Wild Card Page 7

  Ronde didn’t answer. There was nothing more to say about it. Instead he asked, “You coming inside?”

  Tiki sighed. “I feel like walking home.”

  “Are you serious? We’re all the way on the other side of town.”

  “It’s a good thing too,” Tiki said. “Can you imagine if this was a home game? At least I didn’t choke in front of every single person I know.”

  “Come on, dude, let’s go. The bus is gonna leave soon.”

  Tiki hesitated. “Are they all mad at me?”

  “Who, the team? No, man—they understand.”

  “They do?”

  “Totally. It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, Tiki. Don’t think like that.”

  “How should I think, then?” Tiki shook his head. “You know,” he said, “I’ll bet Adam feels even worse than I do.”

  “You got that right,” Ronde agreed. “And wait till he hears about us losing this game.”

  “Man, he’s got to get back on this team,” Tiki said. “He’s just got to!”

  • • •

  “What is the matter with you two?” Mrs. Barber asked. “You’ve been down all weekend.”

  “It’s the team, Mom,” Tiki said. “I cost us the game on Thursday, and now we’re just about out of the play-offs.”

  “First of all, Tiki,” she said, “one player doesn’t lose the game; the whole team does. It’s a team sport, remember?”

  “She’s right, bro,” Ronde agreed. But he noticed it didn’t make Tiki feel any better.

  “And second of all,” Mrs. Barber went on, “‘just about’ out of the play-offs? What do you mean, ‘just about’?”

  “He means unless the Bears and the Colts lose both their last two games, we can’t catch up,” Ronde explained.

  “And they’re not going to lose twice,” Tiki added. “They’ve got totally easy schedules the rest of the way.”

  “Well, maybe they’ll surprise you,” Mrs. Barber said gently. “One team may be favored over another, but you never know. Like the coach says, ‘That’s why they play the games.’”

  She smiled, and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead. “It’s way too early for you boys to start feeling down. Why, you’re defeating yourselves before you’ve even played the games!”

  Ronde shot Tiki a look. They both knew their mom was right—as usual.

  As she was about to leave the room, she turned and said, “You know who really has good reason to be down, don’t you? Your friend Adam, that’s who.”

  Ronde felt as though someone had suddenly shaken him awake.

  “Adam?” Tiki repeated.

  “Yes, Adam—your old friend. Remember him? What does he have to say about all this? Has anybody asked him lately how he’s doing?”

  Ronde looked at the floor. Then he snuck a glance at Tiki, who was looking right back at him guiltily.

  Tiki shrugged. “We haven’t really seen him much.”

  “He’s been kind of busy,” Ronde added. “You know, studying and stuff.”

  “Has he been avoiding you?” their mom asked.

  “Well, he doesn’t come to the cafeteria anymore at lunchtime,” Tiki said.

  “I guess that’s when he gets tutored,” Ronde said. “And when you see him in the hall, he doesn’t say much—just ‘hi,’ and stuff like that, you know?”

  “Adam Costa?” Mrs. Barber said, astonished. “Why, of all your friends he’s got to be the biggest talker!”

  “Not anymore,” Ronde said. “Not since he flunked those tests.”

  “And he’s not at the practices or the games,” Tiki added. “So we don’t get to see that much of him.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t show up to watch because he’s afraid you’re all mad at him,” Mrs. Barber said. “Did you ever think of that?”

  He hadn’t, Ronde had to admit. Truth was, for the past two weeks he’d been trying hard not to think about Adam. Now he felt ashamed of himself for neglecting his friend.

  After their mom left the room, Tiki turned to Ronde and said, “Now I feel bad.”

  “Me too,” Ronde agreed.

  “I know Adam must be feeling low.”

  “Lower than dirt,” Ronde said, nodding.

  “But what are we supposed to do about it?” Tiki asked.

  Ronde thought hard. “I guess we could call him up. You know, ask him how he’s doing.”

  “Offer a little moral support,” Tiki added.

