Wild Card Page 4

  Coach Wheeler shook his head. “Nope. Can’t spare him. How’s he going to kick and be on the kickoff and punt teams’ rush at the same time? You know he’s always the first one to hit the returner.”

  Tiki gave up trying to get out of it. He stayed with Coach Wheeler and five other players—including Joey Gallagher, who was the holder, and Paco, the long snapper. And since neither of those guys was trying out . . .

  Yikes! It suddenly hit Tiki that he had a one in three chance of being picked!

  First to try his luck was Fred Soule. Fred, the team’s best wide receiver, was tall and thin, with big hands that were perfect for reeling in long passes. But Fred’s feet, which were also big, were not so talented. Fred’s kicks were knuckleballs that twisted left, right, and straight into the ground.

  Next up was John Berra, Tiki’s fellow running back. Unlike Tiki, John was built thick and solid. He was more of a fullback type—a bull who ran straight ahead into the line, dragging defenders down the field with him.

  His kicks were all line drives. Some of them went a long way, but others hit the ground and bounced straight backward. He just didn’t seem to have the flexibility to get under the ball and give it some lift. “Man, I really stink at this,” John said. “Coach, can I go now?”

  Coach Wheeler shook his head. “So far you’re the best we’ve got, I’m afraid.” He turned to Tiki. “Your turn, Barber. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Tiki’s first try at a punt was a complete whiff—he totally missed the ball, and went tumbling to the ground in a backward somersault. Everyone laughed, and even Tiki had to chuckle at his own clumsiness. “Yeah, baby!” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  On his second try he shanked it off the side of his foot. But after that his punts started to improve. Some were end-over-end, but others were perfect spirals. They went a good distance, but, just as important, they were straight, and they stayed in the air long enough to let the rushers get downfield and tackle the returner.

  “Hmm,” said Coach Wheeler, taking notes. “Not bad, Barber. Not bad at all, if you don’t count the first few.”

  Tiki winced. Had his punting really been better than Fred’s or John’s? He didn’t think so—but he had to admit he was prejudiced against himself, because no way did he want this job.

  “Okay, let’s try some placekicking, guys,” said Coach Wheeler. “Joey, Paco—take your positions.”

  Paco got into his crouch, gripping the ball so he could make the long snap. Joey kneeled down at the fifteen yard line, ready to take the snap.

  “Barber, you go first this time,” said Coach Wheeler.

  Tiki looked down at Joey, who was looking back up at him from his crouch.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Joey told him. “There’s nothing to it. Piece of cake.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tiki said. “Big enough piece to choke on.”

  They laughed, and Tiki felt his mood lighten. His first kick was a beauty—straight down the field and through the middle of the uprights.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” said Coach Wheeler, breaking into a relieved smile. “I think we might have found something here!”

  “No, no, no,” Tiki said, waving his hands. “That was just a lucky kick.”

  His next attempt was wide right, but at least it had the height and distance. He kicked several more, and half of them were actually good, as in three points good.

  John and Fred followed, but they needn’t have bothered. From that moment on Tiki could tell by the coach’s face that he’d made up his mind.

  “Well, Tiki,” he said, putting an arm around his shoulders when the tryouts were done. “Until further notice, you’re the man.”

  “Hey, congratulations,” John said, patting Tiki on the back.

  “Yeah, nice going, Tiki,” Fred said, giving him five.

  Tiki thanked them, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  When they got back to the home end of the field, Coach Wheeler blew his whistle. “Okay, team, Tiki’s our kicker for the Mountaineers game.”

  A cheer went up from the players, but Tiki could tell they weren’t really happy about it. Neither was he.

  “I’m going to take some time now to put in a couple of two-point conversion plays, just in case things don’t go well,” the coach went on. “I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

  The others all laughed. But when Tiki heard those words, his heart sank from his chest right down to his shoes.

  To think—just a few days ago he’d been really looking forward to this game against the Mountaineers. Now he was dreading it like the plague.

