Goal Line (6 page)

“Th-thank you,” Tiki managed to whisper, still in shock.

“We will now submit your winning essay as the school's entry into the national contest. If you win
that
—well, it means a trip to Washington, DC, and an audience with the president himself! But of course, there are
thousands
of schools competing.”

“Oh,” said Tiki, “that's okay.” If he ever
really
got to meet the president of the United States, he was pretty sure he'd be totally speechless!

“However, I think your essay is so special that it would be a crime to take no note of your achievement.”

“My … achievement?”

“Yes. So I've decided to call a special assembly for the whole school to honor you.”

“Me?” said Tiki, his voice cracking. He was beginning to feel distinctly queasy.

“Yes! And to cap it all, I want you to get up onstage and read your essay out loud.”

“
What?
You mean, like, in front of
everybody
?”

Tiki leapt up from his chair and was about to protest, but Dr. Anand didn't give him the chance.

“People who write well should be
proud
to share their ideas,” she said. “You've made us all proud, Tiki, and
tomorrow you're going to make us even prouder.”

He rose slowly, and started out of the room, feeling like someone had hit him in the head with a brick.

“Oh, and, Tiki?”

He turned to face her, but said nothing.

“Good luck in the game tomorrow.”

He stared at her as if she was from Mars. “Game? Oh. Yeah. Game.… Thanks.”

He walked out of her office and into a world of dread. One thought, and one only, filled his brain:

How am I ever going to get out of this?

“OH, NO. NO WAY. NOOOO WAY!”

“Please. Pretty, pretty pleeeeze, Ronde?”

“Tiki, I am not going to stand up onstage and read your speech for you! Why would I do that? Do I look insane to you?”

“Ronde, you're my
brother
! We do lots of stuff for each other.”

“Not
this
kind of stuff.”

The two boys were in their darkened bedroom. It was just past lights-out, but neither of them was going to get any sleep until this argument was over.

“I'll do anything you want,” Tiki promised. “I'll be your servant for a week!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“A month!”

“Stop it, dude,” Ronde said firmly. “You're embarrassing yourself. Remember, you got yourself into this mess by writing a better essay than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Tiki objected. “I read your essay. It was fine.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It was really good, in fact.”

“What did you like best about it?” Ronde goaded him on.

“Oh, that part where you talk about how being smaller means you can surprise the receivers when you jump higher than they do.”

Ronde was pleased. That was his favorite part of his essay too. “What else?”

“Oh, yeah. When you said how we're
all
really small, next to the size of the universe.”

“Yeah,” said Ronde. “I like that part too. But I'm still not giving your speech for you.”

“
What?
Why?” Tiki moaned.

“You know what the best, best, best part of being small is?” Ronde asked. Then he answered his own question. “It means I can't pretend to be
you
anymore, so there's no way I could ever get away with reading your essay for you!”

“AAARGH!” With a roar Tiki leapt out of his bed, grabbed his pillow, and started to pummel Ronde with it.

Laughing, Ronde half-tried to protect himself, but he understood how his twin felt. He was just glad it wasn't him who'd won the contest. Honorable mention was plenty good enough, he thought, letting Tiki tire himself out.

“Man,” Tiki finally groaned, “why did I have to win that contest?”

“Hey, your essay was the best in the whole school. I don't think anybody's going to think it's stupid.”

“Did
you
?” Tiki asked, going back over to his own bed and getting under the covers.

“No! It was right on! People are gonna love it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tiki said, then added, “I'm doomed.
Doomed
.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Ronde offered. “When we grow up, if you don't make the NFL, you could always be a writer, or a public speaker. Maybe even a famous actor or something.”

“I
am
making the NFL,” Tiki shot back. “And so are you. We've got to keep faith in our dream, yo.”

“True,” Ronde agreed. “But I'm just saying. It's good to have a plan B.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tiki said. “Not for me. It's plan A all the way. That's the only way to make your dreams come true.”

Ronde was silent. In a way he agreed with Tiki. But he also knew that sometimes people's dreams didn't come true. There were millions of kids all over the USA whose dream was to play in the NFL. But only a couple hundred a year would ever get drafted. For all those others, plan B was going to be really important.

“Don't be afraid,” Ronde said quietly into the silence of the darkened room. “You'll be fine. You can do it, dude. When you're up there, just think ‘Play proud!'”

There was a long silence, then, almost in a whisper, “Thanks, Ronde.”

In the morning Ronde woke up, bright and chipper. He washed, got dressed, and was almost on his way down to breakfast when he noticed that Tiki was still under the covers, lying there with his eyes closed and a pained look on his face.

“Hey, what's up?” Ronde asked.

“Ooohhhh,” Tiki moaned. “I'm
sooo siiick
.”

Ronde blinked, and cocked his head to one side. “What's wrong with you?”

“My head feels like there's an axe stuck in it! And my stomach … ooohhh, my stomach…”

“MOM!” Ronde yelled. Seconds later her footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“What's going on?” she called to them.

“Tiki's pretending to be sick.”

“I'm NOT pretending!” Tiki shouted. “Ma, I'm really sick! Really!”

She came into the room, looked him over, frowned, and felt his forehead. “Hmm. You don't have a fever.”

“But my head is pounding!”

“Your tongue's not coated.”

“But I'm nauseous!”

“He just doesn't want to read his essay in front of the whole school,” Ronde told her.

“Shut up!” Tiki yelled, trying to sock Ronde in the arm.

Ronde dodged the blow, and added, “Everyone's expecting him to be there, Mom. The whole assembly is just to honor
him
!”

“I know all about it,” she said. “I tried to get off work today, because I wanted so much to be there.” She turned to Tiki, who looked like he was about to cry.

“Why does nobody believe me?” he complained.

