Betting Game
Page 2
“We play for free. You’d still be paying for soccer if we played rep.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Give this to your mom.” He hands me a fat envelope with money in it. “Tell her I’m sorry it’s late.”
“Sure.” Talking to him is like kicking a soccer ball against a wall.
I know something that’ll grab his attention. The fantasy soccer league standings.
“Well, look at that!” He thumbs through my team. “Good picks! So tell me, who’s winning tonight?”
“The Lancers.”
“Is that loyalty talking?”
“Nope. They’ll cream Portland, 2–0 or 3–0. Safe bet with Kolo out for Portland and Benson coming back for the Lancers.”
He looks up from the phone. “Benson’s suiting up?”
“Yeah. We saw him today at co-op. He’s not starting, but they’ll put him in later.”
“How do you know that?”
“I told you. I heard them say it.”
“Is that right?” Dad’s wearing a smug smile. “Good enough for me then.”
A few minutes later, he waves to someone in the stands. “Hey, Luka! Luka!”
A young guy in khakis and mirrored shades comes over. Very GQ. The kind of guy who gets top marks from girls and their parents.
“Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Rick. Good to see you. I thought you’d be here.”
There’s something European about his voice.
“I have interesting news for you. Sit with us. We have an extra seat.”
“Maybe until the game starts. You know me—I like to watch from the rail.” He glances over at me. “This must be one of your hotshot soccer players.”
Dad sticks out his chest. “That’s right. Pride of the Lancers.” I get a warm feeling inside.
Luka reaches over to shake my hand. He grips it hard. “So. Are you Jack? Or Alex?”
“Jack. Nice to meet you.”
I move over a seat. He edges past Dad and sits between us.
He points a finger at me. “The left back, yes?”
“That’s right.” Huh. I guess Dad listens more than I thought. “Alex couldn’t come. Too much homework.”
“But not you?” Luka gives a half smile. “Rick said you were smart.”
He did? I lean back in my seat, trying to look cool. “I’m in co-op. With the Lancers physio team.”
“Really! You work with the first team?”
“Since February.”
“Lucky you!” He leans forward. “Tell me what it’s like.”
“You sure? No one ever wants to talk and rehab plans. At least, not for long.”
“I do. That’s what I want to study—sports medicine or physiotherapy.”
I look at Luka again and dial down his age. He can’t be much older than I am. And he’s actually interested!
“Well, there’s way more to it than I realized.” I explain how closely the physios and trainers work with the coaching staff to get a player back on the field.
“They’re like a team too.”
“Exactly!”
“Is it helpful that you play soccer?” he asks.
“Oh, 100 percent. Knowing the game is key. So is knowing the team. But I’ve been studying all that for years. I keep stats on the players and the teams. I watch the coaches too. You know, when they sub in players and who they play.”
“Hmm. Sounds complicated. But it works?”
Dad pipes in. “Does it work? Show him your fantasy standings, Jack.”
“Okay. But it’s not easy to see on my phone. The screen’s bashed up.” I’m amazed it still turns on, actually. It’s practically an antique.
“Here, use mine.” Luka hands me his phone, and I pull up the fantasy league.
I point to my name.
“That’s you? You’re Jack Attack?”
“The one and only.”
“What did I tell you? Smart as they come.” Dad reaches over and punches my shoulder. “So, Luka, what’s the spread on tonight’s game?”
“Lancers by two.”
“Good. Put me down for a hundred on the Lancers.”
Luka’s eyebrows go up. “That’s an interesting wager.”
“Jack’s advice, actually.”
A hundred bucks? On my advice? Cool!
Wait, what advice?
“He says Benson’s back in form. Tell him, Jack.”
“Dad!” I give him a dirty look.
He just holds up his hands. “What? That’s what you told me.”
“Not so you could spread it around.”
Luka sounds confused. “Spread what around, Rick?”
“They’re putting Benson in.”
Luka’s mouth opens, but the loudspeaker drowns him out. The players file out, and the fans rock the stadium.
We rise for the national anthem. The music fills me here like it never does at school. I stand tall and straighten my shoulders.
I’m part of this club. One day it could be me down there. My name the crowds shout. My face on the Jumbotron.
Stamping feet, whistles and cheers drown out the last notes and shake the stands. I feel it rumble in my feet. On my skin. The wave of sound is so dense, I could crowd-surf on it. This is why Alex fills his fantasy roster with Lancers. Even the broken ones.
Chapter Five
A few minutes into the game, Dad goes for a beer.
Luka leans over. “So. You really think Benson will play?”
“He’s dressed, isn’t he?”
“He’s dressed for every game.”
“You watch. He’ll sub on in the second half.”
He weighs my words with a half smile. “If he plays, he could change the game.” He pauses for a moment. “So. How much did you bet on the game?”
“Me? I can’t bet.”
