Falling Star

by Robert Rayner

  “You won’t. Right now, we don’t even have a substitute.”

  Edison rejoined the game as Steve robbed Linh-Mai of the ball by shoulder-charging her. He kicked it ahead and elbowed Jillian aside as she tried to intercept. Mr. Field called, “Steve, take it easy.” Steve took a long shot at goal but missed. He caught Edison’s eye and looked away quickly. But the glance was long enough for Edison to feel it like an accusation, as if Edison’s shot had been a challenge that Steve had failed to meet. Edison wanted to say something, but knew nothing helped when you missed a shot.

  After the practice, Mr. Field told the team, “We leave the school at eleven o’ clock on Saturday morning with Foote Transport. That’s eleven o’ clock, Toby, not eleven-fifteen or eleven-thirty. Remember, we’ll be on the road for four days, so make sure you have all your overnight stuff as well as your soccer kit.”

  As Edison walked to the change rooms, he glanced at the information Mr. Field had given him about the Champions Tour. The fourth school Brunswick Valley played was High Park. He felt the feeling of anxiety return, clouding the enjoyment he’d got from the scrimmage.

  3

  The Van

  On Saturday morning, Mrs. Flood stopped the car in the road beside the school gate and said, “What a gorgeous little bus.”

  She pointed to the van that was parked in front of the school. It was bright yellow, with huge, pastel-coloured flowers painted on the sides and roof. As they looked, the door opened and the driver climbed out. He was tall and broad, and wore a grey, oil-smeared muscle shirt. His baggy camouflage pants came down to the top of his ankles, leaving his black work boots exposed. His head was shaved, except for a strip of spiked red hair down the middle.

  Mrs. Flood caught Edison’s eye and grinned. “What would the parents in Canterbury do if the team bus driver looked like that?”

  Edison grinned back. “They’d probably have him arrested.”

  Mr. Field, in torn jeans and a long black coat, his hair as wild as it had been the previous day, ran down the steps from the school door and greeted the driver. “Hey, Grease.”

  They high-fived, Mr. Field staggering back slightly as the driver’s hand slammed into his.

  “Who’s the wild man?” asked Mrs. Flood.

  “That’s our coach.”

  “I’m surprised the principal allows him to dress like that, even if it is Saturday.”

  “He dresses like that at school.”

  A battered half-ton truck, belching smoke, swung into the school driveway. Toby was squeezed into the cab with a woman who had the same chunky build and fair hair as his own. She struggled from the cab, grabbed Toby in a hug, and said, “Behave yourself or there’ll be no French fries for a month.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Mrs. Flood.

  “He’s called Toby and he plays fullback.”

  Toby was wearing baggy cargo pants, and his untucked shirt hung below his parka. Edison was dressed the way the Eagles coach always demanded, in a dress shirt and tie. He was afraid he looked preppy.

  “And who are they?” A flatbed truck stopped in the road to let Shay, Julie, and Linh-Mai cross.

  “That’s Shay, the captain,” said Edison. He was pleased to see Shay was wearing a dress shirt, although he had no tie, and that the girls — Julie in cord pants and a wool jacket, Linh-Mai in a mauve skirt and short white coat — seemed to have taken at least a little care to dress smartly.

  “What about the princess and the pixie?” his mother asked.

  “The tall one’s Julie — she plays midfield. The other one’s Linh-Mai, who plays fullback with Toby.”

  The girls, who were holding hands, squealed as the truck driver blasted his horn and grinned down at them. He called to Shay, “What have you got that I haven’t?” Then, as he pulled away, “Good luck, you guys. Give ’em heck.”

  Julie waved and shouted, “Thanks, Uncle Charlie.”

  “Do you suppose everybody in town knows everybody else — and what they’re doing?” asked Mrs. Flood. Suddenly serious, she added, “I hope this works out for you — coming to a new school and playing with a new team, all because of my job.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I talked it over with your father and he thought it would be a good move.”

