Goal Line Page 7

  “I, um…”

  “Great. I’ve gotta go,” she said, trying to escape with her victory intact.

  But Tiki snapped out of it just in time. Grabbing her by the arm before she could get away, he said, “Hold up, Laura. Wait a second.”

  “I’ve gotta get to class,” she said, looking worried.

  “Yeah. Me too. It’s just—I don’t know about this.”

  “What?”

  “You know, this job. I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.”

  “What do you mean? You’re perfect for it! We all agreed!”

  “I didn’t agree.”

  “Sure you did. You just did! I’m a witness!”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Tiki said, shaking his head. “I never said anything.”

  “So you didn’t say no, either.”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Great! So I’ve gotta go.”

  “Just a second,” he repeated, hanging on to her arm.

  Just then Suzie Shiobara came up to them. “Hi, Tiki,” she said. “Did you think about my question?”

  Tiki’s jaw dropped. He’d forgotten all about it. He’d kinda promised her an answer, but he hadn’t even thought about her problem!

  “Uh, yeah, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” he said, stalling.

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s complicated, and I’ve got to get to class.”

  Suzie’s face fell. “This is so important to me,” she said. “And I was counting on your advice.”

  Laura’s eyes lit up. “Well, guess what? Tiki’s going to be doing the advice column for the Weekly Eagle! He can answer your question in this week’s edition, since he’s already got your question. The paper comes out day after tomorrow! Right, Tiki?”

  She turned to Tiki and cocked her head questioningly. Tiki looked from her to Suzie and back again, then swallowed hard. “Uh, I guess,” he said, flashing Suzie a big smile.

  “Of course, your privacy will be totally respected,” Laura told Suzie. “No names or anything—strictly anonymous.”

  Except for me, thought Tiki miserably. How had he ever let himself get talked into this? Man, he thought, shaking his head as he headed for homeroom. I wish I’d never won that essay contest.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, Ronde,” Tiki said grumpily. “Let me be. I’m trying to think.”

  “What are you doing? Homework?”

  “Sort of. Quit looking over my shoulder!”

  “What?” Ronde pushed away the arm Tiki was using to hide his notebook. “What are you doing, writing a love letter?”

  “Shut up!” Tiki said, giving Ronde a shove.

  “If it isn’t, then, why are you hiding it?”

  “I’m not hiding it,” Tiki said. “There. See for yourself.” He took his hand away and let Ronde have a good look at his first “Dear Tiki” column.

  “What is this?” Ronde said, screwing up his face in confusion. “Who is ‘Dear Troubled’?”

  “That’s the girl who sent in the letter.”

  “What letter? What do you mean, ‘sent in’?”

  Tiki sighed. “It’s an advice column. For the Weekly Eagle. You know, like ‘Dear Abby.’ Only this one is ‘Dear Tiki.’”

  “Oh, that is so lame,” Ronde said, shaking his head. “Tell me you’re not doing that.”

  “I am,” Tiki said, sighing. “I got myself roped into it.”

  “By who?”

  “Laura Sommer.”

  “Ooohhhh,” Ronde said, understanding at once how Tiki could have gotten himself cornered into something like this. Laura was not a person who took no for an answer.

  “All right. Have a look, since you’re so nosey anyway,” Tiki said. “Maybe you can even help me out.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t look at me,” Ronde said, backing away. “I don’t even want to see it. You’re not getting me involved. No way.”

  “Don’t you want to help other kids with their problems?”

  “Hey, don’t look at me,” Ronde said. “You’re the prize-winning writer.”

  “You won honorable mention, remember?” Tiki pleaded. “And you’re always the one who gives the best advice. Look what happened in the locker room at halftime!”

  “I was just telling them what you said in your essay,” Ronde shot back.

  “Come on, Ronde!” Tiki begged. “I need a little help!”

  “A little help?” Ronde said. “Okay, I’ll give you a little advice. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Now, that’s a famous saying!”

