Double Fake

by Rich Wallace

  Zero kept looking at the river. Then he turned toward Calvin in a hurry and said, “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I wasn’t listening.”

  “I know. I said we need to start fast.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. In the game.”

  “Oh.”

  Calvin leaned back against a tree. All he could think about was the game. Seemed like Zero hadn’t given it a second thought.

  “Don’t worry so much,” Zero said. “We’ll rise to the occasion. We always do.”

  “Do we?”

  “Usually.”

  Calvin picked up a pebble and fired at the rock again. This time he hit it, and the pebble bounded down the hill.

  “Nice shot,” Zero said, with just a touch of sarcasm.

  Calvin frowned. He had a lot of energy to burn. He needed to keep it in check until tonight.

  They arrived at halftime of the first playoff game. Bauer Electric had a 2-0 lead over the Grotto and appeared to be comfortably headed for the finals. A big, noisy crowd was on hand to watch, filling the small bleachers and lined up along the sidelines.

  Calvin hadn’t eaten dinner. All he’d ingested since that chicken sandwich at lunchtime had been a nectarine and a glass of orange juice. There was a light breeze and the heat had eased off a bit. The temperature was in the low eighties.

  Zero and Calvin set their cleats and their game shirts on the lowest step of the bleachers and walked to the sideline to watch the second half.

  The Grotto scored a goal and seemed to steal the momentum for a few minutes. But then Danielle Rosado made a breathtaking series of fakes and found her cousin Johnny wide open for a goal that quickly deflated their opponents. Jessie scored again a few minutes later.

  By then, the Hector’s Garage players were doing some warm-up drills on the grass near the refreshment stand, decked out in lime green jerseys and shouting in Spanish and English.

  Calvin looked around for his teammates. Peter and Julie were talking in the bleachers, not even watching the game. Angel and Orlando were stretched out on the grass, looking at the sky.

  “Think they’re ready?” Calvin said to Zero.

  “Everybody gets ready in their own way,” Zero said. He looked around and chewed on his lower lip. “Maybe we better take charge, though.”

  So they got the team together and passed a ball around until the coach arrived.

  First half. Calvin started at sweeper and Zero at midfield. Coach had said before the game that he wanted Zero in the action all night instead of at goaltender.

  Hector’s had a couple of short, quick forwards who were skilled dribblers and played a possession style of soccer, patiently moving the ball around and occasionally making an assault on the goal.

  Calvin’s early jitters turned to confidence as Little Italy repeatedly thwarted Hector’s offensive drives. Most of the play was near the middle of the field. The half ended without any scoring.

  Trotting off the field, Calvin nodded toward his parents and little sister, who were standing in the bleachers and clapping. He took a seat on the bench and drank some water. So far, so good.

  “Midfield,” Coach said, pointing to Calvin. “Take control.”

  “Got it,” Calvin said. That had been his second-half role all season. He’d have Angel alongside him, with Zero, Mary, and Orlando on the front line.

  Calvin tapped Angel on the shoulder. The younger player looked up at him, eyes wide.

  “Let’s kick butt,” Calvin said. He knew Angel could run all day, like he could. Calvin respected that.

  Second half. Both teams still looked cautious, studying the situation, hoping for a quick opening that could break the tie, but also unwilling to take a risk that could give the other team an advantage.

  Calvin knew this was the type of game where one great athletic play—the kind he was capable of—could make all the difference. He kept looking for that chance, but the opponents’ defense was solid.

  By the midpoint of the half, Calvin’s frustration was growing. Need to tire them out, he thought. He fielded a pass from Angel and shouted, “Let’s move!”

  He dribbled hard, darting across the center line and cutting toward the sideline. Two defenders hustled over and had him trapped.

  Zero yelled, “Support!” from behind, but Calvin booted the ball way up the field and kept chasing it.

