Tangerine (17 page)

Dad, and Erik, and I, and everybody else figured that Arthur had taken over Mike Costello's job. But no. There was Antoine, in the crouch, getting ready to spin the laces and set the ball down for Erik.

The referee blew his whistle, the clock started to tick, and Lake Windsor's big center snapped the ball. Erik, his head down in total concentration, took two steps forward, like he's rehearsed a million times. His foot started toward the ball in a powerful arc, and then—the most incredible thing happened. Antoine whipped the ball away at the last second, like Lucy does with Charlie Brown. He took off running around the right side and crossed the goal line, untouched, for a two-point conversion. Seagulls led 8–7.

At the same moment, Erik, who clearly did not expect Antoine to pull the ball away, kicked at nothing but the air. His left foot went flying off in one direction, his right foot in another. For a split second he was a parallel line three feet above the ground. Then he made a perfect banana-peel back-flop landing in the mud. The people around us started laughing, hooting, and cheering, all at the same time. Antoine spiked the ball in the end zone, and all the Lake Windsor players, except Erik, ran over and jumped on him. All the Lake Windsor players on the sideline, except Arthur, started jumping up and down, too.

Erik finally got up and walked to the sideline to get his kicking tee. His front was still clean and white, but his back was now filthy. He kicked the ball back to the Cardinals, but they fumbled it away, and that's how it ended. Lake Windsor 8, Cypress Bay 7.

When we got back to the car, Mom just said, "From here, it sounded like we won."

I wanted to tell her all about Erik's banana-peel back-flop special, but Dad cut in right away. "Yes. We won on a fake kick. They sent Erik out to fake the kick for the extra point. That drew the offense to him, and it cleared the way for Antoine to run it in for two points."

Mom thought for a minute. "So Erik did something that helped to win the game."

"Most definitely," Dad said. "It's not something that shows up in the stats in the newspaper. It's not something people will remember. But it helped win the game."

I thought to myself,
Not remember? You've got to be kidding. Erik's flying banana-peel back-flop in the mud is the one thing about this game that
everybody
is going to remember.

Dad continued talking in this manner throughout dinner, pounding home his theme to Erik—that Erik had contributed big-time to the victory, that Erik had actually made victory possible by being the decoy. I don't think Erik was even listening. He was just sitting there, looking down, twisting his varsity ring around and around on his finger.

After dinner Dad flipped on the TV so we could all watch the local news. The lead story on channel 2 was the revolt of the Cypress Bay fans and their brief takeover of the condemned visitors' bleachers.

About two-thirds of the way through the broadcast came "The Saturday Sports Roundup." The sports anchorman went through the professional baseball and football stuff, then the college football scores, and then the high school scores. "Lake Windsor 8, Cypress Bay 7."

The broadcast ended with a feature called "The Weak in Sports." It was a collection of sports bloopers, and guess who they saved for last.

The anchorman said something like, "Finally, a play that looks like it was drawn up by the Three Stooges. Watch closely." And there it was. A ground-level view of the ball being snapped to Antoine, of Erik striding forward confidently, and
Whooo!
Up in the air he flew! It was even more comical than I had remembered. Erik went splashing down into the mud, but he didn't stay there. They rewound the tape so that he popped back up, flopped again, popped back up, and flopped again. Finally, the camera turned toward the end zone to catch Antoine spiking the ball. It zoomed in on his face. Antoine was laughing and pointing his finger at that big center, who was pointing back at him.

When the anchorman came back on, he was cracking up. So were all the other news people. The credits started rolling, and they started saying stuff like, "Does that school have a diving team?" and "I hear those mud baths are good for wrinkles."

Dad got up and snapped off the TV. The four of us sat there in stony silence.

I was thinking that if I were at somebody else's house, we'd be rolling on the floor and laughing at this. I was thinking that kids all over Florida were rolling on the floor and laughing at this, at Erik Fisher the Flying Placekicker. But this isn't somebody else's house. This is the house built on the Erik Fisher Football Dream.

Finally Dad said to Erik, "Hey! All you can do is laugh it off."

Mom agreed. "That's right. You just leave it behind you. That's all you can do. You leave it behind you, and it's over with."

The four of us got up and went our separate ways—me up to my room.

I stared out my window at the back wall.
Forget it, Dad. Forget it, Mom. Erik can't laugh this off. Erik can't leave this humiliation behind him. Someone has to pay for this. I'm not sure
why
I'm sure. But I am. Someone has to pay for this.

Today was our second game of the season, and our first home game at Tangerine Middle. The opponents were from Kinnow Middle School. They wear black uniforms with silver letters. Pretty sharp. Henry D. told me they beat us last year.

We had an impressive turnout of fans. In fact I've never seen so many fans at a kids' soccer game. Some of them are obviously regulars, because they brought along water and tangerines for the team. I recognized Theresa and Luis Cruz. They were standing with a man who looked like he could be their father. Was he the Tomas whose name was written on the truck? There were a lot of mothers with little kids. A couple of ladies had lawn chairs, but everybody else—and there must have been a hundred kids and grownups—stood for the entire game.

I saw Shandra talking to a lady, and I overheard somebody say, "That's Shandra's mother with her."

That got me wondering.
Why isn't my mother here? Or my father? They could be watching this game. So could Joey's parents. If we were playing football, they'd all be here.

We were all more relaxed before this game, except for Victor. He was already talking trash to some of the Kinnow players, reminding them about something that had happened last year. They were giving it right back to him, saying stuff like, "Hey, Guzman, why are you on the girls' team? Couldn't you make the boys' team?"

We started with the same lineup, with me on the sideline. This time, though, I was standing next to Joey. He's now wearing number 19 for the War Eagles.

