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  Coach Wheeler looked at him sadly and shook his head. “To be honest, kid, you’re not helping us any in your condition. I have to sit you down.”

  Tiki winced. Coach Wheeler was a straight-up guy, and Tiki really liked that about him. But he could sometimes be brutally honest.

  Johnnie B. choked up a little, but there was no arguing with Coach Wheeler.

  “Now, are your parents here to take you home?” Wheeler asked.

  Berra nodded, sniffing back tears and staring at the floor.

  “All right, then. I’ll have them sent for. You be ready to go in five minutes.”

  “Coach,” Cody protested. “What are we gonna do without John?”

  Wheeler frowned. “That’s why we have subs, Hansen. When things happen—and they always do—our subs have to step up and help the team.”

  He turned and looked straight at Luke Frazier. “You ready, kid?”

  “Ready, Coach,” Luke said, looking serious and intense.

  “Good. Now all of you, listen to what I’m saying. These things happen—players go down—and that’s when the rest of us have got to take it up another notch. We’ve got to step up for our fallen teammate!”

  That got a cheer out of the Eagles—but Wheeler wasn’t done.

  “Now, I want you to get out there and give my man Luke here all the support he needs, so he can give us what we need. Remember what you’re doing—stepping up for your teammates—that’s the true test of a champion. . . . Do you want to be champions?”

  “YES!!” everyone shouted.

  “Then get out there and win this game for Johnnie B.!”

  “YEAH!!”

  “Get out there and make us all proud!”

  “YEAH!!!”

  “Get out there and take this game right out of their hands!”

  “YEAH!!!!”

  “Get out there and make history!”

  A deafening roar shook the room as the Eagles screamed and pounded on their lockers. Even Johnnie B., with tears in his eyes, gave it everything he had left.

  They ran full-speed out onto the field, as the Hidden Valley faithful yelled their lungs out.

  The kick went up, and Ronde was off and running the moment he caught the ball. He sped right at the onrushing Rockets. Then, just as he was about to smash into them head-on, he sidestepped, and found an open seam.

  “Man, he’s fast!” Fred Soule said to Tiki as they stood on the sideline. “There he goes!”

  “All the way, Ronde!” Tiki shouted. “YES!!”

  Ronde raised the ball to the sky as he crossed the goal line. Then he threw it into the crowd, and leaped into the arms of his teammates.

  The second half was on!

  The Eagles were bringing their “A” game now. After stopping the Rockets on three and out, they ground out a long drive and kicked a field goal to jump in front, 17–16.

  But the Rockets weren’t about to lay down and surrender. They quickly grabbed the lead back with a field goal of their own.

  Tiki was still having trouble finding holes in the defense. Luke was trying his best, but he just didn’t have Berra’s size and experience. So Coach Wheeler kept relying on the passing game.

  Another quarter passed, with neither team able to put points on the board. The score was still 19–17, Rockets. The Eagles had given it their best, but now the clock was running out. With only two minutes left in the game—and maybe in their season—they got the ball back on their own thirty-four yard line. Time for one last desperate drive.

  It did not begin well. On first down, Cody was sacked looking to pass to Fred, who never got free.

  On second down, Cody threw a short pass to Tiki, who managed to get back only to the original line of scrimmage.

  Now it was third and ten. “Mississippi State,” Luke said, bringing the play in from the sideline. It was a pass play, going over the middle to Joey Gallagher. Not a bad call, Tiki thought—but the Rockets would surely be waiting for it.

  “Cody,” Tiki said as they huddled up, “how about sending me downfield?” His usual job on the play would be to stay in the backfield, in case of a blitz.

  “What?”

  “Downfield. Along with Fred. As in way downfield.”

  “We don’t even have that in the playbook! You only catch short passes and run with the ball.”

  “Dude, trust me on this—they won’t be looking for me to run a corner pattern.” Tiki grabbed Cody by the arm. “You know how fast I am—I can get by those guys, you’ll see! If you can’t hit Joey, look for me out there.”