  • • •

  All day Thursday, Tiki could not concentrate in class. He managed to get it together for his history quiz pretty well—at least he hoped so. If he failed, it might be the first step on the way to Adam-land. In other words, no football.

  He couldn’t decide which was worse—no football or having to be the Eagles’ kicker in Adam’s place. In the end he figured he might as well play. After all, whatever points he gave away as the kicker, he could always get back with a big running game.

  It seemed to him that the Eagles’ chances were better with him playing than without. But who knew what could happen? He might blow the whole game by muffing kicks!

  It was a nightmare. In fact, he’d had a nightmare about it the night before. In his dream the football grew big teeth and opened its jaws wide to swallow his foot just as he was about to kick a field goal! He woke up yelling, grabbing his foot—which, thank goodness, was still there after all.

  Now, as the bell rang to signal the end of the school day, Tiki knew he had to suck up his fears and do what had to be done. All he could do was cross his fingers and trust to luck—and to his football instincts, of course.

  All the other Eagles encouraged him before the game, pumping him up as they rode the team bus across town to East Side Junior High.

  Their support made Tiki feel better—so much better that when the Eagles won the coin toss and elected to receive, he almost wished they’d lost it, so he could kick off right away and get over his case of the jitters.

  Ronde ran the kickoff back twenty yards, and the Eagles started their first drive in good field position, at their own forty-three yard line.

  Tiki strapped on his helmet and trotted onto the field along with Cody, Fred, Joey, John, Paco, and the rest of the Eagles’ offense. They huddled up, and everyone put their hands together, one on top of the other.

  “Let’s go, Eagles!” Cody shouted, and they all let out a cheer. Tiki lined up for the first play, glad to be in his familiar place at running back. He tried to force all thoughts of kicking out of his head, at least for the moment.

  The first play was a handoff. Tiki took the ball, dodged left, then right, waiting for the hole to open in the line. But it never did. The Mountaineers might not have been a winning team, but they sure were beefy on the defensive line. It was going to be a tough day to run, Tiki realized.

  On second down Coach called an option pass for Cody. The quarterback took the snap, rolled to his right, and tossed it long for Joey Gallagher. But the pass was underthrown. It hit the defender right in the helmet.

  Now it was third down, and nine to go. Another passing down. And if Cody couldn’t connect with any of his receivers, it would be time for Tiki to punt!

  Tiki lined up for the play. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and he could hear his breath rushing loudly in his ears.

  His job was to block for Cody, intercepting any blitzing defensive backs or linebackers that broke through the pocket. But his breathing was echoing so loudly that he couldn’t hear the signals Cody was calling!

  The first thing he knew, everyone was launching into the play, while he was still in his three-point stance. Before he even knew what was happening, the Mountaineers cornerback was bowling him over backward, on his way to a vicious blindside sack of Cody!

  Tiki groaned and grabbed his helmet with both hands. “That’s
okay, Barber,” Cody said, getting up, shaking it off, and slapping Tiki on the shoulder. “We’ll get ’em next series.”

  “My bad,” Tiki said, tapping himself on the chest and sighing in frustration. He knew he was lucky that Cody had changed his way of thinking over the course of the season. In the bad old days, a few weeks back, he would have bitten Tiki’s head off for missing that block!

  But why, Tiki wondered, hadn’t he been able to keep his mind in the moment? He’d certainly tried to concentrate—but he’d failed! And as a result he’d made sure he’d have to punt.

  Tiki stood back there, waiting for the long snap from Paco. “Just like yesterday, when I was trying out,” Tiki told himself in a low voice. “No different. Same story. No problem. No—”

  Again he’d been lost in his own thoughts, and now here came the snap, zipping straight at him!

  Tiki managed to catch the ball, but instinctively he caught it like a receiver and drew it into his chest, instead of holding it out in front of him so he could kick it!

  He caught himself in a fraction of a second and corrected his mistake, with the monstrous Mountaineers rushers coming at him, their hands held high and screaming at the top of their lungs.

