Wild Card Read online

  Tiki shaded his eyes from the setting sun of that late Thursday afternoon. He tried to make out Ronde as he lined up opposite the Bears’ best receiver.

  “Are you kidding me?” Tiki gasped. “That kid’s got to be six feet tall! What are they feeding them over there?”

  “I hear their cafeteria sells martian food,” Cody cracked. But before Tiki could think of a comeback, the play started, and both boys watched Ronde make a desperate leap, batting the long pass away at the last second.

  “Whew!” Cody said, shaking his head. “That would have been six points for sure.”

  It was true, Tiki knew. He also knew that the Bears would keep coming back to that play all day long. Their receiver, Chris Jones, had at least seven inches on Ronde, and the Bears would surely try to cash in.

  Now, though, it was time for the Eagles to take over. Tiki strapped on his helmet and took to the field with the rest of the offense.

  Coach Wheeler had planned to feature the running game today, because he wanted to use up as much clock as possible, to keep the dangerous Bears offense off the field.

  But the Bears must have known what the Eagles were up to, because every time Cody gave Tiki the ball, the defense was on him in a flash. Even when Tiki went out for a pass, there were two men on him at all times.

  It was the first time all year that a team had chosen to double-team Tiki. It made him feel proud in a way—honored. But he wished they’d stop it, because it was mad hard to get anything done with two men on him instead of one!

  Maybe if the Eagles’ offense had been crisper—if their timing had been perfect—they could have overcome the problem. But Tiki hadn’t practiced with the rest of the group all week. He and Cody seemed to be on different pages all the time, or maybe even reading from different books.

  The handoffs were late in coming, so that by the time Tiki secured the ball, the hole in the line had already closed. Or else they were early and Tiki wound up bobbling the ball and barely holding on before being blasted behind the line of scrimmage.

  In the bad old days Cody would have been all over him about it. But things were different now. The Eagles were a team, and they supported one another, no matter what.

  Although they didn’t score during the whole first half, the Eagles did manage to keep hold of the ball for a big chunk of time.

  Tiki’s punts were long and high, too—Paco and the rest of the line did a great job of holding off the pressure. So the Bears were always operating deep in their own territory. And good old Ronde was doing his part, keeping the Bears’ big receiver from making any long gains.

  With less than a minute left in the half, Tiki was feeling pretty good about things. They’d weathered the Bears’ attack. They just had to figure out a way to score in the second half. And Tiki was sure Coach Wheeler would have some ideas.

  But with only twenty seconds left, disaster struck. Sam Scarfone came on a third down blitz, but let the Bears’ quarterback slip out of his grasp and scramble free.

  Meanwhile, Ronde had kept close to his man for as long as he could. But once the Bears’ quarterback started scrambling, Ronde had to make a choice—and he chose to stop the pass. And that allowed the quarterback to tuck the ball under his arm and run for the end zone.

  As soon as he saw Giordano pass the line of scrimmage, Tiki knew the Eagles were in trouble. They were all bunched up at the line, with both wide receivers way downfield.

  Nobody on the Eagles’ defense was fast enough to catch the quarterback now—nobody except Ronde. But Ronde got blindsided by the big receiver he’d been covering, and knocked flat on his face while Giordano raced down the sideline all the way to the end zone!

  “NOOOOOO!” Tiki shouted. But it didn’t do any good. The kick for the extra point went right down the middle. Halftime came too late, and the score was Bears 7, Eagles 0.

  • • •

  In the visitors’ locker room, Tiki sat on the bench, dejected. He wasn’t the only one. “Man!” he said. “How many yards did I rush for? Only thirty-five? That is pathetic!”

  “Hey, Tiki,” Cody said, putting an arm around his shoulder. “We all stunk that half. But we’ve got time to turn it around.”

  This was the new Cody—a real leader, not a conceited phony. And Coach Wheeler backed him right up. “Okay, gang,” he said. “That was just a fluke play right there.”

  “I should have sacked him,” Sam said, shaking his head miserably.