  “Do it, Cody,” Joey said, nodding. “He’s right. They’re all over me, double-teaming me every time. And Tiki’s the fastest guy on the team, except maybe for Ronde.”

  Cody’s mouth curled into a grin. “Let’s go for it!” he said. “On three.”

  The play clock was almost down to zero by the time they snapped the ball. Tiki faked a block, then ignited his burners. He saw the safety double-teaming Joey, just as they’d expected. Meanwhile, Fred had taken his man to the middle, while Tiki ran down the far sideline, wide open.

  Cody faked the pass to Fred Soule, looked for Joey and saw he was double-covered—then turned and saw Tiki, wide open on the opposite side of the field. Cody hurled the ball as far as he could throw it.

  The ball sailed toward Tiki, a perfect spiral, and he grabbed it in full stride. The safety saw what was happening, but he arrived three steps too late. Tiki was already in the end zone!

  After the celebration and the extra point, the score was 24–19, Eagles. The offense ran triumphantly off the field, only to have Coach Wheeler scold them, saying, “Hey! HEY! Can the celebrations—this game’s not over yet!”

  But Tiki could tell he was pleased by the on-field adjustment they’d made. Coach Wheeler liked his players to be thinking out there, taking advantage of opportunities.

  There were still thirty-five seconds left. The Rockets ran Adam’s kickoff back to midfield, then went to work, using their three time-outs and some quick out patterns to drive into the Eagles’ red zone, with time for one more play.

  “Hold ’em, Ronde!” Tiki screamed, his voice hoarse after too much shouting.

  This was the play that would decide the game, and with it, the Eagles’ future—or lack of it.

  The Rocket quarterback rolled to his right. The Eagle defenders chased him—but suddenly, he handed the ball to his wide receiver, who was going the opposite way!

  “End around! End around!” Tiki shouted, but nobody heard him.

  Luckily, Ronde saw the trick, just in the nick of time. He reversed direction and ran down the ball carrier from behind, knocking him out of bounds just short of the goal line!

  The gun sounded. Everyone yelled their guts out.

  Game over! The Eagles had lived to fight another day!

  CHAPTER TWO

  FOOTBALL FEVER

  “GIMME FIVE, BARBER!”

  Ronde raised his hand to be slapped. It was already sore, and he’d gotten to school only five minutes ago. Sure, everybody was all pumped up about the Eagles’ come-from-behind victory. But did they have to smack him so hard? For them, it was one slap. For his poor hand . . . well . . .

  The next time someone greeted him, he put out his left hand instead.

  It had been a great morning, all in all. The Eagles had come so far, against the odds—and the excitement was obviously contagious. Football fever had gripped Hidden Valley Junior High and was now a totally out-of-control epidemic.

  Ronde couldn’t fully get into the celebration, though. For him, the fight wasn’t over. After all, they hadn’t actually won anything yet. Only when they held a trophy in their hands could they really be called champions.

  He remembered the faces from yesterday’s game—the pain in the eyes of the defeated Rockets as they watched the Eagles celebrate. Their slow walk off the field, staring at the ground as they went.

  That could have been him, and Tiki, and all the rest of the Eagles, Ronde knew.
The game could easily have gone the other way. Their season could still end in defeat—in fact, the odds of them winning the district championship were only fifty-fifty. And as for the state crown? Well, Ronde’s best subject was math—and he knew those were some very long odds.

  So he accepted the high-fives and backslaps with a smile. But he stayed cool about it, out of a healthy respect for lady luck, the football gods, or whatever made the ball bounce your way.

  Still, as the morning wore on, Ronde found himself giving in to the general excitement. He kept replaying the highlights of their latest victory in his head. Twice in English, Ms. Kowalski called on him while he was in a daze, and the whole class laughed.

  Normally, Ronde would have been horrified. But today, he didn’t mind. The other kids knew where his mind was, because they were thinking about it too. Even Ms. Kowalski didn’t seem annoyed, the way she usually was when kids didn’t pay attention.

