Wild Card Read online

“He is?”

  “Yeah, man. I’m a lousy tutor.”

  “Huh.”

  “Maybe you could take over? You did a good job with the math makeup.”

  “Yeah, but you know you’re better than me at science.”

  “True,” Tiki admitted. “But maybe you’re a better teacher.”

  “Nah, that’s not it, Tiki. You’ve just got to find some way to get through to Adam. I had the same problem with him—he just couldn’t get it about equations.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I used football stuff as an example.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  “Anyway, don’t give up. Adam’s not as dumb as he looks.”

  “Ha!”

  “No, seriously, man. Try to think of a football comparison that works, and he’ll get it, because that’s what his mind’s really zoned in on.”

  Of course! How could Tiki not have seen it? If he had been sitting there with Adam thinking about football, how could Adam not have been thinking about it too?

  “Thanks, Ronde. I think I’ll try that. Yeah . . . that’s what I’m gonna do . . .”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” said Ronde. “Adam’s really down on himself these days.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “So you’ve got to find a way to make him feel smart. You know, like he can pass that test, no problem.”

  “Right.”

  Tiki stared again at the leaf shadows dancing on the ceiling. Adam needed confidence, he could see that—but so did he! He’d never tried to be a teacher before, and he’d never really tried kicking, either.

  Tiki knew he needed a little help at both.

  • • •

  “Man, I don’t know if this is working,” Adam said.

  “One more time,” Tiki begged. “Name me the parts of a cell.”

  Adam groaned and pounded his head with both fists. “I need a break from all this pressure!”

  “Okay, okay,” Tiki said, backing off. “Let’s go outside and throw the football around for a while.”

  Adam brightened up instantly. “Now you’re talking. Come on!” He got up, grabbed a football off the floor, and led Tiki downstairs.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Adam’s mother asked them as they headed for the backyard.

  “We’re taking a break,” Tiki explained. “We both need it.”

  “Just for ten minutes,” Adam said.

  His mom frowned. “How’s it going up there?”

  “Good!” Tiki rushed to reply. “Really good, Mrs. Costa.”

  “Hmmm. Well, all right, then. But just for ten minutes.”

  The two boys tossed the ball around a few times, pretending to make awesome catches, falling from invisible tackles, laughing and working up a good sweat.

  “Hey, Adam,” Tiki said after a few minutes. “Before we go back inside, I need you to help me with my kicking. You know . . . just in case.”

  Adam flinched. “In case I flunk my makeup test, you mean?” he asked.

  “Well . . . to be honest, yeah,” Tiki admitted. “I stink at kicking, and if you’re not there, I can’t afford to stink.”

  “Okay,” Adam agreed. “Let’s see you placekick a few times.”

  There was a field hockey net set up in the Costas’ backyard. Adam knelt down and held the football so that Tiki could kick it into the net.

  “Good!” Adam said after Tiki whacked his first attempt straight into the net. “Excellent!” he said after Tiki nailed the second.

  Tiki tried about half a dozen kicks, and most of them were struck perfectly. “I don’t know what you think your problem is,” Adam said, shrugging. “You’re fine at kicking.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Tiki said. “Not when it’s in a real game. I freeze right up—especially with all those dudes in the other uniforms rushing at me.”

  “Huh.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

  “Wanna know the secret?” Adam said, flashing a grin. “I just get into this zone—this quiet place inside my head, see? Nobody can come in, no noise can penetrate. It’s just me, my foot, and the ball.”

  “Wow,” Tiki said softly. “Cool. Sure hope I don’t have to try doing that Thursday.”

  “You and me both.”

  “ADAM!” His mother shouted from inside the house. “Ten minutes are up!”

  “Okay, okay!” He sighed. Then he noticed that Tiki was suddenly lost in thought. “Uh, Tiki? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, man—nothing’s wrong. I just got an idea, that’s all.”

  “An idea?”

  “Yeah, about the parts of a cell.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “ADAM!”