  A defensive player trapped the ball and chipped it ahead. Calvin kept running toward the ball, and he and Orlando converged on the midfielder who had it. That player quickly passed to one of those short, quick forwards, who dribbled rapidly along the sideline, heading for Little Italy territory.

  Calvin’s teammates had caught on and began swarming toward the ball, moving with greater energy and intensity. It seemed like every time an opponent got the ball, there were two Little Italy players in his face. Long runs, quick passes, and increased hustle led to shots on goal by Zero and Mary. But as the clock wound down, the game remained scoreless.

  “Two minutes,” said the official as Orlando took the ball near midfield for a throw-in.

  Orlando stepped forward and made a mighty heave toward Angel. Angel came up and met the ball, sliding it across the top of the goal box. Calvin was there, sprinting in and shielding the ball from a defender.

  There was no clear shot, but time was running out. Calvin planted his right foot and shot awkwardly with his left, sending the ball on a soft line drive toward the center of the goal. The goalie scrambled over, ready to make the easy save, but seemingly out of nowhere a defender stepped in front, heading the ball toward the corner of the field.

  It looked like a heroic play, but unfortunately for Hector’s, it backfired. Orlando was there, chipping the ball back in front of the goal. Angel lunged for it, catching it squarely with his forehead and knocking it across the goal line and into the net. The Little Italy players leaped and yelled as their opponents stared in disbelief.

  Angel shook his fists and dropped to his knees, shouting, “Yes!” as his teammates surrounded him.

  “Keep it up!” Calvin shouted. “Everything we’ve got now. Intensity!”

  The final minute ticked away as Hector’s frantically tried to even the score. Zero made a steal. The whistle blew. Little Italy was going to the final.

  Calvin raised both arms toward the sky and let out a furious breath. He wanted that title. Now it was within his grasp.

  12

  Pineapple Soda

  “Tomorrow night,” Coach Diaz said as his jubilant team gathered around him. “Game time is seven o’clock. Be here by six fifteen.”

  “Championship game,” said Angel, who’d been soaked with water by his teammates after scoring the winning goal.

  “We had two losses all season, and we avenged the first one tonight,” Coach said. “Now get a good rest and be ready to make amends for the second one.”

  Calvin put his hand on Angel’s shoulder as they walked off. “You made the difference,” he said.

  Angel shrugged. “Just was in the right place at the right time,” he said. “Orlando made the play.”

  “Wasn’t just that,” Calvin said. “You’ve been getting better every game.”

  “We all have.”

  Calvin’s parents and sister had walked over.

  “Okay if me and Zero hang out awhile?” Calvin asked.

  “I suppose,” Mr. Tait said. “Thought you might want to go out and celebrate with us.”

  Calvin peeled off his T-shirt as his mom handed him a dry one. “No reason to celebrate yet,” he said. “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Win or lose?” said his mom.

  Calvin nodded. “Yeah, but we’re going to win.”

  “Be in by ten,” Mrs. Tait said. “Stay on the Boulevard.”

  “We will.”

  Zero and Calvin started walking across the field.

  “Where we going?” Zero asked.

  “I don’t know. Get some food. Whatever.”
r />   A car’s beep from the parking lot made them turn and look. The Rosados’ station wagon was pulling out. Jessie had the front window open and was pointing at them with a big grin. “You’re going down tomorrow night!” she shouted playfully.

  Calvin put up his hands and staggered backward. “I’m shaking!” he yelled back.

  Jessie just waved as the car pulled out of the lot. They walked up to the market and bought packages of Yodels.

  “You ain’t thirsty?” Zero asked.

  “Yeah, but I want one of them pineapple sodas. You up for walking?”

  “Sounds good.”

  The sun had gone down but the evening was still light. It wasn’t quite eight thirty, so they had plenty of time to kill.

  “Think we can beat them?” Zero asked.

  “Yeah. We can.”

