Top Wing (2 page)

“There’s absolutely no reason not to,” Mrs. Bellamy insisted. “This is the first nice day since that awful hot spell. Two
horrible, steamy weeks of it! Thank goodness for fans and air conditioners. Now, have some fun, Dana. Let’s get in the car.
Come on, Christy — you, too.”

Dana’s ten-year-old sister hopped into the backseat of the station wagon.

“I’ll give Dad a big hug for you,” said Christy. “And after the game, you can tell him how many goals you made.”

All season long, Dana had been one of the top scorers for the Hammerville Anchors, right behind Steve Rapids. But he had skipped
the last game, which was right after the fire. This would be his first day back in action.

And the Anchors really needed him. With the season well under way, they were trailing the Cottoneers in the league standings
by two games. A win today would mean a big boost in the Anchors’ morale.

Mrs. Bellamy shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Dana saw her glance at the charred remains of the Crawford
house.

As she started down the road, Dana noticed Andrea McGowan across the street. The fifteen-year-old redheaded girl was sitting
on the top step of her front porch. She held a video camera to her right eye. It was aimed at a large oak tree near the corner
of her front yard.

What’s so interesting about an oak tree? Dana wondered.

“Oh, look!” Christy exclaimed. “Andrea’s making a movie of that squirrel nibbling on an acorn! Isn’t that cute!”

Dana grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Real cute.”

At that moment, Andrea lowered the camera and waved at the passing car. Andrea was a real video nut. Her favorite way of spending
time was making a videotape of just about anything.

Well, almost anything. Dana had once asked her if she’d like to videotape one of his soccer games.

“What?” she’d asked, wrinkling her nose. “Two hours of watching a bunch of kids kicking a ball back
and forth? Forget it. Not enough excitement, not enough action.”

The car turned the corner, and Andrea’s red hair became a dim spark in the distance.

After weaving through the downtown area, Mrs. Bellamy pulled into the parking lot next to the soccer field.

Dana unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the car.

“See you after the game,” said his mother. “Have fun — and good luck.”

“Yeah — good luck,” echoed Christy.

“Thanks a bunch,” said Dana, giving them the thumbs-up sign.

The car took off, and Dana trotted over to a group of boys warming up near the south goal area. Like them, he wore the Anchors’
navy blue uniform with the red trim around the edges and his number in white on the front and back. Dana had chosen number
twelve since he’d just celebrated his twelfth birthday.

The Cottoneers were at the opposite side of the field. Clothed in their yellow uniforms with the
green trim, the opposition ran back and forth across the field, keeping a half dozen soccer balls in motion. Coming off a
three-game winning streak, they were the favorite — even in enemy territory.

The Anchors’ coach, Russ Kingsley, seemed ready for them. Throughout the season, he’d taught the team that a strong offense
and a heads-up defense were the keys to winning. He positioned his team in a 3-3-4 lineup. Dana, Steve, and Abe Strom made
up the front line, with Dana to Steve’s right and Abe at the left wing position. At midfield Coach Kingsley placed Jack Nguyen
in the center, flanked by Lance Dixon on his left and Benton on his right. The back-field went from left to right: Tucker
Fromm, Paul Crayton, Pete Morris, then Mike Vass. Jazz McCord held down the goalie slot on the team.

The first member of the team to notice Dana’s arrival was the new captain of the Anchors.

“Hey, Dana,” said Steve. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, we were just asking about you,” said Jazz. “Weren’t sure you’d want to play.” He kicked a practice ball over toward
Dana.

“How’s your dad?” asked Pete, nudging the ball away from him.

“Okay. He’s doing okay,” Dana answered.

Jack dribbled a ball in Dana’s direction, then faked it away from him. He called back as he edged toward the goal area, “I
was sorry to hear he got burned.”

“It was mostly smoke inhalation,” said Dana. “His lungs are in bad shape, but he’s coming along. He’s getting better.”

The ball was booted back and forth, stolen, passed, trapped, and kicked, over and over, as the Anchors shook out the kinks
and got ready for the game. During the warm-up, most of the guys managed to say a word or two to Dana about his dad.

