Soccer Duel

by Matt Christopher

  The eyes flickered in panic for just a split second.

  “Uh, no!” Bryce said, a little too hotly. “Did he tell you that?”

  “You did, didn't you.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

  Bryce cleared his throat. “I was just discussing strategy with him, that's all. Hey, I never thought he'd try to hurt you.”

  “Uh-huh,” Renny said. He sneered at Bryce's still-outstretched hand. Bryce lowered it. “See you on the field, Bryce,” he said. He turned his back on Bryce and ran off toward the Hornets' bench, a white-hot coal of anger and hurt burning in his stomach.

  When the whistle blew minutes later to start the game, Renny was everywhere. He reached the ball before anyone else could, constantly a step ahead of all the other players. And his shots, when he took them, were much more powerful than usual. Before ten minutes had passed, he had already scored two goals and just missed on a third.

  After each goal, Renny looked over at Bryce and caught his eye. Then he pointed straight at him, as if to say, “In your face,”

  Bryce stared back at him, and Renny could see that he was angry, too. But Renny didn't care. He was on a rampage, and nothing was going to stop him until he'd rubbed Bryce's face in it for betraying him like that!

  After the second goal, Bryce controlled the ball for the Yellow Jackets, driving, the play into the Hornets' zone. Renny saw an opportunity and sneaked up on Bryce from behind, diving and spearing the ball with his foot.

  Bryce lost control of the ball, and it went straight to Jordan Woo, who was playing some of his rare minutes on defense. Jordan wound up and kicked it hard. For once, he hit the ball square, and it floated over everyone's heads back downfield. Renny was right behind it, racing to take possession. He ran the length of the field, bearing down on the goalie.

  Only one defender stood in his way. Renny froze him with a fake to the left, then went around his right side, unimpeded. He kicked the ball straight up to the height of his head, then made as if to head the ball into the goal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the goalie commit himself to the left — so when the ball hit the ground in front of his foot, Renny kicked it to the right side of the net.

  The stunned goalie never had a chance. Renny could hear the roar of approval, and it was coming from both sides of the field. As he trotted back toward the center line, he gave a little wave of acknowledgment. They were cheering for him!

  His anger drained right out of him, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction. Bryce had betrayed him, but he'd also been Renny's inspiration. And now Renny was getting his revenge, in the best possible way.

  14

  At first; when Renny had accused him, Bryce felt guilty. When Renny had scored his first goal, Bryce figured it was only right, considering. Even the pointing didn't bother him — much. But when Renny had shown him up like that, stealing the ball from him and going all the way with it, Bryce had had enough.

  The score was 3-0 already. But there was still another half to play. “We just have to be patient,” Bryce told his teammates, “and wait for our opportunities. Follow me into their zone. I'll try to create something.”

  When the second half began, Bryce went out to the center circle expecting to see Renny facing him down. But Renny was not there — it was John Singleman instead. So where was Renny?

  Bryce looked around for him. There he was, with the midfielders. What was going on? he wondered.

  Bryce soon found out. Apparently, Renny had convinced his coach that with a three-goal lead, he should be put in as a midfielder to shadow Bryce wherever he went. For the first ten minutes of the half, every time the ball came to Bryce, Renny was there, harassing him, denying him possession or a clear lane. The only thing Bryce could do was to pass the ball away under the ferocious pressure.

  Bryce could see that if this kept up, the game would end with the score just as it was. I've got to break out of this! he told himself.

  He knew that if he succeeded in getting deep into the Hornets' zone, Renny would have to abandon position to follow him. That would leave one of the Yellow Jackets' midfielders unguarded.

  Bryce took the ball and forced it forward, trying to run around Renny. But Renny, with his speed, kept cutting Bryce off. Finally, Bryce had had enough. He gave Renny a sharp shove with his forearm, creating some elbowroom between them.

  The way to the Hornets' zone was open. But before Bryce could take advantage of the opportunity, the ref's whistle blew, and he pointed to Bryce, indicating a foul.

  “What?!” Bryce leaped into the air in sheer frustration. “He was all over me, ref!”

