Kick

by Walter Dean Myers

  “It might not seem like it, but I can handle myself,” he said.

  “Against what?”

  “I’m doing okay here,” he said, looking over his shoulder at some of the candidates taking the physical.

  “You’re doing okay because there aren’t any bad guys here, Kevin,” I said. “These are guys who don’t have a choice but to play by the rules. Once you leave this gym, all the rules are out the window. If they weren’t, you wouldn’t need young adults in the peak of physical condition to keep order.

  “Talk!”

  Kevin looked around as if something was going to pop up and give him a clue. “I thought what I was doing was right,” he said. “At least I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”

  “Does this affair have anything to do with Dolores?” I asked.

  “No, I just thought I was helping you—”

  “If I want your help, I’ll ask for it,” I said. “You were helping Christy?”

  He shrugged. “Now I don’t know who I was helping.”

  “You saying you can’t talk to me?” I asked. “Or you saying you won’t talk to me?”

  “If I knew exactly what . . . what to say, then I would say it,” Kevin said. “Do you always know what to say?”

  “No, but I always know when I need to be talking to somebody besides myself,” I said.

  The last test was a seventy-five-yard run through a small obstacle course.

  “You don’t have to do this one if you don’t want to,” I said. “We can go home now.”

  “I’ll do it,” Kevin answered.

  “Why?”

  He bit his lip as he looked around. “I think I can handle it,” he said.

  I sat down and watched as Kevin lined up with the others. The course wasn’t that long, only seventy-five yards, but there were turns and railroad ties that had to be negotiated. The candidates were proving that they had the stamina and coordination to run after a culprit and catch him in 19.5 seconds. The first guy who started off did it too quickly and fell, sliding into one of the cones he was supposed to negotiate.

  Kevin looked up at me and I gave him the thumbs-up sign. I thought he could handle it too. He did.

  I had a few words with Buddy and he complained about the level of applicants he was getting. For as long as I’ve known Buddy, he’s been complaining but still turning out good officers.

  The ride home was different from the ride down to Sea Girt. I was still riding with a thirteen-year-old, but he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

  “Can I trust you?” I asked when we reached his house.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “What it will mean—me trusting you—is that you’ve finally learned to trust me and the rest of the world. I’ll be talking to you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter 10

  I closed Sergeant Brown’s car door and walked up the driveway. It was dusk. The sun had all but disappeared below the horizon, creating an eerie combination of shadows and light. I didn’t realize I would be putting Sergeant Brown’s job in jeopardy. I just wanted to help him. And Dolores. I thought Sergeant Brown would understand what I was doing, but now I was in trouble. Again.

  Mom and Grandma were in the den, watching an old DVD of Betty La Fea, a Colombian soap opera. I could hear them laughing. I tried to sneak past the door. But my mother’s mom senses kicked in.

  “So how was it?” she asked without even turning around.

  “Fun,” I said, starting up the stairs. I wasn’t about to tell her Sergeant Brown almost lost his job because of me and I might be sent back to juvie.

  “Come sit with us,” Mom said, making room for me on the sofa.

  Living with two women was hard. All I wanted to do was go and play video games upstairs. They just didn’t understand me.

  Reluctantly, I plopped down on the sofa.

  “What did he say?” Mom asked, patting my back.

  “He said that I was a bright athletic young man who would make a good police officer.”

  “Is that all?” Abuela asked.

  “More or less,” I said.

  I wasn’t lying; I just wasn’t telling the whole truth. I thought it probably would be better to leave out the “reckless, loves to lie, sneaky, a car thief, and will probably spend the rest of his life in jail if he doesn’t get himself killed within the next few days” part.

  There was an awkward silence.

  Mom paused the DVD. “I know it’s been hard for you the past couple of years,” she said.

  Betty’s face was frozen in the middle of her conversation, her eyes closed behind her thick-rimmed glasses, her mouth wide open, braces showing. It was no secret why the show was called Ugly Betty.

  “Are you feeling a little bit better?” Mom said. “I still can’t understand why you stole that car. You’re not helping yourself by not talking to me.”

  “Okay,” I said, and walked upstairs.

  Later that night I lay looking up at my ceiling and the small vent centered above my bed. When I was little, I used to imagine that monsters were going to come out of that vent and eat me at any moment. My dad would run in and tell me it was all okay, never once getting angry at me. He even considered moving the vent, but then he’d have had to tear up the ceiling.

  If only my dad were here now, I’d tell him everything that happened. He would have sorted things out. I know he would have. But it looked like I would have to get through this on my own. By trying to protect Christy, I was really hurting her. I bet that’s what my dad would have said. And my mom, too, if I told her.

  I was slowly drifting apart from Mom and Abuela. I could feel it. Conversations with them never used to be awkward, and now I knew they felt sorry for me all the time. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

  Some kids at school said they hated their dads. They were lucky just to have a dad. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure why, a wave of anger and resentment came over me. I punched my pillow, leaving an imprint of my fist on it. It took me a moment to cool down. God and I hadn’t always seen things eye to eye. Or whatever God saw out of. I turned over, and the glow of the time on my digital alarm clock blinded me. My eyes adjusted just enough to see the picture behind it. Of my dad.