  They walked past the bank and Izabella Bridal and the Habana restaurant, then took a seat on a bus-stop bench just outside Villa Roma to eat their Yodels. From there they could listen to the music coming from the pizza place, which had its doors wide open. The music was mostly from the 1970s and ’80s—the Rolling Stones, Madonna, Aerosmith.

  “Let’s get that soda,” Calvin said around nine, and they walked toward the south end of town. When they reached Fourth Street, Zero looked ahead a block and said, “There he is.”

  “Who?”

  “The Count.”

  Calvin stopped walking and thought for a second. “Let’s go slow,” he said. “Don’t startle him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe we can get him to talk.”

  Zero let out a short laugh. “You mean more than what’s up and down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think there’s much going on in his head besides that,” Zero said.

  “You never know.” Calvin started walking again.

  “But my dad says he’s never talked to nobody.”

  They walked up to the bench. “Hey,” Calvin said, as friendly as he could.

  The Count turned to the boys and caught Calvin’s eye. He didn’t smile but he didn’t sneer. He jerked his gaze back toward the street. “Three up, one down,” he said quickly. The German shepherd moved a little closer to him, looking up at the boys, but wagging his tail.

  “That’s a good score,” Calvin said, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. Zero stood behind him, on the side of the bench farthest from the Count.

  “Good score,” Calvin said again. “Mind if we watch for a while?”

  The Count glanced at Calvin, then turned the other way and looked down the Boulevard toward Jersey City. He turned slowly back and said, “Three... three ... three up. One down.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Zero squeezed onto the bench and Calvin slid over, a little closer to where the Count was standing. The dog whined but kept wagging its tail.

  “Nice night,” Calvin said. “Beautiful night to be counting buses.”

  The Count kept his eyes on the road, scanning up the street and down. They were all quiet for about five minutes. Then the dog stiffened and faced back in the direction the boys had come, letting out a soft woof.

  “Good dog,” Calvin said as a bus came down the Boulevard. “Three up, two down,” he said aloud. “Could be an unbelievable comeback for the downers.”

  The Count turned to Calvin and nodded quickly, but his facial expression remained the same. “Three up, two down,” he said, more to himself than to Calvin.

  Another bus came down the street just a few minutes later, tying the score. Calvin stood up. “Can we pet your dog?” he asked.

  The dog answered for him, pulling back his ears and growling. Calvin stepped away and said, “No problemo.”

  They made a wide path around the dog and began walking toward First Street again. “We’ll be back,” Calvin said to the Count. The Count did not acknowledge them.

  They walked a block in silence.

  “Pretty weird,” Zero finally said.

  Calvin let out a low whistle. “You got that right.” Carolina’s Cantina was full of people. All the tables were full and several men were leaning against the counter, watching a soccer game on the little TV. The round man who ran the place at night recognized Zero and Calvin and smiled as they came in. “Hola,” he called.

  “Hola,” Calvin answered. “Big game?”

  “Barcelona,” the man said. “Big game.”

  “Us, too,” Calvin said. “Won our playoff game tonight. Championship game tomorrow.”

  “Bueno,” came the answer. “Excellent.”

  “Mucho,” Calvin said. “Big thirst.”

  The man grinned. Calvin grabbed a pineapple soda. Zero decided to try mandarin orange.

  “Get two of those,” Calvin said.

  “One for your dad?”

  “Nah. Got an idea.”

  They paid for the drinks. The man at the counter said, “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Gracias,” Calvin replied, using one of the last Spanish words he knew.

  They walked back up to the Boulevard and over to Third Street, where the Count and his dog still stood.

  “Four up, four down,” the Count said without even being asked.

  “Pretty exciting,” Calvin said. He stood behind the bench. “Got sodas. Got one for you.”

  The Count took a quick glance at Calvin, then resumed looking up and down the Boulevard for buses.

  “Want it?” Calvin said, holding up the extra bottle.

  The Count did not look over.

