Chapter 6
The Parkside Thunderbirds were on tap for this week. Parkside was good, but Grandview had always defeated them in the past. Today, if all went well, would be no different. However, in the first five minutes of the game, Parkside managed to score on a loose ball in front of the goal. Cory tried to pounce on it but was screened by a Parkside player. Just as he was falling on the bouncing ball, another player stabbed at the ball with his toe and scored.
“Heads up, Cory," Jeff called out. The ball was kicked back up to midfield for the restart. “Stay focused!”
“Yo, Towson,” Tim said over his shoulder. “You know what focus means?”
“Back off, Tim." It was Jeff.
Cory trudged to the goal line, shoulders slumped, and stood in goal squinting at the back of Tim’s head. “How was I supposed to stop that shot?” he mumbled too quiet for anyone to hear. “I couldn’t get to it.”
Grandview picked up its pace after the goal. They moved the ball upfield on the outside, sending in crosses from there. But every time Manny or one of the other forwards went to head the ball or get a foot on the end of it, the Parkside ‘keeper was there, always outjumping the Grandview players or cutting off the pass. Fifteen minutes went by with no score. Grandview was controlling the game, but the goals weren’t coming.
In midfield, Brett, the Grandview center halfback, tackled the ball away from a Parkside striker and jumped up after the tackle, the ball at his foot. He bolted out right to get some space and time to look for an open teammate. He saw Billy on the right flank and passed him the ball. Billy took control, moving up the outside but made little headway as an outside fullback shifted over to shut down his progress.
“Pass back!” Brett cried, supporting Billy from behind. Billy turned, shielding the ball with his body, and quickly tapped the ball back to Brett, who then passed it further back to Tim.
“Tim,” Brett called, acting as Tim’s eyes. “Switch sides.”
Tim trapped the ball to the inside and moved it across the middle. For some reason, he seemed slow. Casual. As if no Parkside player was nearby. Cory didn’t like the look of it, watching a Parkside forward shifting, but wasn’t confident enough to yell at Tim to hurry up. Tim finally passed to Jerry, on the far side of the pitch, but the pass was lazy. Dropping back from midfield, the Parkside player saw his chance and bolted to intercept the pass. Tim spied him, but too late. The striker touched the ball past a sliding Tim Turner, leaped over him, and was on his way to goal, straight at Cory!
Cory shot off his line but stopped at the penalty spot area, frozen to the ground, not sure what to do. The Parkside striker was 25 yards out and, when his foot hit the ball, it was a rocket.
Cory dove left. Too slow and too far from the ball’s trajectory to stop it. It had already flown by as Cory hit the ground. The Parkside supporters went wild. Parkside had an unbelievable two goals to Grandview’s none.
Cory picked himself up, his left elbow aching from the landing, and looked at the ball in the net. Tim was standing 30 yards out from goal. He hadn't even tried to stop the shot, Cory thought, and now everyone was going to blame him for Tim’s lazy pass. Tim came rushing back towards Cory.
“What happened?” he yelled. “That guy shot from 25 yards out. You couldn’t stop that?” Tim was almost in Cory’s face.
“What?” Cory said, angry at the accusation.
“You heard me!”
Jeff came running up and forced himself between Tim and Cory.
“Check it, guys!” Jeff demanded. “What’s your problem, Tim? That pass sucked!”
“Look!” shouted Tim. He stared over Jeff’s shoulder at Cory. “If I didn’t have to babysit Towson…” He pointed an accusing finger at Cory.
“I’m doing the best I can!”
“Well, it ain't enough!” Tim answered.
“Okay, okay,” Jeff interrupted, pushing Tim upfield. “Let’s just play ball.”
The defenders jogged back into position for the restart while Cory stomped back to goal. He started kicking one of the goal posts, half to knock dirt off his shoes and half in anger.
“What a jerk!” he mumbled to the post, holding it with both hands as he kicked.
The game took a minute to restart as the referee checked the air in the ball. It needed a bit more, and a pump was brought out to fill it. Cory’s eyes wandered over to the bleachers. He guessed about a hundred people were up there, a big crowd, and he was having a nightmare of a game. The whistle blew and his attention came back to the midfield, where the ball was thrown in by Grandview.
As before, Grandview was winning the battles, but losing the war. They could not score. Plug tried taking the ball down the left side and crossing it. No luck. They switched to the right side, sending crosses high to the top of the box where Manny was waiting. His traps were good but his shots were over the crossbar. Down the middle, Brett and Jimmy worked a beautiful series of one-two passes, only to lose the ball to the quick goalkeeper at the top of the box.
Standing in goal, Cory took it all in. His team’s frustration was building. He was frustrated too. Funny, he thought to himself, how he felt apart from the team. He watched as Parkside’s defense repeatedly shut down Grandview’s attacks, and noticed Quinn sitting quietly. He wasn't in his usual spot on the sideline, shouting encouragement and instruction to the boys. Today, he was quiet.
And the scoring wasn’t over for Parkside. With two minutes left in the game, Cory came out to catch a cross but misjudged the height of the ball. His outstretched arms were well under it as it sailed over his head, off the head of a Parkside winger, and into the goal. Making matters worse, the striker bumped Cory into the side netting as Cory was reaching to pick up the ball.
“Outta my way, loser,” the striker laughed. “Where’s your great ‘keeper, Pritchard?” he said, picking up the ball and jogging back toward midfield. “You coulda used him today!”