“Depends on who you know.” He looks at me over his shades. “You know me.”
I drop my voice. “You’d place a bet for me?”
“Sure. How much?”
“Twenty.” I dig out two wrinkled tens, my lunch money for the week. I’ll be eating peanut butter sandwiches if I lose.
He makes a face. “Oh, Jack Attack. Nickels and dimes. Fat news like that, I’m betting $1,000.”
A thousand? My face burns. Luka must think I’m an idiot.
I pat my pockets for more and hear a crackle of paper. Now that’s what I call luck!
He’s already on his cell. “Yes, $1,000 on the Lancers by two. Oh, and twenty—”
“Wait!” I check over my shoulder. Dad’s nowhere in sight. “Make it fifty.”
He nods his approval.
“Make that fifty on—” He stops.
“Hang on,” he tells the guy on the phone. He cocks his head. “You have fifty, Jack Attack?”
Have I got fifty? His opinion of me goes up at least three grand when I riffle through the crisp bills in the envelope. “As long as you can change a hundred.”
The half smile’s back. He puts the phone to his mouth again. “Yes. Fifty on the Lancers.”
I stretch out my legs and try to look cool. But it’s not easy. I feel like jumping or shouting. Or telling someone!
A few minutes later, his phone rings. He looks at the number. “I have to take this.” He gives an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. It’s business. But I’l
l be back.” He stands up and heads up the stairs.
He passes Dad on his way back. Dad toasts him with his beer, and Luka nods.
“Nice guy, eh?” Dad says.
That’s just what I’m starting to think.
My first real bet. It bumps the game up to a whole new level. Like watching a movie on IMAX instead of a laptop. Or hearing your favorite band live. No wonder people bet on sports.
By the end of the half, I’m sitting on the edge of my seat. Still no score.
What if I’m wrong? I lose fifty bucks. Dad’s down a hundred. And Luka—he bet a thousand!
Benson will fix it. He makes everyone better.
Just put him on and it’ll be okay.
Put him on soon.
It doesn’t seem to bother Dad a bit. He goes for another beer.
It doesn’t seem to bother Luka either. A few minutes later, he slides into the seat beside me with pizza slices and pop for both of us. He doesn’t ask about Benson. Just, “Pepsi or 7-Up?” Then he asks how I got so good at fantasy soccer.
“Not asking for secrets. Just curious,” he says.
“Alex thinks it’s just luck, but it’s not. I have a system. You know, statistics and probability. I keep track of playing minutes, head-to-head records, player stats. All on spreadsheets. There are too many variables to be right 100 percent of the time, but if you weight them—”
“Enough! I believe you!” Luka laughs and holds up his hands. “I knew you were a smart one. Not everyone bets with their brains. People count on hunches, birthdays, chance. That’s fine for lottery tickets. But if I put money on a game, I want more than luck on my side.”
“That’s what I say. Luck is for losers.”
“You know, if you bet real money, you’d be rich.” He cocks his head. “I could set you up with an account. You could log in, check the odds, place bets.”
“Really?” My mind starts spinning. I could save up for school.
And then I wince. Five bucks here and there, no problem. But online betting? “I don’t know. My parents would kill me.”
“Who will tell your parents? Not me. Not you.”
I wouldn’t even tell Alex. He’d flip.
“What’s it cost?”
“Nothing if you win.”
“It’s legal?”
“Not in Canada. But it’s on the Internet, so it’s all good. It must be okay—your dad has an account.”
Luka hands me his phone. “I’ll tell you what. Give me your number. I’ll set up an account. You want to use it? Great. I’ll give you my number too. You want to talk soccer or sports medicine, call me.”
He chuckles when he sees my phone. Cracks crisscross the screen. A chunk the size of a nickel is missing.
“Call 9-1-1, Jack Attack. Somebody shot your phone.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty pathetic.” I give an embarrassed laugh. “Here. Let me do it.”
The second half of the game is as tense as the first. Where’s Benson anyway?
They sub him on at the sixty-minute mark. Finally. Now I can breathe again. “Right on schedule.”
Luka’s at the rail. Dad flashes him a told-you-so look and gets a big thumbs-up in return.
Three minutes later, we jump to our feet. Goal! Benson scores the first point of the game, bending in a free kick that just kisses the crossbar.
The replay on the Jumbotron shows Benson pumping his fists in the air and getting mobbed by half the team.
With four minutes left, he picks up the ball at half. He snakes down the line, dodging two defenders, and sends in a beautiful cross. Goal!! The Jumbotron flashes, He’s baaack!
I look over at Luka. He nods.
We’re up 2–0. We’ve won the game, but have we won the bet? Not if Portland scores again. Fans start leaving, and I crane my head to watch the final minutes. By the end, my throat is raw. What a finish!
I’m up a cool fifty! Luka quietly slips it to me on our way out.
