“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you sit in that office? The girl will want to ask you for some information. The hospital will need it for its records.”
“Okay.”
Jabber entered the office and sat down. The girl across the desk from him smiled. “Hello,” she greeted him amiably. “Can I help you?”
Jabber wet his lips nervously. He felt hot and uncomfortable. He had never been in a hospital before, except when he was born, and he certainly couldn’t remember that.
He heard footsteps beside him, and felt a wave of relief as Tony Dranger came alongside him. With Tony as moral support, he had little difficulty from then on in answering the questions that the girl posed to him as she filled out a hospital form.
Two hours later, his leg in a cast, Pete was lying in a bed in Room 214 on the second floor. There was another bed in his room. A man was in it, sleeping soundly.
Jabber was there with his mother, Karen, Uncle Jerry, and Aunt Doris.
“Talk about lousy luck,” grumbled Pete, sitting up in bed. “There goes football for the rest of the year. And the season’s hardly started.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself,” said Karen, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The wind’s been blowing hard all day. You shouldn’t have risked flying that wing.”
“My other mother,” snorted Pete. “Listen, I’ve flown that wing in stiff winds before. One of those gusts just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, and Jabber saw the tape around his right wrist.
“What about the wrist?” he asked.
“Sprained, just like I said,” replied Pete.
“They tell you how long you might be in here?” asked Uncle Jerry.
“Two days at least,” said Pete. “Maybe three or four. I don’t know.”
He sounded disgruntled, angry.
“Take it easy,” said his aunt. She was a tall, stately woman with short-clipped, frosted hair and a warm, tender smile. “There have been lots of athletes who’ve had injuries much worse than yours, who came back and played in just a few short weeks. Don’t take it so hard.”
“Right,” said Uncle Jerry. “Heck, it happens all the time.”
He went on to tell how it had once happened to him, and Jabber wondered if Pete was beginning to feel as he did. Listening to a pile of suggestions on how to ignore the despairing side of life and capitalize on its positive side was boring him to sleep.
Pete stopped the flow of platitudes with a raise of his hand. “If you’ll pardon my interruption,” he said, “Jabber’s got some news for you good people. Tell ’em, Jabber.”
Jabber stared at Pete.
“Go on,” insisted Pete. “Tell ’em. Don’t just stand there.”
Jabber felt everyone’s eyes focused on him. They waited, patiently.
Pete had him over a barrel. What could he say? He was trapped.
“I’m thinking of quitting soccer and playing football,” he said, his heart pounding.
“Hey! How about that?” exclaimed Uncle Jerry. “It’s about time!”
“Well!” said Mrs. Morris, her eyes widening. “And when did you decide to do that?”
“Probably when he found out that Pete had broken his leg,” said Karen impudently.
Jabber blushed. “That’s not so,” he said, embarrassed. “I spoke about it to Pete and Tony on the way to Knob Hill.”
“That’s right, he did,” vouched Pete. “But you said the same thing now that you said then, Jabber. You said you’re thinking about quitting. Aren’t you sure?”
Jabber met his eyes. “Almost,” he said.
“Well, fine,” said Uncle Jerry. “And on that happy note, what do you say we retreat? It’s almost the end of visiting time, anyway.”
Jabber was glad to leave. But in the car, on their way home, Karen hardly said a word to him. She was in front with their mother, who was talking about Pete and his foolish desire to fly hang-gliders; Jabber rode alone in the back seat.
“Someday he’ll grow up and see how crazy it is,” his mother said. “And I think you should quit it, too,” she said over her shoulder to Jabber. “I know you’re flying Pete’s glider. You can’t keep such secrets from me.”
He forced a grin. “Nobody gets hurt if he learns how to fly those things well and is careful,” he said.
“Careful?” she echoed. “What kid is careful about anything nowadays?”
She can go on and on talking about the skills and the hazards of hang-gliding, thought Jabber. Just as long as we keep away from the subject of soccer and football.