  By lunch period, Ronde was in a really fine mood. Joining his teammates at their usual table, he felt like the big game had just ended. They all exchanged hugs and backslaps, and began giving each other a hard time about the mistakes they’d made during the game—mistakes that were only funny now because they hadn’t mattered in the end.

  “Dude, that dance you did in the end zone needs some work,” Paco told Tiki, demonstrating the way a real victory dance should look. Everyone howled at his antics. Paco was definitely the funniest guy on the squad.

  “Hey, Tiki,” said Joey Gallagher. “You looked like a rubber ball, bouncing off those big linemen.”

  “I know, man. That’s what happens when your blocker takes the day off with a fever.”

  “You got that right,” Cody agreed. “Did you see Berra’s face in the locker room? He was green.”

  “He must have eaten something really bad,” Sam Scarfone said, “’cause he’s still out sick.”

  “Geez,” Ronde said, his smile slowly fading. “I hope it’s nothing really bad.”

  “Ah, he’ll be okay,” Paco said. “You know Johnnie B. He’ll eat anything.”

  Everyone laughed, and that lightened the tension. But only for a minute—because that’s when Adam Costa showed up, carrying his tray from the food line, and looking really worried.

  “Hey, guys,” he said, sitting himself down and heaving a sigh. “Did you hear the news about Berra?”

  “What news?” Cody asked.

  “You haven’t heard? Nobody here knows about it?”

  “About what?” Ronde demanded.

  Adam gave the whole table a dark look. “We’ve got a great big problem, guys. Johnnie B.’s got chicken pox.”

  “Say what?” Tiki said.

  “Yeah, I happened to pass by the nurse’s office, and she was talking to Coach, so naturally I couldn’t help overhearing. She told him it’s going around the whole school, and that there’s no telling who might come down with it next.”

  “Not me,” said Cody. “I already had it once, back when I was little. You can’t get it twice.”

  “Whew,” Luke said. “That lets me off. I had it when I was a baby.”

  “Me too,” said Joey Gallagher. “Thank goodness.”

  A few others chimed in, pretending to wipe the sweat off their brows in relief. But four or five kids just sat there looking worried.

  Ronde glanced over at Tiki, who was staring right back at him. They were thinking the same exact thing, as they often did.

  Neither of them had ever had chicken pox.

  Worse still, Tiki ran in the backfield with John, and they hung out together at practice. Ronde had the locker next to Berra’s. Were they doomed to be the next victims?

  “Well, how long does it last?” Cody asked. “Will John be able to play in the district final?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Adam replied. “I’m no doctor. I faint at the sight of blood.”

  “Man,” Sam Scarfone said, shaking his head. “I hope nobody else on the team goes down. I’d hate to lose out on a championship because of some stupid disease.”

  Nobody else said a word. The prospect was just too scary.

  For the rest of that afternoon, Ronde went through his classes in a daze. Not the happy daze of that morning, but the doomed daze of a man walking to his execution.

  Every chance he got, he looked at his reflection in the mirror or the window. He kept checking his arms for spots, but he didn’t find any, even though he felt itchy all over.

  He wondered if that was a sign you were about to get chicken pox.

  He looked to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Murray was droning on about the particles of the atom. In the second row, Paco Rivera was squirming in his chair. Ronde saw him reach under his shirt and check for bumps.

  In the fourth row, Bill Reeves, the team’s other starting cornerback, had his hand on his forehead, checking for fever. He was trying to act normal, but Ronde knew the truth. Bill and Paco were as freaked out as he was.

  And why was his heart thumping so loudly in his chest? Ronde was sure the whole class could hear it. He wondered why no one turned around to see where the hammering was coming from.

  Ronde was sweating now, but he didn’t have a fever—it was a cold sweat, from the sheer terror of getting sick.

  This is ridiculous, he told himself. I can’t be worrying about this all week long.

  But much as he tried to talk sense to himself, his self wasn’t listening.

  Everyone knew chicken pox was highly contagious. There were fifty-five kids on the team, and all of them shared a locker room with Berra. What were the odds that none would get sick?

