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  Tiki turned to Ronde, who was giving him a frustrated look. “His fever’s down.”

  “Excellent!” said Ronde, pumping his fist. “Is he gonna play Tuesday?”

  “You gonna play Tuesday?” Tiki repeated.

  “Do cats have elbows? You know I’m playing!”

  “For sure?”

  “Dude. There’s nothing that could keep me off that field.”

  “So the spots are gone and everything?” Tiki asked.

  “Well . . . not really,” came the reply. “They’re actually even more noticeable. But the doctor said by Tuesday I won’t be contagious, so if the school clears me to play, I’m there.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.”

  But would the school let him play?

  Tiki knew how cautious grown-ups were about things like this. If John played, and somebody else on the team got sick, or if John got a relapse, somebody in charge would be in trouble.

  “So, I guess we’ll see you Monday?” Tiki asked.

  “I don’t know. Tuesday for sure, though.”

  “Fantastic. Stay cool, man.”

  “You too,” said Berra. “Hey, how’s Luke doing?”

  “All right,” Tiki told him. “He’s gonna be good next season, I think.”

  “But he’s not there yet, huh?”

  “Well . . . he’s not you, dude.”

  “Thanks, Tiki,” Berra said. “Thanks for that.”

  “Hey, you’re the man, brother. Get well soon, you hear?”

  “I hear that. See you.”

  “See you.”

  Tiki hung up and turned to Ronde.

  “Well?”

  “He says he’ll see us at the game.”

  Ronde shook his head. “He’d better be there. And he’d better bring his ‘A’ game with him. We’re gonna need it.”

  “Amen to that,” said Tiki. “And here’s hoping nobody else goes down before then.”

  Cody snapped the ball, dropped back and handed the ball to . . . John Berra!

  Tiki couldn’t believe it. He looked down at his empty hands—hands that were supposed to be cradling the football. He looked up just in time to see Berra get hit by the onrushing Pulaski lineman—and fumble the ball away!

  Tiki ran after it, but the ball remained tantalizingly beyond his grasp. Then he looked up to see a huge Pulaski player leaping at him, while another reached for the ball and snatched it!

  “NOOOO!!!”

  Tiki sat up in bed, breathing hard in the darkness, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Just a dream . . . thank goodness.

  From across the room, Ronde stirred. “What’s up?” he asked, yawning.

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “What are you yelling about?”

  “Nothing, I said. Stop being so annoying!”

  “Mmmm . . .”

  Soon, Ronde was snoring softly.

  Tiki was still sitting up, waiting for his heart to slow down. What a nightmare! He was sweating, even though it was cold in the room. Shivering, he got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and closed the door gently behind him. Then he flicked on the light and checked himself out in the mirror.

  Any spots? Not that he could see. And he didn’t feel sick, except for the shivering. That could mean he was coming down with chills and fever—or it could mean he was just scared out of his gourd.

  Yeah, that was probably it, he decided. “Go back to sleep,” he told his mirror image. “And quit dreaming about bad stuff.”

  Saying so was one thing, doing so was another. No sooner had he fallen back to sleep than the nightmares started up again. And they didn’t stop until the sun rose and the new day began.

  “You boys all right?” Mrs. Barber gave Tiki and Ronde her most suspicious look. “You’re so quiet this morning.”

  “We’re fine,” Tiki assured her.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” Ronde echoed needlessly.

  “I see.” She got up from the breakfast table, went to the counter and picked up her purse. “Well, I’m off to work, then. You be sure to do these dishes. Don’t be leaving them in the sink like last time, you hear?”

  “No, ma’am,” Tiki said dully.

  “No, ma’am,” Ronde repeated.

  Pausing, she put the purse down again. “All right, what is it? Are you feeling sick?”

  “We already told you, we’re fine!” Tiki insisted, with a hint of annoyance. She had hit the nail on the head, as usual. Honestly, sometimes he thought she knew every single thought that went through their heads.

  “Why are you both so down? You won this week, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Ronde.

  “Did you get a bad grade or something?”