  “COMING, MA!” He turned to Tiki. “Can you tell me inside?”

  “Sure, man. Sure.”

  They went back up to Adam’s room and sat down at his desk. “Okay, here it is,” Tiki said. “You ready?”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “Okay. Now, think of the cell as a football field.”

  “What?”

  “Just go with me on this, dude. Zone in, like you do when you’re gonna make a kick.”

  “Okay. I’m zoning. Go on.”

  “So the cell is the whole field. The head coach is the nucleus, okay? ’Cause he runs the whole game, and tells all the players what to do.”

  “Ha! I get it. That’s pretty cool. But what about the other parts?”

  “Well, the vacuoles? They’re like the watercoolers, because they keep everything hydrated.”

  “Funny!”

  “Stay focused now. The lysosomes, they’re the defense.”

  “Because they break things down, like tackling!”

  “Exactly!”

  “What about the mitochondria?”

  “Well, they power the cell, right?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “So, they’re like the cheerleaders.”

  “Awesome!”

  “And the yard lines that divide up the field?”

  “Let me think . . . The endoplasmic reticulum?”

  “Right! Because it divides up the parts of the cell!”

  “This is so cool!” Adam said, slapping Tiki five. “Just like learning that song about the elements!”

  “Come on. We’re not done yet,” Tiki said impatiently. “The ribosomes?”

  “Uh . . . let’s see . . . They build muscles, so . . . the weight room?”

  “That’s right! And the cell membrane?”

  “The sidelines!”

  “Great! Now let’s go over the whole thing again, okay?”

  “No problem, Tiki. You know, suddenly it all seems so obvious. I actually think we’re gonna nail this thing!”

  • • •

  Tiki walked back home from Adam’s feeling more hopeful than he had in a long time. On the way he ran into Joey Gallagher, who was riding his bike home.

  “Hey, Barber! Where were you?”

  “Working with Adam on his science homework,” Tiki explained.

  “That’s nice,” Joey said. “But you know he’s never gonna get cleared for the game. We needed you out there today, practicing with the whole team. North Side is no pushover, Tiki. We’ve all got to pull together if we’re going to beat them.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Tiki replied. “But, Joey, sometimes you’ve gotta take care of business off the field before you can take care of business on it.”

  “Whatever,” said Joey, giving himself a kick start and wobbling off down the street on his bike.

  “And Adam’s going to play Thursday!” Tiki shouted after him. “I guarantee it!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THREADING THE NEEDLE

  * * *

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE START OF THEIR final practice of the regular season, Coach Wheeler gathered the team together in the locker room.

  “I wanted to talk to you all before tomorrow’s game,” he said. He cleared his throat and looked them over.

  Ronde di
d the same. He saw the rapt faces of fifty-six boys his own age, all in uniform, all united in a single purpose—winning a football game and making the play-offs.

  “Tomorrow we face the North Side Rockets,” Coach Wheeler went on. “They’re a strong squad, and as we already know, they can play tough, especially on defense. Their linebackers are strong and fast, and we especially need to look out for their free safety. He really punished us last time we played them.”

  Coach Wheeler’s steely gaze fixed itself on them all, one after another. “Last time we played, it was our fourth game of the season, and we won by the skin of our teeth. I’m sure you all remember that game very well.”

  He paused for a long moment, letting the players remember how Cody, their quarterback, had been picked off repeatedly and in the end had been benched for a substitute.

  Still, they’d won the game, and it was because most of them had studied videotape of the Rockets’ other games. In a way it was Coach Wheeler who’d won that game for the Eagles and had kept them in the play-off hunt.

  “As for North Side, it was their first defeat,” the coach said. “After they faced us, they put in a new quarterback and proceeded to go on a long winning streak. As you saw yesterday when we watched the videotape, he’s a scrambler. So Ronde and Reeves, you two are going to have to stay ready, in case he runs the option and rolls out.

