Soccer Duel

by Matt Christopher

  Since he was three years old, Bryce had impressed everyone with his athletic skills. He was good at everything he tried, but at soccer he was in a class by himself. It had always been that way — till now.

  It hadn't occurred to Bryce that someday he might not be the best anymore, that all the attention he'd always gotten might end up going to someone else. Now it was Renny Harding who would be the new high school soccer sensation. Bryce would be nothing. A substitute. A lowly second-string scrub.

  His eyes came back into focus at the sound of his mother's voice. “Bryce?” she called from upstairs. “It's nine-thirty. How ‘bout getting up to bed, huh?”

  “Soon,” Bryce heard himself say. He forced himself to concentrate on his homework until he'd finished it. Then he went up to bed and lay there in the dark, picturing that same moment, over and over and over again.

  There had to be a way out of this nightmare. A way to make sure he would still be the best…

  At lunch period the next day, Bryce sat down next to Turk Walters. “Hey, Turk,” he said. “I've been looking all over for you.”

  “I'm not too hard to find,” Turk said.

  It was the truth, all right. He was at least six foot two, with the build of a wrestler and bright red hair. He played defense for the Orange Crush. Turk wasn't exactly Sir Speedy, but he was big and aggressive, and a scary force on the soccer field — which was exactly why Bryce had sought him out.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “I'm listening.” Turk stuffed half a tuna salad sandwich into his mouth. He started chewing, and the bulge in his cheeks was so big it was hard for Bryce to concentrate.

  “Mmphghmfgm?” Turk said, motioning for Bryce to go ahead.

  “Um, you know how you guys are playing the Blue Hornets this Sunday?”

  “Mphgm.” Turk nodded yes.

  “You know that kid Renny Harding who's filling in for Isaac Mendez at center striker?” “Phmphmgh?” Turk said, giving a “What about him?” motion.

  “I just wanted to clue you in about him — because I know if you guys beat them, you go to the play-offs instead of them. And you know I want you and me to meet for the trophy, man.”

  Turk's eyes bugged excitedly, and he gave a vigorous nod. “Mphgph!” he said.

  “Okay, so this kid Renny, I don't know if you've ever seen him. He's a little runty kid, about this high, and kind of skinny. You could whip him in two seconds.”

  Turk laughed, losing a crumb or two of his sandwich, and nodded again. He finally swallowed his food and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Or I could just sit on him,” he said, chuckling again and sending a spit shower into the air.

  Bryce wiped off his face with a napkin and tried to forget what he was wiping. “The thing is, he's a wimp, you know?” he told Turk. “If you foul him hard a couple of times right at the start, he'll get all shook up. You scare him, he's meat. Got it?”

  “Oh, I got it, all right,” Turk said, slapping Bryce five. “I'm gonna send him to intensive care! That kid is toast. Come down on Sunday and watch me whip him.”

  Bryce smiled, getting up. “I wouldn't miss it for anything,” he said. “See you there — and see you in the play-offs.”

  He left Turk sitting with the rest of his lunch. Good. He'd done what he could. He'd planted the seed. Now it was up to Turk Walters to do an Orange Crush on Renny Harding.

  7

  Two days after the victory over the Scorpions, Renny still smiled whenever he thought about the game. Only one thing interfered with his good mood — his parents.

  When he'd returned home on Saturday after the game, he'd called his mom at work to tell her the good news. He knew she was proud of him, but she'd been on her car phone so she hadn't been able to talk much.

  Longing to tell someone else about the game, Renny called his father. When he got the answering machine, he sighed and left a message asking his father to call him back as soon as he could.

  His father did call back, but not until dinnertime. His mother answered the phone. She was tired from working, and the tone in her voice was snappish — the very tone his father had complained endlessly about in the months before the divorce.

  “He's eating dinner right now,” his mother said. Renny looked up from his empty plate. “Why are you calling?”

  Her brow furrowed as she listened. “Oh, he called you, did he?” She cast a sidelong glance at Renny. “Well, of course he'd have to call you, since you never call him first.”

