by Jeff Rud
Midway through the fourth quarter, Ricky busted loose on a quarterback sneak from the South Side fifty-yard line. He broke two tackles, and then he turned it up another gear, outrunning three more Lion defenders to the goal line. Ricky had scored the go-ahead touchdown with only eight minutes left.
But Mandela roared back. Toby Renton put together the game’s most impressive drive, mixing his left-handed spirals with deft handoffs to fullback Charles Maxwell, to string together a sixty-yard march and tie things up with four and a half minutes left.
From there the teams exchanged the ball twice, with neither mounting any offense. With fifty seconds remaining, Mandela was forced to punt from its own thirty-five. Matt and Reggie Evans waited downfield for the kick to arrive.
The ball shot off the Mandela punter’s foot and rocketed high toward Matt, who was standing at his own thirty. His legs were already turning upfield as he caught the ball on the dead run and headed up the sidelines. His running catch seemed to take Mandela by surprise, and he broke through for an impressive thirty-five-yard return. With thirty seconds remaining, Coach Reynolds called an urgent time-out.
The South Side players gathered around Coach Reynolds on the sidelines, Ricky almost nose-to-nose with him.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” the coach said to Ricky. “Keep the ball in the middle of the field. If the ten-yard buttonhook to Nate is there, take it. Otherwise, Jackson, just keep it on the ground. We’ve got just one play to get within field-goal range. And we’ve got one more time-out. Make sure you use it.”
Everybody nodded and the Stingers cheered. The offense then huddled around the ball. “Buttonhook to Nate, on three, okay?” Jackson said. “If it’s not there, I’m keeping.”
The Stingers went into their formation with beefy Pete Cowan back to protect Jackson in the pocket. On the snap of the ball, Nate ran straight out and curled quickly in the middle. Ricky delivered the ball on a tight hard spiral. Nate gobbled the ball into his arms. It was a first down on the Mandela twenty-five.
“Time-out!” Ricky yelled.
The players once again joined Coach Reynolds on the sidelines. “Nice work, Jackson,” he said. “Just like we called it. Now, how about kicking us a field goal?”
Ricky shook his head slowly. He removed his helmet. “I think Charlie should kick this one, Coach,” he said. “He’s way more accurate than I am. And he deserves it.”
“Dougan!” the coach yelled. “You ready?”
Charlie, at the back of the huddle, nodded. Matt pulled on his helmet. He would be holding for Charlie on this kick, the second game-winner in as many weeks for the former manager. As they headed out to the field, Matt asked Charlie, “You okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” Dougan responded calmly. “I’m ready to win this thing.”
The snap came back to Matt on the count of two. He spun the football into position just as Charlie drove his right foot through the leather. The kick barely cleared the outstretched arms of Mandela’s Charles Maxwell, who had catapulted over the line in an attempt to block it.
But nobody was blocking this kick. True to his word, Charlie had booted it through the uprights from nearly thirty-five yards. The ball cleared its target by more than ten feet. South Side had won. The Stingers’ playoff hopes were still alive.
Everybody was happy as they headed back toward the two yellow school buses. Everybody on the team, that is. One look at Frank Jackson told Matt that Ricky’s dad was fuming once again.
As the players approached their buses, Mr. Jackson strode quickly toward them. He didn’t say a word to Ricky but grabbed him roughly by the arm and quickly led him away to the parking lot.
Sitting on the bus, Matt wondered why Jackson’s dad had been so angry. South Side had won, and Ricky had clearly been the team’s best player. It had been his best game as a middle-school football player by far. Matt didn’t get it.
As he waited for the bus to head out of the Mandela parking lot, Matt noticed Coach Reynolds and Frank Jackson facing each other some distance from the bus. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation.
chapter sixteen
Monday morning came too soon for Matt. For several days, he had put off studying for his Spanish midterm. He had cracked the main textbook for a few minutes over the weekend but had been sidetracked by pickup hoops, an nfl game Sunday and an unexpected visit from Mark, who drove down from Eton for dinner.
