Just for Kicks (4 page)

“Did we win?” I said.

“You see what I mean about taking your soccer seriously,” Coach Fleet said. “It must matter to you whether you win or lose.”

“Why?” I said.

“If you're not playing to win, why are you playing?”

“For fun,” I ventured, and added, “Just for kicks.”

“Is that all you want from soccer?” he asked me. “Don't you want to contribute something to the team?”

The Pleasant Harbour parents were still talking. One of them pointed at Alan Fleet.

Meredith's dad came over and said, “How come Brunswick Valley have a coach now?”

Mr. Fleet smiled. “I like coaching soccer. I could help the Pleasant Harbour kids, too, if you like.”

“We don't need a coach from Brunswick Valley,” Meredith's dad scoffed. “We'll get our own coach. I know just the person.”

As Meredith's dad stomped off, Coach Fleet told us, “Don't forget we have another practice on Wednesday evening, and don't forget the fundraising event at Fleet Auto next Saturday morning.”

“Fundraising event?” Brian said.

“Didn't I tell you?” said Alan Fleet. “I think it's good for young people to work for their privileges. That's why we're having the car wash — to raise funds.”

“But what do we need money for?” Brian asked.

“For your team uniforms,” said Alan Fleet. “Fleet Auto will pay for them, but I think it's good that you contribute as well. They'll be here in a couple of weeks. Then you'll be called the Brunswick Valley Mechanics.”

Brian said, “Yeah!”

Julie said, “Wow.”

As we strolled across the field towards the Mountain Road, I thought of the fun we'd had for the last two years playing soccer with our friends from Pleasant Harbour. It was exciting to think of playing in new uniforms, with coaches and spectators, but then — would we still be playing just for kicks, or would winning become the most important thing? And if winning was the most important thing, where did a soccer clod, whose only contributions to the team were fluke goals and wisecracks, fit in?

7

The old stunted tree in my yard was both goal and goalkeeper. I growled as I dribbled around it, and again as I fired the ball against it.

“Why are you growling, lovey?” asked Ma from beside the back door, where she was emptying stuff into the compost bin.

“Coach Fleet says we have to practice being aggressive, so that we intimidate our opponents.”

“That's nice, lovey,” Ma said. “Mind the vegetables.”

Mr. Fleet had reminded us at the end of our practice on Wednesday, “I want you to take your soccer seriously, to pass and move in formation, and to be aggressive, so that you intimidate your opponents.”

With Ma's vegetable patch on one side, and Conrad's old car on the other, there's not much room in my yard for practicing soccer. I live on Riverside Drive, like Shay and Julie, but my house is on the way out of town, while theirs are in town. Where they live, the houses are close together and the gardens are colourful, with lots of flowers and grass and trees, but as you go farther down the Drive, the houses get more spaced out, and you see less and less colour. Instead, what you get are yards with lots of dirt, and scruffy old dog kennels with scruffy old dogs tied to them, and stunted trees, and dumped refrigerators, and broken-down cars. At least my garden's got a bit of colour, where Ma painted some rocks white to show where the path goes through the vegetable patch.

I went back to intimidating the tree. It was Saturday morning, the day of the fundraising, and we were waiting for Conrad to get back from the night shift so that Ma could give me a ride down to Fleet Auto on her way to work. We were to pick up Shay and Julie on the way.

Conrad pulled up in his truck and said, “Hey, big guy. What are you up to?”

“He's being aggressive,” said Ma.

“Are you, now?” said Conrad. “Try and get past me, then.”

He sprang around beside the vegetables. I dribbled the ball towards him. He lurched into a tackle and I barged into him. He tripped on Ma's white rocks and fell backwards into the vegetables. I stumbled and fell on top of him.

Ma folded her arms and shook her head.

She and Conrad are opposites to look at. Ma's hair is blonde and short and smooth, and Conrad's is black and long and wavy. Ma's face is pale and round and chubby, but Conrad's is swarthy and square and chiselled. They're both big, but Ma's fleshy — bits of her jiggle when she walks — and Conrad is solid.

“Why don't the two of you bring a bulldozer in and do a proper job of wrecking the garden?” she demanded.

Conrad picked himself up. “Sorry, honey,” he said, looking where we'd fallen. “I guess we've squashed your squash.”

Suddenly serious, Ma said, “Well — are you?”