“It’s your decision to make,” Mose said as they headed for school on Monday morning. “I’m not going to try to influence you one way or another. Except that I know if you quit soccer to play football our future games will go phttt! Down the drain.”
“Oh, no,” said Jabber. “You’re not trying to influence me one bit, are you?”
“Well, you asked me for my opinion, didn’t you?”
“I did,” agreed Jabber. “And I wish I hadn’t. You’ve just made it tougher for me, that’s all. The second time in a week.”
Mose frowned at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Why did you have to tell Tony Dranger that I said I was going to quit soccer to play football?”
“Why? Because you said it, that’s why. You didn’t tell me it was a secret.”
“I was just kidding,” said Jabber. “I didn’t really mean it.”
“Then neither did I.”
Mose stamped hard on the sidewalk as if to give vent to his quick-rising temper without starting an argument. He was Jabber’s best friend, but his boiling point was so low that even a provocative remark from Jabber could touch him off.
“Okay, forget it. I’m sorry,” said Jabber. “Like you said, it’s my decision. I’ll figure it out somehow.”
“We’re playing the Blue Jackets on Thursday,” Mose reminded him. “You’d better make up your mind by then.”
“Suppose I don’t?”
Mose looked at him. “With that load on your mind you wouldn’t be worth a nickel. I know I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jabber. “You’re right. Oh, man. You know, when I was a little kid I used to be proud that my father was a football star. Now, I don’t know. I’m beginning to wish he hadn’t been.”
They walked the remaining distance to the school without saying another word. Leaf shadows danced on their faces. A couple of kids biked by, honking their horns. Waving.
It looked like a nice day. But to Jabber it was lousy.
14
Tuesday came along, and Jabber still hadn’t come to a decision. He hadn’t promised anybody yet that he would quit soccer and play football. Almost was the word he had used in the hospital to Pete and the rest of his family. He had almost decided. That didn’t mean that he had.
He knew that once he had made it, he was committed. He had to consider his integrity now, more so than ever before. Because he was older. Somehow, as a guy gets older, he becomes more aware of his responsibilities, his character.
The day dragged on, and by the end of the second period that afternoon he had made his decision. He’d drop soccer and play football. Nobody but nobody would be climbing up and down his back anymore.
Karen? Let her think what she wanted to. She’d get over it.
He would notify Coach Pike about his decision just before soccer practice that afternoon, he thought. Of course he didn’t expect the coach to like it. But, so what? It’s my life, reflected Jabber.
He went out to the field and stood by the bench in the cold, waiting for the team and Coach Pike to show up. He felt strange being alone, but he just couldn’t face the coach in the locker room in front of all the guys. Their remarks to him, when they heard him tell the coach that he was quitting soccer for football, would make him wish he’d never been born.
By tomorrow they’d feel differently about it.
&
nbsp; Maybe.
Anyway, he’d wait here.
He had been standing there about ten minutes, getting colder and colder, when Karen came riding up on her bike.
“Jabber!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed with surprise. “What are you doing here alone?”
“Waiting,” he said.
“Waiting? For the team? Then you really have quit playing.”
He shrugged, not answering.
“Pete wants to see you,” she went on, her lips tightening into a straight line.
His eyebrows shot up. “Why? What’s happened? Is he home?”
“No. He’s still in the hospital. But he wants to see you right away. Uncle Jerry’s waiting at home to take you.”
He started running off the field and down the street, hearing the whirring sound of her bike chain as she followed him.
He got home and found Uncle Jerry peeling an orange in the kitchen. On the table there were a bag of oranges, a sack of potatoes, and a couple of cartons of eggs that he had brought.
“Hi, Uncle Jerry,” Jabber greeted him, breathing hard from the long run. “Karen says that Pete wants to see me.”
“Right. Say, that was quick. I figured you were either practicing soccer or football.”
“Neither,” said Jabber.
Uncle Jerry finished peeling the orange and tossed the peelings into the garbage can. “Come on.
They started out the door.