This morning, Matt had got up at 6:00 am so he could get to school an hour early, grab the supplemental Spanish textbook from his locker and squeeze in some last-minute studying. Matt guessed he’d be the only one at South Side at seven in the morning, but he was wrong. As he swung through the front doors he saw Ricky Jackson, searching for something in his locker across the hall.
“Hey, Rick,” Matt yelled. Nothing. Jackson didn’t turn around. He didn’t respond at all.
Matt crossed the hallway. Then he noticed Jackson was wearing the white buds of an iPod in his ears. The music was probably too loud. Matt tapped him on the shoulder.
Startled, Jackson spun around. Matt was shocked. The skin around Ricky’s left eye was swollen and badly bruised. And the left edge of his nose was an ugly mix of dark purple and black. It looked like he had taken quite a beating.
“What happened to you, man?” Matt asked. “Get run over by a train?”
Jackson pulled the earphones out. “What?” he said.
“What happened?” Matt repeated. “To your face?”
Jackson turned back to his locker. “Nothing, man,” he said. “It’s nothing…I just tripped.”
Matt wasn’t buying it. Tripped? Nobody looked like that after a trip. Somebody had taken a round out of Ricky Jackson.
“Ricky, I’m not stupid,” Matt said. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the boy said. “It’s my business.”
Matt didn’t know where his next comment came from. It just spilled out. “Did your dad do this?”
Jackson wheeled around. His dark eyes were watering and he was shaking. “Look, man, you don’t know anything, okay?”
“What’s up?” Matt said. “What’s going on?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Ricky said, slumping down beside his locker. He was crying now and his shoulders were heaving. Matt had never seen him like this before. Come to think of it, Matt had never seen any kid like this before.
“My dad…He just wants me to do so well. He wants everything to be just right,” Jackson said. The tears were streaming down his face now. “It’s not his fault.”
“What’s not his fault?” Matt said.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Ricky said. “He just can’t help it.”
Matt suddenly realized what Jackson was telling him. This was heavier than anything he had ever encountered with any of his friends. Just as Matt had guessed, Jackson’s dad had done this to him. Matt couldn’t imagine his parents doing anything like this. Ever. Even though he hadn’t always respected his own father for leaving when he was just a toddler, he was sure his dad would never physically hurt him.
“You’ve gotta tell someone,” Matt said. “This isn’t right.”
“I can’t,” Ricky said, sobbing. “He’s my dad.”
Matt was undaunted. “Look,” he said, “your face is pretty messed up. Teachers are going to wonder what’s happened. So is every kid at school. Why don’t we go see Ms. Dawson? She’s cool. She’ll know what to do.’’
Ricky just stared straight ahead.
“If you don’t tell someone, I will,” Matt said.
Ricky glanced at Matt as if he was mulling over the idea. Finally he nodded his head. “Okay,” he said wearily.
It was only 7:30 am, but the lights were already on in Ms. Dawson’s room. Matt knew nobody else would be in there at this time of day. Ricky would be able to talk to her alone.
Ms. Dawson was sitting at her desk, leaning over some marking, deep in concentration. Matt had to knock on the classroom door to ge
t her attention. She looked up from her work. “Matt,” she said warmly, her hazel eyes lighting up. “What are you doing here so early? Advisory’s not for another hour, kid.”
Matt stepped aside and ushered Ricky Jackson into the room. “Ricky needs to talk to you, Ms. Dawson,” he said. “It’s pretty important.”
The teacher took one look at Ricky’s swollen eye and bruised face and walked quickly toward him. She remained calm, but Matt could tell she was concerned.
“Matt, can you give Ricky and me some privacy?” Ms. Dawson said. “And thank you for coming to see me. You’re a good friend.”
Matt blushed. He left Ricky and Ms. Dawson standing there in the classroom beside her desk. Jackson was still crying softly.