As a whistle blew to signal that the game was about to start, both teams ran off to their benches. Dana noticed Benton lagging
toward the back of the group. He waved at his neighbor, but Benton had his head down. Dana was anxious to talk to Benton because
they hadn’t seen each other much since the fire. The Crawfords were temporarily living across town in an apartment.

“Hey, Bent!” he called over.

But before there was a chance to talk, Coach Kingsley clapped his hands to get the attention of
his players. “Okay, you guys,” he said. “Gather round! Steve, you know what to say if you win the toss?”

“Kick,” answered the tall, broad-shouldered center forward.

“Right,” said the coach. “And Dana, you’ll take the position inside the circle with him. Remember, Steve, a quick tap to Dana.
Dana, you boot it to Benton, run downfield, and look for his pass. Got it?”

Both teams gathered at the center of the field, where the referee and two line judges were waiting. The referee asked the
Cottoneer captain, Russ Anderson, to make the call. Then he flipped the coin.

“Heads!” shouted Anderson.

Heads it was. The Cottoneers chose to kick.

The referee looked over at Steve. “Which goal?” he asked.

The Anchors’ captain pointed to the south goal.

As the players ran toward their positions, a loud noise burst out behind their bench. Six cheerleaders dressed in the team
colors flung their arms in the air and kicked up their legs. They led the Anchors’ fans in a loud cheer.

Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars,

Have you seen those Anchors stars?

What a sight,

What a treat

We’re the team that can’t be beat!

Meanwhile the teams got set on the field. Dana crouched anxiously in the right wing slot. Adrenaline rushed through his system
as he waited for the opening kick.

Seconds later, the ball came zooming across the field. The Cottoneer center had kicked the ball back to his halfback, who
had aimed a kick to his right wing. But his kick was off. The ball landed midway between Lance and Abe. Both of them rushed
toward it. About half the Cottoneers made for the same spot.

But Lance got to the ball first. He dribbled it a few feet before booting it in Jack’s direction.

Jack was in the clear. But in a matter of seconds, there were a half dozen Cottoneers swooping down on him. Dana knew he couldn’t
stand and wait for the ball to come to him. He rushed over in Jack’s direction, looking for a pass.

“Jack! Over here!” he yelled.

Jack managed to get off a pass in his general direction. Dana lined himself up, planted his feet, and trapped the ball with
his chest. He let it drop to the ground, then dribbled it toward the touchline.

Through the sea of yellow-and-green uniforms downfield, he looked for someone in the clear. Where was Abe? Where was Steve?

There was no time to waste. A Cottoneer was all over him. Dana tried to dribble the ball away. He just managed to avoid a
steal when another Cottoneer halfback appeared at his side. He had to pass the ball quickly — or have it stolen.

Fortunately Benton was right behind him. Dana wobbled a pass to him seconds before the tackler reached in with his foot. The
Cottoneer had simply been too slow.

Benton started to move the ball downfield, toward the Cottoneers’ goal. Dana saw him look around. Steve was covered all over
like wallpaper by the defense. And Abe was too far off. But Dana had shaken loose and was running just slightly ahead of him.
With a little luck, he’d have a clear shot at the goal.

He figured Benton would pass the ball to him automatically. After all, that’s part of what halfbacks were supposed to do —
get the ball to the front line. And the two of them had been a scoring combination throughout the season.

But Benton kept on dribbling the ball, wasting valuable time.

“Benton! Bent!” he shouted. “Over here!”

It was too late. A bunch of Cottoneers had caught up with the Anchors’ midfielder. In a last-ditch effort to save the ball
from a steal, Benton kicked it toward the sideline. It ricocheted off a Cottoneer and was about to go out of bounds. At the
last second, Mike Vass made a run for it, but it bounced off his shin and over the line.

The whistle blew.

“Green ball!” shouted the ref.

As the two teams lined up for the throw-in, Dana glanced over at Benton. He was about to shrug and signal “Better luck next
time.” But he just couldn’t seem to catch Benton’s eye.

W
hen the ball came into play, it was headed in Jack Nguyen’s direction. The Anchors’ center halfback snagged the ball between
his shins, then passed it up to Abe Strom in the left wing position.