“Tiki Barber, look me in the eye. Are you sick, or are you just scared to death?”

He frowned, sitting up in bed. “I'm
not
scared!”

“That's what I thought,” she said, smiling. “My boys are brave. They wouldn't let something like giving a speech scare them. Why, you didn't even have to memorize it. You can just read what you already wrote!”

“But, Mom—”

“Tiki, you get dressed now and go to school. If you're still sick after the assembly, you go straight to the nurse's office, all right?”

Tiki sighed deeply and stared at the wall.

“Good,” said Mrs. Barber. “Now let's get moving, or we'll all be late.”

“I'm going to get you back for this,” Tiki told Ronde after she'd left the room.

“Come on,” said Ronde. “You know you were faking it.”

“Why'd you have to tell her that?”

“You think she wouldn't have known? Dude, she knows
everything
. Have either of us ever faked her out?”

Tiki frowned. Ronde was right, and he knew it.

“Come on.” Ronde offered a hand to help him out of bed. “Look at it this way. Those kids
need
to hear your essay.”

“Yeah? Well, why do they have to hear it from
me
? Why don't they just publish it in the school paper—under a fake name?”

“You know what?” said Ronde. “They probably will publish it. But you know your name's gonna be on it.”

“… AND SO, TO SUM IT ALL UP, WHAT DOES THE
saying ‘Play proud' mean? It means playing—and working, and learning, and doing, and helping, and everything else—in a proud way. And what does ‘proud' mean?”

Tiki looked up from his paper, which sat on the lectern in front of him. They were all out there—every kid he knew, every teacher, even the photographer from the
Roanoke Reporter
—and there was not a sound in the whole auditorium.

When he'd first stepped up to the lectern, he'd been so nervous he didn't know if his legs would give out underneath him. He had no idea whether his voice would even come out, let alone if it would crack like it sometimes did lately.

The worst thing would have been if they'd laughed at him. He didn't think they'd throw stuff. Everyone pretty much liked him, after all, especially now that he was the school's number one football hero.

But this deathly silence was worse than laughing! He didn't know if it was because they loved the speech
or hated it. They weren't smiling—but then, it wasn't a funny speech.

His voice hadn't disappeared on him, and it had cracked only twice—which had drawn a giggle or two—but it had been shaking since he'd first begun his speech. The quiver in his voice was obvious, at least to him, but no one in the crowd seemed to notice.

His essay was only five pages long, but it felt like he'd been speaking for hours and hours. Now, near the end, he felt like racing through the rest of it. But he didn't. Scared as he was, he wanted to make sure they understood what he was trying to say.

Ordering himself to calm down, he cleared his throat and continued.

“What does ‘proud' mean? It doesn't mean thinking you're all that, or that you're better than anybody else. The kind of proud my mom means is the kind you have when you're
alone
. When you lie in bed at night, are you proud of how you acted that day? Are you proud of what you said? Would you do it the same way again if you got to do it over?

“For me, playing proud means doing my best. Not just on the field. And not just when I feel like it either. I try to play proud all the time. I know I don't always succeed, but … well, I try. And I know that you can learn more from the losses than the wins. And I don't stop trying just because I'm tired. Because even though I might not feel like
it, somebody else out there might need me to do my best.

“I know ‘Play proud' isn't really such a famous saying, but I think it
should
be. I'm proud of my mom for inventing it. I'm proud of her for living it, every single day. I'm proud … to be her son.…”

He had to stop for a second, to keep himself from getting too emotional. Taking a deep breath, he finished, “And I hope I'll always play proud enough to make her proud of me.”

He stopped, blinked twice, and then looked up at the crowd. For a long, horrible moment nothing happened.
Did they hate it that bad?
he wondered.

And then someone started clapping. Then more people joined in. A few people leapt to their feet, cheering. More rose from their seats, and still more, until every single person in the auditorium had risen to give Tiki a standing ovation! A thunderous roar broke from everyone's lips as they cheered Tiki and his prize-winning essay.

Tiki could not believe it. He was numb from head to toe. Dr. Anand had to guide him back to his chair on the stage. He collapsed into it, while she went to the microphone and asked for another round of applause for Tiki. He nodded weakly in response.

Dr. Anand ended the assembly, and the rows of kids began filing out of the auditorium. The hall instantly grew so loud with chatter that it was impossible to hear anything distinctly.

Tiki nodded and smiled as Dr. Anand, the dean, the assistant principal, the head of the English department, and Ms. Adair all shook his hand and said nice things he couldn't hear over the racket.

Finally he managed to worm his way off the stage and out into the hallway. He was already late. The team bus was waiting. If he didn't hurry to the locker room and grab his stuff, all the players would be sitting in that hot bus, wondering what was keeping him. Tiki didn't want to hold up the whole works right before the big game.

But getting to the locker room wasn't so easy. Not on this day. Kids were everywhere in the hallways, and it seemed like they
all
wanted to talk to Tiki.

“Dude, that was awesome!” Matt Dwayne said, giving him a fist bump and grinning widely. “Who knew you had it in you?”

Tiki looked down at his feet and shrugged.

“Hey, don't be modest,” Matt told him. “Be proud, like you said in the speech!”

Tiki looked up at him and nodded. “You're right, man,” he said. “It's just … I don't know…”

“Not used to all the attention?” asked Charlene Shiobara, the head cheerleader. “You should be, after last season. Mr. MVP,” she added with a wink.

“
Half
an MVP,” Tiki countered, reminding her that he had split the award with Ronde.

“Dude,” Matt said, “I've gotta ask you—because this
kid I know has really been getting me angry, and, well, maybe you could help me figure out how to handle it.”

“Me?”

“Hey, you obviously know a lot about stuff besides football. I'd just like to get your advice.”