  The ref just shook his head. “Flagrant personal foul!” he said. “Free kick, Blue!”

  “Nooooo!” Bryce yelled, banging his knees in frustration.

  Eric Dornquist tapped him on the shoulder, “You're out, Bryce,” he said. “I'm in for you.”

  Bryce looked up, then over at the sideline. Coach Hickey was motioning him off the field! Bryce couldn't believe it.

  He walked slowly toward the sideline. “Come on, come on!” the coach urged him. “Hustle, Bryce! What's the matter with you?”

  “He set me up for that foul, Coach,” Bryce complained.

  “And you fell for it,” Coach Hickey replied, shaking his head. “If you'd stop hogging the ball for once and get your teammates into the flow, this stuff wouldn't happen.”

  They both turned their attention to the field, where Renny's free kick had turned into another goal, this time scored by Henry Wilkes. “Four-zip,” the coach said sadly. “I can't believe this!”

  Neither could Bryce. The first game was shaping up to be a first-class nightmare — all because Renny had found out the truth about him and Turk Walters.

  “Did you see that shot he took in the first half?”

  Bryce knew that voice. He turned to see Coach Harrelson talking with another man. Both of them had notepads and pens. They were looking out on the field, where Renny Harding was dancing around with the ball again.

  “I thought you said he had a weak shot,” the other man said.

  “Guess I was wrong,” Coach Harrelson said. “Or else he's just getting better with age.”

  The two men laughed, and Bryce felt tears filling his eyes. He sank down on the bench and turned away from them.

  A minute later, defenseman Steve Weintraub came out of the game and sat down with him. “This really stinks,” he said to Bryce,

  “Tell me about it. Say, who's the guy with Coach Harrelson?” Bryce asked.

  “Don't you know him?” Steve asked. “That's Coach Johnson — he runs the high school varsity team.”

  “Oh, great,” Bryce said. “Just great.” Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

  It was a mercy when the final whistle blew. No other goals had been scored, but the first game of the championship had been a massacre all the way.

  The kid had drawn first blood. Bryce sat there steaming, thinking not about the past, but about the future. I'm not through yet, he swore to himself. It's not over till it's over, Renny Harding.

  15

  Renny couldn't sleep. Today's game had been incredible. In fact, the whole last two-plus weeks had been like something out of a dream. He'd become the soccer sensation of the whole town — even Norm Harvey had called to congratulate him.

  “You appear to have an excellent probability of winning the championship at this point,” he had said. “In fact, the odds are three to one in your favor. And your stats would appear to put you in line for the play-off's Most Valuable Player!”

  “Hey, it was only one game,” Renny pointed out.

  “But you've got momentum on your side,” Norm said. “The psychological edge. Fascinating. It's a lot like chess, actually.”

  “Hey!” Renny said with a laugh. “That's my line!”

  Norm had also mentioned that the high school coaches had been there. He heard they'd been very impressed with Renny.

  So now Renny lay awake, thinking about th
e possibilities. Maybe someday he'd play center striker in high school. Probably not, though. After all, Isaac Mendez and Bryce were both bigger and stronger than he was, and almost as fast. They'd been playing here in town for years, while he had only emerged two weekends ago.

  Still, the fantasy was sweet. Renny saw himself playing while Bryce fumed on the bench, waiting to play his paltry few minutes of garbage time when the game was already decided one way or the other. Ha!

  It had been fantastic to see the look of pain and fury on Bryce's face at the end of the game today. As his teammates lifted him to their shoulders and chanted his name, Renny, had caught a glimpse of Bryce, kicking a Styrofoam cooler to pieces.

  Well, good, Renny thought. He deserved it. He'd pretended to be Renny's friend while plotting against him with Turk. “I could have been hurt,” Renny muttered.

  He had really thought Bryce wanted to be his friend. “What an idiot I was,” Renny said to himself bitterly as he stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Why would a popular lad like Bryce Mc-Cormack want to be my friend? No, he was just scoping me out, trying to find my weak points. I guess he thought I didn't have any guts. Well, now he knows I do.