  “Right. And maybe . . .” Ronde fell silent, remembering something his mom had said back when this whole mess had started.

  “What?” Tiki prodded him.

  “I was just thinking . . .”

  “Of?”

  “You know how we offered to help Adam study?”

  “Yeah, but he told us he was already getting tutored, remember?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be doing him any good, does it?” Ronde asked pointedly, staring at the telephone.

  There was a moment when both boys sat as silent and still as statues. Then, as if they were pouncing on a fumbled football, they both jumped for the phone. Tiki grabbed it away just as Ronde was about to grab it.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll pick up in the living room this time,” Ronde said, admitting defeat. He stuck his tongue out at Tiki, who laughed as he dialed Adam’s number.

  Ronde picked up the extension just as Tiki was asking Mrs. Costa if Adam could come to the phone.

  “He’s studying, Tiki,” she said. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

  “But this is important!” Tiki said. “Just for a minute? Please?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, holding her ground. “You can talk to him in school tomorrow.” She hung up before either of the boys could say anything else.

  Ronde went back into the kitchen. “Wait till tomorrow? I don’t think so. This is too important.”

  “Let’s ride over there on our bikes,” Tiki suggested. Ten minutes later they were staring up at Adam’s bedroom window. Tiki grabbed a tiny pebble and tossed it.

  “Hey!” Ronde said. “You’re gonna break that window!”

  “Did I break it?” Tiki asked.

  “Not that time, but—”

  “Then don’t bug me, all right?”

  Luckily, the window opened before Tiki got another chance to prove Ronde right. Adam popped his head out, squinted behind his thick glasses at the bright sunshine, and called, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s us!” Ronde shouted. “Hey, man, why does your mom have you locked up there like that?”

  “She says I don’t get to have any fun till I pass those retests.”

  “That is cold, dude,” Tiki said, shaking his head. “How can a person think without having some fun once in a while?”

  “That’s what I said!” Adam agreed. “And you know what she said? She said, ‘I don’t want your mind clear—I want it stuffed full of knowledge!’”

  “Is it working?” Ronde asked.

  “Well, it’s stuffed, all right,” Adam said. “So stuffed, it feels like it’s spinning.”

  “How are you doing otherwise?” Tiki asked.

  Adam cocked his head sideways. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what he means,” Ronde said. “Are you okay?”

  “You mean, okay okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. Of course I’m not okay! I’m such a loser that I made losers out of my whole team!”

  “Don’t talk like that, man,” Ronde said. “We know you’re trying hard to get back.”

  “Come on,” Adam said. “You know everybody’s mad at me. Even you guys. You don’t have to lie.”

  “Everyone’s mad at the principal, not you!” Tiki said.

  “Yeah, right,” Adam said, unconvinced.

  “So . . .” Ronde said. “Do you think you’re gonna make it back for next game?”

  “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Man, if we lose one more—,” Tiki began.


  “I can’t help it! My tutor’s a total jerk. She makes me feel like some freak.”

  “You’re not a freak,” Ronde said. “Except for your kicking foot, that is.”

  “I just can’t get this stuff through my thick skull,” Adam said. “And the more I try, the less I seem to get it.”

  Ronde and Tiki exchanged a worried glance. Then Ronde said, “Hey, Adam, why don’t Tiki and I try tutoring you instead? He’s good in Biology, and I’m a math whiz, as you already know. I’ll bet we could help you.”

  Adam picked his head up and looked down at them. “You . . . You guys mean it?”

  “Hey,” Tiki replied, “we offered before, and you said no.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said. “I figured, you know, she’s a ninth grader, I’ll be better off with her. Obviously not, right? I mean, I failed my makeup tests. You know what I think the problem is? She took all this stuff a year ago. She’s forgotten more of it than I know!”

  They all laughed. It was good to see Adam acting like his old self, cracking jokes and making everyone laugh.

  Now, thought Ronde, if only he and Tiki could get him those passing grades.