  “And another thing,” Wheeler went on. “Their coach is terrific at getting their guys to make adjustments. So we’re going to have to change our game plan midgame, before they can react.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Which will be easy, because I can’t really make a complete game plan anyway—not until we know if we’ve got Costa back.”

  He glanced quickly from side to side, to see how the team was reacting to his words. Ronde noticed that although no one said anything, they all looked at one another—and at Tiki.

  Poor Tiki, thought Ronde. I sure am glad Coach didn’t make me the new kicker!

  “Adam’s taking his biology makeup test this afternoon, so we should know by the end of practice whether we’ve got him back or not. In the meantime we’re going to do some no-contact scrimmaging. And, Cody, I want you to give our defense a little practice with a scrambling QB.” He smiled. “Just for fun, okay?”

  Cody grinned and nodded. “Sure thing, Coach.”

  Ronde knew that the coach and the quarterback had become close this season, after the rockiest of beginnings. Cody was different now—more of a humble team player. But Coach Wheeler had changed too. He was much more forceful now, more inspiring and positive.

  “We’ve beaten the Rockets once,” Wheeler concluded, “and we can do it again, if we play the way we know how to.”

  “Proud,” Ronde said.

  “What’s that, Ronde?” Coach Wheeler asked.

  “We’ve got to play proud. That’s what my mom always says.”

  Coach Wheeler smiled. “Hear that, team? Let’s win one for Mrs. Barber, okay?”

  A roar went up from the Eagles, and they smacked one another on the helmets as they ran out onto the field.

  Well, thought Ronde, it’s all fine and good to play proud. But if Adam fails his makeup test, we’re still in a heap of trouble.

  • • •

  After a few minutes it was clear that Ronde wasn’t the only one whose mind was on something besides football. Players kept dropping passes, blowing coverages, missing blocks and tackles. And Tiki’s kicks were the worst they’d ever been.

  It was toward the end of the session—almost five o’clock—when Adam finally emerged from the double steel doors onto the playing field.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing. Ronde, who was about to intercept a pass, let the ball hit him in the head because he’d stopped watching it. Luckily, nobody noticed. All eyes were on Adam Costa.

  Adam was looking glumly at the ground, and Ronde could feel a big lump growing in his own throat.

  Could it be? Had Adam failed yet again? Were the Eagles doomed to play their final game without him?

  Adam looked up—looked at all of them, slowly spanning the field from left to right—and then he broke into a mile-wide grin, raised his fists, and nodded.

  “YESSSSS!” Ronde screamed. So did all the others, jumping up and down and hugging whoever was nearby. Then they all made a beeline for Adam.

  “WHOA!” Adam yelled, holding his hands out to fend them off. “Don’t hurt me, please! I bruise easily!”

  Instead of tackling him, they hoisted him on their shoulders and ran him all the way back to the locker room.

  The Eagles were united again—finally! Now, thought Ronde, they could go into tomorrow’s game with confidence.

  Watch out, North Side, he told himself. Here come the real Hidden Valley Eagles!

  • • •

  Of course, it might not matter, he had to remind himself. The Eagles could pulverize the Rockets and still not make the play-offs. As of today there were still four teams in the conference with better records than they had.

  In first place were the Pulaski Wildcats, with a record of 10–1. But that 1 represented a loss to the Eagles, 38–3! That had been early in the season, Ronde remembered, when they’d first gotten it together as a team.

  “I hope we get to play them again in the play-offs,” he told Tiki as they sat doing their homework Thursday afternoon.

  “Me too,” Tiki said. “I hope we get to play anybody.”

  It had been a weird day, in a way. Their game against the Rockets wasn’t scheduled to start till seven p.m. So instead of just heading for the locker room after school to suit up for their usual afternoon game, they’d gone home and worked on their homework and polished off an early dinner their mom had left for them in the fridge.

  Because of the weird scheduling Tiki and Ronde both kept looking at the clock, realizing that they’d know before the game started whether they still had a chance at making the play-offs.