“Aren’t you coming?” Jabber asked his sister as he saw her opening the red sack and extracting an orange.
“No, thanks. I’ll go up later with Mom,” she said.
There was something about the way she looked at him that suggested she knew why Pete wanted to see him, and that she wasn’t to be included.
What’s on his mind, now? Jabber wondered. It must be important if he wants to see me.
“Hi, Jabber. Thanks for coming,” Pete greeted him as Jabber entered the room ahead of Uncle Jerry. They shook hands. “Sit down.”
Jabber sat on the edge of the bed, scanning his brother’s eyes, wondering what was so important that Pete couldn’t wait till tonight to tell him about it.
“I got a letter today, Jabber,” Pete said, pulling out the drawer of the metal cabinet beside him and taking out a letter. “It’s registered, and it’s from a Mr. Vickers. Ever hear of the name before?”
Vickers? Jabber let the name roll around in his mind. It didn’t ring a bell.
“No,” he said.
“Look inside it,” said Pete, handing the letter to his brother.
Jabber opened it. His heart leaped as he saw a sheaf of dollars.
“It’s the stolen money,” explained Pete. “Mr. Vickers found his kid with it, had him confess where he had gotten it, and mailed it back to me. Every dollar of it is there. Now, that’s an honest man if I ever found one.”
Jabber was tongue-tied, his eyes shiny as he looked long and hard at his brother. This was proof! he thought. Proof that he hadn’t stolen Pete’s money!
“I knew you still wondered if I believed you or not,” said Pete. “And I did. I always did. But this absolves you completely. I knew it would take a load off your mind. That’s why I wanted to tell you about it as soon as I could.”
He opened his palm and Jabber, smiling happily, slapped it gently.
“One other thing,” went on Pete. “I’ve had a lot of time lying here to think about things, especially about you. I spoke my piece to Uncle Jerry, too, so this won’t surprise him. As a matter of fact, he agrees with me, and you know your uncle. He isn’t the easiest guy in the world to make change his opinion.”
Jabber grinned at his uncle. “I know,” he said.
“Anyway,” said Pete, “I’ve realized what a phony I’ve been about trying to make you do what I want you to do. I’ve been wetter than a soaked sponge, Jabber. I’ve had no business telling you what to do. I mean, just because Dad was a football star in college and then in the pros, why should you try to copy him? Know what I mean?”
Speechless, Jabber stared at him.
“What I’m saying, Jabber, is for you to do your own thing. You’re a fine soccer player. So don’t let Mom, or me, or Uncle Jerry, or anybody else tell you what sport to play. Okay?”
Jabber’s heart flipped. There was an overcast sky outside, but it suddenly seemed very sunny in the room. A bird flew onto the windowsill, shrilled a few notes, and flew off.
“Thanks, Pete,” he said. “That’s all I needed. I’m going to stick to soccer.”
“I thought you would,” said Pete. “And don’t worry about Mom. She’ll see the light, too.”
“And I have,” admitted Uncle Jerry. “And as your brother intimated, I’m a stubborn critter. As for Karen, she’s always been on your side, anyway.”
“I know,” said Jabber.
For the first time in days he felt free of the heavy burdens that had been plaguing him.
But not entirely. Regardless of what Pete had said, their mother’s feeling would continue to bother Jabber. As of now, though, his future in sports would remain in soccer.
The Blue Jackets were tough, especially on their home field. For the first three minutes of the game they had possession of the ball most of the time, threatening to score twice except for the spectacular saves by Tommy Fitzpatrick.
“Way to go, Tommy!”
“The old fight, boy!”
But how long would Tommy be able to master the situation before he got tired and lost some of his zip?
“We’ve got to sock one in, Jabber,” Mose said to him as they came up alongside each other. Al Hogan had just accepted a throw-in and was dribbling it up the center of the field.
“We’d better shoot for two, Mo,” said Jabber, “before these monkeys really break loose on us.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Mose said, grinning.