  “No,” said Tiki.

  She sighed. “I give up. Listen, you two, I left dinner in the fridge, because I’ve got to go to that meeting this evening.”

  “What meeting?” asked Tiki.

  “I already told you. Did you forget already, or were you not listening in the first place?”

  “Oh, yeah, right!” Now it came back to him—she had helped the community stop the construction of a polluting factory nearby. Now the neighborhood residents were trying to get the area made into a park, and Mrs. Barber was once again leading the effort.

  Tiki gave her a big hug. “I love you,” he said, then stepped back to let Ronde have his turn. After she left, he turned to his twin. “You know what I think? If Mom doesn’t let anything get her down, why should we?”

  “Hmm,” Ronde said with a grin. “I believe you’re right about that.”

  “Come on, wanna throw the football around?”

  “Sure. You know I can throw it farther than you.”

  “Can not.”

  “Can too.”

  Laughing, they headed outside, their cares forgotten for the moment.

  It was only that night, as they lay in their beds with the lights out, that the fears returned to Tiki’s mind.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “What do you think, I’m talking in my sleep?”

  “I wish I could sleep,” said Ronde.

  “Me too. How long did Adam say it could take before we got chicken pox?”

  “Up to a week.”

  “How long since the North Side game?”

  “Not that long. We could still get it,” Ronde said.

  “Shut up!”

  “Why? It’s true.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Any spots on you?”

  “No, you?”

  “No.”

  Tiki wanted to add, “Not yet,” but he didn’t need to. He knew Ronde was thinking exactly the same thing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SAFETY

  IT WAS AN ANXIOUS CROWD OF EAGLES THAT gathered in the lunchroom that Monday. All eyes were focused on the double entrance doors, to see if John Berra was back. He’d promised he would return for the game on Tuesday, but that still gave him one more day, Ronde figured.

  They finally gave up waiting. “I guess he’s not coming,” said Sam Scarfone.

  “I guess,” Paco agreed. “Well, no sense waiting any longer. I’m gonna eat.” He tucked into his . . . his . . . his whatever-it-was. Something gray, gooey, and nasty-smelling.

  “Dude,” said Ronde with a grin, “what is wrong with you? You’ll eat anything.”

  “Mmgfphgh?” Paco mumbled with his mouth full, as if to say, What’s wrong with gray goo? It’s delicious!

  “Hey,” Tiki said suddenly, frowning, “there are too many empty seats at this table.”

  They all got quiet, looking around at the faces of their teammates. “Who’s missing?” Cody asked. There were usually ten of them who ate at this table every day. Today there were only eight. John Berra was obviously still out. And that left . . . who?

  “Where’s Zolla?” Sam asked.

  It hit them all at the same time. Mark Zolla, a ninth grader and their starting safety, was missing from hi
s usual place at the table. Funny how none of them had noticed—they’d all been so busy searching for Johnnie B.

  They all looked at one another now, fearing the worst. “Anybody see him today?”

  Nobody had. And nobody wanted to think about what this might mean for the team.

  Trouble was, they couldn’t help thinking about it.

  At practice, their worst fears were confirmed. “John Berra will definitely be back tomorrow,” Coach Wheeler announced. “But unfortunately, Mark Zolla is now out indefinitely—with chicken pox.”

  A low murmur of dread rolled through the locker room.

  “I knew it!” Ronde whispered to Tiki, who was sitting next to him on the bench.

  “Now what do we do?” Tiki wondered aloud.

  “As for Berra, I’m not sure what we’ll get out of him,” Coach Wheeler continued. “He’ll start the game, and we’ll see how it goes. Frazier, you’re going to be in there a lot, spelling him—at least.”

  Luke nodded slowly. All week, he’d been working on his game as if his life depended on it. He seemed determined to show them all what he could do with a little playing time.

  “What about Zolla’s spot?” Ronde asked.

  “Alister Edwards, you ready to step up?” Wheeler asked, turning to a small, skinny seventh grader who looked about ten years old.

  Alister nodded excitedly. “I got this, Coach!” he said, and made everyone around him slap him five.

