Soccer Duel

by Matt Christopher

  Looking into Renny's open, honest face, Bryce felt a little twinge of guilt. He remembered that day in Conroy's, all right, when he had approached Renny to see what he was all about — net to be “really nice.” Thinking about that day reminded him of his conversation with Turk Walters and the malicious grin on Turk's face. The twinge of guilt turned into a much bigger pang.

  “Hey, kid — I mean Renny,” Bryce said suddenly.

  “Yeah?” Renny asked. He must have sensed the importance of what Bryce was about to say, because he looked at him very seriously.

  “I, uh, you know the game tomorrow?” Bryce shifted uncomfortably on the log. “Well, I'heard a, um, a rumor —”

  Renny held up his hand. “I bet I heard the same rumor — that Coach Harrelson is going to be there to check out the players, right?” He grinned at Bryce. “You know, I overheard him talking about you last week. He couldn't believe how good you were. You're a shoo-in for the starting spot on junior varsity next year.”

  Bryce stared at Renny. Coach Harrelson had said something that made Renny think he wanted him, Bryce, to be his center striker! But the coach had also said good — no, make that great — things about Renny's playing. Had Coach Harrelson made up his mind yet? He had at least one more game to watch Renny. But if the Blue Hornets beat the Orange Crush tomorrow, then it would be Bryce's Yellow Jackets against Renny's Blue Hornets in the best-of-three championship series. Coach Harrelson would see Renny play not once, but at least three more times.

  Until recently, Bryce wouldn't have worried about his competition. But now, he wasn't so sure he'd come out on top when compared to Renny. The thought burned him.

  “So was I right, was that the rumor you heard?” Renny asked. “Or was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

  Bryce knew he should warn Renny about Turk. He knew that Renny might even get hurt if he didn't. But the thought of having to face Renny in the championships made him choke on the warning. He couldn't get the words out — he just couldn't.

  Renny was still looking at him, waiting.

  Bryce forced himself to say something. “Yeah, that was the rumor, all right. But, um, do you mind a little advice? In the game, try to be a little more aggressive, you know? You've got to throw yourself at the ball more. I mean, I know you're not big like me, but you still have to act like it sometimes, or — or kids on the other team might try to push you around, intimidate you. Know what I mean?”

  There, Bryce thought. If the kid can't take a hint, too bad. That's as much warning as he's going to get.

  “You're saying I should play more like you?” Renny asked with a grin. “Gee, it would be great if I could! Wannago out there and pretend to be me?”

  Bryce tried to laugh along, but it wasn't easy. “Really, try to be a little more selfish, too — I mean, if you've got the shot, take the shot. Otherwise, they'll figure out you're going to pass off every time and start covering you better. Gotta keep surprising them, doing the unexpected.”

  “Well, I guess you're right. I guess I'm a little scared to get hurt sometimes. Some of the kids are so much bigger than me.”

  Bryce thought of Turk Walters again and swallowed hard. Even though he didn't want Renny's team to win, he sure hoped the kid got through tomorrow's game without getting hurt.

  “Well, we'd better get back to work,” Renny said, getting up. “Thanks for the advice.” He suddenly stuck out his hand. “I feel like we're friends now, sort of.”

  “Sure,” Bryce agreed, tossing it off. He managed to shake Renny's hand, but he couldn't bring himself to look the kid in the eye.

  “Come on,” he said, flapping open his new garbage bag. “Let's get busy.”

  9

  Renny had practice later that Saturday afternoon. He came all psyched up to play. Becoming friends with Bryce McCormack was so cool — someone who was into sports as much as Renny was, and a great athlete, too! Well, maybe they weren't really friends yet, but Bryce had given him all those good tips, and Renny was eager to try them out in practice. So it bothered him when he noticed that his teammates seemed to be acting down in the dumps. They were only half trying during the first set of drills, and no one was saying much of anything.

  Renny couldn't understand it — they'd been playing so well. And now they were just one victory from the play-offs! Why should any of them be down?

  He wondered what could be bothering them. So during a break, he leaned against one of the goal-posts, listening to some of his teammates talking.