He ran up the field, watching Al evade a tackler with clever footwork. But, as another Blue Jacket player swept in toward him, Al booted the ball. It arched over Jabber’s head. Both he and Mose sprinted after it, then headed straight across the center line as they saw Pat O’Donnell come in and stop the ball with his chest.
Two Blue Jackets swarmed upon Pat, but he got the ball off before they were too close. Mose trapped it with the inside of his thigh, dribbled it a couple of yards, then pushed it to Jabber.
“Take it, Jabber,” he said. “And let’s move it.”
“Run ahead of me,” advised Jabber.
Mose did, glancing now and then over his left shoulder. But a Blue Jacket, apparently noticing the setup, sprinted briefly toward Mose, then slowed down.
Clever, old boy, thought Jabber. But I’m not so dumb myself.
“Jab!” exclaimed a voice from his left side.
He saw Stork sweep past him, long white legs pumping. Jabber pushed the ball forward, a yard . . . two yards. As long as he wasn’t challenged he’d dribble the ball.
Pounding feet sounded behind him. He booted the ball straight ahead. Stork got it, but could advance it only a few feet before a Blue Jacket man was on him, too.
Stork kicked aimlessly.
“Oh, watch it, Stork!” cried Jabber, speeding after the bad kick.
The ball struck the ground, bounced high, came down, and was met by a Blue Jacket fullback who jumped up a yard and headed the ball. Jabber, trying to halt his forward momentum, skidded and plowed into another Blue Jacket player, feeling as if he had run into a brick wall.
Stars exploded in his head. Standing still, he waited for the dizziness to leave him, the stars to disappear.
“You okay, Jabber?” Mose asked, stopping beside him.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He straightened up, looking for the ball. “We blew our chance, Mose,” he said disappointedly.
“Maybe,” said Mose. “Jack’s got the ball.”
Jabber glanced across the field just as Jack Sylvan booted the ball from under the nose of a Blue Jacket player. Jerry Bunning, playing left wing, caught it and moved it deeper i
nto Blue Jacket territory before he had to get rid of it.
Jabber broke down the field. “Mo! Keep to my right!” he called.
“Right!” said Mose.
Mike caught the pass, then almost lost it to a Blue Jacket halfback as they both fought for control of it.
“Here, Mike!” yelled Stork, running up behind the two players.
Mike pushed the ball aside with the instep of his right foot, getting it completely out of his opponent’s way, then pushed it gently over to Stork. Stork got it and started to dribble it.
“Here, Stork! Here!” exclaimed Jabber as he saw the two Blue Jacket fullbacks attacking.
But still Stork didn’t pass.
“Stork! What’re you waiting for?” shouted Jabber.
He was almost furious. Now was the best time they could have for a shot at the goal. Couldn’t Stork see that?
Suddenly Stork stopped, using the instep of his left foot to stop the ball, too. Quickly he got between it and the two attacking Blue Jacket players. And Jabber, staring dumbfoundedly at him, wondered if Stork had lost his foolish mind.
Simultaneously, someone plowed into Jabber. A leg got between his two, tripping him, sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled over to prevent bruising his legs, and came up quickly to his feet again, just as a whistle shrilled.
“Foul!” shouted the ref, pointing a finger at the Blue Jacket offender.
Jabber glared at his opponent as he brushed himself off.
“Direct free-kick,” announced the ref as he picked up the ball and tossed it to Jabber. “Right there, son. Where he ran into you.”
Jabber caught the ball, set it on the ground, and stepped back.
“Make it, Jabber,” said Mose. “Boot it in.”
Jabber ran a hand across his forehead, scooping away a thin layer of sweat.
He heard shouts from the few fans bunched together near the Birch Central bench.
“Score, Jabber! Score!”
Karen’s voice. Good ol’ Karen. He hadn’t seen her when the game had started. She must have arrived afterward.
He got ready to kick.
15
Running forward, Jabber aimed the ball directly for the middle of the goal where the Blue Jackets’ goalkeeper stood crouched, waiting.
Soccer Halfback Page 7