  Close to zero, Ronde figured. Whether he himself caught chicken pox or not, he felt sure that Berra would not be the Eagles’ last victim.

  And the district championship final was less than a week away!

  CHAPTER THREE

  EXPOSED!

  TIKI SLEEPWALKED THROUGH HIS AFTERNOON classes. He felt cold, but his armpits were wet with sweat. He wondered if that was a sign of chicken pox.

  Everything seemed like a sign of chicken pox, at least to him. For instance, it couldn’t have been an accident that today’s history class was about the black plague.

  “It was a terrible time,” Ms. Abdul-Malik was saying. “First, people would notice a swelling in their armpits. . . .”

  Tiki checked his pits. Nothing . . . yet.

  “. . . Then they would get a fever, with huge swellings everywhere. . . .”

  Tiki felt his forehead. He couldn’t tell if it was warm or cool.

  He cast a quick look around the classroom. Nobody else seemed the least bit worried about catching the plague—er, chicken pox.

  Of course they weren’t worried. If any of them came down with it, they’d miss a few days of school. Big deal—they’d stay home, relax in bed, eat ice cream, and watch TV. Boo-hoo for them, thought Tiki.

  But for him, the stakes were much higher. Next Tuesday night, the Eagles would play for the district championship. It would be the biggest game of his entire life!

  Sure, the Eagles had won the district last year, when Tiki and Ronde were still seventh graders riding the bench. But this year, the Eagles would be relying heavily on the Barber twins to power them past the mighty Pulaski Wildcats. If either he or Ronde—or for that matter, any of the Eagles—had to miss the game, the whole team might go down in flames!

  After school, Tiki headed downstairs to get ready for practice. He sat down at his locker—right next to John Berra’s empty one—and suited up.

  Everyone on the team had the identical haunted look. They were all dreading the same thing. The ones who’d never come down with chicken pox had all spent the last twenty-four hours looking for telltale spots, and scratching imaginary itches. Those who’d already had it were worried about those who hadn’t.

  Either way, it was an awful feeling.

  “Okay, let’s get out there!” Coach Wheeler said, clapping his hands to snap them out of their daze. “Let’s focus on the task at hand
—we’ve got a game to win, guys!”

  The team went through its paces, throwing themselves into practice like a bunch of maniacs. It felt good, Tiki thought, to get his mind off his fears for a couple hours and concentrate on the game he loved.

  “Stay down in your stance,” he told Luke, who was standing in for Berra at fullback. “If you straighten up too much, they’ll push you around. Here, let me show you. . . .”

  Tiki demonstrated the proper technique to the rookie. Luke got the idea quickly—he was obviously a fast learner—but he still had a lot of growing to do before he could block like Berra. Another twenty pounds of muscle, and he’d be just fine. But that wouldn’t happen overnight.

  Hopefully, by next season Luke would be ready to take over at fullback. For now, though, he was just a fill-in. Tiki could tell he was nervous about having to play in the championship game.

  “Hey, listen, I’ve been where you’re at,” Tiki told him, putting an arm around Luke’s skinny shoulders. “Don’t sweat it—you’re gonna be fine, you’ll see. Johnnie goes down, you step up. And we’ll all be pulling for you, picking you up if you make a mistake.” There was an awkward silence before Tiki added, “Hey, who knows, maybe Johnnie B. will be back by game time.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Luke glumly. “How long does chicken pox last, anyway?”

  “Hey!” Coach Wheeler broke in, overhearing. “Keep your focus on football, men. No distractions allowed!”

  Tiki knew Coach was right, but it was hard to keep your mind off something that scared you half to death.

  That evening, Tiki and Ronde were just finishing up their homework for the week—their mom always made them do it first, before letting them go have fun—when the phone rang.

  Ronde was busy writing something, so Tiki went to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Tiki. What’s up?”

  “Johnnie B! How’re you doing?”

  “Better, man. No more fever. Just mad itching.”

  “That’s good! I mean . . . it is good, right?”

  “Yeah, definitely!” John said, sounding distinctly upbeat.