  There was a long pause during which her mouth got tighter and tighter. Finally, she said curtly, “You tell him yourself.” She handed the phone to Renny.

  “Uh, hi, Dad. Thanks for calling back,” Renny said. “I wanted to tell you about my game today.” His mother picked up his plate and busied herself at the sink. Renny could tell she was steaming mad about something, but he was too eager to tell his dad about the game to take much notice.

  He recapped it as best he could. He tried not to make his role come off as too important, but he had been the only one to score, so he had to mention that, didn't he?

  His father congratulated him enthusiastically, then paused. Renny remembered that there was something his father wanted to tell him. Something bad, he guessed — correctly, as it turned out.

  “Listen, Renny,” his father said, his voice full of apology. “I know I promised to join you on the trail cleanup project this Saturday, but I can't be there after all. I have to go out of town on business. But I'll make it up to you soon, okay?”

  “Out of town on business.” Renny's mom had hated the amount of time his dad was away. Now Renny could see her point. But he knew it was useless to say anything, so he just mumbled that he understood.

  “I'll see you soon, though, right, Dad?” he added, trying not to see how his mother's back stiffened.

  “You bet,” his dad replied. “As soon as I can. See you, Renny.” And with that, his father hung up.

  Renny returned the phone to its cradle and slumped back into his chair. His mother turned from the sink and sat with him. She didn't look angry anymore, just tired, as if the brief conversation with her ex-husband had taken the last bit of energy from her.

  “Renny, I'm sorry about the trail cleanup project. I wish I could join you, but I have to host an open house that day.” She stroked his hair gently.

  Renny sighed. “That's okay, Mom. I know some other people who are doing the trail project, so I'll have fun anyway.” He didn't add that he might be the only one without a parent there. In fact, that was the only reason he'd signed up in the first place — to spend some time with his dad. Now he'd just have to go by himself and hope someone else showed up alone.

  8

  It was funny, but his conversation with Turk hadn't made Bryce feel much better about things. He wasn't consumed by that burning fury anymore. A creeping guilt had taken its place. What would happen if Turk went overboard and really hurt Renny Harding? Bryce wondered. In a way, it would be his fault, wouldn't it? Turk's comment about “intensive care” was kind of scary.

  Oh well, he consoled himself, it was too late to do anything about it now. He'd only told Turk to intimidate Renny — hadn't he? Or maybe he'd said to hit him with a few hard fouls… . He couldn't remember anymore.

  “Bryce McCormack!”

  Startled, Bryce came out of his reverie. His teacher, Ms. Hasselhof, was calling his name.

  “Yes?” he asked, standing up.

  “You're wanted in the office. Follow this young man.”

  “The office?” Bryce repeated dumbly.

  “The principal's office,” said Ms. Hasselhof meaningfully.

  Bryce looked at the office monitor. It was Norm Harvey.

  “Follow me,” said Norm.

  “I know the way,” Bryce said, scowling as he brushed past Norm and out of math class. “What are you now, the principal's errand boy?”

  “Office squad,” Norm explained. “It's for extra credit. Something you wouldn't know
anything about.”

  “Shut up, you stupid nerd!” Bryce said, grabbing the kid by the shirt.

  “Uh-uh-uh!” Norm warned him off. “I think this is the kind of behavior the principal wants to talk to you about.”

  Uh-oh. Bryce suddenly realized what was happening. That stupid fight he'd had with Chris Brown last week. He'd thought everyone had forgotten about that one!

  Sure enough, there was Chris, sitting on one of the chairs in the principal's outer office. He sneered at Bryce, but Bryce didn't react.

  Principal O'Keefe came out, her secretary right behind her “You two boys know why you're here. I have come up with a suitable punishment for you. Either you will sit in the school library for three hours and write an essay of one thousand words or more about ‘Why Violence Is Wrong,’ or you will serve on the trail cleanup Saturday, up on Pyramid Mountain.”

  “I'll take the essay,” Chris Brown said quickly.