  Only four teams would get there. The Wildcats were already in. So were the North Side Rockets, in second place with a 9–2 record. Yet the Eagles had beaten them, too—and might do it again tonight.

  If they did, that would give the two teams an identical 9–3 record, but the Eagles would finish higher because they’d have beaten the Rockets twice head-on.

  There were two other teams that had 9–2 records. One was the Martinsville Colts—and guess what? The Eagles had beaten them twice too. That meant if the Colts lost and the Eagles won, they’d both be 9–3, but the Eagles would finish ahead, again because of their head-on record.

  The fourth team ahead of the Eagles, also at 9–2, was the Blue Ridge Bears. The Eagles had played the Bears twice, and had split the two games. But as all the Eagles knew, the next tiebreaker after the head-on record was the margin of victory.

  Here too the Eagles had the advantage. They’d lost by a single point in one of the games, and had won the other by twenty points.

  The bottom line was, if both the Bears and the Colts lost today and the Eagles won, the Eagles were in. But if both the Bears and Colts won, or if the Eagles lost, it was all over. They would finish fifth, and out of the running.

  “Would you stop tapping your pencil?” Tiki begged. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Sorry. I was just figuring out the possibilities of us getting into the play-offs.”

  “You don’t have to be a math genius to figure that one out.”

  “Okay, so what are the odds?” Ronde challenged him.

  “Huh?”

  “You know—the percentages?”

  “How should I know?”

  Ronde laughed. “You’d better know, man. We don’t want you getting suspended from the team like you-know-who.”

  Soon Ronde found himself getting annoyed with Tiki—who was tapping his pencil exactly like Ronde had before.

  “Cut that out!” said Ronde.

  “Sorry.” Tiki looked up at the clock on the wall. “Should be anytime now.”

 
It was after five o’clock. The afternoon games would be ending any minute. Paco’s spies would call him on the phone, as usual. And then they’d hear from Paco.

  Ronde sure hoped the call would come before they had to leave for school. He figured they had about five minutes before their mom showed up from work to drive them over there in the station wagon.

  RRRRing!

  Both boys jumped up from the kitchen table so fast that they flipped their chairs over backward. Ronde ran for the living room extension, and Tiki lunged for the kitchen phone.

  “Hello?” they both yelled at once.

  “It’s a miracle!” Paco shouted back. “Can you believe it? They both lost!”

  Ronde let out a whoop and started jumping up and down. Finally he heard Tiki yell, “Quiet down, yo! I want to hear what Paco has to say!”

  “So?” Ronde said, back into the receiver. “What happened?”

  “The Bears fumbled five times in the second half!” Paco explained. “They lost twenty-one to fourteen. And the Colts lost seven to zero—nobody could move the ball. Everybody just kept slipping and falling!”

  “Huh?” Ronde said.

  “Dude, have you looked out the window at all in the past hour?” Paco asked. “Check it out, and you’ll see why. Gotta go, yo. See you at the field. We win, we’re in!”

  More whooping, and both Barber boys hung up. Ronde beat Tiki to the window, and drew aside the shade.

  “Whoa.”

  Outside it was snowing. Big, fat flakes that were turning to slush in the street and in the driveway. “Slippery going today, Tiki.”

  “Yeah,” Tiki agreed as they saw their mom’s station wagon pull into the driveway and heard the horn honk. “Okay, man. Let’s go get this game.”

  They slapped five, grabbed their coats, and headed out the door, into the snow, ready for the Eagles’ date with destiny.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE GAME OF THEIR LIVES

  * * *

  IT HAD STARTED OUT AS RAIN, AT ABOUT TWO THAT afternoon. By five, when Tiki and Ronde had gotten the call from Paco, the rain had turned to snow—big, fat flakes that turned to slush and splattered all over you when you walked.

  Now it was six fifteen, and the snow was changing over to sleet. Tiki knew that the ball would be as slippery and cold as an ice cube.