Matt hoped he had done the right thing. But Ricky was obviously hurt and upset. What else was there to do? Normally a guy could talk to his parents in a situation like this. But that obviously wasn’t an option.
Matt thought about Ricky’s badly bruised face all day. He didn’t see him in the halls, and Ricky was missing from practice.
“Okay, boys,” the coach said, during the Monday afternoon briefing. “We’re down to the final week and we’re still alive. That’s a tribute to you guys. You’ve shown a lot of guts over the last couple of weeks. Now, we’ve got one game left this Friday against Manning. Beat those guys and we’re still in the hunt. I know you guys can do it.”
The players roared in agreement. The pace of practice was quicker than usual for a Monday. As the season wound down, the intensity level had steadily cranked up every week. Matt was sure the Stingers would be ready for Manning come Friday.
Matt was exhausted as practice came to an end at 5:30 pm. He was looking forward to just heading home and flopping down on the couch. There was no homework to do tonight, and he could afford to rest. It had been a long day.
Phil’s parents had picked him up after practice to go out for dinner, so Matt was alone as he headed home. Half a block along Anderson Crescent he heard somebody calling his name.
It was Ricky Jackson. He was running to catch up. Matt stopped and waited. “Hey, Rick,” he said.
“Hey,” replied Jackson. “I tried to find you outside the locker room, but you were already gone.”
Jackson was wearing a bandage across his left eyebrow and another one underneath his eye. “The nurse had a look at me,” he said, pointing to his face. “The social worker came around too,” Ricky continued. “I just wanted to tell you. They’re going to put me and Grant in another home for a while.”
Matt was stunned. “Oh, man, Ricky, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you guys.”
“It’s okay,” Jackson said quietly. “I mean, it’s not the first time the social worker has talked to me and my brother. And it’s not the first time he’s hit me.”
“You mean your dad?” Matt asked.
Jackson nodded. “He’s always mad. I mean, I think he’s trying to do what’s best for us, but it never works out. Then he gets angry. And when he gets like that, you can’t talk to him.”
“Lately, it’s been crazy,” Ricky continued. “Him and Grant went at it twice last week. After Grant found out that he beat me up, they went at it again. I mean, he’s my dad and everything, but it’s too weird. And when he’s like that, I hate him.”
The words were spilling out of Ricky Jackson now. Matt felt sorry for him. But he also admired anybody who could survive being put in such a horrible situation.
“Bet your old man isn’t like that,” Jackson said.
“No,” Matt said. “I mean, I don’t know him that well, but I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know him?” Ricky asked.
Matt explained that his dad had left home when Matt was three years old and had shown up again only a few weeks ago. Even though it was a new relationship with his dad, Matt realized that, compared to Jackson, he had it easy.
“I guess both our families are screwed up,” Ricky said, laughing.
Matt laughed too. “Guess so,” he said.
Matt suddenly had an idea. His mom was making dinner right now. She probably wouldn’t mind having an unexpected guest. “Hey, Rick, do you want to come over for supper?” he said.
Jackson smiled. “I’d love to, man, but I can’t. The social worker is at the school waiting for me. I just wanted to talk to you before she took me to the house where Grant and I will be staying.”
“Okay, then,” Matt said. “Some other time.”
“For sure,” Jackson said as he headed back toward the school. “And thanks.”
chapter seventeen
As Matt headed home, his head was spinning. What Ricky had just told him blew his mind. On the one hand, he was happy his friend was going to a safe home that night, but he also felt partially responsible for Ricky’s family being split up.
He was still mulling things over during supper. His mom called him on it after just a few minutes.
“Matt,” she said, “what’s up with you tonight? You’ve hardly said a thing and you don’t seem that hungry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Matt sighed. “I mean, no. I’m kind of wondering if something I did today was the right thing.”
He told his mom everything.
“I know you told me to stay away from Ricky,” Matt said. “But he was messed up. I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I should have just minded my own business.”
She looked him in the eye. “What you did,” she said, “was wonderful. I’m so proud that you tried to help that boy out.”
