End Zone (8 page)

“No!” he told himself as he trotted off the field. “That's just what they want—for me to get frustrated, so I do something stupid.” He wasn't about to give them that satisfaction.

On the sideline, Coach Pellugi approached him. “Hey, Barber,” he said, clapping Ronde on the back. “Don't get down. They've got a good game plan—we've just got to make adjustments, that's all.”

Ronde nodded and sat down on the bench to catch his breath and regain his composure.

“I just told the linebackers to bunch up on the next drive,” Pellugi told him. “They're going to key totally on the run. That leaves you guys in the secondary man-on-man to stop the pass. And believe me, they will pass, eventually—just as soon as they've figured out what we're up to.”

“They're not gonna throw my way, Coach.”

“I know that. Which is why I want you to let the safeties pick up your man.”

“Huh?”

“You're going to be blitzing,” said the coach.

“Every play?”

“Until I tell you different.” Pellugi gave Ronde a sly grin.

Ronde returned it, and they slapped five. He liked the
idea. Sure, it meant taking a risk. If Jeremy Halper had enough time, he could find Ronde's man on a quick toss. But it was worth a try. Anything was better than staying with his man on a wild-goose chase, while Pulaski ran the ball at will.

While they'd been talking, the Eagle drive was sputtering at midfield. Hayden had thrown a quick pass so hard that Jonah dropped it. Then, on third down, the ball was deflected by a defender with long arms and very big hands.

Adam punted the ball away, and Pulaski began their next drive at the Eagle thirty-two.

Ronde's frustration was at the breaking point. But now, at last, he would get a chance to take out his frustrations on that loudmouth quarterback.

On first and second downs, the Wildcats ran again. But this time, the Eagle linebackers were able to limit the gains. Ronde knew Pulaski would have to pass on third and six—and he would be coming at Jeremy Halper for all he was worth.

The ball was snapped. Ronde ran right past the receiver, who turned in confusion when he realized he wasn't being covered.

Ronde raced right for Halper, who had his arm cocked back to throw deep. Ronde took a flying leap, and with his right hand, swatted the ball free!

He landed hard, but from the roar of the crowd, he
knew that Hidden Valley must have come up with the fumble. And it was a fumble, not an incompletion—he'd caught the quarterback's arm on the backswing.

“
That's
what I'm talkin' about!” Coach Pellugi yelled as Ronde came back to the sideline. “Now we're rollin'!”

Ronde got to watch the Eagle offense go to work. Hayden went deep on first down, just missing Felix, who was wide open, and would have scored if the pass had been on target. Next, Hayden faked a pass and rolled out, turning the corner and getting past midfield for the first down.

Tiki got the call, and ran into the usual wall of defenders. He was going nowhere today, Ronde thought, shaking his head.

He knew how his twin felt—each of them always knew—and his heart went out to Tiki. But it didn't matter in the end, as long as the Eagles won this game and survived to play another day.

On the seventh play of the drive, Hayden dropped back to pass, and the Pulaski blitz came after him. Ronde gasped as Tiki made a huge block, decking his man and causing another rusher to trip over them both.

Ignoring the pressure, Hayden reared back and threw the ball for all he was worth. Frank Amadou had a step on his man, and one step was all he needed. He reached out and cradled the ball in his fingers, then drew it to his chest without even breaking stride.

The Pulaski defender made a desperate lunge for his ankles, but Frank managed to stay on his feet all the way into the end zone. Touchdown, Eagles!

Adam's extra point made the score 14–7, and swung the momentum back to Hidden Valley. Ronde knew, though, that the Wildcats were far from beaten. They were a tough, resilient team, just like the Eagles. This was going to be a war; a slugfest; and only one team would come out of it still standing.

For the rest of the first half, the defenses held firm. The ball changed hands through a series of punts, and neither team even came close to the other's red zone.

By halftime, three Pulaski players had had to leave the game with minor injuries, and the Eagles had lost two of their own. Rio Ikeda turned his ankle making a tackle, and Frank Amadou, who took a big hit, had to have an ice pack taped to his shoulder.