  “Ronde…”

  “I’ve gotta go watch TV. My favorite show’s on in five minutes.”

  Before Tiki could stop him, Ronde was off to the living room, leaving him alone in the kitchen. The remains of their dinner were still on the table. He and Ronde would have to clean up and wash the dishes before their mom got home from work.

  She’d left their dinner for them, as she always did when she worked late. Tiki knew he shouldn’t complain about his own problems. Their mom had it much harder than either of them—two jobs, and she never complained. Ever.

  Sighing, Tiki took up his pen again and tried to think of an answer to Suzie’s problem.

  Dear Tiki, her letter to him began. (He’d written it himself, based on what she’d asked him in person.) I have a problem. My teacher is always being mean to me. What should I do? Signed, Troubled.

  Dear Troubled, Tiki had begun his reply. But that was as far as he’d gotten. He had no idea what Suzie should do about her mean teacher. Sometimes teachers were just mean, or they just didn’t happen to like you, and what could you do about that except just take it?

  He squeezed his eyes shut, searching for a better response, something that would make Suzie feel better, even if it didn’t make her problem go away. Finally something came to him:

  Dear Troubled,

  I know how you must feel. I mean, we’ve all had teachers we weren’t wild about. They’re like the rest of us, really. They sometimes have bad days, and say stuff they’re probably sorry for later. But it’s not okay for your teacher to call you out in front of the whole class. Hurting your feelings isn’t going to help you learn better.

  I know it hurts, but telling everyone how mean your teacher is won’t solve your problem, and it might make things even worse.

  My suggestion is that you hold your head up, even when your teacher makes fun of you, or other kids laugh at you. Also, I advise you to write a private note to your teacher. Tell him or her how you felt when they made fun of you. I’m sure if they knew, they’d feel sorry about it and wouldn’t do it again. At least I hope not.

  If this doesn’t work, and they only get meaner to you, then you’ve got a real problem and you should probably tell the principal, or at least your parents. Good luck, Troubled, and let me know how it works out!

  Tiki put down his pen and shook out his hand, which was starting to cramp. Had he really just written all that? Thinking back, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d written that much, straight out of his head, in one quick shot. Had it really taken him only ten minutes?

  After closing his notebook, he went to join Ronde in the living room. There’d be time to do the dishes after they were done watching TV.

  Ronde was shocked to see him. “What, did you give up already?” he asked.

  “I’m done.”

  “What?”

  “I did it.”

  “You mean …?”

  “Yeah, man. It’s finished.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “You can read it—in the Weekly Eagle, like everybody else.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hey, my foot. If you wanted to see it in advance, you should have helped me do it.”

  So saying, he plopped down at Ronde’s side. “So,” he said, grinning, “what’d I miss?”

  The next day Tiki stopped into the newspaper office after school to drop off his column before going down to football pra
ctice.

  “How’d it go?” Laura asked him, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

  “Okay, I guess,” he told her, handing over the page from his notebook.

  “Everyone’s really excited about this,” Laura said brightly. “I told some kids in PE, and a bunch of them said they were going to write in and ask for advice. Pretty soon you’re gonna have six letters a week!”

  Tiki felt sick to his stomach. “Six? No way.”

  “Yes way!” she replied, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re already a success, and you haven’t even had your first column in print. Wowie-zowie!!”

  “Yeah,” Tiki mumbled. “Wowie … whatever.”

  “Do you want to see how we do the pasteup and layout?” she offered.

  “Uh, some other time, okay?” he said, his stomach churning. “I’ve got to get to practice.”

  “Oh! Right. Of course. I forgot about the football thing.… Well, see ya!”

  Tiki got out of there as quickly as he could. Six letters a week!? It might as well have been a mountain of them crashing down on his head.

  Sure, it had taken him only ten minutes to do that first response, but he couldn’t count on ideas coming to him that fast all the time! When he’d agreed to do the column, he’d thought it would be only one letter a week, or two at most.