  “It’s really good,” Calvin said. He took a long swallow from his own bottle. He set the unopened one on the bench. “I’ll just put this here in case you want it. It’s not open. We didn’t spit in it or anything like that.”

  They all watched the road for a few minutes. Then the dog stiffened and let out another woof as a bus came up the hill from Jersey City.

  “That clinches it,” Calvin said.

  The Count nodded. “Five up, four down,” he said.

  Calvin turned to Zero. “Guess we should get going.”

  “Guess so,” said Zero. “Just leave the bottle for him?”

  Calvin shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe he’ll drink it if we leave.” He drummed on the top of the bench for a few seconds, then said, “Have a good night, my man. You too, doggy. We gotta get some sleep. Tomorrow evening we’ll be counting goals. ”

  13

  Overtime?

  The biggest crowd of the season was on its feet, applauding the move Calvin had made. With time ticking down toward the end of the first half, he’d raced all the way up from his sweeper position to add some offensive pressure when Orlando set up a corner kick. Orlando had lofted the ball right in front of the goal, and Calvin sneaked into the chaos, stole the ball from Johnny Rodriguez, and fired it into the net, tying the score.

  “One up, one down!” called Zero as Calvin came back to the defensive end.

  Calvin grinned. Bauer Electric had controlled the action for most of the half, but had managed just one goal. It was anybody’s game now. Either team could win the championship.

  The whistle blew a minute later and the Little Italy players ran to the sideline, shaking their fists and whooping. All season long they’d been a second-half team. They could already feel the shift in momentum.

  “We own the second half,” Coach Diaz said. “Zero, Orlando, and Mary up front. Angel and Calvin at midfield.”

  Calvin put his hand on top of Angel’s bristly head. “Let’s go, little man. Constant pressure.”

  Angel nodded. “We’ll shut them down,” he said. “They won’t get by us.”

  Calvin walked to the bench and took a seat next to Zero. “Ready to run?”

  “All day,” Zero said. He’d played goalie in the first half, so his legs were fresh. Everything was looking good.

  Of course, Bauer Electric put all of its strength up front, too, with Danielle and Jessie at the wings and Johnny at center. The girls were looking across at Calvin with twin expressi
ons of amusement.

  “You’re the best player on the field,” Zero said quietly as they walked out for the second half. “Remember that.”

  Calvin frowned. He didn’t think that was true, but even if it was, Bauer Electric had three great players on the front line.

  The Bauer Electric strategy was clear right from the kickoff—pound that ball toward the Little Italy goal, run like crazy, and keep continual pressure with passes and shots.

  Little Italy staved off the bombardment for several minutes, finally getting some breathing room when Julie cleared the ball with a booming kick and Angel chased it down. Jessie and Danielle put on a burst of speed to catch him as a Bauer Electric defender met him from the other side. The ball was booted out of bounds.

  “Throw in, orange,” called the referee. Angel grabbed the ball at the sideline and looked around.

  “Here,” shouted Calvin, who was open in the backfield. Angel made the throw and Calvin scanned the field.

  All of the Bauer Electric players had hustled back on defense, so that end of the field was crowded. They were obviously ready to run—getting everybody up when they had the ball, then everybody back on defense.

  “Gotta pick ’em apart!” Calvin yelled, making a short pass to Zero. He ran across the center line, searching for an open space.

  The Bauer Electric defense seemed impenetrable. It would take all the skill Calvin’s teammates had just to get down near the goal. And as soon as Danielle, Jessie, or Johnny got the ball, the pressure was on again.

  Here was Jessie, dribbling along the sideline, looking ahead to where two other black shirts were drifting in toward the goal. Calvin darted over to slow her down. She threw in a series of familiar moves.

  Watch the ball, Calvin remembered. He moved closer and nudged the ball out of Jessie’s grasp, kicking it out of bounds.

  Jessie turned her head as Calvin backed away. “Lucky,” she said with a grin.

  Calvin shook his head. “No,” he said, not smiling. “I’m on to you.”