Kickoff! (4 page)

Tiki and Ronde looked at each other, but neither one had the nerve to say anything—not even “thanks.” Instead, they got into the only practice uniforms they had—their purple Vikings jerseys from Peewee League.

“Whoa, check this out!” Bryce said, pointing and laughing. “We've got a couple of peewees here!”

“More like a couple of grapes,” Boomer said.

“Yeah. How 'bout we squish 'em?” Bryce suggested.

“I said
can
it!” the boy on crutches said, glaring at Tiki and Ronde's tormentors.

There was deep silence in the locker room, with at least a dozen boys staring at them, all of them wondering what was going to happen next.

Finally, the tension broke. “Aw, we were just goofing around with 'em,” said Bryce, attempting a laugh. “Don't get mad, Matt.”

“Yeah, we didn't mean nothin' by it,” added Boomer, as both of them backed away from the Barbers.

“Better hope not,” said Matt.

Bryce and Boomer grabbed their helmets, then trotted out of the locker room and onto the practice field.

Matt limped over to the bench by Tiki and Ronde and sat down. “Hey, you guys,” he said, shaking hands. “I'm Matt Clayton.”

“Matt Clayton?”

Ronde knew that name—Matt Clayton was the all-conference quarterback who'd led the Eagles to a 10–2 season and the conference championship last year!

“Ronde Barber,” he introduced himself. “And this is my brother, Tiki.”

“Good to meet you both. And pay no attention to those two jerks. They do that to all the new kids.”

Matt's comment made Ronde think again of Paco's brother, James. “Matt, could I ask you a question?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Um, we heard something about this thing . . . it's called Beat the Seventh Graders Day?”

Matt laughed out loud. “Yeah, that's classic!”

“You mean . . . ?”

“It doesn't exist,” Matt explained. “People just talk about it to goof on the seventh graders. It always gets the new kids so scared they start freaking out—but there's nothing to it, really.”

“But our friend's brother said—”

“Aw, he was just messing with you,” Matt said. “Believe me, there's nothing to it. I should know—I'm in ninth grade.”

“You sure?”

“Totally. It's stupid, but don't let it get to you. Just concentrate on making the team, and don't worry about anything else. Once you've got that Eagles jersey on, you're golden around this place. Trust me.”

Ronde felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. He could tell from his brother's face that Tiki felt the same way. “Thanks, man—that's really good to know.”

Matt laughed again. “And just ignore those two rockheads. If you make the team, they'll be your best friends. I should know—I rely on them for protection when the blitz is coming.”

“Is that how your leg got broken?” Tiki asked.

Matt's smile faded, and he suddenly looked sad. “Nah, I did this at camp over the summer, mountain biking. Just stupid—I shouldn't have been taking chances.” He shook his head. “I'm lucky it wasn't worse. I'll be out for the first couple of games, but that's all. If you're trying out for quarterback, don't get your hopes up.”

“Wait—we have to try out for just
one position?”
Ronde asked, suddenly panicking.

“Well, not really. You can try out for as many positions as you want—but they're only going to give you
one, and you can't really do your best when you're trying out for a million positions.”

In Peewee League, Ronde had been kick returner, wide receiver, linebacker, and defensive back. Tiki had been a running back, wide receiver, safety, and special teams player. Neither of them had ever really had a favorite position—and now they were going to have to choose just one to try out for right away!

What if they picked the wrong one?

A whistle sounded outside, and all the kids who were still changing hurried to finish dressing and get on the field.

“Well, good luck,” Matt told them. “Don't try to impress anybody. Just do your best. I'll be pulling for you.”

“Thanks, man,” Ronde said, high-fiving him. Tiki did likewise, and the two brothers, dressed in their purple Vikings jerseys, jogged out onto the field.

“Hey, bro—that was Matt Clayton!” Tiki said as they went, giving Ronde a little shove on the shoulder. “
The
Matt Clayton!”