  “The football thing,” as Laura had called it, was way more important to him, and it took up most of his free time. How was he supposed to handle all this extra responsibility?

  He arrived in the locker room still feeling anxious, although his stomach was no longer threatening to turn over. He dressed in his practice uniform and ran out onto the field, happy to be outside, playing the game he loved, and not thinking about other people’s problems.

  Except he couldn’t seem to shake the thoughts that kept creeping into his brain. He kept seeing Suzie Shiobara, and her sister Charlene, and Matt Dwayne, and the other kids from Laura’s PE class, all calling his name, waving pieces of paper that held their problems for him to solve—

  BONK!!

  All of a sudden the football hit him square in the side of the helmet.

  “What in the—” Tiki turned to see a half dozen of his teammates laughing their heads off and pointing at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “Dude,” said Manny, who had obviously thrown the pass, “I yelled ‘Heads up’ three times! Are you in dreamland or what?”

  More laughter followed this remark, and that got Tiki annoyed. “I’m not in dreamland, yo. I’m just thinking.”

  “Well, quit thinking, and concentrate on football for a while instead, huh?” This from Coach Pellugi, head of the Eagles offense, who happened to catch the last part of the conversation. “Let’s go, fellas. Look alive. We’ve got a big game coming up, and we don’t want to play like we did the last game.”

  Coach Ontkos was right, Tiki knew. They’d gotten away with a victory in a game they could have, and maybe should have, lost. They might not be so lucky next time.

  It was important to practice hard now, to get all the players working together like a well-oiled machine. None of them, least of all Tiki, could afford to spend this precious time daydreaming.

  And yet … those letters waiting for him on the other side of tomorrow’s edition of the Weekly Eagle kept swimming into his brain, drawing his concentration away from where it needed to be.

  OOOF! Manny’s handoff caught him by surprise, and he nearly dropped the ball.

  “Let’s go, Barber!” Coach Pellugi barked. “Everyone works hard today. No exceptions!”

  Tiki felt the blood rush to his face. It was a good thing his helmet was on, covering his look of embarrassment.

  “Sorry, Coach,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

  He was irritated by his teammates’ laughter, even though he knew he had it coming. He’d written to Suzie in his column that she should hold her head up, even when her classmates were laughing at the teacher’s cruel remarks. Yet here he was, finding it hard to take his own good advice!

  He wondered how that advice would go over. Would people like his new column? Would they think his advice was good? What if they hated it? What if his advice was bad and screwed up someone else’s life big-time?

  And how was he supposed to concentrate on football with all these worries weighing him down?

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHAT NEXT?

  * * *

  WHEN RONDE SAW TIKI AT LUNCHTIME THAT Wednesday, it was from a distance. Tiki was surrounded by kids, all of whom were talking to him at once. Most were waving copies of the school paper. One girl wanted his autograph on it. Ronde saw Tiki’s startled look as he took her pen and signed his name under his first advice column.

  So, Ronde thought. Tiki was a star now, and not just at football. He laughed to himself at the strangeness of it all. He was a little jealous, sure. Who wouldn’t be? But he was also proud of his brother’s success. It was really something, to have everyone admire you, not just for your athletic ability, but for your wisdom, too.

  Ronde wondered if maybe he should have taken Tiki up on his offer to help with the column. After all, he was as good as Tiki at giving people advice. He did it all the time, whether they wanted to hear it or not. In fact, when he and Tiki argued, it was Ronde who was right 90 percent of the time.

  He gave up on getting anywhere near Tiki for the moment and settled in at a far-off table with Justin, Paco, and Adam.

  “Jeez,” Paco was saying, looking over at the crowd that surrounded Tiki. “I sure hope he’s got his head in the game when Friday rolls around.”

  Ronde hadn’t thought of it, but Paco had a point. They’d all seen how distracted Tiki’d been at practice, and that was before the paper had come out. Now that everyone wanted his advice, would Tiki be able to keep his mind on the game?