  “Al’s good. He can do the job,” Tiki said when Ronde gave him a doubtful look.

  “He looks like you could knock him down if you blew on him hard,” Ronde said, frowning. He liked Alister, but the kid was even smaller than him or Tiki—probably weighed less than anyone else on the team!

  “He’s almost as fast as us,” Tiki reminded his twin. “He’s covered me pretty well in practice.”

  “We’ll see,” Ronde said, as they filed out onto the field.

  Alister started out well, doing a good job covering the long routes Fred Soule and Joey Gallagher ran. He had good leaping ability as well as speed, and he knocked down a few well-thrown balls.

  “Hey!” Cody yelled in mock anger. “Somebody get that kid out of the way! I’m trying to throw a touchdown here!”

  The players laughed, happy that Alister was doing such a good job stepping up. Maybe Zolla’s going down isn’t such a disaster after all, Ronde thought.

  During their first break, he and Tiki chugged down some water and sat on the bench with the rest of the team. Next to them, Alister accepted the congratulations of the other players.

  “Way to step in there, little dude!” Paco said, clapping him on the back. “Zolla will be lucky to get back on the field when he comes back!”

  Alister laughed, turning red. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “Ugh. I’ve gotta sit down.” He plopped down onto the bench next to Ronde.

  “Tired?” Ronde asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Alister said. “I’ve never gotten this much work!”

  “Good job, Al,” said Ronde. “Man, you look beat. You’re all red, too.”

  “I am?” Alister asked, his grin fading. “Yeah, I do feel kind of played out.”

  “You’re sweating bullets,” Ronde said. “Here, you could use a towel.”

  He tossed one to Alister, who dried his face with it. “Thanks, man.”

  Ronde looked closer at Alister’s face. It was still red, but not like a minute ago. Some of the red areas had faded, leaving only small . . . red . . . dots. . . .

  “Oh, no!” Ronde gasped. “Tiki, check this out.”

  Tiki looked over at Alister, and saw what Ronde was getting at. “Oh, no, no, no . . .”

  “What?” Alister asked, his eyes growing wide. “What are you guys staring at?”

  “Dude,” said Ronde, shaking his head sadly, “you’ve got spots.”

  “No way!” Alister’s hands flew to his cheeks.

  “Way,” said Tiki, backing out of germ range along with the others.

  “Hey, Coach!” Ronde called. “C’mere—you’re not gonna believe this.”

  Wheeler came over and squatted down in front of Alister, staring at the obvious with a pained look on his face. “I’m sorry, son. You’ve got to go straight home. Right now.”

  “But the game—”

  “We’ll figure something out. But you’ve got to stay away from the rest of the team. We can’t afford to lose anyone else—not with the big game tomorrow.”

  Alister looked like he was about to cry. Five minutes ago, the kid had been on top of the world. His big chance, his moment of glory. Now, it was all crashing down on him. Ronde couldn’t bear to look at him, it was so sad.

  Slowly, Alister gathered his stuff, said a sad good-bye to his teammates, and headed for the locker room, with a somber Coach Wheeler right behind him.

  “Okay, you birds, let’s get back to work!” shouted Mr. Ontkos, one of the two assistant coaches. “Keep your minds on the game, boys—Pulaski isn’t going to lay down and let you win just ’cause they feel sorry for you!”

  Ronde knew it was true. The Wildcats of Pulaski Junior High had the best record of any team in the district. Way back in October, the Eagles had beaten the previously undefeated Wildcats by a whopping 38–3 score. But that was three months ago. Pulaski had lost only once since then. Two losses in a whole season—the best record in the league.

  No one on the Eagles thought this game was going to be as easy as the last time. If Berra wasn’t at his best, would Tiki be able to break big runs like the first time around? Probably not, thought Ronde. And what were they going to do for a safety, with both the starter and his sub out sick?

  Coach Wheeler returned from the locker room and huddled with his two assistants. Ronde noticed them looking in his direction. Then Coach Ontkos called his name, and motioned for him to join them.