“I know, man—quit shoving me,” Ronde said, shoving back. Laughing, the two boys headed over to the bleachers, where a crowd of players was grouped around an older man wearing a baseball cap and a green-and-gold Eagles T-shirt.

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, in a loud, gravelly, penetrating voice. “I'm Coach Steve Spangler. People like
to call me ‘Spanky,' but don't you be doing it. To you, I'm just ‘Coach.' Always ‘Coach' and nothing else. Got it?”

There were a few uh-huhs, and some yesses.

“I can't
hear
you!” he shouted.

“Yes, Coach!” the boys all yelled.

“That's better. I expect you to be alert, enthusiastic, and ready for action at all times. I'm not going to say anything twice, so make sure you're ‘heads-up' the first time. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach!”

“Good. Now, let's get down to business. First of all, I want to welcome back everyone who was on the team last year.”

A huge cheer went up from the older boys, all of whom were wearing their Eagles practice jerseys.

“We had a great season—ten and two—and this season, we're aiming even higher. Now, do I think we can go undefeated?”

“Yeah!” shouted several of the boys.

“You bet I do!” the coach yelled, pointing back at them. “Mind you, it's never been done around here. But if we play one game at a time, and if we play each game to win, we have a definite chance to make conference history! Do I
expect
that? No—all I
expect
is that you give me 110 percent of your effort, all the time! Got it?”

“YES, COACH!!”

“All right! Now, I want to welcome all you newbies.
I know you've probably got your hands full, what with getting used to a new school and all. But football season waits for no man. We've got a game in less than two weeks, and a game every week after that for the next eleven, except for Thanksgiving weekend. So buckle up your chin straps, boys. We're gonna spend this afternoon finding out what you've got, and which of you has got what it takes to be Eagles!”

Another huge cheer rose from the crowd, with the older boys chest bumping and high-fiving all over the place.

“We've got a bunch of drill stations laid out, as you can see,” said Coach Spangler. “Returning players and those trying out will work together on these drills. I'll call out your names and give you a station number to start at. You'll go through the full circuit, one drill at a time. As you'll see, we've got an assistant coach at each station to put you through your paces and give you a rating.”

He began reading names off a chart. Tiki and Ronde were to start at station 3.

“Okay,” said Coach Spangler as he finished. “After practice we coaches will huddle up and decide who makes the team, and at what position. The final team roster will be posted in the hallway outside the main office, first thing tomorrow morning—so don't ask us
today
if you made the team or not.”

He tucked his clipboard under his arm. “But I'll tell you this: we've got fifty kids trying out. And with the rest
of the team returning, we've only twenty open slots to fill. So as you can see, more than half you new kids are going to be disappointed. But try not to get too down—there are always the intramural teams.

“Even those of you who make the squad probably won't be starting, so don't get your hopes up too high. Just do your best, and let us coaches make the decisions. Okay, here we go!”

He blew his whistle three times. The crowd of boys scattered. As Ronde and Tiki made their way to station 3, Ronde waved to Matt Clayton, sitting in the bleachers. Matt waved back—but he didn't smile.

Ronde thought he knew why. It had to be tough sitting on the bench after having been a star last year. He felt sorry for Matt—but right now Ronde had a job to do—he had to make the team!

At station 3, blocking dummies were set up in a row. One by one, the boys had to get into set position, rush the dummies, and hit them. On Ronde's first turn, he hit the dummy going full speed. It bent back a little, but it was so hard to move that it wound up throwing Ronde backward! He landed on his rear end, and had to dust himself off as the other boys laughed.

Pretty much the same thing happened to Tiki—the Barber boys were among the shortest, skinniest kids trying out for the team. Ronde couldn't help thinking they weren't cut out to be linemen. Their blocking technique
was good, but they weren't as big and strong as the other boys.

Next, the boys lined up in rows opposite each other. “Okay, boys,” said the coach who was manning the station, “we're going to take turns being defensive and offensive linemen. This row will start on defense. Your job is to get around the offense. Offense, try to block them.”