  Mr. Flood was vice president of a mining company and was working on a project in South America for a year. He called at least once a week and always asked Edison how he was doing in school and at soccer. Edison liked telling him about the games, but he hadn’t mentioned the times he’d choked.

  Mrs. Flood went on, “I hope this team is good enough for you. But even if it’s not, it will be good experience until you start at High Park.”

  Shay had found a soccer ball, which he and Toby were passing back and forth in the school driveway while Julie and Linh-Mai tried to intercept. Shay lobbed the ball high over the girls. Toby headed it and it sailed over the school fence, where it bounced from the sidewalk onto the roof of the Floods’ car, before rolling into the road. Toby ran out to retrieve it. As he passed the car he looked in and said, “Sorry.” He looked again and added, “Oh — hi, Edison.”

  Edison jumped out and said quickly, “See you, Mom,” hoping his mother would stay in the car.

  Mrs. Flood climbed out. “I’ll see you off.”

  Mr. Field strode to greet her, holding out his hand.

  She said, “How do you do. I’m Edison’s mother.”

  Mr. Field said, “Hey, Mrs. Flood.” His voice was gravelly and hoarse.

  She turned to the driver. “And this is …?”

  The driver had been leaning against the van. He straightened and offered his hand to Mrs. Flood, who took it after a moment’s hesitation. He was nearly two heads higher than she stood in high heels, and her hand disappeared completely in his.

  “Mr. Foote,” said Mr. Field.

  “How do you do, Mr. Foote?”

  Mr. Foote said, “Grease.”

  “Sorry?”

  Mr. Foote looked at Mr. Field, who said, “He means you can call him Grease. That’s what everyone calls him, except the kids. He’s Mr. Grease to them.”

  “I absolutely love your darling van,” said Edison’s mother.

  Mr. Grease grunted.

  Linh-Mai was struggling to open the door. Mr. Grease opened it for her and picked up her two bags. He held out his hand to help her climb inside, and passed the bags to her. He did the same for Julie. Shay and Toby climbed in.

  Edison said again, “See you, Mom.”

  Before he could move out of reach, his mother leaned forward, hugged him, and whispered, “The coach of your soccer team is Mr. Field, and the driver of the soccer team is Mr. Foote. That’s so cute. It’s like something out of a kids’ story. I’d picture them as little furry creatures if I hadn’t seen them in real life.” She kissed him on the cheek, and said louder, “Play well. Make me proud.”

  He felt himself blushing as he climbed in.

  The four rows of seats were covered in leopard-print fabric, which also covered the sides and roof of the van. A pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror. Julie and Shay were sitting on the front bench seat, while Toby was stretched out at the back.

  Julie, giggling, mimicked, “Make me proud,” as Edison passed her.

  He paused to grumble, “How come I’m the only one whose mother sees him off?”

  “I tell Ma she can’t come,” said Julie. “If she did, she’d be like a total embarrassment, crying and stuff.”

  “She’d cry — because you’re going away for a few days?”

  “Cause she wouldn’t have a babysitter for my little sis for a few days.”

  Edison slid into the seat behind her and Shay, and found himself beside Linh-Mai, who was so small she’d been hidden by the
seat in front. She was the youngest on the team — he’d heard Toby teasing her about it — and she looked it, she was so small and slight. Her glasses were tinted dusky red and had delicate gold arms. Even with the tinted lenses, he could see how dark her eyes were. Tiny red-streaked braids hung at the front of her black shoulder-length hair.

  He wondered whether she wanted the seat all to herself but, before he could speak, she offered, “You can sit by the window if you like.”

  He muttered, “Thanks.”

  As she put her legs on the seat for him to climb past, she said, “Your ma looks like a model.”

  “She reads the news on television. That’s why she’s dressed up. She’s on her way to the studio now. She’s going to be on Channel Five.”

  “Cool.”

  Edison said, “Yeah — cool.”

  His mother waved as they pulled out of the school gate.