The ball remained on the left side of the field, bouncing back and forth between the two teams’ offense and defense. For a
moment, Dana had a chance to catch his breath. He noticed that Benton, several feet behind him, was coughing and gasping.
Probably still has some smoke in his lungs, like Dad, Dana thought.

Most of the time, he was able to put the fire out of his mind. But every now and then, it would creep back. When he thought
of his father, trapped inside the Crawfords’ house, his mouth got dry. And then there had been the long wait until his mother
called
from the hospital to say that Mr. Bellamy was going to be okay. He couldn’t help thinking about that awful time.

Dana shook his head. Not now, he thought. I have to keep my mind on the game and my eye on the ball.

The Anchors’ offense had broken away from the cluster of Cottoneers and had crossed the midfield stripe. The ball was about
twenty yards in front of the goal line. Steve tried to set up a kick, but he couldn’t shake off a Cottoneer defenseman. He
tried to boot it toward Dana, but it wobbled back toward Benton instead.

There were too many players from both teams between Benton and the goal. He had to pass the ball.

Two Anchors were in good field position for a goal attempt. Dana had jogged downfield but was still only a dozen yards away
from Benton. Lance was way across the field.

Benton twisted around and booted the ball over to Lance.

A Cottoneer swung in front of Lance, ready to intercept. But luckily Jack had shaken loose and got in the way. The ball bounced
off his hip — in the
wrong direction. A strong kick from a Cottoneer halfback sent it hurtling toward the Anchors’ goal. The Cottoneers’ offense
raced after the ball.

“Eyes up, Jazz!” Dana called as the two teams converged in the goal area. He jogged along beside the touchline in that direction,
careful to stay out of the way. He knew that too many players “helping” the defense usually ended up causing a foul — or a
goal.

I could’ve had a shot back there, he thought. I wonder why Benton didn’t pass the ball to me. Probably just didn’t see me.

A shout from the Cottoneers’ fans snapped Dana back to the game. He looked up just in time to see Fred Currier, the Cottoneers’
right wing, boot one in. The Anchors were now one goal in the hole.

As the two teams got into position for the kick, Steve tried to rally the Anchors.

“Come on, you guys,” he said. “Let’s get some teamwork going!”

“Yeah,” shouted Dana. “Let’s go, Anchors!” Following Coach Kingsley’s instructions before the game, Dana joined Steve in the
center circle for the kickoff.

I only hope Benton is ready for the pass, he thought. He seems a little off his game today.

The ref blew his whistle to signal the kickoff. Steve tapped the ball over to Dana. Dana trapped it smoothly, booted it back
to Benton, and took off down the wing slot. As he turned to look for the pass back, he saw Benton stop the ball, look up,
then begin dribbling in downfield.

Why doesn’t he pass it to me like Coach told him to? Dana thought. Then Benton did pass it — to Steve, who almost missed it.
Steve shot a surprised look at Dana, then started with the ball toward the Cottoneers’ goal.

Dana kept running downfield about ten yards in from the touchline. He kept right up with Steve, who gradually worked the ball
toward the goal.

So far, so good. The rest of the team managed to keep most of the Cottoneers out of the way. But one of their bigger players
was bearing down on Steve.

The Anchor captain must have seen the enemy approach. He was still too far for a goal kick. Instead, just breaking stride
for a moment, he booted the ball over in Dana’s direction.

Dana was all clear. There was no one near him,
and he had a great shot at the goal. It was a golden opportunity.

Then, out of nowhere, a flash of navy blue with red trim zoomed in between him and the ball. One of his own teammates had
stolen the ball!

The shock of jet black hair on a tall, lanky form told him exactly who it was. Benton!

The Anchor halfback was traveling at lightning speed — away from Dana and straight toward the left side of the field. With
a quick flick of his foot, he passed the ball to Abe.

Abe dribbled it closer to the goal, just managing to keep it away from two Cottoneers trying to pry it loose. He was within
the penalty area when one of the Cottoneers rammed into him from behind and knocked him on his backside.

A whistle shrieked.

“Direct free kick,” announced the referee. It was the Anchors’ chance to tie the score.

“Make it good, Abe!” Dana called over to him.

“You can do it!” echoed Steve.

Abe didn’t even look at them. He got up and brushed the back of his shorts. Then, from the spot
where he’d been hit, he kicked the ball toward the goal.