  “You almost did,” Paco said, patting Sam on the shoulder. “You’ll get him next time. Don’t worry.”

  “That’s right,” Coach Wheeler agreed. “Just remember, he’s a tricky one. You never know where he’s going to come from. Now, here are some things we can do to turn this game around in the second half . . .”

  • • •

  “Go, Ronde! GOOOO!”

  Tiki shouted his lungs out, jumping up and down with the rest of them as Ronde took the opening kickoff and ran it back all the way to the Bears’ twenty-five yard line!

  Now it was up to the offense. Tiki couldn’t wait to get the ball back in his hands and run it right down the Bears’ throats!

  But Coach Wheeler had seen enough in the first half to make him change the offensive game plan. For this drive Cody was told to throw the ball on every down.

  Tiki did catch one pass—for a gain of six on first down—but that was the only time he touched the ball, as the Eagles drove through the air for their first touchdown of the day.

  True, it was Tiki’s key block on the Bears’ blitzing linebacker that allowed Cody to find Fred Soule in the end zone on third down. If not for that block, it would have been sack city, and Tiki would probably have had to try for a field goal. Not a pretty picture.

  Fred spiked the ball, and the rest of the Eagles whooped it up. They were right back in the game!

  Tiki was in midcelebration along with the rest of them when he realized Coach Wheeler was calling for him to kick an extra point.

  Somehow the call caught him completely off guard. In the last game, after his first muffed attempt, Coach had called for two-point conversions every single time. Obviously, seeing how well Tiki had kicked the ball in the first half of this game had changed Coach’s mind.

  Tiki felt a sudden cold sweat break out on his forehead. Goose bumps stood up on his arms and the back of his neck. This extra point would either tie the game or leave the Eagles trailing. It might even be the point that made the difference between making or not making the play-offs!

  For weeks the Eagles had been living on the razor’s edge, in constant must-win situations. And now it was getting even more tense!

  Tiki felt like he was going to faint. “You okay?” Joey Gallagher asked him.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” Tiki managed to say as he lined up to make the kick.

  Here came the snap. There came the rushers. And here went Tiki, launching the kick straight at the uprights—but too low!

  BANG! The ball hit the crossbar, just like it had the week before. But this time, amazingly, it bounced up and through!

  He’d done it! Tiki sank to his knees, feeling wobbly and weak. His teammates hoisted him back to his feet and smacked him on the back and on the helmet.

  “Good job, dude!” they shouted. “Hey, you sure you’re not Costa’s long-lost brother?”

  “Hey, Tiki,” Ronde said, coming up to him and looking him straight in the eye through their face masks. “You okay, man? You look weird.”

  “I feel weird,” Tiki admitted.

  “Well, get it together, bro. You’ve got to kick off now.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

  Tiki breathed deeply, and tried to shake the cobwebs out of his giddy head. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

  The kickoff somehow went fine. It was low and end-over-end, but it did the job, nailing the Bears deep in their own territory.

  The Eagles’ defense had no problem keeping them bottled up in their own zone, and soon it was the Eagles’ ball again, this time at
midfield.

  Coach Wheeler signaled for yet another pass play on first down. Tiki was disappointed. If only Coach would give him a chance, he was sure he could outwit the double-team.

  Cody’s pass fell incomplete, and so did the next two. Once again the Eagles’ offense had gone nowhere. Tiki sure hoped that on the next drive, Coach Wheeler would go back to the running game.

  But right then it was time to punt. Once again Tiki had to shift roles and change his focus. He was beginning to realize just how hard it was to play two positions in one game.

  All day long Tiki’s kicks had been smooth and easy. Until that last extra point had hit the crossbar, he hadn’t even felt the jitters he’d experienced the week before. But now the Bears sent every man they had at Tiki, to try to block the punt.

  Tiki had had no clue they would be coming—and when he saw them rushing at him, he panicked. If he’d just ignored them and made the kick, he would have gotten it off easily. But by the time he came out of his frozen stupor, they were almost on him!