  Cal and Tyler came over the following Friday. We hung out for most of the afternoon, then decided to get dinner in town. Cal wanted to look in some stores and stuff, and I just wanted to leave the house.

  I washed up and changed my shirt before going.

  “You’re looking good.” Mom fixed my collar when I came downstairs. “Just don’t get into trouble.”

  As I was leaving with my friends, I heard Mom tell my grandma that soon the chicas would be all over me.

  It felt good to get out of the house. This was what I wanted, just hanging and not worrying about being sent back to juvie or anything else.

  “If I don’t get my grades up, I might not be able to finish the soccer season,” Ty said. “Mrs. Winters gave me an F in science. I think she loved failing me. I don’t get why some teachers teach if they hate kids.”

  “Come on, I don’t think she hates us,” Cal said. “She probably just got picked on in high school or something and this is her revenge.”

  “You ever see her hand back a test with an F on it? She likes to watch kids fail. And do you see how big her Fs are? They cover the whole page!” Ty said.

  We hung around the mall for over an hour. Other kids from school were there. We checked them out as they checked us out. A couple of kids there tried to start a fight with us. I thought we could take them, but I realized that wasn’t a good idea.

  I had almost forgotten about the arrest, being caught up in conversation and all, but not quite. No matter what, it was always gonna be in the back of my mind. Well, I hoped not always.

  Then the three of us walked to Cold Stone Creamery on the other side of the mall. I got an icy blue Gatorade and Cal and Ty got ice cream.
We sat outside the store at one of the aluminum tables.

  “Yo, Kev, what’s it like always being with that cop?” Cal asked. “What is he, a sergeant or something?”

  “I guess he’s all right,” I said. “At first I thought he was just interested in getting information about the arrest, but now I’m thinking he actually wants to help me.”

  “That’s cool,” Ty said.

  “But I really don’t need any help,” I said. “I’m fine and I just want to forget about it and get on with my life without him around all the time or having to answer a thousand questions.”

  “Yeah,” Cal said. “Sure.”

  My friends looked at each other, but nobody asked me anything else. They understood I didn’t want to talk about it.

  For the next fifteen minutes we sat around trying to figure out which soccer teams in our area were the best. We decided that every team had a weakness and we’d have a chance to move on in the tournament.

  “I think when we’re on, we have the best team play,” Ty said. “Our team play matches up with anybody’s.”

  Cal’s ice cream had looked so good that I decided to get some, too. As I returned with my cake batter and crushed Oreos, Cal nudged Ty and pointed across the mall.

  “Hey, Christy and Emily are coming over here.”

  I didn’t know why I felt a sense of panic, but my stomach knotted up just seeing Christy. I put my ice cream on the table and quickly went back into the store. I zigzagged my way through the crowd toward the bathroom. Inside, I splashed cold water on my face and dried it off with paper towels.

  Sometimes going to school was boring, and there were times when even soccer practice wasn’t that interesting. And I had been to the mall so many times, it wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, either. But now the boring parts of life were starting to look good. I knew Christy’s drama was getting heavy on me, but I didn’t know it could make me sick to my stomach.

  I waited a few minutes until I thought the coast would be clear, but came out only to find that Christy was still talking to Cal. She saw me through the window, stopped her conversation with Cal, and entered the shop.

  “Hey!” Christy said.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying not to show that I didn’t want to see her.

  “How come you’ve been avoiding me?” she asked.

  “I’m not . . . I don’t know,” I replied, looking at the floor. “I’ve been thinking—how come you let me go to jail and you never told the police what really happened? I haven’t told anyone. I figured it was up to you.”

  “I’m really sorry, Kevin,” Christy said. “You know how my dad is. If I say anything, it’ll get back to him and I’ll really be in big trouble. You know that.”

  “Is it always gonna be like this?” I asked. “I’m still the one in the most trouble.”

  “I hope not,” Christy said.

  Her eyes started to water up. I gave her a napkin. There was no way I wanted to have to explain to Cal and Ty why she was crying. I took her hand and we walked outside together.

  Emily was hovering over my ice cream.

  “Mmm. That looks good,” Emily said. “Can I have some?”

  “Sure,” I said, and pushed it toward her.

  I hoped her lipstick didn’t come off on it. I hated that.

  “Thanks. I’m thirsty, too,” Emily said. “Can I have some of your drink?”

  No, not the Gatorade! I thought.

  I forced a smile and handed her the drink.

  We left Cold Stone Creamery and started to walk home. Cal and Ty teased me about Emily having a crush on me.

  “And my man just brushed her off,” Ty said.

  The air had gotten slightly colder outside, and I could see my breath rise up as I said good-bye. We split up and went our separate ways home. Going out with the guys had taken my mind off things. For a while.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead—you’re going to be late for your game!” my mom called the next morning. “I made you eggs and chicharrón. It’s all ready for you downstairs.”

  “All right,” I groaned. I was still sore from Thursday night’s practice and had just woken up. I glanced at the clock; it read 11:00. “Mom, it’s way too early.”

  “Kevin, humans are not nocturnal creatures. You can’t sleep all day and stay up all night.”