Conrad said, “We'll know in a few days.”

I looked from Conrad to Ma. “Know what?”

“If we're going on strike at the mill,” said Conrad.

“What do you do if you go on strike?” I asked.

“We refuse to work,” Conrad explained. “Then we negotiate.”

“Negotiate?”

“We tell the company what we want, and if our demands are reasonable, we work out a settlement.”

While Ma went inside to get ready for work, Conrad said, “What's this about being aggressive?”

“Coach Fleet says we have to be aggressive and intimidate the kids from Pleasant Harbour. And I have to be serious.”

Conrad raised his eyebrows.

“Do you think I should be aggressive and serious?” I pressed.

“What do you want to be?” Conrad asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “What do you want me to be?”

Conrad's eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I just want you to be yourself.” As Ma came out of the house he added, “Enjoy your game, big guy. Tell me about it later on.”

Conrad couldn't watch the game because he was looking after the flower shop while Mr. Sutton did the flowers for a conference.

When Ma dropped us off at Fleet Auto, the first thing we saw was a sandwich board saying, “Car Wash $5. Help Brunswick Valley's soccer stars of tomorrow.”

Alan Fleet was standing at the door to the showroom and waved us over. “Julie, can you start washing, please?” He pointed to where a car was pulling into the yard. “And I have an important job for you guys. I want you to stand by the road and wave cars in. I have special costumes for you.” He led us into the showroom and handed us our outfits. “Brian, you'll be Mr. Super Brush. Shay, you'll be Mr. Wax 'n' Wipe, and you, Toby, will be Soapy Sudsy. You can change in there.” He pointed to three offices at the back of the showroom.

I changed into my Soapy Sudsy outfit. Peering through the eye slits in my costume as I emerged, I caught my reflection in one of the new cars in the showroom. I was bottle shaped, narrow at the top, big and round below. Green and yellow stripes went around me, and on my stomach I read “Soapy Sudsy Says … Use My InKredible Klean Kar Suds.” I looked like a huge green-and-yellow striped slug. My costume was made of thick rubbery stuff, which hung loosely around my chunky body but clung tightly to my head.

I was still staring at myself, wondering whether I dared appear in public, when a green tube with feathery tendrils waving from its top emerged from one of the other changing rooms, and announced, “I can't hear in this outfit.” A few seconds later Mr. Wax 'n' Wipe emerged from his changing room. Shay looked even worse than Brian and me. He was dressed in a tight, bright red outfit that was way too tall for him, so that the top, where the eye holes were, flopped around.

“I can't see,” Shay grumbled.

“What?” said Brian.

I tried to speak, but my costume held my jaw so tight all I could manage was, “Mmmm.”

“I can't see in this costume,” Shay complained again. “Where are you?”

“Mmmm,” I said.

“What?” said Brian.

“Why do you keep saying ‘what'?” said Shay.

“What?” said Brian. “I can't hear in this outfit.”

Shay shouted, “IS THAT YOU, BRIAN?”

“Why are you asking me if I'm me?”

I pantomimed to Brian that Shay couldn't see.

“Why didn't you tell me?” said Brian.

“Mmmm,” I said.

“What?”

“MMMM.” I pantomimed that my costume was so tight around my mouth I couldn't speak.

“Is that you saying ‘Mmmm', Toby?” said Shay.

“Mmmm.”

“Why are you saying ‘Mmmm'?”

“Mmmm.”

“What?” said Brian.

“WHY IS TOBY SAYING ‘MMMM'?” Shay bellowed.

“BECAUSE HE CAN'T TALK IN HIS OUTFIT,” Brian bawled.

“YOU DON'T HAVE TO SHOUT BECAUSE I CAN'T SEE,” thundered Shay.

“WHAT?”

“What's all this shouting?” said Mr. Fleet, returning to the showroom.

“WHAT?” shouted Brian.

“Brian can't hear and I can't see,” said Shay.

“WHAT?” said Brian.

“I SAID YOU CAN'T HEAR AND I CAN'T SEE.”

“Mmmm,” I put in.

“WHAT?”

“MMMM.”

“And Toby can't talk,” Shay added.

“WHAT?”

“WAIT THERE,” bawled Shay. “I'LL COME OVER SO YOU CAN HEAR ME.”

At the same time Brian shouted, “I'M COMING OVER THERE SO I CAN HEAR YOU.”