  “The Orange Crush are dirty players,” said Chuck Mathes, the team's goalie. “Last time we played them, Turk Walters kept crashing into me on purpose when the refs weren't looking. I finally complained to the ref, and he stopped doing it, but only because he knew he couldn't get away with it.”

  “What did they beat us by?” Jordan Woo asked.

  “Seven to two. And that was when we had Isaac,” Chuck replied.

  “We better hope for a miracle,” Jordan said. “How's Isaac's ankle?”

  “Forget it. Anyway, Renny's doing just as well, or better even.”

  “Yeah, but Renny might be a fluke. What's it been, two games? He was a sub all season—just like me.”

  Good old Jordan, Renny thought sourly. Always good for a dark comment.

  “Anyway, what's the use in talking about it?” Jordan continued. “We're going to get crushed by the Crush, unless a miracle happens.”

  Renny tossed his paper cup into the trash bag and turned to the two boys. “You know, you guys are already whipped,” he said. “Just because they beat us once, and they're bigger than us, doesn't mean we cant win. We have to win! Otherwise, we're out of the play-offs!”

  “Dun,” Jordan said. “And your point is?”

  “My point is, we've got to believe we can win, or we can't!” Renny said hotly. “We've got to make them scared of us, instead of the other way around.”

  “Oh, right” Chuck snorted. “How do you suggest we do that? Have you seen them? They look like college kids!”

  “Well, for one thing, we use our speed advantage. If we stay far away from each other and use long passes, keep them in one-on-one situations, they'll have a hard time keeping up.”

  “Yeah, and when they start fouling us?” Henry Wilkes asked. The midfielder had come up to them in midconversation and now spoke up for the first time.

  “Do some acting, fall down and scream and grab your arm — draw the foul!” Renny said.

  Henry and Chuck looked at each other and grinned. “Hey, you know what? That's pretty cool,” Henry said.

  “And there are other things we can do,” Renny said, warming to his subject.

  “Like what?” Chuck asked, interested now.

  “Like, we can force them to play in their own end.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure — what if, first thing, we kicked the ball way down in their end, then put pressure on them, using our speed advantage? Every time we get the ball, just kick it as far as we can toward their goal, then rush the ball, try to rattle them?”

  “It's risky,” Henry pointed out. “We could get caught out of position.”

  “Let's just try it once, to start the game, okay?” Renny suggested.

  “Shouldn't we ask Coach McMaster?” Jordan wondered. Suddenly it was his plan, too, Renny noticed.

  “I'll run it by him,” Renny agreed. “But you guys — you've got to think positive, okay? Let's keep the Crush off balance from the opening whistle. Like you already said, we can't beat them playing our usual way — and we've got to beat them, one way or another!”

  Henry and Chuck looked at each other, then nodded. They bumped fists with Renny on it. Even Jordan Woo stuck his hand in.

  “And don't let me hear any more whipped-dog talk!” Renny said.

  “Okay, Captain,” Henry said with a grin. “Crush the Crush!”

  “Yeah!” Chuck said.

  “All right!” Renny said, and ran off to talk to the coach about his idea.
>
  Captain. Henry had called him captain. Of course, he wasn't really team captain, Isaac Mendez was. But for the past two games, he'd been the team scoring leader, its spark plug, keeping them in the play-off hunt in spite of the real captain's injury. It was fine with Renny if they wanted to call him captain.

  Where was Coach McMaster, anyway? Renny looked around and spotted him at the other end of the field with some other players. Renny ran toward them.

  All of a sudden, a hulking red-haired figure stepped out from behind a tree by the side of the field. “Harding!”

  It was Turk Walters, the kid on the Orange Crush who had smacked into Chuck Mathes the last time the two teams played each other. Renny didn't like the look of this at all. What did Turk want with him?

  Renny decided to keep going “Hi, Turk,” he said as he went by “Can't talk now.”

  “Yo, Harding, I'm talking to you!” Turk yelled, grabbing Renny by the shoulder and spinning him around to face him.

  “Look, I'm in the middle of practice,” Renny said, trying not to panic. “What do you want?”

  “I only need a minute,” Turk said with a smile. “I just wanted to let you know — tomorrow, you're dead meat.” He held tightly on to Renny's shoulder, squeezing a little.