  Bryce shot him a look. “I'll go on the trail cleanup,” he said. Anything but sit for three hours at a desk in the. school library, staring into Chris Brown's stupid face while writing an essay about why violence is wrong.

  “Fine,” said Ms. O'Keefe. “Here is an evaluation sheet for you, Bryce. Bring it back filled out and signed by the person in charge.”

  “Yes, Ms. O'Keefe,” Bryce said.

  This was going to be a real treat, Bryce thought disgustedly. He hated work. He hoped Chris Brown would get an F on his essay and have to do it all over again.

  That weekend, Bryce showed up at Pyramid Mountain as directed. There was a crowd of kids and adults standing around the park headquarters. “Uh, hi, is this the trail cleaning detail?” Bryce asked the man who seemed to be in charge.

  “Yes, it is, and you are … ?” the man asked with a pleasant smile.

  “Bryce McCormack,” Bryce said. “The, uh, principal sent me down to help.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed, avoiding the curious glances of the kids, some of whom he knew.

  “All right, Bryce,” the man said. “I'm Mr. Sarlin, and this is the cleanup crew. Will your father or mother be joining you?”

  Bryce shook his head slowly. No one had told him that this was a parent-kid event. Oh, brother, he thought, rolling his eyes. This is going to be worse than I thought.

  “Hmmm,” the man said, scratching his head. “Hey, everybody. Bryce is going to be helping us to-day. Is there someone who isn't paired with a cleaning buddy?”

  No one answered. Apparently all the other kids had parents with them. That was fine with Bryce. He'd rather be alone, anyway. Then, once the cleanup began, he could find a nice place to hide until it was all over.

  “Hey, Mr. Sarlin, I'm here!” The rear door of a car in the parking lot opened, and a thin boy came running toward them at blazing speed.

  Hey, wait a minute. Bryce knew that kid — it was —

  “Hiya, Renny! Glad you could make it,” Mr. Sarlin said cheerfully. “Bryce, you're in luck — your trail buddy has just arrived!”

  “Bryce?” Renny said, stopping short in surprise. “Hi! What are you doing here?”

  “I'll tell you later,” Bryce said. “Come on, let's get going.” He was anxious to get away from the crowd of cheerful do-gooders.

  At Mr. Sarlin's direction, all the pairs came up to get their rubber gloves, garbage bags, and hedge clippers. Then, two by two, they went off in different directions. Renny and Bryce stopped at the head of a trail marked “Swamp View.”

  Bryce grimaced. “Whoopee; this looks like fun,” he said flatly.

  Renny didn't seem to hear the sarcastic tone in his voice. “One of us has to do the picking and clipping, the other one holds the bag. Which do you want to do?” Renny asked him.

  “Um, the bag, I guess,” Bryce said, taking a super-strength garbage bag from — Renny and flapping it open. Taking the bag was a no-brainer, Bryce thought, smiling to himself. The kid was a moron to even give him a choice. Renny was going to do all the bending and picking up of gross stuff. All Bryce had to do was hold the bag open.

  “You sure you want the bag?” Renny asked dubiously.

  “I'm sure,” Bryce said firmly, closing the subject.

  “Okay, then.” Renny led the way down the trail. He began picking up litter and tossing it into Bryce's bag. Within minutes, the bag was half-full, stinking, and starting to get heavy. And they were just getting started!

  “What do you say we take a break?” Bryce suggested.

  “You tired already?” Renny asked, looking genuinely surprised. “We've barely begun.”

  “What do we do when our bag is full?” Bryce asked, hoping the answer would be “We're finished and we can go home.”

  It wasn't. “Well, when the bag is full, we tie it off and leave it at the head of the trail for the park rangers to pick up later,” Renny replied. “Then we take another bag and start over, until the three hours is up.”

  “I should have done the essay,” Bryce muttered. If he'd known he was going to get stuck with Renny Harding — the kid who had turned his dream into a nightmare — and holding a smelly bag of garbage for three hours, he would have done anything else, even faced suspension.

