Soccer Shocker

by Nancy Krulik

  Reed, our fullback, grabbed his stomach. He started to run faster than I’d ever seen him move.

  “Hey, where are you going?” I asked.

  “I gotta find a bathroom—!” Reed yelled as he raced off the field.

  “How are we going to play if everyone is puking their guts out?” Stanley asked Java. He sounded really upset.

  “Java, why would you do this to your own team?” Tom asked angrily—right before he started puking again.

  “My stomach feels like it’s going to fall out,” Lexi said. “What kind of a dum-dum puts jellyfish in a sandwich?”

  I looked over at Java. He seemed confused, which was kind of weird for an android. I guess he didn’t know he was supposed to be upset that he’d gotten everyone sick.

  I felt bad for him. It wasn’t fair that everyone was yelling at him.

  “My cousin is no dum-dum,” I said. “He just made a mistake. We can win this game. After all, we have Java on our side.”

  I stopped. I couldn’t believe what I’d just said.

  I watched as Nadine threw up a hunk of jellyfish onto the grass.

  This was going to be one strange game. But Java could still win it for us.

  Bleeeechhhhh. Stanley started puking.

  That is, if we could make it onto the field.

  5.

  Something Smells Fishy

  “Looks like the Purple Wombats will have to forfeit this game.”

  I turned around the minute I heard Jerry Silverspoon’s voice. He and Sherry were standing on the sideline behind me. They looked really happy.

  Which made me really nervous.

  The Red Polar Bears weren’t playing until later that afternoon. So why were the twins here now? And why were they smiling?

  “Nice snack Java made for all of you,” Sherry said with a nasty laugh.

  “Would you like one?” Java asked her. He held up a super slimy peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich.

  I rolled my eyes. Java couldn’t tell Sherry was joking. But I could.

  “No thanks,” she told Java. “I’m not into puking.”

  “If you forfeit, you lose,” Jerry told me. He snickered.

  “And that means you stay in last place,” Sherry added with a grin.

  Now things were starting to make sense.

  “Did you tell Java to make jellyfish sandwiches?” I asked the twins angrily.

  “Well, the other day, Java asked us what our favorite soccer snack was,” Sherry answered. She had a mean grin on her face. “I might have said peanut butter and jelly.”

  “And when he asked what kind of jelly went best with peanut butter, we might have listed all kinds of jelly—grape, strawberry, jellyfish,” Jerry added, with a nasty laugh.

  I should have known the twins were behind this.

  “I don’t know where Java comes from,” Sherry said, “but I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know how to make peanut butter and jelly.”

  Before I could answer, the referee called out, “Players, take the field!”

  The Blue Chimpanzees all ran to their positions.

  The Purple Wombats gripped their stomachs and started crawling over.

  All except Java. He didn’t run or crawl.

  He shouted, “I can do it!”

  Then he bent down and began digging up the turf. I’ve never seen anyone dig a hole that big, that fast before.

  Java held up a pile of dirt and showed it to the ref.

  “Here’s the field,” Java said. “Where would you like me to take it?”

  Oh brother.

  “That’s not funny, kid,” the referee said. “Put that dirt back. We have a game to play.”

  I looked around at my teammates. Their faces were turning all sorts of awful colors. We looked more like the Puke-Green Wombats.

  “Java, it’s all up to you,” Stanley groaned as he stepped onto the field. “You’re the only one who can score on the Blue Chimpanzees today.”

  That made me angry. I had spit out my sandwich. I wasn’t sick. I could still score a goal.

  I had done it once before.

  But Stanley—my best friend—didn’t think I could win the game. He was depending on Java.

  I was tired of my friends thinking my android cousin was so great.

  But I didn’t want the Silverspoons’ evil plot to work either. No way.

  “Okay, Java,” I said finally. “Get scoring!”

  That was all it took. My cousin became a one-man soccer machine.

  He stole the ball from the Blue Chimpanzees and dribbled it down the field so fast you could barely see his feet move.

  He got into position and Slam!

  He kicked the ball right past the Chimpanzee goalie and through the net!

  “GOAAALLL!” the ref shouted.

  The Blue Chimpanzees stood there, staring.

  The Purple Wombats stood there, holding their stomachs.

  Tom let a little puke run out of his mouth. But he was smiling.

  Our whole team was.

  Java spent the whole first half slamming the ball across the field and into the Blue Chimpanzee goal.

  He scored with his butt.

  He scored with his feet.

  He scored with his belly. There was no stopping Java.

  Not that the Blue Chimpanzees didn’t try. The whole team was defending against him. But Java was able to plow his way through them every time.

  While the whole Blue Chimpanzee team guarded Java, I ran toward the goal.

  This was my chance to score!

  “Here, Java!” I shouted. “Pass it to me!”

  But Java did not pass the ball to me. Instead, he kicked it hard.

  Right past me.

  Right past the Blue Chimpanzee’s goalie.

  And into the net!

  “GOOOAAALLL!” the ref shouted again.

  By now my teammates were starting to feel better. They cheered for Java.

  I wasn’t cheering. I could have scored. Java just didn’t give me the chance. Which wasn’t fair. We’re supposed to be a team.