  Renny winced. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, his voice quivering a little.

  “I hear you're the new big man on the Blue Hornets. And it's my job to cut big men down to size, okay?”

  Renny winced again as Turk's grip grew even tighter.

  “You better be prepared to get slammed around,”

  Turk said. “Because if you come my way, I'm gonna stop you stone cold.”

  “Long as you play fair,” Renny said, trying in vain to pull away.

  “Fair?” lurk smiled, even laughed a little to himself. “Yeah, I heard of that. It rhymes with square. See you tomorrow, punk. You better be ready.” With a shove, Turk released Renny and moved off into the shadow of the trees.

  Renny watched him disappear. He was shaking with anger and fear. Should he tell Coach McMaster what Turk had just said? No, then the coach might pull Renny from center striker position just to avoid any possible trouble. Renny decided to say nothing.

  He went over to where his stuff was, at the side of the field. He gathered it all up, then started to walk home. Coach and the others would wonder why he'd left early, but Renny didn't care. All the energy had been drained out of him by his encounter with Turk Walters. Suddenly, he was even more afraid of the Orange Crush than his teammates had been.

  Come on, suck it up! he told himself, still shaking all over. He's not gonna really do anything.

  Yet deep inside, Renny wasn't so sure. Turk had a reputation for playing rough, and he'd come right out and threatened Renny.

  Renny told himself not to back down. He just hoped that when the time came, he'd have the courage to stand his ground under fire. That's what Bryce McCormack would do, he reminded himself.

  10

  Bryce didn't need an alarm clock to wake up the next morning. He was up at eight sharp and out of the house by nine. His mother hadn't even woken up yet, so he rode his bike down to the dew-covered field, drawn there as if by a magnetic force.

  Renny Harding was playing at nine-thirty. So was Turk Walters. And Bryce had finally made up his mind to do something about it.

  He liked the kid, he realized now. Sure, Renny was kind of naive and innocent, but he was also genuinely nice. Besides, Renny's dad had left the family, just like his own father had. And though Bryce's father had been gone for years and years, Renny's had left only recently. That poor kid. Bryce knew how he must feel.

  No. He had to do something for Renny. He couldn't admit to having schemed against him, but there was somebody else he could be straight with, and Bryce now sought him out on the sidelines.

  It was ten minutes till game time, and Turk Walters was loosening up, banging into a tree for practice.

  “Doesn't that hurt?” Bryce asked him by way of saying hi.

  “Soccer's a contact sport; didn't anybody ever tell you that?” Turk shot back. “Hey, man, I've gotta thank you for the advice. I already tested it out on that kid, and he's shakin' in his cleats, believe me.”

  “Uh, yeah, about that…” Bryce said. “Listen, I was wrong about that kid.”

  “Huh?” Turk stopped banging the tree and turned to pay closer attention to Bryce.

  “I don't think it's a good idea to actually foul him. Just scaring him's much better. That way, the Hornets don't get any free kicks or anything.”

  Turk snorted. “Don't worry,” he said with a laugh. “I'm not gonna get caught. I'm gonna hit him when the refs aren't looking — when he hasn't got the ball.”

  “Yeah, but I still don't think —”

  “Hey, you know what?” Turk said, taking a step toward Bryce. “Enough already. Just shut up now and let me do the dirty work.”

  “Don't hurt him, Turk,” Bryce said, holding his ground.

  “Aw, poor Bryce, his heart is bleeding for the kid,” Turk taunted him. “So now you want me to forget the whole thing, huh?'

  “That's right,” Bryce said; “It's a bad idea, Turk. Let it rest, okay?”

  “Oh. Okay. So why don't I go tell the kid it was you who gave me the bright idea? That would be ‘right,’ wouldn't it?”

  Bryce went cold. Turk laughed.

  “Go take a seat and watch the show,” Turk said. “It's gonna be real physical. And you'd better keep your mouth shut, understand?”

  Bryce backed away. He headed for the wooden bleachers where the parents sat, feeling lower than a worm. If Renny got hurt, he'd never forgive himself.