  For the next hour, Renny picked up soda cans, paper cups, and other trash, tossed them into the bag, and attacked the weeds and saplings that threatened to choke off the trail. Bryce trailed behind him, surprised at how much the kid seemed to be enjoying himself. It made him feel a little embarrassed for his own sour attitude.

  “I think it's time for a break,” Bryce said when he'd tied off his third bag. “I'm breaking.” Without waiting for Renny to agree, he put down the garbage bag and sat on a felled tree trunk.

  Renny sat down next to Bryce and wiped his brow with his T-shirt. “Whoo — sweaty work,” he said, grinning. “But it's all for a good cause, huh?”

  “Right,” Bryce said, nodding. Right — though he could care less about hikers or nature lovers.

  “So you were going to tell me how you wound up doing this,” Renny prompted him.

  “Oh, yeah,” Bryce said, stalling. For some reason, he didn't want to tell Renny the truth. “Well, I used to do this with my parents when I was little.” Which was true. Bryce's mom had loved to volunteer the whole family for charity work. “My dad always hated it; he just wanted to stay home and watch the ball game. Maybe that's why he left home when I was in third grade.”

  “Hey — my folks are divorced, too!” Renny said, turning to stare at Bryce. “Just last year. That's how come my mom and I ended up moving here.”

  “Huh!” Bryce said, looking Renny in the eye for the first time. “I hate my dad. You?”

  “I don't hate him,” Renny replied slowly. “But I am kind of mad at him. We were supposed to work on this cleanup project together, but he couldn't make it at the last minute.” Renny picked up a stray soda can and hurled it into the garbage bag with more force than he'd used before.

  “Then your dad's a jerk, and so's mine.” Bryce snorted. “I never see him except when he drops off Christmas presents. And then I make him sorry he did.”

  “You don't really hate him, do you?” Renny asked.

  “Sure I do,” Bryce insisted. “Why'd he have to leave?” He tore a stick off a nearby tree and started digging in the trail dirt with it.

  “I don't know,” Renny said. “I don't really get why my dad left, either. But I do know I still miss him.”

  Bryce felt a sick feeling welling up from the pit of his stomach. He clenched down hard on it. “I don't want to talk about it,” he said tightly.

  “Okay,” Renny said, backing off.

  The two boys were silent for a while, each brooding over his own thoughts.

  “Well, I bet your dad is proud of you, even if you don't think so,” Renny said finally. “You're good at so many sports — baseball, lacrosse, track, soccer. I saw you in the all-state basketball tournament. You were awesome!”

  Bryce felt a distinct flush of pleasure. Thanks,” he said. “You saw that? That
was way over in Chica-saw.”

  “I made my mom take me,” Renny said. “I'm not good at basketball, but I love to watch it. And you were the best one there.”

  “I don't know about that… .”

  “That flying spin move? How do you do that?”

  “I do it in soccer, too,” Bryce admitted with a sly smile. Suddenly the kid didn't seem so bad to him anymore. He was actually okay. And hey — it wasn't his fault he was a good player!

  “No way!” Renny cried. “Airborne, or on the ground?”

  “Sort of both,” Bryce said, trying to explain how he did his patented move. He got up and demonstrated. “You wait for the defender to commit, see. Then, when he does, you just use his momentum and spin off him; depending on which way he goes. You cradle the ball between your legs, then let it go before you hit ground.”

  “Awesome.” Renny shook his head in deep admiration. “I could never do that. Nobody but you could do it.”

  “Aw…”

  “You know, ever since I moved here, I've wanted to play soccer like you.”

  “Really?” Bryce thought back to October. “Which team were you on in the fall?”

  “I wasn't. I got here after the season started, and all the teams were set. I just came down every week and watched. Mostly your games, actually. I'd stand there, imagining myself as center striker….” Renny laughed, remembering. “Funny, huh?”

  “So that's why nobody knew about you,” Bryce said. “Well, you've got nothing to be ashamed of. You play a good little game.”

  Renny beamed. “You know that day in Conroy's, when you came up to me and encouraged me?” he asked. “You were really nice about it. I mean, we beat you, but you didn't hold it against me or any-thing. I thought that was really cool.”