  THUNK! Tiki managed—barely—to get the kick away. But it was high and end-over-end, a short kick that bounced straight back toward them. A pile of players dove onto it and downed it at the Eagles’ forty-nine yard line.

  The end result? A seven yard punt!

  Tiki felt the blood rush to his face and his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them back, heading for the sideline with his helmet still strapped on to help hide his face.

  “Don’t worry about it, Tiki,” Coach Wheeler called to him as he reached the bench. “First one’s always tough. Just try to relax out there.”

  Tiki nodded, but didn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was so big, he couldn’t have spoken even if he’d wanted to.

  Tiki sat there while the Eagles went on defense. None of his teammates looked him in the eye, or sat near him, or even tried to talk to him.

  Tiki knew what they were thinking. They weren’t mad or anything. No, not at all. They pitied him. They knew he hadn’t asked to be the kicker, and that it wasn’t his fault that he stunk at it.

  No, if they were mad at anyone, it was Adam—or better yet, the school officials. They were the ones responsible, not him. Not him—

  A roar went up from the crowd. Tiki stood up and tried to see what was going on. “What happened?” he asked Paco, who was standing next to him, yelling his head off and pumping his fists.

  “Dude, what are you, sleeping? Your brother just picked off a screen pass and ran it all the way for a touchdown!”

  “Wa-hoo!” Tiki yelled, jumping up and down now himself. Good old Ronde, picking his brother up when he was down!

  And then he realized—it was time for the extra point!

  Tiki looked pleadingly at Coach Wheeler, hoping he would call for the two-point conversion play he’d practiced with the team the day before.

  But the coach just looked back at Tiki, clapping his hands. “Get out there and split those uprights, Barber!”

  Tiki swallowed hard, and tried to make his heart slow down as he jogged slowly, reluctantly back onto the field.

  “Breathe,” he told himself, blowing out gusts of air as he focused on Joey’s hands, which were poised to receive the snap.

  “Hut!” he called out.

  Tiki saw the ball arrive in Joey’s hands. He saw Joey place the ball perfectly on the turf, waiting for Tiki to launch the kick.

  Tiki took one step, then another, and let his foot swing down at the ball and through. He looked up to see where it went—and watched as the ball flew low, hit the crossbar—and bounced right back at them, hitting one of the officials right in the head!

  The other official scissored his arms and blew his whistle. “No good!” he yelled as the first official rubbed his head and put his cap back on.

  Everyone laughed—everyone except Tiki. He sank to his knees and grabbed his helmet again with both hands. His nightmare was totally coming true!

  “Don’t worry about it, man,” Paco told him, lifting Tiki back to his feet. “We’re up 6–0. No problem! Let’s go—it’s time for the kickoff.”

  Yeah, right, Tiki thought. The kickoff. No problem. As he trotted down the field and placed the ball on the tee, Tiki wondered just how bad he had to be before Coach Wheeler replaced him as the kicker. Did he have to blow the whole game first?

  Looking toward the sidelines, he caught Wheeler’s eye. “Let’s go, Tiki!” he called, clapping his hands. “You can do it!”

  “No I can’t,” Tiki said under his breath. “That’s the problem.”

  Still, he went ahead and lined up for the kickoff. Raising his hand high, he brought it down to signal to his teammates that he was starting his approach. He kept it simple—only four steps—to make sure he didn’t whiff totally.

  Just as he’d feared, he shanked the ball. Luckily it took a good bounce for the Eagles this time and ended up downed at the Mountaineers’ twenty-five yard line.

  My first decent kick of the day, Tiki thought—and it had been a mistake!

  Tiki was actually relieved to hit the bench. Normally he couldn’t wait to get out onto the field. But now the Mountaineers managed a long, slow drive, mostly consisting of running plays. By the time they scored their touchdown, the whole first quarter was gone.

  The second quarter began with the score 7–6, Mountaineers. But now the Eagles pulled off a long drive of their own, featuring Tiki and John Berra on alternating plays, pounding the ball up the middle through the heart of the Mountaineers’ beefy defense.