“Thanks, Jack Attack. I’ll be in touch.”
When I get home, I check my phone. Luka has left me a text.
set u up :) here’s the link
username: jackattack
pw: h0tsh0t
meet u for coffee to show u how it works
saturday @ 1:00 good for u?
I text him back.
sure!
And I click on the link.
Chapter Six
I look for Alex the next day after co-op. I find him in the academy classroom.
“So how was the game?”
“Awesome.” So was winning fifty bucks. But there’s no way he’s hearing about that.
“I heard Benson scored both goals.”
“Yup. It was magic. Would’ve told you when I got in, but you were already snoring. Still studying?”
“Nope.” He closes his laptop. “I couldn’t cram another trig rule in my head if I tried.” He checks his watch. “Anyway, I told Coach I’d show the new guy around before we practice. He should be here soon. Want to come?”
“Sure.”
We grab our coats and wait outside the big glass doors of the Lancers Training Center. I can’t wait to see the look on Gil’s face when he sees it.
Even after three years, I can’t believe we belong here. A major-league soccer academy. We’re a free kick away from the pros.
We wouldn’t be here without Jonesy.
It was the first year of high school, right after our parents split up. New school. New house. New city.
The day we moved in, we heard a knock at the door. And there was Jonesy, with a soccer ball in his hands and a big grin on his face. “You play footie, mates?” He sounded just like Harry Potter.
I elbow Alex. “Remember meeting Jonesy?”
He never gets tired of the story. “Best trick we ever played.”
I have to sit up straight and tuck in my chin to get his accent right. “I’m Khalil Jones. I’m with the Lancers Academy.”
Alex laughs. “When you handed him a soccer ball and asked for his autograph, he didn’t know whether to sign it or punch you in the face.”
“And then at the field, whoosh! You stopped his first shot with a perfect layout. His mouth just opened and closed, but nothing came out.”
“And you kept stealing the ball from him.”
“How was he supposed to know we played rep?”
Another guy might’ve held it against us. Not Jonesy. He laughed right along with us. Just like that, we were best friends. And the next day, he brought the coach of the Durham Lancers Soccer Academy to our door.
I hope it’s that easy with Gil.
“So what do you think he’s like?” I ask.
“Gil?” Alex shrugs. “Hard to tell from the video. But we’re about to find out.” He nods at a guy marching across the parking lot.
I squint. Blond buzz cut, pressed camos, army-green T-shirt. Soccer bag. That’s him.
When he gets to us, Alex smiles. “Gil, right?”
“Yeah.” He sticks out his chin and tacks on a silent What are you going to do about it?
“Thought so. Coach asked us to show you around. I’m Alex, the captain. This is my brother, Jack.”
Gil looks from me to Alex. Same black hair. Same chin. Are we…
Alex answers the question before he asks it. “Nope, not twins. Just born the same year.”
“Even our mom thinks we look al
ike. She gives one of us a black eye now and then. Helps her tell us apart.” I point at mine. “It was my turn.”
He gives me an odd look.
“We saw your YouTube videos,” says Alex. “Wicked shot! Where have you played?”
“All over. Europe mostly.”
“Wow! What’re you doing here?”
“We move a lot.”
“Well, I hope you stick around. Let’s get started.” Alex opens the big glass doors and spreads his arms wide. “This is the Lancers Training Center. Home of the Durham Lancers and the Lancers Academy, one of the top academy programs in North America. We train here, eat here, play here.”
He opens the door to the gym and cardio studio. “Weights, bikes, ellipticals. Go in and take a look if you like.”
Gil cuts him off. “I’ve seen gyms before.”
“Have you seen therapy rooms before?” I point to ours as we pass and smile innocently. “In case you get busted up.”
Alex gives me a dirty look.
I shrug. “Just being helpful.”
Alex leads us upstairs. “Here’s the dining room. And our classroom, in case you want to do homework.”
Next is the viewing theater, my favorite part of the tour. “We use this room a lot,” says Alex. “We review our games and watch training films.”
Gil’s not paying any attention. His too-cool-for-you face is getting annoying. So I add my own tour talk. “Every Friday is movie night. Blockbuster hits. Popcorn. You can bring a date.”
Alex laughs, but Gil’s a blank wall.
A challenge. Fair enough.
“He missed Coach’s orientation speech. Want me to give him the highlight reel, Alex?”
“Do it!” He grins and sits in the front row. “Wait’ll you hear him roll his r’s, Gil. He sounds more Scottish than Coach.”
Gil leans against the door, his arms crossed.
I mess up my hair and pace around. “Awrrright, lads. I have a few rrrules.” I stop in front of Alex and stare him down. He can’t keep a straight face. “Keep your eyes and ears on me at all times. I expect your best effort. No lollygagging.
“You must be on time, every time.” I tap my watch for emphasis. “The bus will not wait for you. Neither will I.”