’t start asking him personal questions to determine why he had gotten such a low mark. He didn’t
know himself.

Liar, he thought. You know darn well why you didn’t get a better mark than a crummy sixty-three.

The reason for it was soccer, and the hassle caused by his choice to play it instead of football. All the rest of his family,
except Karen, thought he should play football because Dad had played in college. And Dad was dead.

An automobile crash took the lives of three community leaders last night as they headed for home from New York and got caught
in the storm that hit them just south of Buffalo. Their car slid off the icy road and slammed head-on into a tree.

Only the driver, Edgar Mills of 213 Willow
Street, Birch Valley, survived. The others, John Morris, vice-president of Adams Electric . . .

His picture was above the newspaper article. A good-looking, broad-shouldered man. Tough, but kind. Firm, yet gentle.

He never told me he wanted me to play football, thought Jabber. Never.

Yet Mom and Pete made Jabber feel guilty because he didn’t play football. Even Uncle Jerry’s offer to help with college expenses,
as good and kind as it was, made him feel guilty, too.

Darn it! Maybe I shouldn’t play any sport at all! he thought disgustedly. Maybe I should just be a spectator!

He went to soccer practice after school. At the other field, which Jabber could see from the soccer field, the varsity football
team was working out, too.

Coach Pike drilled them on one-on-one dribbling, then one-on-two, then on corner kicks. It was a cold day, and the wind was
nippy. Only by running around was Jabber able to keep warm.

He got bone-tired after a while, and he didn’t have a chance to rest. From then on he took it easy, moving fast only when
he had to.

The football team finished before the soccer team did, and Pete stopped by and watched until the soccer team’s practice was
over. He didn’t have to wait long. He and Jabber walked off the field and to the locker room together. They got out of their
uniforms, showered, and dressed.

“I’m starved,” Jabber said as they left the school. “I hope that Mom has some big juicy steaks for us. Or even hot dogs and
sauerkraut.”

“Don’t bet on it,” said Pete. “I think this is hamburger night.”

“Yeah — well, I can go for them, too.”

They walked for a while without saying anything. Jabber felt that Pete was deep in thought about something. Pete wasn’t one
to dwell in silence very long.

It came out finally.

“Funny thing happened today,” he said. “Coach Pearce asked me about you.”

“He did?” Jabber’s eyebrows arched. “Why?”

“He heard you’re playing soccer, and wondered why you didn’t go out for football.”

“Oh, man,” said Jabber. “Everybody in this world is wondering why I didn’t go out for football instead of soccer. What did
you tell him?”

“Nothing. What could I tell him?” Pete was silent for a moment. “Anyway, I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Jabber looked at him. He met Pete’s eyes. They were serious. Sometimes he had seen his mother’s eyes looking like that.

“Football is the game to get into, man,” said Pete. “For us, anyway. You and me. Basketball is out, because neither one of
us will ever get much over six feet tall. And we’re just so-so in baseball. But in football we’ve got a chance. We’ve got
a chance to play college football, then maybe go into the pros and clean up. There’s money being tossed around like leaves
for the football player who makes it big. Even if neither one of us becomes another Joe Montana or Emmitt Smith, we might
still make extra bucks doing TV commercials, or endorsing shaving creams.”

“Or deodorant.”

“So what? It’s still greenbacks. I don’t know, Jabber. You must be out of your mind. You really must.”

“I’m doing what I want to do,” replied Jabber. “Do you know how few guys make the pros? Why do you think either one of us
would make even one lousy commercial? I want to play for the fun of playing.”

“But you’ve got to make a living sometime.”

“I know. But I don’t have to make it playing football.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Pete, somewhat disgustedly. “You know that? I really don’t believe it.”

“Then let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“Okay. But one more thing,” said Pete. “I see you haven’t bought new soccer shoes yet.”

“Not yet,” said Jabber. “But I will soon.”

“Wish you’d hold off,” said Pete. Then he smiled and poked his brother gently on the shoulder. “Hey, man. How about coming
with me to Knob Hill on Saturday?”

All at once there was a complete change in Jabber’s attitude.