  Ronde trotted over there. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Barber,” Coach Wheeler said, “how would you feel about starting at safety tomorrow?”

  “Me?” Ronde gasped. “But—but I’ve never played safety!”

  “I know that,” said the coach, “but you and your brother are the best natural athletes on the team. Besides, I’ve got two good subs at cornerback who can fill in for you—but I’ve got nobody to roam the backfield in place of Zolla.”

  Ronde was silent, looking down at the floor. All year, he’d played the corner position, guarding the best receiver the opposing team could throw at him, one-on-one, mano a mano.

  But safety was a whole different animal. You stood back there, waiting and watching the play develop. You let the receivers start their patterns, and then you had to decide which one to cover. You had to watch the quarterback, too, to see where he was about to throw the ball. And finally, you had to get there before the ball did so you could break up the play.

  “Ronde?” Coach Wheeler said gently. “The team needs you to do this. I know it’s not what you want. But it’s the only shot we have to plug the hole at safety and win the district championship. So . . . what do you say?”

  Ronde looked up at the coach, his jaw set, and nodded. “I’ve got it covered, Coach,” he said firmly.

  “Atta boy,” said Wheeler, clapping him on the back. “I knew you’d step up. And I know you’re gonna have a great game tomorrow.” He offered him his hand, and Ronde shook it. “Okay, then. Get back out there, and let’s give you a few reps at your new position.”

  Ronde nodded, and put his helmet back on. As he turned to go, he heard Wheeler calling him.

  “And Barber—”

  “Yes, Coach?”

  “Remember, what you’re doing—stepping up for your fallen teammates—that’s the true test of a champion.”

  Ronde sighed deeply, then jogged back out onto the field. Maybe Coach was right. Maybe he would do great at safety in tomorrow’s game.

  But what if he didn’t? What if he made a mess of a position he’d never learned to play? What if he totally cost the Eagles
the game!?

  Even worse, what if he never even made it that far? Hadn’t he just been hanging around with Alister, breathing in all those germs? Why, he might even break out in the dreaded spots by game time tomorrow!

  Ronde sighed. Wouldn’t that be just his luck?

  Somehow, though, his luck held out, and so did Tiki’s. They made it to the game without a single spot between them. Sitting next to each other on the bus to Pulaski, they counted heads. They were relieved to find that everyone but the two sick safeties was on board. “At least there’s no new bad news to deal with,” Tiki said.

  “And we’ve got Berra back,” Ronde pointed out.

  “Yeah,” Tiki said, then added under his breath, “but will he be the real Berra?”

  “Time will tell,” said Ronde. Then he thought, And what about me, at safety?

  Well, time would tell about that, too.

  Pulaski’s fans were everywhere, jamming and overflowing the bleachers. The few Eagles fans who’d made the trip were seated in one far corner of the stands. Their voices were totally drowned out by the hordes of screaming Wildcat supporters.

  Great, thought Ronde. Just one more thing to make it even tougher. All right, bring it on, because we’re not going home without that trophy.

  “We’ve come this far, boys,” Coach Wheeler reminded them on the sideline. “If we win this game, we’ll be taking home that nice big trophy, and it’ll have all our names on it, now and forever, as district champions!”

  After the cheering died down, he continued:

  “I know we’re underdogs today. Last time we saw these guys, we took ’em by surprise. This time, they’re ready for us. It’s gonna take everything we’ve got, but if we play our hearts out today, we will win this game.”

  The Eagles let out a mighty roar and ran out onto the field, psyched to the hilt.

  Ronde took the opening kickoff and ran it to the Wildcats’ forty—great field position. But it quickly became obvious that John Berra was not back to full strength after all. He was a step slower than usual, at least, and a whole lot weaker. The Pulaski rush pushed him aside and stopped Tiki for short gains twice, then almost sacked Cody on third down.

  Luckily, Coach Wheeler let them go for it on fourth down, and Cody got the first down on a quarterback draw. They didn’t get much farther, but they did manage a field goal from the twenty yard line.