  • • •

  It was Ronde’s turn first. They met in an empty classroom during lunch period. Adam had volunteered to bring sandwiches from home so they wouldn’t have to waste any time on the food line.

  “Okay, now. Show me where you’re stuck,” Ronde began.

  “Well, it’s not just one thing. It’s pretty much everything. But I think if I could get down with making up equations, I could do the other stuff. Problem is, it takes me so long to do them that I run out of time on the test before I’m finished, and that’s why I can’t pass.”

  “But, dude,” Ronde said, “making up equations is easy!”

  “Easy for you, maybe.”

  “No, man. Come on, let’s do one together. You’ll see how easy it is.”

  Adam shrugged and sighed. “Okay, have it your way. Here’s one that’s been turning my brains into yogurt for the last hour.” He shoved a textbook toward Ronde and pointed out the problem in question.

  “Okay. Fine.” Ronde read the problem out loud. “Model an equation for cost (c) given x pounds of fruit salad at $3.50 per pound and y cans of tuna at $1.29 per can. Hmmm . . .”

  “See what I mean?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Ronde was already scribbling notes, figuring out how to write the equation. “There you go,” he said, turning the paper so Adam could see it. “C = 3.50x + 1.29y.”

  “Huh? How’d you come up with that?”

  Ronde tried to explain, but he could see that it was only making Adam more confused than before.

  “I just can’t concentrate!” Adam moaned, slamming down his pencil and sighing deeply. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and yanked at his hair. “Doh! It’s too hard! I’m breaking out in a cold sweat here, Ronde! Let’s face it. My tutor was right. I’m never going to get this stuff through my head.”

  “Hey—never mind what she said. I’m your tutor now, and I’m telling you, you’re not stupid. Just concentrate, okay?”

  “I’m trying—it’s just not working!””

  “Now, don’t give up!” Ronde pleaded. “That’s not like you, Adam! Hey, when the Eagles are down three points with a minute left to go, do we give up?”

  Adam snorted. “No way!”

  “Right—and why don’t we give up?”

  “Because all we have to do is kick a field goal.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Stay with me now,” Ronde urged him. “Let’s forget about tuna fish and fruit salad.”

  “Good. They don’t go together anyway.”

  “And let’s pretend it’s an equation about football, okay?”

  “Okay . . . I guess.”

  Ronde thought hard for a moment, then said, “Suppose we had to come up with an equation describing the total number of points our team scored this season, based on the number of touchdowns and field goals.”

  “What about extra points?” Adam asked.

  “You’re automatic on those, dude, so we’ll just figure each touchdown as seven points, okay?”

  “Cool. Now what?”

  “Well, could you write down an equation that expressed that? You can use any letters you want for touchdowns and field goals. That’s why they call them variables.”

  “Um, okay. . . . Let’s see . . .” Adam squinted his eyes and started tapping on the table with his pencil. Then he wrote: P = 7t + 3f. “Is that right?” he asked, adding, “t is for the number of touchdowns and f is—”

  “I get it, I get it,” Ronde said, examining Adam’s handiwork. “Yeah, man, that’s right! You did it!”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not kidding. You did it perfectly!”

  “I did?”

  “See, you really do know how to do this stuff. You’re just having problems concentrating on anything but football!”

  Adam blew out a big breath. “You got that right,” he agreed.

  “Now, what about safeties?” Ronde said.

  “Safeties?”

  “Two points each. I know we’ve scored one or two of those this year. How would you add that to the equation?”

  “Let’s see . . .” Adam did some more scribbling. “Like this?”

  “P = 7t + 3f + 2s. Perfect! Dude, you’re gonna ace that makeup test!”

  They high-fived each other.

  “Wow!” Adam said. “I actually did it!”

  “See, you don’t need a new brain,” Ronde told him. “You just have to use the brain you’ve already got!”

  “Hey, Ronde,” Adam said, smiling, “you know, if you don’t end up in the NFL, you would make an awesome teacher someday!”