  At the last second he let his instincts take over. Instead of trying to kick into the wall of onrushing Bears, he tucked the ball under his arm and morphed back into a running back!

  He juked and jived, deked and spun, and somehow, blindly, jitterbugged his way into the open field!

  The Bears all skidded to a halt and turned to chase Tiki, but by now it was too late. They’d sent everyone in to block the kick except the return man, and he was the only player left with a chance to stop Tiki.

  Make that no chance.

  Even though he didn’t really need to, Tiki dove headlong into the end zone, his arms holding the ball stretched way out in front of him.

  His goof had turned into gold! TOUCHDOWN!

  “YAAAAAA!” he screamed as he danced around with the ball held high over his head. Then he spiked it and jumped into his teammates’ arms. They trotted off the field together, laughing and shouting.

  “Attaboy, Tiki!” Coach Wheeler said, smacking him on the back. “We’re gonna put that play in on purpose next week!”

  “There’d better not be another week of this!” Tiki shot back, laughing and breathing hard. He felt dizzy, so he lay down on the bench to get his wind back.

  “No, no, no. Get back up, dude!” Ronde yelled at him. “Time for the extra point!”

  “Huh? Oh, right!” Tiki got back up, steadied himself, and went over to Coach Wheeler’s side. “Hey, Coach, how ’bout a two-point conversion this time?”

  Coach shook his head. “No, Tiki. No more messing around. You can do it, kid. You just did it five minutes ago, remember?”

  “Barely.”

  “Never mind. Just get out there and stick it, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Coach must have heard the hesitation in Tiki’s voice, because he grabbed both sides of his helmet and looked him right in the eye. “Just stay cool, okay? Concentrate.”

  Tiki nodded, and ran back out onto the field. But he was still breathing hard. The goalposts seemed to be swaying, and he could feel himself go off balance as he launched into the kick.

  The whistle blew before Tiki knew what had happened. But the groans from his teammates told him all he needed to know.

  The extra point was no good!

  Even worse, now he had to go and kick off again. Tiki’s heart was in his throat, and his heartbeat was thundering loudly in his ears. Every breath made a whooshing sound like a hurricane. He swallowed, trying to “pop” his ears, but it only worked for a second or two each time. He tried to take deep breaths, but they only made him see stars.

  “Okay, steady, steady,” he muttered under his breath. “And . . . go!” He held his right arm up, then brought it down, signaling the start of his kick to his teammates.

  He ran at the ball, swung his foot forward, and booted it low and long. Tiki stood watching as it landed right in the arms of the return man.

  Oh, no! Tiki thought. The ball had gotten there so quickly that a line of Bears’ blockers had time to form in front of the returner. Tiki had trouble seeing where the returner was—until he suddenly spurted free along the far sideline!

  Tiki gasped—he was the only Eagle left who could prevent a touchdown!

  He raced after the kid, trying to cut the diagonal and tackle him before he reached the goal line. But it was too late, and there was just too much ground to cover.

  Touchdown, Blue Ridge Bears!

  The extra point was no problem for their kicker. And now the Eagles trailed again, 14–13, in a game where losing was not an option.

  And yet, as drive after drive was stalled by the stubborn defenses of both teams, and the clock wound down to two minutes left, losing began to seem like a definite possibility.

  The Eagles had the ball on their own thirty-four, with only one time-out left. Cody brought the troops together in the huddle. “Okay, now. Ohio State on three.”

  The screen pass.

  Tiki faked a block, then drifted to the weak side and saw the ball come toward him. He grabbed it and swung left to avoid a bruising hit by the linebacker. Darting forward, he made it into the secondary, and wound up carrying two defensive backs all the way to the fifty yard line!

  Back in the huddle Cody said, “Texas Tech on four.”

  A running play up the middle. Could Coach Wheeler really have called that play? Tiki wondered. It would eat up a lot of clock, after all—and they needed to stop the clock, not keep it going!

  “No, man, we’ve got to pass!” Tiki said urgently.