  They reached the Mountaineers’ fifteen yard line, but the drive faltered and the Eagles soon faced a fourth-down-and-seven situation. Tiki looked toward Coach Wheeler on the sideline, to see if he would call for the field goal attempt.

  It would have been a natural call, seeing how a field goal would give the Eagles back the lead. But Wheeler signaled for them to go for the first down instead.

  Tiki was relieved—but also kind of insulted! He’d just been dissed in a big way, hadn’t he?

  On the other hand the team needed this win. The Eagles, as they’d been reminding themselves all week, needed to win each of their remaining four games to be sure of making the play-offs. One loss—just one measly one-point loss—could mean missing out on their chance for glory.

  And Tiki did not want to be the cause of that loss—no way, no how. He decided he didn’t care about being dissed after all—it was better to go for it and fall short than to try a field goal and miss.

  The Eagles made the first down on a short pass to Joey Gallagher, and then went on to score a touchdown on a floater to Fred Soule. The two-point conversion failed, but nobody complained that they hadn’t tried the kick. Not even Tiki.

  For the rest of that whole game, the only kicks he made were punts and kickoffs. When points were on the line, the Eagles did not go to their substitute kicker.

  At halftime Tiki wanted to ask Coach Wheeler if he was staying away from kicking on purpose. But he didn’t need to ask. Wheeler came straight over to him and admitted it.

  “I can’t take any chances at this point in the season,” he told Tiki. “Maybe if we get a big lead . . .”

  But they didn’t get a big lead. The Eagles and the Mountaineers both went up and down the field the whole third quarter, yet failed to put a single point on the board.

  The Mountaineers even missed on two field goal attempts. Tiki felt a pang of sympathy for the Mountaineers’ kicker. That could have been me, he thought, relieved.

  Late in the fourth quarter Ronde grabbed another interception on a third-and-long play and ran it back for his second touchdown of the game!

  The two-point conversion failed—making the score Eagles 18, Mountaineers 7. This lack of extra point production turned into a near disaster for the Eagles on the next play, when the Mountaineers
’ returner ran back Tiki’s squib kickoff for a touchdown!

  And wouldn’t you know it, they followed that up with a successful two-point conversion!

  Now the game was back up for grabs, with the score Eagles 18, Mountaineers 15. And after three downs of going nowhere against that beefy East Side defense, the Eagles had to punt yet again.

  Tiki held his breath, and practically closed his eyes as he let the kick fly. Thank goodness it somehow sailed high and true, hitting the turf behind the return man and rolling back all the way to the Mountaineers’ thirty yard line!

  From that moment on it was a race against the clock. The gun sounded to end the game just as the Mountaineers were racing to get their kicking squad on the field to try a game-tying field goal.

  Luckily they never got it off. Tiki was sure that if they had, the poor Mountaineers’ kicker would have finally put it through the uprights—something he was sure he himself could never do in a real game.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MEN OF ACTION

  * * *

  “MAN, THAT WAS UGLY,” SAID PACO AS HE TOOK OFF his shoulder pads. “I hope we never have to do that again.”

  “Do what?” Cody asked. “Win a game?”

  “No, man,” Paco replied. “Play a game without Adam.”

  Ronde looked over at Tiki and saw him wince. He felt bad for his twin. Ronde knew that every kid in the locker room was thinking the same thing as Paco—including him!

  Poor Tiki, he thought. It must really stink to be Adam’s replacement.

  Tiki and Ronde rode the late bus home together. Tiki kept staring out the window at the fading evening light and the houses and stores they passed along the way.

  Ronde kept staring at Tiki. He wanted to say something nice—something that would make his twin feel better. But what? What would he want Tiki to say to him if their situations were reversed?

  Nothing, that’s what. There was not a single thing he, or anybody, could say that would make Tiki feel one bit better right now.

  Still, he had to say something. . . . The silence was getting deafening.

  “Oh, well,” he finally ventured. “At least we won.”