  4

  On the Road

  Edison sat with his nose against the van window, looking at the curious mixture of houses that made up Brunswick Valley. Some were tidy and modern, like the houses in Canterbury. Some were old and elegant, like the houses around the lake where he’d grown up. A lot looked as if they might collapse at any moment.

  On Main Street, which had a convenience store at one end and a dollar store at the other and not much in between, the van stopped in front of a large house set back from the road. The twins raced down the driveway, ponytails swinging behind them, and sat behind Edison.

  Mr. Grease turned off Main Street and stopped where a thin, wiry girl with a rosy sunburned complexion waited on the sidewalk. Edison remembered this was Amy, the goalkeeper. She had wavy brown hair that hung halfway down her back, and the sun glinted on her braces when she smiled as the van pulled up. She started talking as soon as Mr. Field opened the door for her, and continued as she climbed in. “Wow, I love this van. The outside with all the flowers is so keen — hi, Shay, hi, Julie — but the inside is even better with this furry stuff all over — hi, Linh-Mai, hi, Edison — and this is just so exciting — hi, Jillian, hi, Jessica — because I’ve never been on a trip like this. Well, of course, I’ve been on lots of trips — hi, Toby — like to museums and art galleries and concerts and stuff, but not a soccer trip …”

  She sat beside Toby, who said, “Do you come with earplugs?”

  She nudged him. “Oh — you.”

  The next stop was for Matthew, Jason, and Brandon. Matthew was sitting on the curb with his feet in the gutter, absorbed in a book of math puzzles. Behind him, Jason and Brandon kicked a rock around on the sidewalk. Matthew sat with the twins, while Jason and Brandon squeezed into the rear seat beside Toby and Amy.

  Steve waited by the road a little further on, in front of what Edison first thought was a shed. Seeing two little windows on each side of the door, Edison realized it was Steve’s house. It leaned to one side, and black tarpaper showed at one corner of the roof where the shingles were missing. Around it, on beaten-down dirt, were two rusted jeeps without wheels, a woodpile covered by an orange tarp, and a shiny red ATV. A thin coil of grey smoke drifted from a metal stovepipe that stuck out from one side of the house.

  Linh-Mai whispered, “Steve lives with just his mom. Don’t ask him about his dad. He’s inside.”

  “Inside?”

  “In jail. For drugs and stuff.”

  Steve was wearing grey sweatpants and a black sweater with the sleeves pushed up. As he climbed in, one of the sleeves slipped down, revealing a hole in the elbow. Steve pushed it back.

  Mr. Field asked, “No jacket, Steve?”

  “It’s not cold.”

  “I’ve got a spare any time you want one.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He sprawled on the other side of Linh-Mai.

  “That’s everybody,” said Mr. Field, looking around from the front passenger seat. “Let’s hit the highway, Grease.”

  They drove out of town and headed north, passing a sign stating Centreville 200 kms. Their first game was against Centreville Middle School.

  Mr. Field commented, “We’ll be there by two o’ clock, in good time for the kickoff at three.”

  Matthew’s voice came from behind Edison. “If we continue to travel at our present average speed of sixty-five kilometres per hour over a distance of two hundred kilometres we will arrive at fourteen forty-three.”

  From the back Toby called, “Thanks, Einstein.”

  Linh-Mai confided, “It freaks me out when Matthew does stuff like that in his head.”

  Steve asked suddenly, “How many goals did you get this season?”

  “Me?” Edison said.

  “Yeah.”

  “A few.”

  “How many?” Steve pressed.

  “Twenty-five.”

  Steve swore quietly. “You may as well have my place on the team now.”

  Linh-Mai said, “Don’t be silly. You’re always complaining about being our only goal scorer. It’ll be great having two strikers.”

  “Who needs two when you’ve got a superstar from Toronto?” said Steve. He was silent for a few seconds, then muttered, “I know who’ll be sitting on the bench this trip.”