  My muscles were tight, and I struggled to bring myself out of bed. I got out of bed and walked drowsily down the stairs with my eyes half closed, following the smell. Chicharrón, bits of juicy pork still attached to the skin of the pig, was one of those things that sounded gross but tasted delicious.

  The quarterfinals were about an hour and a half away at Fort Dix. I thought it was strange that the soccer fields for the State Cup quarterfinals, semis, and finals were right smack in the middle of a military base camp.

  I fell asleep in Sergeant Brown’s car on the ride to the field, and when I woke up, I didn’t feel much like playing.

  Getting my bag out of the trunk, I squinted across the complex to see which field we were playing on. Coach Hill’s bald head and stocky figure were easy to spot, and most of my teammates were already there in their red and white uniforms.

  “Get your head ready to play soccer!” I heard Coach yell as I approached the team. “We’ve made it this far, but so far, we haven’t proven anything. The teams we’ve played have been all right, but not sensational. Today we have more of a challenge. The Oceanside Tsunamis are going to put up a fight. As for their defense, I think it’s kind of slow and disorganized. Did you hear that, forwards? We have to take advantage of their defense to counteract their offense. Kevin, you and Ricky have to keep the pressure on their defense. I don’t care if you get tired. Suck it up and keep the ball moving.”

  I was going to have to pace myself.

  “The Tsunamis have some pretty good players who can be a threat to score at any given moment. Watch out for Santiago—he’s their best player and one of the best in the state. Cal, if you don’t you think you can handle his speed, I’ll put Mike on him, or you guys can alternate if you need a break. He’s going to be a handful, but remember, great teams win championships, not great players. We need team players to step up today, not individuals. Let’s see how well you guys can handle pressure.”

  On the field we warmed up, and I was feeling better. I looked for Santiago and saw a kid who was taller than I thought he would be. He dribbled up and down the field, getting loose, and I could see he could handle the ball. I started feeling nervous, but it was a good kind of nervousness.

  We huddled and got a last few words from Coach, and then it was time to play.

  “One, two, three, Raiders!” we shouted.

  I shot a look at Sergeant Brown on the sideline as I ran to my position and he smiled. I was glad he was there to watch me. Maybe it was a sign that he’d forgiven me for following Dolores.

  The game got off to a slow start. The Tsunami offense controlled the ball. They were just playing it back and forth. They didn’t score, but they didn’t let us get the ball, either. I didn’t have to run much since the ball was on the other side of the field most of the time. Not a good sign.

  Slowly, our defense started to push them back and the game shifted to my side of the field. I was closing down the nearest defender as soon as they received the ball. I knew the defenders were feeling the pressure and were bound to make a mistake.

  Suddenly, one of their defenders played a lax ball. It looked like it was rolling in slow motion. Shawn intercepted the ball at midfield. There was only a sole defender in sight. I was running in line with Shawn, having to hold my pace back a little so that I wouldn’t be offside if he passed it to me.

  We entered the eighteen-yard box. The defender backed down and then came toward Shawn, leaving me in the clear. Shawn lifted the ball with his foot up into the air toward me. I was ready for it and jumped so high in the air, it surprised me. Then I struck the ball with my head with such force, it whizzed right by the goalie, leaving him bl
inking. It was a slam dunk of soccer.

  A roar came from the sidelines. Between high fives and pats on the back, I looked over at Coach Hill. He gave me a thumbs-up. I glanced at Sergeant Brown, who seemed to be enjoying himself.

  I felt good. The field seemed clearer to me. After my goal I could feel my confidence grow. Once you score, you can afford to make mistakes. Playing without the fear of messing up lets you relax and really take your game to another level.

  “We’re playing well.” Coach Hill was pumped at halftime. “But we have to keep fighting. They can get a quick goal and tie the whole game up! Don’t get discouraged if they score. Just keep your composure and don’t panic.”

  Less than five minutes into the second half, I scored my second goal. It was a long ball over the defenders’ heads that I easily ran onto. I kicked the ball low toward the corners of the net and watched as their goalie turned his head too late. I thought, What is the point in having a goalie if he just stands there?

  For the rest of the game, I was on cruise control.

  Five minutes before the game ended, Coach Hill took me out. I didn’t mind—I needed the break.

  “Kevin, good job,” he said, pulling me aside from the rest of the kids on the bench while he watched the game. “You have to display more discipline, but you’re making smarter decisions and you handled the pressure pretty well—”

  Coach was cut short by cheers from the other team’s parents. Santiago had scored. I shook my head and returned to the bench.

  I couldn’t believe Coach had said that to me. Maybe Coach was right—maybe I just needed to be more responsible. I needed to be more aware, not just on the field but off the field, too. Sometimes adults didn’t talk the same language as I did. Maybe Coach Hill didn’t really want me on the bench, and I had figured out that Sergeant Brown wasn’t going to send me back to juvie, either.

  There were three more minutes left, and if our team could hang on, we would be one of the four teams in the semifinals. Whenever there was a one-goal difference, the final minutes were agonizing to watch and even more intense to play.

  With thirty seconds to go, Santiago received a pass from downfield. He was past our defenders!