Still, the Eagles had the lead at halftime, and that was important. Not that any of them thought the 14–7 score would hold up for the rest of the game. Both teams' offenses were too powerful to be held scoreless for that long.

During the break, the Eagles' coaches tended to the wounded players. Frank's shoulder was hurting, but he insisted that he could go back out and play. Rio's ankle, though, looked purple and swollen. Ronde doubted he'd be back.

That would pose a problem on runbacks, because other than him and Rio, the Eagles special teams weren't all that special.

There wasn't much talking among the players. Each of them was in his own private world. The intensity was so thick you could feel it in the air.

There were thirty minutes left in the game—and potentially, in the Eagles' season. Everything was on the line—their perfect record, their chance for a repeat State Championship—and all that separated them from disaster was a measly seven points.

Good thing we get the ball first,
thought Ronde.

•  •  •

Pulaski kicked off out of bounds—again avoiding Ronde. After the penalty, the Eagles started from their own thirty-five. Ronde paced the sideline as the Eagles pecked away through the air, gaining a little here, a little there.

They were moving the ball, but too many of Hayden's passes were being dropped. He had a great arm, Ronde noticed, but he threw it so hard that the ball was hard to hang on to.

Just then, as if to prove the point, Frank Amadou got popped in his sore shoulder just as he caught the ball, and it flew into the air.

“NO!” Ronde screamed. But it didn't help. The ball settled right into the hands of the Wildcat safety, who ran it back past midfield to the Eagle forty-six.

Ronde grimly strapped on his helmet.
This sure isn't going to be easy,
he thought.

In keeping with the plan, Ronde kept on rushing the quarterback. But by now, Pulaski had caught on. On the first play, Ronde felt someone grab his jersey, illegally holding him while Halper threw to Ronde's man for a quick first down.

“Hey!” he yelled, spinning around and facing the kid who'd grabbed him.

“What?”
the kid said, stepping right up to Ronde. “You got a problem?”

Ronde turned away, not wanting to get sucked into a fight. “He held me, ref!” he said, grabbing his own jersey to show the official what had happened.

The ref replied, “Get back to your huddles, boys. I call 'em like I see 'em, and I don't like complainers.”

Ronde wanted to argue. He felt a wave of heat pass through his cheeks, but he knew it was no good.

The drive continued. Three plays later, on another blitz, Ronde was tripped and fell, allowing Halper to run around end for another first down at the Eagle twelve.

“Where's the flag, ref?” Ronde protested.

“Quit whining, son,” the official shot back. “Play the game, and leave the officiating to me.”

Ronde wasn't the only one steaming as the defense huddled. Several of the Eagle defenders had been tripped, illegally hit, or held on this drive.

Pulaski had started playing dirty. Ronde wondered whether their coaches knew about it, or had even told their players it was okay. He knew that none of the Eagles' coaches would ever let something like that happen. They cared about more than just winning—they cared about playing the game the right way.

The officials hadn't caught on, obviously, even though Ronde and some of the others had complained. All the Eagles were frustrated, but none of them had any answers.

On the next play, Coach Pellugi had everyone blitzing. But Pulaski was one step ahead—they called a screen pass, and when it connected, there weren't enough defenders left to keep the receiver out of the end zone. An extra point later, and the game was tied, 14–14.

On the bench, the Eagle defense fumed. “Can't call what we don't see,” Henry Weltman mimicked bitterly.

That gave Ronde an idea. “That's it!” he gasped.

“What?” Henry asked.

“We've got to make sure the refs
see
it—we've got to get ourselves an Oscar for overacting, yo!”

Henry grinned, and the two of them slapped five. Soon, every Eagle defender was on board. From now on, they would exaggerate every reaction until Pulaski was made to pay for its dirty play.

The Wildcat defense, inspired by the game-tying touchdown, soon shut down the Eagles' drive, and Adam had to punt again. This time, without Rio in the game, and
with Ronde double-teamed as usual, the Pulaski returner was able to get all the way to the Eagle thirty-nine.

The lead had already vanished. Only thirty-nine yards separated the Eagles from disaster.
It's now or never,
thought Ronde.