“But did I really help him?” Matt wondered. “I mean, he’s in a foster home now. His family is split up. His mother was already gone. Now he’s lost his dad too. At least for a while.”
“It sounds like his dad has some issues to work through,” Mom said. “And of course you helped him. And Grant too.”
Matt thought about it. He had actually helped Grant Jackson? That was hard to believe. Ricky’s older brother had been constantly in Matt’s face during the seventh grade, trying to pick fights with him and causing trouble. But now Matt had a little more insight into why Grant was the way he was.
“I tell you what, Mom,” he said. “It makes me realize how lucky I am.”
She reached across the table and hugged him. “I’m pretty lucky myself,” she whispered softly.
After clearing the table, Matt was just getting his coat on to take out the garbage when the phone rang. “It’s for you, Matt,” his mother called from the living room.
He picked up the telephone in the kitchen. It was Charlie.
“Hey, Matt, I just heard about Ricky,” Charlie said. “I knew his old man was nuts, but that’s pretty scary.”
“Yeah, it is,” Matt said. “The kid was pretty messed up.”
“I bet I know why,” Charlie said. “As he was pulling Ricky into the car, I heard his dad say that Ricky should have been the one kicking that field goal against Mandela. He said no gimp should be able to beat his kid out of a kicking job.”
Matt was silent. The dead air was awkward.
“He was talking about me,” Charlie said.
“That’s pretty ignorant,” Matt replied. “I’m sure that’s not how Ricky feels.”
“Ricky’s a good guy,” Charlie said. “I mean, he was the one who told Coach that I should be kicking. I feel kind of responsible for him getting beaten up.”
“Hey, Charlie,” Matt said, “it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t Ricky’s fault. His dad has got problems. I feel sorry for the kid.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie.
“And besides,” Matt added, “Ricky was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were the best choice to make that kick.”
“Thanks, man,” Charlie said. “See you at school.”
After getting off the phone with Charlie and taking out the trash, Matt realized how tired he was. He headed up to his bedroom. But before turning in, he clicked on his computer
. He had another e-mail from Andrea.
Heard what you did today, she wrote. Matt, that was great of you to help Ricky. Especially after all the problems you have had with Grant.
Just one more thing to add to my long list of reasons: “Why I like Matt Hill,” Luv, Andrea.
Andrea’s words made Matt feel warm inside. As he crawled into bed and turned out the light, he thought back to how crazily the day had started. But at least now, things all seemed to be going in the right direction.
Tuesday was a pretty normal school day compared to the way the week had begun. Matt walked to South Side with Jake and Phil, as usual. He talked to Amar before advisory and then had lunch with Andrea and a couple of her friends in the main foyer of the school. Between periods in the afternoon, he ran into Ricky. His face was already looking a lot better. Ricky nodded at him and smiled. But both of them had to hurry to a class in the opposite direction.
Practice was intense that afternoon. Kyle James seemed to be healthy and was back on the field and Nate Brown was running full steam. Matt and Ricky spent much of the session watching from the sidelines as the two senior starters took most of the reps.
“Okay, that’s it,” Coach Reynolds yelled at five thirty. “Everybody hit the showers. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Matt walked toward the locker room with Ricky, Kyle and Nate. Up ahead, a dark-haired figure in a leather jacket was coming toward them. It was Grant Jackson, Ricky’s brother.
Matt tensed. Since Grant had moved on to South Side High School, Matt hadn’t seen him at all. He wondered if Grant still had it in for him, especially considering the situation with Ricky.
Charlie and Phil suddenly caught up to Matt. It was just like them, he thought. They were getting his back in case there was going to be trouble.
“Hey, Hill,” Grant said, “got a minute?”
Matt stopped. “Sure.” Phil, Charlie and the rest of the players moved slowly on ahead. Only Grant, Ricky and Matt remained standing by the chain-link fence that lined the South Side field, the same fence Frank Jackson had leaned over for all those practice sessions.