  Ronde sure hoped so, because their next two opponents were the best teams in the league—Blue Ridge and Pulaski. The Eagles were going to need all of Tiki’s energy and effort, not just a part.

  After practice Ronde grabbed his brother’s arm before they got on the bus. “Let’s go for an ice cream soda,” he suggested.

  “Huh? How are we gonna get home if we do that?”

  “It’s only a couple miles. We can walk it—or we could race.”

  “Ha! You know I’d have you beat.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, but we probably shouldn’t run if we’re gonna have ice cream sodas first.”

  “So, is that a yes?” Ronde wondered.

  “You buying?”

  “Oooo, you got me,” Ronde said. Out of his pocket he fished two worn dollar bills he’d earned for mowing Mrs. Prendergast’s lawn. “I’m gonna need some help, though. I’m a little short.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry. You set me up for that one.”

  Tiki searched his own pockets and came up with eighty-five cents. “Mr. Kessler will let us owe him the other fifteen cents,” Ronde assured his twin. “Let’s go—for old times’ sake, huh?”

  The twins had been going to Kessler’s for sodas and comic books ever since third grade. The place was near their school, but also close to the high school, and to the elementary school they’d both attended. Mr. Kessler had known them since they were little, when they’d been harder to tell apart.

  He was always happy to see them, and today was no exception. “Hey, how’s my guys?” he asked, coming out from behind the counter and clapping them both on the backs. “You’re all over the papers these days. Football heroes! Who would’ve thought it?”

  Looking from one to the other, he frowned in confusion. “Hey, I thought you guys were supposed to be identical.”

  “I know, I know,” Ronde said, sighing in frustration. “He just hit his growth spurt first, is all.”

  “I’m three inches taller,” Tiki said proudly, then put up his hands to meet Ronde’s elbow, which otherwise would have poked him in the ribs.

  “Well, neve
r mind,” Mr. Kessler told Ronde. “You’ll catch up soon enough.”

  “I don’t know about the ‘soon enough’ part,” said Ronde, letting it go for now.

  “Hey, here come a couple of your old buddies!” Mr. Kessler said, pointing through the plate glass window at the front of the store. Just then the door opened, and in walked the Eagles’ last two quarterbacks before this year—Matt Clayton and last year’s QB, Cody Hansen.

  “Yo, what’s up?” Tiki called, and they all greeted one another with backslaps and team handshakes.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Cody asked.

  “Just taking a stroll down memory lane,” said Tiki. “How’s high school treating you?”

  “Eh,” Cody said, frowning. “Okay, I guess.”

  “He’s just down because he’s riding the bench this year,” said Matt, putting an arm around Cody’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, dude. You’ll get your shot. After I leave for college, that is.”

  “Not funny,” said Cody.

  “Actually, I got scouted for Randolph Prep for next season,” Matt said.

  “Wow, congratulations, man,” Tiki said.

  “That’s awesome, Matt,” Ronde added. Randolph Prep was a football powerhouse. Kids from there went straight to places like Ole Miss, Alabama, and Notre Dame.

  “So cheer up, dude,” Matt told Cody. “You might be starting as soon as next year.”

  “Hmph,” said Cody. “Not soon enough for me.”

  “Just chill, man,” Ronde told him. “Matt’s right. It won’t be long till you’re the man. Remember seventh grade? Tiki and I barely played that whole year.”

  “Not what I want to hear,” said Cody.

  Ronde knew how hard it must be for him. He’d gotten his chance to start in junior high early, when Matt broke his leg. So he’d never really suffered on the bench for very long, the way the rest of them had.

  “I hope you’re not wishing for me to get hurt again,” Matt told Cody, only half-joking. They all knew what an intense competitor Cody was—not the most patient person in the world.

  “The main thing is, you guys are winning,” Ronde said. “You’re 3–0, right? Hey, if you win the championship, it belongs to you as much as anyone else on the team, Cody.”