Brian set off towards Shay, who set off towards Brian, holding his hands in front of him like a sleepwalker. When they met in the middle of the showroom, Brian stopped. Shay kept going.

Brian said, “SHAY.”

He stopped. “What?”

“What?” said Brian.

“WHAT?” Shay thundered.

“I'm here.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

Mr. Fleet was holding his head in his hands. “Toby,” he said.

“Mmmm?”

“Can you hear?”

I nodded. “Mmmm.”

“Can you see?”

I nodded again. “Mmmm.”

“Good. Take care of these two, please. All you have to do, the three of you, is stand by the entrance and wave to passing cars so they come in for a wash.”

“What?” said Brian.

I took Shay's arm, bellowed, “FOLLOW ME, MR. SUPER BRUSH,” at Brian, and led them across the yard. Julie and the twins were already hard at work washing cars. The twins giggled when they saw us, and Julie called, “Groovy costumes, guys.”

Brian said, “WHAT?”

For the next two hours Brian, Shay, and I paced back and forth at the edge of the pavement, jumping up and down and pointing to the car wash when cars came by. Brian and I kept a close eye on Shay so he didn't wander into the road, and we had to tell him when to jump and point, while I kept a close eye on Brian because he couldn't hear cars approaching. A steady stream of customers kept the washers busy, until at noon Mr. Fleet announced, “That's a wrap. Good work, guys. Now grab a sandwich from the spread I've got laid out for you in the showroom and get down to the Back Field. Pleasant Harbour will be waiting — and they have a couple of surprises for you.”

8

By the time we'd changed out of our costumes, all the others except Julie had finished their lunch and left for the Back Field, which was only a five-minute walk away. Julie was helping Mr. Fleet clear up the remains of the sandwiches. When we'd had our lunch he said, “You go on. I'll close up the showroom and follow you.”

We hurried to catch up with the others, and found them at the edge of the playground, looking down at the Back Field. They were watching the Pleasant Harbour kids, who were lined up across the pitch. They wore uniforms with dark blue shirts, shorts, and socks. A mini-bus was parked out on the Back Road.

“They've got uniforms
and
a
team bus,” Linh-Mai breathed.

At a signal from a man in a matching tracksuit on the opposite touchline, the Pleasant Harbour team jogged forwards in a line. Suddenly, at another signal, they sprinted, then turned and ran backwards, keeping a straight line all the time. They did the whole routine in silence.

“Who's that bossing them?” Brian asked.

The man in the tracksuit was wiry and short. His thinning grey hair waved as he strutted on the sideline with his arms folded over his puffed-out chest.

“I know him,” Linh-Mai offered. “It's Dr. Ferret. He's the dentist in Pleasant Harbour. He told me I had to have braces.”

Our visitors' shirts had Pleasant Harbour Incisors written on the front, and through the alders I could make out the same name on a banner stuck to the side of the bus.

“What's Dr. Ferret doing bossing the Pleasant Harbour kids?” Julie wondered.

“I told you they had a couple of surprises for you,” said Coach Fleet. We were so interested in the Pleasant Harbour maneuvers we hadn't noticed him arrive behind us. “They've found themselves a coach, and he's already got uniforms for them.”

“Dr. Ferret does braces
and
coaches soccer?” said Linh-Mai.

A group of Pleasant Harbour parents were clustered behind the visitors' coach. Led by Meredith's dad, they applauded as our visitors finished their running-up-and-down-the-field routine and lined up in front of one of the goals.

“Cory Ferret's an old friend of mine,” said Mr. Fleet. “We used to play in the Canadian Soccer League together. He played midfield for the Toronto Capitals. I heard he was coaching the Pleasant Harbour kids. His dental clinic must be sponsoring them.”

“That explains why they're called the Incisors,” I said.

Alan Fleet said, “A team bus. Hmmm.”

On the field, the Pleasant Harbour players took turns shooting at goal. They finished their warm-up with stretching exercises, squatting and sticking out each leg in turn, then, still in silence, lined up at a final signal from their coach. As they left the field, to more applause from the Pleasant Harbour parents, we followed Coach Fleet onto it. Our Pleasant Harbour friends, standing around their coach, watched us in silence.

I waved to Cuz. “Howdedoody, Cousin Cuz.”

Cuz glanced at Coach Ferret. He was looking away. Keeping her hand low, she wiggled her fingers in a little, quick wave.