  Renny closed his eyes, but sleep just wouldn't come. He thought about what Norm had said about the MVP trophy. It would be nice to get, he conceded.

  But then he realized it would also be okay if he didn't win it. It didn't matter to Renny, so long as his team won the championship. He'd had so much success already, it was beyond what had been his wildest dreams at the start of the season. But Bryce…

  “He's probably been counting on winning the MVP trophy all season,” Renny whispered in the dark. All at once, he felt he understood what had made Bryce seek out Turk Walters.

  He was desperate, Renny thought. I guess it means more to him than it does to me. And I'll bet when Isaac got hurt, Bryce thought the championship was in the bag. And then I came along… .

  Suddenly, Renny didn't feel angry with Bryce any-more. Maybe Bryce had suggested to Turk that he foul Renny hard, but a kid like Turk wouldn't have needed much encouragement.

  There was one thing Renny didn't understand, though. Bryce had sicced Turk on him, but then he had encouraged Renny to be more aggressive on the field. Was it possible Bryce had had second thoughts about his dirty little trick? If he had, then he couldn't have helped Renny more. Without Bryce's inspiration, Renny would never have raised the level of his game so quickly. He had always been timid on the field; he realized that now. And he would never be timid on the field again — thanks to Bryce.

  “Today must have been one of the worst days of his life,” Renny breathed. If the Blue Hornets won the championship tomorrow, Renny promised himself that he wouldn't rub it in Bryce's face.

  But something told him this play-off wasn't going to be that easy… that he hadn't heard the last of Bryce McCormack.

  16

  Bryce lay in bed, unable to sleep. His anger was like a red film in front of his eyes. He tossed and turned, burning for revenge.

  His whole life he'd been a winner. Now, all of a sudden, he was in danger of being not only a loser, but the goat. If the Yellow Jackets didn't win the championship, everyone would think it was Bryce who had choked under pressure. “He was good,” they'd say, “but not good enough.”

  If the Blue Hornets beat them tomorrow, Renny Harding would win the MVP trophy, no doubt about it. And Coach Harrelson would pick Renny Harding to be JV center striker next fall. Bryce would ride the bench. He would sit there, hoping Renny Harding would go down with a broken ankle, just the way Isaac Mendez had, so that Bryce would get his chance.

  Bryce made a face. “I really am a loser,” he said out loud. “I nearly got the kid hurt once already — now here I am thinking about him getting injured.” He sighed. “I was the best soccer player in this league. So how come he's playing better than me? How come his team won today?”

  He realized he'd never asked himself these questions before. It wasn't that Renny had more talent — Bryce was stronger, bigger, more of a natural athlete. But Renny Harding was thinking ahead, and working with his teammates. “Not being a hot dog like me,” Bryce mused, recalling Coach Harrelson's description of his play. Renny was the best player on his team, like Bryce, but unlike Bryce, he didn't ignore his teammates and try to do it all himself.

  All at once, he wasn't mad at Renny anymore. It had come to Bryce that in order to beat the kid, he had to play like him. Renny expected Bryce to hog the field, not give one of his teammates a chance for glory.

  Well, Renny and his Blue Hornets were in for a surprise. Tomorrow, Bryce was going to pull his team back into this thing — by playing soccer Renny Harding's way.

  17

  The following morning, Renny woke up feeling tired. He hadn't slept much, and his stomach was churning restlessly. He went downstairs, where his mom had made him some pancakes, but the smell of them made him feel even sicker. “I'm not hungry,” he told her, pushing his plate away.

  “Are you okay?” his mom asked, concerned, coming over to him and feeling his forehead for a fever. “You don't feel hot. But maybe you ought to get back in bed and rest today.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Renny blurted out “I have to be at the game!”

  “Okay, I know it's very important to you,” his mother said soothingly. “But your health is important, too.”

  “I'm not sick,” Renny insisted. “Just tired … and a little nervous.”

  Just then, the phone rang. His mother answered it, and when she heard the voice on the other end of the line, her expression darkened. “Oh, hi,” she said unenthusiastically. Then she held out the phone to Renny. “It's your father,” she said.