“Hang-gliding?” he asked.

“What else?” Pete grinned.

“Okay. I’ll go with you,” Jabber promised, happy that at last they had gotten off the subject of soccer versus football.

J
abber spent Wednesday and Thursday evenings studying for the math test on Friday. On the day of the test he sweated over the
problems. It seemed that half of them were problems he hadn’t studied about at all.

Now and then he looked up and saw Mrs. Williams’s fierce blue eyes fastened on him. That made him more nervous than ever.
He didn’t know how he finished the test before the buzzer sounded, but he did.

“Wow!” said Mose as they left the room for their next class. “What a humdinger that was! I’ll be lucky to get sixty!”

“I’ll be lucky if she’ll have me back in class,” said Jabber.

Mose looked at him. “I’d be lucky if she
wouldn’t
have me back in class!” he quipped.

Mose talked as if he didn’t have a brain in his head. But he was an A student, racking up marks in the nineties most of the
time. Playing soccer didn’t seem to affect
his
studies a bit.

Pete was late coming home that afternoon. Maybe the football team was practicing, reflected Jabber. But that seemed unlikely.
The team had never practiced on Fridays before.

Pete arrived home at last, an hour later than usual. The look on his face indicated that he was unhappy about something.

“Where have you been, Pete?” asked his mother. “It’s almost suppertime.”

“I lost my wallet and was searching for it,” he answered, his jaw set with anger. “Tony Dranger and a couple of guys and I
were playing touch football on the school grounds, and I must have lost it then. We all looked for it, but couldn’t find it.”

“Did you have any money in it?” asked Karen.

“Seventy-five bucks. Every dollar I had.”

“Seventy-five bucks?” Karen echoed. “Why were you carrying that much money with you?”

“I was going to stop at Smitty’s Sport Shop on the way home and buy me a pair of shoes. Football shoes.”

Jabber stared at him.

Pete shrugged. “That’s right, brother,” he said. “After you mentioned that you were going to buy a pair of soccer shoes, I
looked at my football shoes and figured I could stand a new pair myself. So — down the drain go the shoes, and somebody else
is richer by seventy-five smackers.”

“Was anybody around?” asked Karen.

“No one that I saw,” Pete replied.

Jabber looked sympathetically at his brother. Seventy-five dollars, that wasn’t hay. Now Pete would probably have to look
for a part-time job to earn his money back.

They went to Knob Hill after lunch on Saturday with Tony Dranger. Tony, a senior at Birch Central, had a driver’s license
and a beat-up car that seated ten if it had to. They had two hang-gliders strapped to the roof.

Two other guys and two girls were already on the hill, flying hang-gliders in a wide sweeping turn over
the valley below. The hill was steep, making it easy for takeoffs and flying. Jabber had already flown a few times, but not
ascending higher than twenty feet or so. Pete and Tony were more experienced, having flown dozens of times and reaching altitudes
of six hundred to seven hundred feet.

Tony parked the car in a lot below the hill. Then he and Pete removed the gliders from the roof and started to carry them
up the steep incline.

“When are you going to get one of these wings?” Tony asked Jabber.

“I don’t know,” Jabber said.

“Like to fly ’em?”

Jabber shrugged. “It’s fun,” he admitted, not caring to elaborate.

They reached the top of the hill. Pete and Tony unfolded the wings and strapped on the harnesses. Pete’s wing was yellow,
Tony’s red. The wind blowing up the hill made them flop up and down like huge anxious birds.

Tony took off first, running several steps down the incline before the wind caught the glider and lifted it into space. Pete
followed him, sailing down toward the valley, then circling around, his feet
dangling, like some prehistoric bird. Tony was flying as smoothly as an eagle, dipping down to pick up speed, then tipping
up his wing for a gentle climb.

For a while he remained above Pete. Then Pete soared even higher, always in a circle, and Jabber could hear the boys yelling
to each other. He felt an excitement just watching them, and wondered if someday he would be able to fly as expertly as they
could. He had no immediate desire to do so, though. He preferred to be cautious, knowing that hang-gliding could be dangerous
if you weren’t careful every minute.