  “Coach must have seen something they’re doing,” Paco assured him.

  “Hey, it’s Coach’s call,” Cody said, and that was that.

  Sure enough, there was a hole in the Bears’ line that hadn’t been there before—a hole big enough for Tiki to squirt through and dart all the way to the Bears’ thirty-five!

  But now there were only forty seconds left, and the clock was running. After two incomplete passes in the end zone, the Eagles found themselves with only twenty seconds in which to save their season from going off a cliff.

  It was third and ten, and Coach Wheeler sent John Berra in with the play. “Penn State, on two.”

  Penn State was a short, quick pass to Tiki in the right flat. As they lined up and he got into his stance, Tiki realized that Coach Wheeler was putting the game in his hands. He could almost hear him saying, Tiki, I’m giving you the ball here. Either score us a touchdown or it’ll be up to you to kick the winning field goal. So . . . which is it gonna be?

  Tiki gulped. He had to score a touchdown; he just had to! Desperate, he grabbed the pass and headed for pay-dirt with every ounce of energy and spirit he could muster.

  It got him only to the seven yard line.

  “Time-out!” Cody screamed, and the refs blew the whistle with only three seconds left.

  “Field goal!” Coach Wheeler called out.

  Tiki did the math—it would be a twenty-four yard attempt. Not hugely long, if you were Adam Costa—but not a gimme either.

  “Go, Tiki!” he heard Ronde shouting as he lined up to make the kick.

  The ball was snapped. Tiki launched the kick. It was up . . . and it was . . .

  No good!

  His kick had been long enough but not high enough. It fell just underneath the crossbar, only a foot or two short.

  No good. No good. NO GOOD!

  Tiki took off his helmet, sank to his knees, and buried his head in his hands. The Eagles had lost again—and it was all his fault!

  Now their destiny was completely out of their hands. Unless some kind of miracle happened, they’d never make it to the play-offs!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DESPERATE MEASURES

  * * *

  RONDE WATCHED THE KICK FALL SHORT, AND suddenly he felt like a huge rock had been dropped right on top of him. He stood there stunned, helmet in hand, tears streaming down his face.

  His teammates stood like a group of statues, staring into the distance, frozen in disbelief. />
  Now that the game was over, Ronde realized he’d known, deep in his heart, that from the moment they’d lost Adam the Eagles had been clinging to life by the thinnest of threads.

  Now that thread had broken, and they were falling, falling off the cliff, with the play-offs slipping far out of reach.

  “It’s over,” Sam said dully as they trudged back into the locker room and collapsed onto the wooden benches. “There goes our season.”

  “Don’t let me hear you say that!” Coach Wheeler said sharply. “Don’t ever let me hear any of you talk like that. We’ve still got a chance to make the play-offs—that’s what the math says, and that’s what I say too.

  “As long as we’re mathematically alive, I don’t want to hear any more about us not making it. And if I catch any of you guys sulking, or playing half-baked football like you don’t care anymore, you can do your sulking from the bench! Is that clear?”

  For a moment nobody answered. Finally Cody said, “Yes, Coach,” and the rest of them all muttered “Yes, Coach” too.

  Ronde felt lower than he could ever remember feeling—so he could only imagine how his twin was feeling right then.

  Say, where was he, anyway? “Anybody seen Tiki?” Nobody had, and nobody seemed like they wanted to get up and look for him either.

  Ronde went back out onto the field, and right away he saw his brother. Tiki was sitting on his helmet, right by the uprights at the back of the end zone. His chin was propped up in both hands, and he was staring straight out at the field.

  “Hey,” Ronde said, sitting down next to him.

  “Hey,” Tiki said in a hoarse whisper.

  “You okay?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Not really.”

  “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

  “Come on, Tiki. You know that’s not true.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “I mean, nobody got hurt or anything.”

  “Not on the outside.”

  “Tiki, man, you did the best you could. It’s not like you told anybody you wanted to be the kicker.”

  “I should have nailed it, Ronde,” Tiki said. “It was an easy kick.”