The twins ran across to Chip, who was standing at the edge of the Pleasant Harbour group.

Jillian started, “You're wearing a new soccer outfit.”

“It's cool,” Jessica added.

Before Chip could even blush, Coach Ferret raised a warning finger and shook his head. Chip gestured helplessly.

Coach Fleet called us together.

“What's going on?” said Jillian.

“You know how Mr. Fleet told us we should get serious about our soccer,” I whispered. “I think Dr. Ferret told the Pleasant Harbour kids the same thing.”

“Does that mean we can't
talk
to one another?” asked Jessica.

Our coach led us in a jog around the field.

Mrs. Fiander, standing with Mrs. Barry and Mr. Price among a group of Brunswick Valley parents, shouted, “Yeeaay, Brunswick Valley!”

While we went through our passing formation drills, Coach Ferret watched and talked to his team. Twice he pointed at Shay, and once at Julie. He didn't point at me. We finished our warm-up routine with our chant. Our coach suggested we say it quietly, but as soon as we started it, the Pleasant Harbour parents jeered and hooted, so we had to raise our voices in order to hear ourselves.

Just before we lined up for the kickoff, Coach Fleet asked me, “Where do you see yourself best contributing to the team when you get in the diamond formation — at the foot?”

“I can't keep the ball and see the spaces on the field — not like Shay,” I said.

“How about at the sides, then — running with the ball and—”

“Running?” I interrupted, shaking my head. “I don't think so.”

“You'd better get yourself to the tip of the diamond whenever you can, then. Play striker again, but keep a lid on the fooling around and wisecracks, eh?”

We were in trouble from the start of the game. Cuz scored straight after the kickoff, swerving around Julie and brushing past Linh-Mai as if she wasn't there, before thundering the ball past Brian. The Pleasant Harbour parents whooped and applauded, and they whooped and applauded even more a few seconds later when Cuz scored again, seizing on a low, hard cross from Chip and shooting fiercely at Brian. He dived and pushed the ball against the goalpost, but it bounced back for Cuz to tap in the net.

“Nice goal, Cousin Cuz,” I called.

“Wake up, Brunswick Valley,” Coach Fleet shouted. “Help your goalkeeper.”

“Right,” muttered Brian.

Pleasant Harbour kept on the attack, so the twins and I stayed back to help defend until at last we managed to scramble the ball out of our end of the field.

“Toby, twins, get forward,” called Coach Fleet.

Shay and Julie, passing the ball between them, waited for us to get in position. When I reached the Pleasant Harbour goal, I said, “Have you been out birdwatching this week, Olaf?”

He didn't answer.

Suddenly, all the Pleasant Harbour defenders moved behind me as Julie passed. The ball went between Meredith and Quan and rolled to me.

“Shoot!” Mrs. Barry and Mr. Price shouted.

Before I could do anything, Coach Ferret shouted “Offside!”

“Not when the pass was made,” Coach Fleet objected.

I looked at Shay, who was following up Julie's pass.

“What's offside?” I asked.

“It's when someone passes to you and there's no one except the goalkeeper between you and the goal,” he explained. “It's a rule we don't usually bother with …”

The Pleasant Harbour parents roared, “Offside! Free kick!”

“… But I guess we do now,” Shay finished.

As Meredith prepared to take the free kick, I glanced back at Olaf's goal. His binoculars weren't in the corner of the net.

Meredith's free kick reached Chip, who took the ball through our defence, then, as Brian rushed forward to narrow the shooting angle, chipped it over his head and into the goal.

“Good chip, Chip,” I said.

“Why don't you help defend instead of trying to be funny?” Brian complained to me as he got the ball from the back of the net. He turned on Julie and Linh-Mai. “You're supposed to protect the goal.”

“If you'd stayed on your goal line instead of running around like a maniac, you could have saved it,” Linh-Mai shot back.

At halftime our coach urged, “Try to get at least one goal — to make the score line respectable.”

We tried desperately to attack, but with their coach shouting instructions from the sideline, Pleasant Harbour's defence was so well organized we couldn't make much headway towards Olaf's goal.

Mr. Fleet shouted, “Take a player on, Brunswick Valley, like we practiced.”

So we tried the dribbling trick our coach showed us, but even if we got past one Pleasant Harbour player, there was always another waiting for us.