  In front of Edison, Julie was describing a soccer move to Shay. She broke off and leaned forward to study his face. He was asleep. She made herself comfortable by leaning against him. On the other side of Linh-Mai, Steve opened a soccer magazine. On the back seat, Toby sprawled with his eyes closed as Amy prattled, “Mum and me saw this great movie last night. It was about this girl who wanted to play soccer for her school but …” She stopped and nudged Toby. “Are you listening?”

  Toby started and opened his eyes. “’Course I am.”

  Amy looked carefully at him before continuing. “… But only boys were allowed on the team so she dressed up as a boy and …”

  Toby’s eyes slowly closed.

  In front of them, Matthew was poring over his book of math puzzles, while the twins giggled over a soccer joke book.

  Jillian called out, “Did you hear about the goalkeeper who let in five goals in the first ten minutes of a game? He was so upset he put his head in his hands … and dropped it.”

  Everyone laughed except Edison. He felt for the goalkeeper. Letting in five goals was as bad as missing five goals. The keeper must have choked.

  5

  Centreville

  Centreville seemed to be made up of one subdivision after another. In between were strip malls offering the same stores and services — hairdressers, convenience stores, takeouts, Sears outlets, liquor stores. It was like being back in Canterbury, except it was smaller.

  As Edison gazed out the window, he became aware of Linh-Mai craning her head to see past him.

  She murmured, “I wonder what the Centreville kids are like? Do you suppose they take soccer seriously, like getting good grades at school?”

  There was a tremor in her voice. Edison had been trained to prey on players who revealed weakness like that. They were easily intimidated — by a fierce shot aimed right at them, or a dribbling trick that left them looking stupid, or a crunching tackle. He could always get past them — at least, he could before the choking started. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Linh-Mai had taken off her glasses and was chewing on one of the arms. Suddenly he felt sorry for her, for her timidity and anxiety. He hoped there was no one on the Centreville team who would set out to humiliate her the way he would if he was playing against her.

  The talk in the van died away as Mr. Grease drove through the town. When he stopped for a traffic light, with Centreville Middle School visible at the end of the street ahead, Mr. Field turned and asked, “Why so quiet?”

  Shay glanced around at his teammates. “We’re nervous.”

  Mr. Field nodded. “Ner
ves are good. They get the adrenalin flowing.”

  Edison thought, How many times have I heard that? He knew it was true, but that didn’t stop the churning stomach, and the dry throat, and the cold sweat that were already assailing him, and that he knew would only get worse the closer he got to kickoff.

  Mr. Grease parked the van in front of the school and Mr. Field led the team to the playing field beside it. Houses stretched away in every direction, and the school, two storeys, with white aluminum siding and lots of windows, looked like just another big suburban home. Although it was Saturday afternoon, students filled the bleachers.

  As Edison and his teammates trotted on to the field, Amy started, “I like Centreville’s yellow shirts but their shorts are a bit too green. If I played for them I’d ask the coach if we could have more of an olive green …” She took her place in one of the goals, where she continued talking while Shay and Steve took shots at her. Edison had expected Mr. Field to direct some kind of warm-up, like his former coaches had always done, but he and Mr. Grease had the hood of the van open and were peering at the engine. Linh-Mai, Julie, and the twins were playing dodge ball. Toby joined in and Julie hit him with her first shot. When she complained, “You’re too easy,” he replied, “I need a rest, anyway,” and lay down in the middle of the pitch.

  Edison decided to go through his Eagles pre-game routine. He jogged slowly across the pitch. He returned, jogging backwards. He sprinted across, collected a soccer ball he found on the other side of the field, and sprinted back, keeping it close to his feet. With his old team, all the players had done this in a line, and he felt strange doing it by himself. The Eagles had always finished their routine standing in a circle with their arms around one another’s shoulders and their eyes closed, while the coach talked softly about the goals they were going to score, and the tackles they were going to make, and the defeat they were going to inflict on their opponents. The coach had called it envisaging and focusing. He’d ended every warm-up by repeating the words “focus” and “envisage” over and over while the players stood in their huddle. By the time the coach finished, Edison had always been convinced he was going to play well and score — until those last few games.