  And there’s no I in team.

  There’s not supposed to be any droid in team, either. But there was one on mine.

  “You’re a ball hog,” I shouted at my cousin.

  Java gave me a funny look. “I am not a hog,” he said. “I am not furry. I do not have pointy ears or a curly tail. I am a boy.”

  “No you’re not,” Stanley told Java.

  Uh-oh. I looked over at my friend. Had he figured out Java’s secret? This was awful. It was what I had been worried about all along.

  “He’s not?” I asked Stanley nervously.

  “Nope,” Stanley said with a smile. “He’s a champion!”

  Oh man.

  No he’s not, I thought to myself. He’s an android.

  But of course I couldn’t tell Stanley that.

  6.

  Atomic Flush

  “I’ve had enough!” I shouted. But no one heard me.

  My mom was busy in her lab. And Java was in the backyard, chasing squirrels.

  I had no idea why he was chasing them. I didn’t care either. Java could catch all the squirrels in the world. As long as he gave me my friends back.

  I stormed angrily down the hall toward my room.

  I couldn’t believe the big deal my teammates were making over Java.

  Nobody had cheered for me when I scored my goal. At least, not the way they’d cheered for Java.

  “I’ve had enough!” I shouted even louder.

  I really wanted Java off my team. I couldn’t stand seeing him in that soccer jersey one more day!

  I glanced over at the laundry basket sitting in the bathroom across the hall.

  Java had already thrown his jersey in the basket. Which was weird, because it wasn’t like it was sweaty or anything.

  Androids don’t sweat.

  But seeing his jersey just sitting there gave me an idea.

  I pulled Java’s soccer jersey out o
f the laundry.

  I threw it in the toilet.

  And then I flushed.

  Java’s jersey swirled in the bowl. It went around and around the drain. And then—

  Water started gushing! Everywhere.

  “Oh no!” I shouted.

  Java must have heard me through the open window. The next thing I knew, he was racing up the stairs.

  “What is wrong, Logan?” he asked.

  I pointed at the toilet. Water was still pouring out of the bowl and onto the floor.

  And not just water.

  There was a goldfish.

  And an old action figure.

  And a baby alligator. Where did that come from?

  “Oh man!” I cried. “I’m toast.”

  “I can do it!” Java shouted. He headed out of the bathroom and back down the stairs.

  Uh-oh. What’s he up to now?

  Java came back right away.

  “Here’s your toast!” Java said, holding up a loaf of bread. “Well, it’s bread anyway.”

  Before I could stop him, my robot cousin threw the whole loaf of bread into the toilet.

  I don’t know why Java did that.

  Maybe he was just copying what I’d done with his jersey.

  Sometimes it was nice that Java wanted to be like me.

  But not now.

  Whoosh! More water exploded out of the bowl.

  I looked at the bathroom floor. The goldfish was swimming around my ankles.

  The baby alligator was licking his chops.

  “We gotta get my mom,” I told Java.

  My cousin raced for the door. “I can get her,” he said. “I will …”

  Kerplonk. Java slipped on the wet floor.

  Thud. He landed on his back.

  Just then, I heard Mom storming up the stairs.

  “What is going on in here, Logan?” she shouted.

  Uh-oh. I was in trouble now.

  Or maybe not.

  “Java threw a loaf of bread in the toilet,” I told her. “It overflowed.”

  That wasn’t exactly the truth. But I figured Mom wouldn’t yell at a droid for clogging the toilet.

  Even if she did, Java deserved to be yelled at. He’d been a real show-off today.

  “Java, why would you do that?” Mom asked him.

  But Java didn’t answer.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked my mom.

  “I think the water short-circuited his systems,” she answered.

  I wasn’t totally sure what that meant. But I knew for sure it was bad.

  7.

  Stinky-buggy-tonsil-toenail-itis

  “So, were you able to order a new battery?” I asked Mom as she got off the phone a few minutes later.

  “It will take about a week,” Mom said. “Java needs a special battery. I had to order it all the way from Japan.”

  I looked over at the kitchen chair. Java was just sitting there. Without his battery he couldn’t move or talk. He looked like a big toy doll.

  Just then, the phone rang.

  “Logan, can you answer that please?” Mom asked.

  I clicked on the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Logan. It’s Nadine.”

  I gulped. Nadine Vardez. Calling my house?

  “Uh … hi, Nadine. Um … how are you?” I mumbled.

  “I’m doing fine, thanks. Is Java around?”

  Oh, he was around all right. Sitting around. Like a big, dumb rock.

  But of course I couldn’t say that.

  “Yeah, he’s here,” I told Nadine. “But he can’t come to the phone right now. He’s um … kinda … not feeling too well.”

  “Oh no!” Nadine exclaimed. “Maybe I should bring him some chicken noodle soup. That will make him feel much better.”

  I looked over at Java. Soup was not going to help.

  And the last thing I wanted was for Nadine to come over and see my robot cousin this way.

  I had to think of something. Quick.

  “You can’t come over!” I shouted into the phone.

  “Why not?”

  “Java is very contagious. You might catch it.”

  “Catch what?”