Ronde looked up to see Boomer staring at him, grinning. “Get ready, little guy,” he told Ronde. “Here I come.”

Twice in a row, Boomer flattened Ronde as he plowed right through him. Then Ronde had an idea. On the third rush, when Boomer came at him, Ronde used Boomer's own momentum against him, throwing him forward instead of trying to stop him. This time, it was Boomer who landed flat on the ground!

Boomer got up slowly, looking angrily at Ronde. “Think you're pretty smart, huh?” he said. “Try that again, and see what happens.”

Luckily, the coach had them switch sides then. On offense, Ronde was fast and tricky enough to get around Boomer.

“Not bad, kid,” Boomer nodded when they were done. “You've got pretty good moves there. Maybe you ought to be running back punts and kickoffs instead.”

The next station was for agility drills. There were rope squares laid out in a grid, and you had to use fancy
footwork to get through the grid fast, without hitting the ropes or missing a box.

Ronde had done this drill before, and he loved it. He got through the squares in the blink of an eye, and he could tell he had made a good impression on the coach who was timing them.

Then Tiki did the drill even faster! “Hey, we've got a pair of studs here!” the coach said, staring at his stopwatch. Tiki and Ronde exchanged a thumbs-up. Things were starting to look better.

They threw passes, ran routes, took handoffs, punted, and performed on special teams. They were timed on sprints, and had their weight and height measured.

•   •   •

“Can you
believe
all this?” Tiki whispered while they waited their turn for the forty-yard dash.

“I know,” said Ronde. “It's awesome!”

While waiting, Ronde had been taking a good look around the field, to see what some of the other kids were doing. He watched excitedly as Paco put a ninth-grade defender on his rear end with a ferocious headfirst tackle, then rushed the quarterback and touched him for a sack.

Go, Paco!
Ronde said to himself.
Show 'em who's boss!

Looking over to station 1, he winced as Jason overthrew two straight passes.
What is the matter with him?
Ronde wondered.
Why can't he hit the mark like he has in Peewee League, or even on Mews Hill Drive?

Jason looked like he'd been punched in the gut. His shoulders slumped as he trudged over to his next station.

Ronde felt awful for him. Quarterback was Jason's only position! If he didn't make it there, would he even make the team at all?

At station 4, Adam was hopeless, getting yelled at every time he tripped on the rope squares. And there was Chris, back at station 1, dropping every pass thrown to him, as if his hands had been smeared with butter.

“Man,” Ronde said quietly to Tiki, “it sure looks like a lot of our friends are choking in the clutch. What's up with that?”

“Yeah, that's messed up,” Tiki agreed.

“Paco looks good, though.”

“That's good, but never mind them. How do you think
we're
doing?”

“Hey, you two! Quiet over there!”

Rats! Now one of the coaches was ticked at both of them! Ronde wondered if that would hurt their chances.

Tiki was still staring at him, waiting for an answer to his question.
How do you think we're doing?

Ronde didn't speak. He just bit his lip and shrugged, as if to say,
I don't know, man
—
and I'm afraid to find out.

TRYOUTS WERE LONG OVER, AND THEY WERE ON THE
late bus home. “You never answered my question,” Tiki said.

“What question?”

“How do you think we did? You think we made it?”

“Of course we made it!” Ronde said. “Are you kidding me? We were the best new guys there!”

“You sure?”

“Sure I'm sure!”

But Ronde didn't look sure at all. “Aren't
you
sure?” he asked.

“Sure . . . I guess.” Truth was, Tiki wasn't the least bit sure.

Yes, they were fast, and athletic, and talented. But so were a lot of the other kids trying out. Tiki remembered some of them from Peewee League. But others were new to him. They'd come to Hidden Valley from schools in other neighborhoods—and a lot of them were
good.

Back home, their mom was waiting for them at the front door with a hopeful smile on her face. “How did the first day of school go, you two?”