Five minutes later, the game was over. Parkside 3, Grandveiw 0. It had been a disaster, and nobody felt it more keenly than Cory. At the bench, everyone was quiet, even Quinn. It was depressing. All Cory could think about was getting away. This feeling was getting to be a habit and he hated it. The angry looks from his teammates were there. He could feel them without looking up. He kept his eyes on his pack, avoiding the angry looks of his teammates, and stowing away his gloves and water bottle. As the team gathered gear and trailed off to the locker room, Cory loitered behind so he could walk alone. The bleachers were mostly deserted now, a few stragglers here and there talking. Passing the end of the bleachers, he noticed a man sitting alone on the bottom row. He was looking at Cory. Cory walked by, avoiding eye contact.
“Tough game, young man.”
Cory slowed. “Excuse me?” he said, looking over at the man.
“Tough loss today,” the man said. “But it wasn’t that bad, you know. You show promise.”
“Yeah?” Cory answered half-heartedly, walking on. The man didn’t say anything more and Cory was glad. He didn’t want any conversation with a stranger. As he approached the locker room doors, Gene suddenly appeared, running up and falling into step with Cory.
“Hey man, harsh game,” Gene said. Cory didn’t mind talking to Gene. With Gene, he didn’t have to pretend.
“Tell me about it.”
“You know,” Gene spoke up. “That Tim’s a real jerk.” Cory looked quickly at Gene, but Gene was staring down as they walked. “I saw how he came at you and got in your face.”
“Yeah,” said Cory. “He acts like he never makes a mistake.”
“He did that time.”
Cory looked again at Gene. Gene smiled, looking like a younger version of an old-time teacher with a sleeveless sweater over a long-sleeve and shirt. The sweater buttoned down the front and was plaid. Cory smiled back wondering where Gene got his clothes.
“You think so?” Cory asked.
“Hell ya,” Gene bl
urted. Cory was surprised. It was the first time he’d heard Gene curse, mild as it was. “I know I don’t play, but it’s clear Tim should not have passed that ball. The Parkside player was too close, making interception a statistical certainty.” Cory felt relieved, though he wasn’t sure what a statistical certainty was.
“Hey, Towson? Who’s your geeky friend?” It was Tim. “Maybe he can teach you how to ‘keep!”
Tim laughed as he jogged by, over to his dad’s Escalade idling in the parking lot. Cory quickly looked at Gene.
“Like you said, he’s a jerk!” Cory snorted.
“Yeah,” answered Gene. “Wanna get some ice cream at Nelson’s?”
“Sure.” Cory answered. He loved how Gene seemed to brush off Tim's remark and change the mood. Then, his expression soured. “Wait. Remember I’m on restriction.”
“Duh!” Gene said as goofy as he could. “Not ‘til this weekend. And, technically, it’s still a weekday.”
Cory’s eyes lit up. “You’re right! It’s Friday,” he said, reaching down to unlock his bike. He’d already decided to not change in the locker room. “You buying?”
“Sure,” Gene answered. “Let’s go!”
The following week during school hours, Cory repeatedly had awkward moments with the rest of the team. Brett hardly talked during their biology lab work. At lunch, the boys avoided him, giving Cory the silent treatment. Only Jeff made contact.
“Where are the guys?” he asked, sitting across from Cory at the team's usual lunch table and looking around. Cory hesitated.
“They left a few minutes ago. Before I got here,” he said.
“Really? Why?”
“Because I walked up, I think.”
“Aw, no way, dude.” Jeff said trying to sound cheerful. “They probably had something to do.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
Both boys ate in silence for a few minutes, then Jeff started talking about Charlene Beckman, a girl he was crazy about. Cory was glad for the break in silence. She didn't like Jeff, but Jeff refused to give up trying to change her mind. It was entertaining to listen to him, and if Cory hadn't felt so self-concious about the game and how he wasn’t measuring up to Gray, he might have enjoyed the conversation more. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of failing the team.
That night, Cory went to his room earlier than usual. He and his mom were not much on speaking terms. She tried to talk, but Cory was having none of it. As he shut the door to his room, he pulled out his cell phone and stared at it, then quickly punched some letters and hit "send". The phone vibrated with a text back from Gene.
“how was practice”
“usual I stink”
A few seconds went by, then Cory’s phone vibrated with a call.
“Hey,” Cory answered.
"Hey," Gene answered back.
Silence.
“Remember that man?” Gene asked. “He talked to you after the game. You know him?”
Cory thought for a moment.
“I can’t remember ever meeting him before.”
“What did he want?”
“Not much. Told me it was a tough loss.” Then he remembered. “He said something about showing promise. Not sure what he meant.”
“Maybe he’s a scout for a college or a club team,” Gene suggested.
Cory hadn’t thought about that. Why would he think Cory showed promise, especially after that disaster of a game?
“Who knows?” Cory said, then paused. “I better get off the phone before my mom hears me.”
“You guys still fighting?”
“Yeah. I guess so. For once, she’s home.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cory flipped the phone shut and tossed it on his desk. Then he clicked off his nightstand light and lay back in the darkness. Since the blowup in front of Allen, his war of silence with his mom amounted to answering only when he had to. A light knock sounded on the door. Cory froze inside. He noticed his natural reaction was to answer, but stifled it and remained silent, dead still, and stretched out on his bed.
“Cory? Honey?”
He listened to the voice he knew so well. Somehow, just hearing her voice, without the face, made his silence seem foolish. But he held out, not answering. Another knock.
“Goodnight, dear.”
Cory heard the soft pad of his mother’s steps go down the hallway. His body relaxed and he breathed easy again. Confused feelings of anger and love for her waged their own battle inside him. Then, his exhaustion from the stress of the day took over. Soon, he was breathing steadily, stretched out on his bed, school clothes still on.