  Renny jumped up and took the phone from her. His mom busied herself around the kitchen, making a lot of noise with pots and pans;

  “Hi, Dad,” Renny said.

  “Hey, sport!” his dad's voice came over the line. “How's everything going?”

  “Pretty good,” Renny said. “My team's in the soccer finals.”

  “Yeah? That's fantastic! I'll bet you win, too. Are they still letting you start?”

  “Yeah, I'm starting every game!” Renny said.

  “Good for you. What happened to the other guy ahead of you? Didn't you say you were third string?”

  “I was, but he wasn't there one day, so I got to play, and I'm still playing.”

  “That's my boy!” his dad crowed. “I taught you well, I guess, huh?”

  “I guess; If you come-to our game today, you could see just how well. What do you say?” Renny waited hopefully.

  “I wish I could,” his dad said sadly. “But I'm leaving for New York tonight. Got a big business meeting there on Monday.”

  “That's okay, Dad,” Renny mumbled. “I understand.”

  “No, it's not okay, darn it,” his dad said. “It stinks. A dad should be there for his son's big game.” Renny heard him sigh. “I'm sorry, Renny. I know I've let you down lots of times….”

  “No, Dad …”

  “I have too,” his dad insisted. “And none of it was your fault. Look, you go out and play your best. Maybe next time, I'll be able to make it out there to see you.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good luck, son.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” Renny hung up, feeling more down than before.

  “What did he want?” his mom asked him.

  “Nothing,” Renny said. “I've got to. go. See you later.”

  “Are you sure you're feeling well enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Renny, you know I've got to work this morning, or I'd love to come and see you play.”

  “Sure, Mom. It's okay. Bye.”

  “Bye, honey. Good luck!”

  “Thanks.” Renny went outside. The morning was gray and foggy, with a little drizzle. Maybe we won't even play, he said to himself. He really did feel sick — weak, and tired, and deeply sad. He hoped they didn't play. Not today.

 
; The game went ahead, even though the drizzle had become steadier. The conditions were slippery, which would be to Renny's advantage. With his moves, the defenders would be slipping and falling all over the place.

  “We're gonna be champions!” Jordan Woo was bragging on the sidelines as the players lined up. “Oh, yeah! We're gonna swat the Yellow Jackets! Hornets rule!”

  Renny shook his head. Jordan, always so sure they were going to lose, had suddenly become overconfident. “You know, Jordan,” he said, “you should try to keep an even keel a little more.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Jordan asked. “We wiped the floor with them yesterday! We're hot, man! Nobody can stop us!”

  Renny gave up. Jordan's moods swung with every breeze.

  He could see Bryce warming up across the field. Bryce seemed intensely focused today. He looked totally unaware of his surroundings as he practiced his shots. “This isn't going to be easy,” Renny murmured under his breath.

  It wasn't. When the starting whistle blew, Bryce took immediate control. He quickly drove the play into the Hornets' end. Renny waited for the ball to come back toward midfield, but it didn't. Bryce got off three shots in a row, and the third found its mark — a big kick that had Chuck Mathes ducking for cover.

  Renny led a drive on the next possession, but Sam Plummer, the Yellow Jackets' goalie, made a big save and sent the ball back downfield.

  Bryce again led a rush. But this time, to Renny's amazement, he drew the defense to him, then found the open man on his left wing, Eric Dornquist; with a gorgeous pass. The resulting shot had the Yellow Jackets up 2-0 before five minutes of game time had passed.

  Bryce McCormack giving up a chance to shoot on goal? Renny thought. Impossible!

  But it wasn't impossible, or the only time in the game Bryce made the unselfish move. He controlled the field that first half — making steals, creating opportunities, and threading passes through double teams to open men. Before die half was over, he had assisted on two more goals.

  Down 4-0, Renny finally succeeded in rallying the Hornets for a goal, finding John Singleman with a well-placed corner lack to make the score 4-1 at halftime. But as they gathered around Coach McMaster, Renny could see defeat written on the faces of all his teammates. They had already accepted in their hearts that today was not their day.