  “Yeah, right,” Ronde said. “Now that we’ve got that straight, let’s move on to the tuna fish and fruit salad.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE RAZOR’S EDGE

  * * *

  TIKI LAUNCHED A PERFECT KICK AT THE UPRIGHTS from the twenty yard line. “And it’s good!” he shouted, clapping his hands and smiling.

  Joey Gallagher got up from his crouch, and Paco came over to share high fives.

  “That’s three in a row, dude,” said Paco. “Now all you’ve gotta do is do it in an actual game.”

  “No problem,” Joey said. “Tiki’s in the groove now.”

  Tiki accepted their congratulations, but inside he didn’t feel much better. He knew what they all knew but nobody dared to say—that when the game was on the line, none of what he did in practice mattered one little bit.

  Every time he’d gotten the chance to kick some points onto the scoreboard in an actual game, he’d gone and blown it!

  Well, maybe not every single time—but he’d been bad enough that the team had lost its crucial third game—the one big loss that might well send them home instead of to the play-offs.

  Worse, if Tiki couldn’t get it together this next game, the Eagles might lose that one too! That would be the absolute final blow to Hidden Valley’s season.

  “How’s it going, Tiki?” Coach Wheeler asked as the three boys came over to the sideline.

  “Good, I guess,” Tiki said, looking away.

  “Where’s Ronde today? Out sick?”

  “Nah,” Tiki said. “He’s tutoring Adam for his math makeup test. It’s my turn next week, in biology.”

  “Oh! Good!” said the coach. “Let’s hope he nails them.”

  The other boys went to their lockers, and Coach Wheeler walked along with Tiki over to the watercooler. Here, they were far from the rest of the team and coaches, and no one could hear what they said.

  “Hey, listen, Tiki,” the coach said. “I really do admire you and your brother. It’s not every kid who’ll take time away from football to do something big for a friend.”

  “We’re doing it for the team, too,” Tiki pointed out
. “Maybe mostly for the team.”

  Coach Wheeler smiled and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter—it’s still a good deed, and especially for Adam. You should both feel very proud.”

  Tiki shrugged and looked at the ground. “I guess.”

  “What’s wrong?” the coach asked. “What’s bothering you, kid?”

  Tiki looked up into the coach’s eagle eyes. “No matter what happens, Adam won’t be back in time for this next game.”

  “Ah. I see. You’re afraid you’re going to mess up our kicking game, and that we’ll get eliminated because of it. Right?”

  “Yeah,” Tiki admitted. “That’s pretty much it. I mean, I’ve already just about killed our chances.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Wheeler said.

  “You think so? I don’t.”

  “Well, look, Tiki,” said the coach, “we are where we are. Yesterday is ancient history. You’re our kicker this next game, and we have to make the best of that. Let’s just hope we win this one and get Adam back for the last one.”

  “Yeah, but the last one won’t even matter if we lose this one!”

  “It’ll still matter to Adam,” Coach Wheeler pointed out. “Now let’s talk about the game, okay?”

  “Coach,” Tiki pleaded, “please don’t make me kick anymore!”

  “Listen to me, Tiki. You can do this! I’ve seen you do it! Remember, the team needs you!”

  “But I stink at kicking! I lost us the last game on an easy field goal I should have made. And I miss half my extra points, too.”

  Coach Wheeler frowned, deep in thought. “Look,” he said, “somebody has to do the punts and kickoffs. Just do the best you can. As for the field goals . . . Well, let’s hope we don’t have to try for any. And all right—we’ll go for two on every touchdown.”

  “Great!” said Tiki, and took a deep breath of relief. “And can I fake some punts?”

  Wheeler frowned again. “I don’t think so, Tiki. We can’t afford to be backed up into our own zone.”

  “We won’t be, Coach! I have a much better chance of running it for a first down than I do of making a decent punt.”

  One corner of the coach’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin, and his eagle eyes twinkled. “All right. I’ll flash you the high sign. That’ll be the signal you’re free to pull a fake.”