Just before the end of the game, Shay cleared the ball from our penalty area with a high kick. I stumbled forward with the twins. Jillian got to the ball first and sent it further forward to Jessica, who'd kept running. Quan moved to challenge Jessica, forcing her to take the ball close to the sideline. By the time I reached Olaf's penalty area, I was so out of breath I had to rest with my hands on my knees. Meredith marked me closely.

Jessica called, “Pass coming, Toby.”

She'd managed to scramble the ball past Quan. I looked up in time to see it land just in front of me.

Coach Fleet shouted, “Move, Toby! Get on it!”

I lurched forwards at the same time as Olaf dived for the ball. Catching it on the bounce, I scooped it over him. It was heading just under the crossbar when Meredith, who had moved behind Olaf to cover his goal as he dived, jumped and caught it.

“Penalty kick!” roared the Brunswick Valley parents.

I looked around for Shay. “You better take it,” I said.

“It was your shot,” he said. “You should take it.”

Brian, who had moved up the field to watch, moaned, “He'll mess it up.”

I looked across at Coach Fleet.

He called, “Give it a try, Toby.”

I put the ball on the penalty spot and moved back to give myself a long run up. Only Olaf stood between me and the goal. As I trotted forwards, he raced off his goal line. I stopped, with Olaf centimetres from the ball.

“The goalkeeper has to stay on his line,” Coach Ferret advised. “But there's nothing to stop him moving around on it.”

As I prepared to run up again, Olaf sidestepped from one side of his goal to the other, waving his arms above his head. I tried to estimate when to kick the ball so that it would reach a part of the goal where Olaf wasn't, but he was moving at different speeds in his crazy sideways dance and it was impossible to guess. I decided to kick the ball low at the right side of the net. I crouched ready to start my long run up. I took a deep breath. I took two steps forwards.

Then I heard it.

“Tub.”

I faltered.

“Toby the Tub.”

It was Meredith. I glanced back at her.

She grinned and fiddled with her glasses. “Toby the Tub.”

We'd been in grade one together at Brunswick Valley School, before her family moved to Pleasant Harbour, and she'd called me Toby the Tub all through that year, but never since, and never in our soccer games — until now.

“Toby the Tub,” she murmured again, in a sing-song voice just loud enough for me to hear.

“Hurry up with the penalty,” Meredith's dad shouted.

I completed my run up and swung my leg.

“Tub.”

My foot grazed the side of the ball and it trickled towards Olaf. It stopped before it reached him.

The Pleasant Harbour parents laughed, and one of them shouted, “Loser.”

“Never mind,” said Shay.

“Told you so,” Brian muttered.

Olaf leapt dramatically from his goal line and dived on the ball. The parents cheered.

I looked around for Meredith. She smirked.

“Four-eyes,” I said.

After the game, as Coach Ferret led his team to their bus, and the Pleasant Harbour parents headed across the Back Field, Mr. Price shouted, “We'll beat you next week.”

Quan's dad retorted, “Yeah — if our kids play blindfolded.”

The Pleasant Harbour parents laughed and jeered.

Coach Fleet called us to him. He started, “Let's talk about what went wrong today. It wasn't that you played badly …”

The bus was pulling away. I ran across the field. I heard our coach call, “Toby,” but I kept going. I looked down the Back Road. Chip was by himself at the corner, heading up the Mountain Road.

I called, “Chip — where's Cuz?”

He pointed at the bus, which had turned into Portage Street. He gave a little wave, and disappeared into the trees.

I walked back to my team.

Shay whispered, “What's the matter?”

“I didn't say a proper goodbye to Cuz.”

It was the first time I could remember that we'd parted without a hug.

Coach Fleet was saying, “… But next week you'll play better. Your new uniforms will give you a boost, as well as travelling to Pleasant Harbour in your team bus.”

“Team bus?” said Julie. “Where will we get a team bus?”

“Fleet Auto will pay for it. From now on, when we play at Pleasant Harbour, we'll meet at the showroom, and then we'll travel together — in our team bus.” Our coach concluded, looking around at us, “You know what Cory Ferret and his team did today, before the game even started, don't you? With their uniforms, and their bus, and their coach, and their warm-up drills?”

“They intimidated us,” I said quietly.

Coach Fleet prompted, “And the answer to that is …?”

“We have to intimidate them,” said Brian.