  “He has … um … stinky … um … buggy … tonsil … um … toenail-itis!” I blurted out.

  “Stinky-buggy-tonsil-toenail-itis?” Nadine repeated. “I never heard of that.”

  “It’s from France!” I said quickly. “He got it from eating snails.”

  Oh brother. I couldn’t believe how dumb that sounded. Nadine would never fall for that excuse. She was too smart.

  “That sounds terrible,” Nadine said.

  Or maybe not.

  “Tell him I hope he feels better. And that we’ll miss him at practice tomorrow.”

  Bonk.

  Stanley fell face down in the mud as he tripped over the ball.

  I wasn’t surprised. Our whole after-school practice had been a disaster.

  “That’s the third time you did that, Stanley,” Lexi told him. “You’re supposed to kick the ball, not fall on it.”

  “No kidding,” Stanley said. He spat a chunk of dirt out of his mouth. “At least I didn’t knock the goal post over with my head like you did.”

  Our team was really a mess.

  “No way we’re beating those Orange Tree Frogs tomorrow without Java,” Tom said to me. “Any chance he’ll be better by then?”

  I was getting really tired of hearing how great my cousin was.

  Oomph.

  Before I could answer Tom, Nadine kicked a soccer ball straight into my belly.

  “Sorry, Logan,” she apologized.

  “That’s okay,” I groaned. I bent over and grabbed my stomach. “Barely felt it.”

  I hated to admit it, but Tom was right. We didn’t have a chance.

  Not without Java.

  Which just made me madder. Because, deep down, I knew it was all my fault.

  8.

  Poor Wombats

  “Ready to get your butt kicked?” Jerry Silverspoon asked me the next afternoon, right before our game against the Orange Tree Frogs.

  “Because that’s what’s gonna happen,” Sherry added with a big grin. “You’re gonna lose.”

  The twins were all sweaty and gross. They’d just finished playing—and beating—the Lemon-Yellow Lemurs.

  But instead of going out to celebrate with their team, they were sticking around—to watch us play our game against the Orange Tree Frogs.

  Or, rather, to watch us lose our game.

  The Tree Frogs were the scariest team in the league. They were huge. And a little mean.

  No one in the league could beat them. Not the Polar Bears. And certainly not us.

  Without Java on our team, there was no way we could win. His battery still hadn’t come to us from Japan. So there was no way that was happening.

  “Players, take the field!” the ref called out.

  For a minute I actually missed seeing Java digging up the field.

  Soccer really wasn’t the same without him. And not just because we couldn’t win. He was actually kind of fun to be around—when he wasn’t being completely annoying.

  The Orange Tree Frogs ran onto the field and got ready for kickoff.

  “Those kids can’t be third graders,” Stanley gulped. “They’re huge!”

  “They’re bigger than my grandma,” Tom added.

  “That one has a beard,” Lexi pointed out.

  “So does my grandma,” Tom said.

  The ref blew his whistle.

  The Orange Tree Frog’s center forward kicked the ball all the way across the field.

  Tom jumped in front of the ball. He tried to stop it. But the ball sent him flying.

  Tom and the ball soared—right past Nadine and into the goal.

  “GOOOOAAALLLL!” the referee shouted.

  “Go Orange Tree Frogs!” Sherry Silverspoon cheered.

  “Kick their butts!” Jerry Silverspoon added.

  I rolled
my eyes.

  This was not going to be fun.

  Both teams got back in formation. Johnny, our center forward, kicked the ball toward the Orange Tree Frog goal.

  Lexi and Tom both ran toward the ball.

  Crash! They slammed into each other and fell to the ground in a heap.

  The biggest Tree Frog stole the ball out from under them. He dribbled it back down the field.

  “Stanley!” I shouted. “Steal that ball. It’s coming right toward you!”

  But Stanley didn’t even turn around. He was busy watching a yellow and black butterfly fly over his head.

  Slam! The Orange Tree Frog kicked the ball hard toward the goal.

  Bam! The ball hit Stanley in the back. It knocked him over like a bowling pin.

  Another Tree Frog kicked the ball toward the net. It flew right past Nadine and into the goal.

  “GOOOOAAAAALLLL!” the referee shouted.

  “Smash ’em, Tree Frogs!” Jerry cheered.

  “Bash ’em, Tree Frogs!” Sherry jeered.

  I couldn’t even look at the twins.

  The score was two to nothing. And we’d only been playing five minutes.

  9.

  Do the Wombat Watusi

  Bam!

  One of the Orange Tree Frogs kicked the ball down the field.

  “Block it, Logan!” Nadine shouted from the goal cage.

  I wanted to block it. But the ball was moving fast.

  Faster than I could run.

  Wham!

  The ball slammed into the goal. Right past Nadine.

  “This stinks,” she groaned. “Without Java we don’t stand a chance.”

  That made me mad.

  Super duper duper mad.

  Mostly because I knew Nadine was right. And there was nothing I could do about it.

  Slowly, I headed over to the half way line. I took my spot and got ready for the kickoff.

  For some reason, I started thinking about Java. He was really amazing on the soccer field.

  Like that time he scored a goal with his butt.