About fifteen minutes later Pete and Tony landed at the bottom of the hill, removed their wings, and walked back up.

“Want a go at it?” Pete asked Jabber as they reached the top.

Jabber thought a minute, then said, “Okay.”

He strapped on the harness, grabbed the bar in front of him, then stood a moment gathering up his nerve.

“Go ahead,” said Pete. “Just make sure you don’t dip the nose too low or you’ll ram into the ground.”

Jabber nodded, remembering all he had learned
from his trial-and-error flights, then started running down the hill. Suddenly he felt the wind grab the sail in front, and
he was off.

He thrilled at the feel of the wind blowing against him, the musical sound of it whistling past his ears, while the ground
seemed to drop lower and lower beneath him. He held the front of the wing tipped down slightly to keep himself from rising
too high, then circled above the valley, turning so that he could see his brother and Tony standing up there on the hill.
They waved to him, and he could hear Pete shouting something.

A quick updraft lifted the nose of the wing, and Jabber almost panicked. Swiftly he brought the glider under control, and
decided he had better call it quits.

Heart pounding, he started to head for the ground, and saw a car driving into the parking lot. He recognized it immediately
as belonging to Uncle Jerry.

I wonder if he recognized me? Jabber thought, not sure whether his uncle knew that he had taken up the sport, too, as Pete
had, and wondering if he’d approve when he found out.

He made a soft landing, took off the wing, and smiled nervously at Uncle Jerry, who had left his car and was coming toward
him.

“Hi, Uncle Jerry!” he called.

“Hi, Jabber! Hey, you’re doing all right, kid!” Apparently he didn’t mind.

“Well, I’m getting better all the time,” Jabber replied, the nervousness leaving him.

The tall man stepped up to him and shook his hand. “You had a hairy moment, though, didn’t you?” he observed. “For a second
I thought you were going to flip over when your wing tipped up.”

Jabber nodded, remembering the frantic moment. “I handled it okay, though,” he said.

“Yes, you did. I’ll reassure your mom that you can take care of yourself on a wing.”

They started up the hill, Jabber carrying the wing.

“Your mother said I’d find you guys here,” said Uncle Jerry. “I had nothing to do so I thought I’d come over.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“How’s your soccer team doing?”

“Okay.”

“This your first year? I mean — you’re a freshman, right?”

“No. I’m in the eighth grade.”

“Oh. That’s right.” His uncle smiled. “I didn’t think the middle school had a soccer team.”

“Well, we do.”

“I see.” The tall man glanced up the hill and waved to Pete, who waved back. “Do you think you’re going to continue playing
soccer in high school, too, Jabber?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so.”

“Well—” His uncle cracked a broad smile. “Frankly, I’m surprised, Jabber. I thought you’d surely go for football, since your
father had played it.

Jabber blushed. “I guess I’ve disappointed you, too, haven’t I, Uncle Jerry?” he said.

His uncle put an arm around Jabber’s shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Oh, I don’t know. Soccer’s come a long way.
Maybe by the time you’re in college — if you decide to go — soccer might become as popular as football. You never can tell.”

“Well, Uncle Jerry,” said Jabber seriously, “I don’t
think I care if it becomes as popular as football or not. I just like to play it, that’s all.”

Uncle Jerry looked at him, his eyes narrowed soberly. “That’s the
only
way to look at a sport, Jabber,” he said.

They reached the top of the hill. Uncle Jerry shook Pete’s hand, then Tony’s. Pete asked him kiddingly if he was there to
try his hand at hang-gliding.

“Not on your life!” exclaimed Uncle Jerry. “You go on and have your fun! I’ll just watch!”

Jabber wondered, though, if his uncle’s real reason for coming here was to watch them hang-glide, or to talk to him about
his playing soccer.

At any rate, Uncle Jerry didn’t push his point of view like Mom, or Pete.

T
hat afternoon Jabber walked uptown and bought his soccer shoes. He felt funny about it, thinking that he was able to purchase
his shoes, while Pete couldn’t.