The referee was clearly a cut above the last one we had. A Kinnow defender took Maya down in the penalty area, and he blew the whistle right away. Maya drilled the penalty kick, upper right, into the net, and we were up 1–0 in the first minute. But these were not the Palmetto Whippoorwills. They had a good offense. They were fast, and they knew how to move the ball.

Shandra was very busy in the goal. She looked sharp out there, really on her game. That's what I think when I watch Shandra in goal—how sharp she looks, how big she looks, like one of those American Gladiators. What must people think when they see me in goal? How small I look? How goofy I look in my goggles?

Dolly and Mano sandwiched a guy in front of our goal and got whistled for it. Penalty kick. Shandra never got a hand on the ball, and it was suddenly 1–1. I wouldn't have gotten a hand on it, either. At least I don't think I would have.

Standing on the sideline for this game was a pleasure after that awful time we had at Palmetto. These are two teams who know how to play soccer. Some highlights: Maya stopped on a dime and passed the ball back to Tino, who drove it into the goal. Then they came back and scored. Henry D. lifted a beautiful corner kick in to Victor, who leaped up and headed it into the goal. Then they came back and scored. At halftime it was 3–3, and there hadn't been one fight.

We all gathered in a circle on the sideline to eat our tangerines. The coach said "Good game" to a couple of players, then spent the rest of her time talking to Shandra about the three goals—how she shouldn't think anymore about them; how she should adjust for the second half. Finally she looked over at Victor. "Captain? Do you have anything to say?"

We all turned toward Victor, and we saw why he hadn't been talking or drawing any attention to himself. He had his hand pressed against his forehead, trying to stop a trickle of blood from running down his face. It was in the same spot where he had smacked heads with the Palmetto goalie. The head ball that he put into the net must have reopened the cut, because it was sure bleeding now. He said, "No, I got nothing to say here. I'll do my talking out there."

Betty Bright walked over and pulled his hand down from the cut. She shook her head and said, "Is your mother here today?"

He snarled, "My mother? No, my mother's not here. What are you talking about?"

"Tino, please ask your father if he'll drive Victor to the emergency room." She turned back to Victor. "I'm sorry. I should have had this stitched up when it happened. It's never going to heal like this. I hope Mr. Cruz can take you now."

"No way! I'm not going to any emergency room. I got a game to play!"

The coach said, "Not this game, Victor. You get yourself together for the next game. We'll have to win this one without you." Then, without even thinking about it, she turned to me and said, "Paul Fisher, you're in for Victor."

Victor continued to protest. "It's not even bleeding anymore."

"Yes, it is bleeding. You should see your shirt."

"I can play this half and then go."

"You're already gone, Victor. Now deal with that."

Victor looked at me for a few long seconds. Then he turned to address us all. "Who wants to win this game?"

Everybody in the circle looked back at him, not knowing what to do.

Victor shouted, "Do you want to win this game?" and we started yelling, "Yeah! Yeah!"

"Do you want to win this game?"

"Yeah! Yeah!"

Victor reached out and fixed his clenched fist in the middle of the circle. We all leaped up and put our hands on his as he started the chant—"War Eagles! War Eagles!" We started moving our hands in unison, up and down, changing the chant into the frenzied cry of "War! War! War!"

We opened the second half with fire in our eyes, even though we had me in instead of Victor. This time it was the defense that sparked the rally. They wouldn't let the Kinnow players cross the midfield line with the ball. Mano, Dolly, Hernando—they kept pounding the ball upfield to the strikers.

Maya was getting the ball a lot, more than in the first half, and she was making things happen. She beat her defender to the outside and then crossed the ball in to Tino, who scored the first goal of the half. We didn't celebrate. We came right back at them. Maya hit one in herself, a beautiful, looping shot into the upper right corner of the goal. The Kinnow goaltender never even saw it coming.

The defense got the ball back upfield immediately. Maya dribbled right, and three defenders went after her. She lobbed the ball back over their heads, and guess who was standing there, all alone, in front of the goal? This time I didn't stop to think. I kicked the ball as hard I could. It glanced off the goalie's left hand and carried into the net.

I had scored a goal! Had this ever happened before? I just stood there, staring at the net, until I realized that my teammates were hurrying to line up again.

I was still trying to remember any time when I had ever scored a goal when Maya got another one on a long cross pass from Nita. She raised her foot, knee-high, and smacked the ball right out of the air into the net. Suddenly this tight game was a 7–3 blowout.

The coach started sending in other subs. She sent Joey in for Hernando. She sent one of the sixth graders in for Maya, who got a loud ovation from the fans.

The Kinnow players never recovered from that assault, although they did manage to move the ball into our end of the field. It turns out that Joey's a pretty terrible soccer player. They had no trouble beating him again and again. Shandra had to make a few tough saves near the end, but that's probably what Betty Bright wanted. The final score was Tangerine 7, Kinnow 3.

Mr. Cruz and Victor came back right at the end. Victor had a line of black stitches going up his forehead, like Frankenstein. He fell on his knees in thanks when he found out the score. Then he started high-fiving with the starters.

He called over to me, "Hey, Fisher Man! You were
me
out there, right? How many goals did I score?"

I shrugged. "Sorry, Victor. I could only get you one."

Victor looked at Tino to confirm this, and Tino nodded. Victor stepped toward me and held up his hand. I high-fived it for all I was worth.

The portable phone rang just as I walked past it in the great room. I heard my grandmother's no-nonsense voice. "Hello, Paul. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Grandmom."

"You didn't get hurt in all that sinkhole business?"

"Oh no. No. I got pretty dirty, but not hurt."

"And how are you otherwise?"