He came rushing on a furious blitz. Sure enough, Halper was in the act of dropping back to pass. When Ronde felt a hand grabbing his jersey, he wheeled his arms crazily, as if a giant claw had grabbed him, and threw himself backward onto the ground.

The pass, it turned out, was completed to Ronde's man for a touchdown. But it didn't matter, because the ref nearest Ronde blew his whistle and threw his yellow flag. “Holding, offense!” he cried. “Fifteen yards from the line of scrimmage. First down, Pulaski.”

Ronde grinned as he watched the Wildcat lineman complain to the ref.

“Now you know how it feels, you jerk,” Ronde muttered under his breath.

Thanks to Ronde's great idea, the Pulaski offense was suddenly thrown into reverse. On three of the next four plays, they were flagged for holding, tripping, and illegal blocks.

In every case, the Hidden Valley defender had done a whale of an acting job.

“They're faking it!” Jeremy Halper was screaming at the official. “Open your eyes, ref! Are you guys blind?”

The yellow flag flew again, this time for unsportsmanlike conduct—another fifteen yards. “One more word out of you and you're ejected, okay?” the ref told Halper, waving a finger at him.

There was nothing the quarterback could do but jam his helmet back on and get back to the huddle. Ronde had to smile. It sure was satisfying to see Pulaski get what they deserved.

Soon, the Wildcats had to punt—from deep in their own end. Once again, they avoided Ronde by kicking out of bounds. But that just gave the Eagles even better field position, at the Pulaski forty-seven.

Although the offense couldn't put the ball into the end zone, they did manage to preserve the tie well into the fourth quarter. What's more, the whole game was being played in Pulaski's end of the field, which was just where the Eagles wanted it.

Sooner or later, they'd punch it in—or at least get close enough for an Adam Costa field goal.

Somehow, though, Pulaski's defense kept that from happening. With only five minutes left in regulation time, Ronde started to wonder whether they were headed for sudden-death overtime.

With four minutes remaining, the Eagles finally got close enough for Adam to attempt the field goal—but the Wildcats blocked the kick, covering the ball at their own thirty-eight—their best field position in a long while.

Ronde knew that this would be his last chance to affect the outcome of the game—unless, of course, it went to overtime. He'd been blitzing all game, and by now, the Wildcats knew he was coming. They were even calling plays where they threw to his man, knowing he'd be uncovered.

So as the Wildcats marched down the field, Ronde began to panic. Something had to change, or Pulaski was going to grab the lead.

“Yo, Justin! Alister!” The Eagles' other corner and free safety came over to him.

“What's up?” Alister said.

“Listen, Al—you've got to cover my man from the get-go,” Ronde told him.

“But then, what happens if Justin's man gets free?”

“Justin's not gonna let that happen. Are you?” Ronde asked him.

“I've got him covered,” Justin said. “Count on it.”

“Okay, but . . .” Alister didn't sound convinced.

“Trust me,” Ronde said. “They're gonna throw at my guy, not his. They won't see you coming. Just be ready.”

On the next passing play, Ronde came at Jeremy Halper full-tilt.

WHAM!!

He was hit square in the back—an illegal block. Ronde hit the ground, seeing stars. There was no acting this time. There was no flag, either.

But because Alister had covered Ronde's man, Halper had no place to throw. Rob Fiorilla sacked the Wildcat QB for a ten-yard loss!

Now it was third and fifteen. Ronde knew it would be another pass play. If the Eagles stopped this one, they'd get the ball back with time to notch a winning score.

Ronde lined up at his usual spot. Then, on the snap, instead of going straight at the quarterback, he slid toward the center, then cut unseen through a hole in the line.

Halper was looking the other way, toward his number one receiver, whom Alister was covering. The quarterback never saw Ronde coming.

Ronde hit him just as he was throwing. The ball shot straight up into the air . . .

. . . and into the hands of Rob Fiorilla!

The burly Eagle defensive end seemed shocked that he was holding the ball—but he snapped out of it in a flash, and started running for all he was worth.

“Go, Fio!!” Ronde yelled, jumping up and down. “GO!!”