Soupy Saturdays With the Pain and the Great One (3 page)

The next day we had our first practice. Justin’s dad said we should call him Soccer Doc because his last name is hard to say. But I know how to say it because it’s Justin’s last name too.
So Si O Ski
.

I raised my hand and called out, “Dr. Sosioski—what if we know how to say your name?”

“Everybody’s going to call me Soccer Doc,” he said.

“Even me?” I asked.

“Even you, Jake.”

“Even me?” Justin asked, laughing and rolling around on the grass. Justin’s dad took off his glasses. He wiped them on his shirt. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Justin. Even you.”

Justin didn’t say anything else. But he sat up and stopped laughing.

Soccer Doc gave us some moves to practice. Dribbling around cones. Passing on lines. Kicking to shoot. One time he blew his whistle and shouted, “Justin … pay attention!” But Justin just stood there watching a squirrel collecting nuts. Soccer Doc shook his head.

At our first game Soccer Doc made me goalie. When I put on the goalie jersey and the goalie gloves, I felt like a superhero. I could hardly wait for the game to begin.

“You know what your job is, Jake?” Soccer Doc asked. He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Your job is to block the ball from going into the net.”

“I know that,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “I’m counting on you.”

The game began. For a long time everybody was at the other end of the field. It’s boring being goalie when everyone else is so far away. What was I supposed to do?

Then I saw a dog break away from someone in the stands. The dog ran onto the field. His leash dragged behind him.

“Mookie …” a woman called. “Mookie … come back here!”

I tried to catch Mookie. But Mookie was faster than me.

Suddenly, both teams started running in my direction. In the stands people were shouting.
Uh-oh
! I ran back to my position. Mookie followed me, barking. While I was trying to shoo him away from the goal, somebody from the other team kicked the ball and—
wham!
He scored a goal. The other team cheered.

Then it was two goals.

Then three.

Four.

Five.

I couldn’t stop the ball from going into the net no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to lie down on the ground and cry. But I knew I couldn’t.

At dinner the Great One asked about our first game.

“I played goalie,” I told her. Then I took a long drink of milk. “I hate being goalie.”

“How come?” the Great One asked.

“Because,” I said.

“Because why?” she asked.

“Just because.” I didn’t have to tell her anything if I didn’t want to. Besides, I was busy hiding my peas in my mashed potatoes. Why would Mom put peas on my plate when she knows I only eat white food?

“Sometimes I play goalie,” the Great One said. “Nobody can score when
I’m
goalie!”

“That’s why I don’t like being goalie,” I said.

“What was the score?” the Great One asked.

“Six–two,” I told her.

“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “It’s not
all
your fault.” She tried to hide a smile.

“Who says I feel bad?” I asked.

Then Dad said, “It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about having fun playing the game.”

And Mom said, “In the next game you’ll be more experienced.”

But we lost the next game 7–1.

I don’t get why the Great One thinks playing on a team is fun. “Do you have fun even when you lose?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said.

“How come?”

“Because
playing
is fun! And Miranda is the
best
coach. She makes us feel good no matter how we play.” Then she said, “What’s Justin’s father like?”

“He’s
not
fun,” I told her. I ran to my room. I wasn’t going to tell her anything else. I wasn’t going to tell her how Soccer Doc is always cleaning his glasses. And shaking his head. And how sometimes he says “Nice try”—but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

That night I had a dream. I dreamed I had stomach pains. In my dream I went to Soccer Doc’s office. “I have pains in my stomach,” I told him.

Soccer Doc poked my stomach. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. “Go home.”

So I went home. But I didn’t get better. The next day I went back to Soccer Doc’s office. I said,
Nice try, Dr. Sosioski!
I said
Nice try
the way he does at soccer. I said it so he could tell I didn’t really mean it.

When I woke up my stomach hurt for real. Mom gave me a spoonful of pink stuff and an extra hug. She said, “Grandma is coming to your next game.”

We lost
that
game 5–2.

Grandma said, “Soccer looks like hard work to me. All that running around …”

“Running is the fun part,” I told her. “That’s why I don’t want to play goalie.”

“But you’re a good goalie,” Grandma said.

“No, I’m not. Half the time I let them score a goal.”

“Yes,” Grandma said. “But the other half you stop them.”

I never thought of that.

The next day, Justin called. “You want to come over?”

“Okay.”

“Bring your soccer ball,” Justin said.

We played soccer all afternoon. William came by and asked if he could play.

We said, “Sure.”

Then Michael came over.

Then Annie and Jenny, who are in fourth grade.

We had a great time.

Later, Justin walked me home. “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell,” he said.

“I promise.”

“I like soccer but I don’t like soccer league.”

“Same,” I said.

Then we were both quiet. We sat on the front steps of my house. Finally, Justin said, “I wish I could play goalie.”

I was surprised. “You want to play goalie?”

Justin nodded.

“I wish I could play any
other
position,” I told him.

“Really?” Justin looked surprised.

Then we just sat there, drawing in the dirt with sticks.

The Great One came out of the house and looked at us. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Who says anything’s wrong?” I said.

“I can tell,” she said. “I can read your mind.”