  On the other hand, what more could he have done? He'd tried to talk Turk out of it, but it was no use! The damage had already been done, hadn't it? It's too late to fix things now, Bryce told himself.

  Watching the teams line up for the start of the game, Bryce smiled sadly. He had been worried about facing Renny Harding in the play-offs, but now he could relax. That wasn't going to happen. Bryce's nasty trick had worked, and now the Yellow Jackets would be facing the Orange Crush in the play-offs instead of the Blue Hornets.

  Turk's team would be a pushover, Bryce thought, trying to make himself feel better. With Renny Harding out of the way, I'm sure to get the MVP trophy. And Coach Harrelson will be there to watch, so I'll have another chance to impress him — this time without Renny Harding around to spoil everything.

  On the surface, things were working out just right. So why did he feel so miserable about it? Why couldn't he shake off this horrible guilty feeling?

  The whistle blew, and Bryce looked up. The game had begun. Good. A chance to forget his troubles for a while.

  Just so long as Turk didn't hurt the kid …

  11

  Renny was riding high. His plan for an all-out rush into the Crush zone right at the opening whistle had paid off, big-time. The Crush defenders were taken off guard, faced with a five-man rush before they'd even gotten set. The result was an easy goal by Renny and a 1-0 lead before the first minute of the game was past.

  “Now we go back to our normal set,” Renny told his fellow frontliners. “Hold your positions. But just keep kicking it downfield every time. We have to keep the play in their end!”

  The whistle blew and play resumed, with the Orange Crush advancing with the ball. Knowing that a long lack was coming the moment one of the Blue Hornets got a foot on it, Renny snuck downfield, behind the Crush attack but just outside the Crush zone, so he wouldn't be called offside. There. Any minute now…

  “Ooof!” Suddenly Renny went flying through the air, hit by what felt like a battering ram. He landed with a thud, banging his left knee against the hard, dry turf. He got up slowly and looked around to see Turk Walters retreating back into his own zone.

  Renny tried to put some weight on the knee. It hurt, and he limped around, trying to walk off the blow. He waved to the ref for a whistle, but the ref didn't see him. He called
to the coach to take him out.

  “Gotta get a whistle first!” Coach McMaster called back. “You okay?”

  Renny shook his head, then tried to run over to the sideline so he could get out of the way of the oncoming rush.

  “Injury time-out!” Coach McMaster yelled as the ref ran past. The ref blew his whistle, and Renny limped across the line, then flopped to the ground.

  His knee was bleeding, but it didn't look too bad. From the receding pain, Renny sensed that he'd be okay in a minute or so, and that was what he told the coach. “I got fouled,” he said. “But I'm okay.”

  “Okay, I'll get you back in there,” the coach said. “Meanwhile, clean that off and get a bandage on it. Here's the first aid kit.”

  Renny did as he was told. He ripped open a cleansing pad and washed the cut, then covered it with a large padded bandage. Finishing the job, he glanced up at the bleachers. There, among the parents and other spectators, sat Bryce McCormack.

  Bryce had his chin in his hands, so that his mouth was covered. He was looking right at Renny with horrified eyes. Renny waved to him, letting Bryce know he was okay. But Bryce didn't acknowledge him. He just sat there staring, with that weird look on his face.

  A roar went up from the other side of the field. “Oh, no!” Jordan Woo moaned. “Curt Kelly scored a goal for them — he just mowed our defense right down! Man, were gonna lose now for sure. These guys are just too big for us.”

  Renny didn't take the time to dignify Jordan's comment with a rebuke. Instead, he swung around toward where the coach was standing. “I'm back in!” he shouted.

  “Substitution, ref!” the coach yelled, then waved Renny onto the field. “Cooper, take a rest!” he called, motioning for Ellis Cooper, one of the defensemen, to come out.

  “Coach, let me in at center striker!” Renny protested. “They're just trying to intimidate me!”

  “Let's see how you move around first,” the coach replied. “I don't want you getting hurt.”

  Renny kicked the dirt in frustration, then trotted onto the field, refusing to let his pain show. There was no limp in his step. He glared across at Turk Walters, but Turk wasn't looking at him.