Betting Game (3 page)
I look over at Luka. He nods.
We’re up 2–0. We’ve won the game, but have we won the bet? Not if Portland scores again. Fans start leaving, and I crane my head to watch the final minutes. By the end, my throat is raw. What a finish!
I’m up a cool fifty! Luka quietly slips it to me on our way out.
“Thanks, Jack Attack. I’ll be in touch.”
When I get home, I check my phone. Luka has left me a text.
set u up :) here’s the link
username: jackattack
pw: h0tsh0t
meet u for coffee to show u how it works
saturday @ 1:00 good for u?
I text him back.
sure!
And I click on the link.
I look for Alex the next day after co-op. I find him in the academy classroom.
“So how was the game?”
“Awesome.” So was winning fifty bucks. But there’s no way he’s hearing about that.
“I heard Benson scored both goals.”
“Yup. It was magic. Would’ve told you when I got in, but you were already snoring. Still studying?”
“Nope.” He closes his laptop. “I couldn’t cram another trig rule in my head if I tried.”
He checks his watch. “Anyway, I told Coach I’d show the new guy around before we practice. He should be here soon. Want to come?”
“Sure.”
We grab our coats and wait outside the big glass doors of the Lancers Training Center. I can’t wait to see the look on Gil’s face when he sees it.
Even after three years, I can’t believe we belong here. A major-league soccer academy. We’re a free kick away from the pros.
We wouldn’t be here without Jonesy.
It was the first year of high school, right after our parents split up. New school. New house. New city.
The day we moved in, we heard a knock at the door. And there was Jonesy, with a soccer ball in his hands and a big grin on his face. “You play footie, mates?” He sounded just like Harry Potter.
I elbow Alex. “Remember meeting Jonesy?”
He never gets tired of the story. “Best trick we ever played.”
I have to sit up straight and tuck in my chin to get his accent right. “I’m Khalil Jones. I’m with the Lancers Academy.”
Alex laughs. “When you handed him a soccer ball and asked for his autograph, he didn’t know whether to sign it or punch you in the face.”
“And then at the field, whoosh! You stopped his first shot with a perfect layout. His mouth just opened and closed, but nothing came out.”
“And you kept stealing the ball from him.”
“How was he supposed to know we played rep?”
Another guy might’ve held it against us. Not Jonesy. He laughed right along with us. Just like that, we were best friends. And the next day, he brought the coach of the Durham Lancers Soccer Academy to our door.
I hope it’s that easy with Gil.
“So what do you think he’s like?” I ask.
“Gil?” Alex shrugs. “Hard to tell from the video. But we’re about to find out.” He nods at a guy marching across the parking lot.
I squint. Blond buzz cut, pressed camos, army-green T-shirt. Soccer bag. That’s him.
When he gets to us, Alex smiles. “Gil, right?”
“Yeah.” He sticks out his chin and tacks on a silent
What are you going to do about it?
“Thought so. Coach asked us to show you around. I’m Alex, the captain. This is my brother, Jack.”
Gil looks from me to Alex. Same black hair. Same chin. Are we…
Alex answers the question before he asks it. “Nope, not twins. Just born the same year.”
“Even our mom thinks we look alike. She gives one of us a black eye now and then. Helps her tell us apart.” I point at mine. “It was my turn.”
He gives me an odd look.
“We saw your YouTube videos,” says Alex. “Wicked shot! Where have you played?”
“All over. Europe mostly.”
“Wow! What’re you doing here?”
“We move a lot.”
“Well, I hope you stick around. Let’s get started.” Alex opens the big glass doors and spreads his arms wide. “This is the Lancers Training Center. Home of the Durham Lancers and the Lancers Academy, one of the top academy programs in North America. We train here, eat here, play here.”
He opens the door to the gym and cardio studio. “Weights, bikes, ellipticals. Go in and take a look if you like.”
Gil cuts him off. “I’ve seen gyms before.”
“Have you seen therapy rooms before?” I point to ours as we pass and smile innocently. “In case you get busted up.”
Alex gives me a dirty look.
I shrug. “Just being helpful.”
Alex leads us upstairs. “Here’s the dining room. And our classroom, in case you want to do homework.”
Next is the viewing theater, my favorite part of the tour. “We use this room a lot,” says Alex. “We review our games and watch training films.”
Gil’s not paying any attention. His too-cool-for-you face is getting annoying.
So I add my own tour talk. “Every Friday is movie night. Blockbuster hits. Popcorn. You can bring a date.”
Alex laughs, but Gil’s a blank wall.
A challenge. Fair enough.
“He missed Coach’s orientation speech. Want me to give him the highlight reel, Alex?”
“Do it!” He grins and sits in the front row. “Wait’ll you hear him roll his
r
’s, Gil. He sounds more Scottish than Coach.”
Gil leans against the door, his arms crossed.
I mess up my hair and pace around. “Awrrright, lads. I have a few rrrules.” I stop in front of Alex and stare him down. He can’t keep a straight face. “Keep your eyes and ears on me at all times. I expect your best effort. No lollygagging.
“You must be on time, every time.” I tap my watch for emphasis. “The bus will not wait for you. Neither will I.”
Gil’s next. I wag my finger—classic Coach. “Every one of you thinks you’re the next Messi. Even if you are, and I highly
doubt it, there’s life after soccer. So keep up with your schoolwork. You don’t play if you’re failing.”
No reaction.
Seriously? Someone must’ve surgically removed his personality.
Alex just rolls with it. He leads him back downstairs. “So here’s our locker room, and Coach’s office is right around the corner.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I mouth to Alex. “Is he a robot?”
Alex makes a cutting motion. But I bet he’s asking the same questions.
Coach’s door is open. He’s at his desk, studying a soccer clipboard. He looks up when Alex knocks.
“Coach, this is Gil. We gave him the tour.”
“Good lads.”
He measures Gil up, then sticks out his hand. “Glad you could join the team, Gil. Here are your uniforms. Practice kit’s on top. Red jersey’s home, stripes’re away. Now get dressed. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Time to meet the team,” Alex says. “Good bunch of guys. You’ll like them.”
I smile, remembering the rush I felt when I walked through this door for the first time. I look at Alex. He remembers it too and grins. He holds the door open to let Gil walk in first, just like Jonesy did for us. But it goes wrong the second he steps through the door.
“What the—” That’s all Gil gets out before two half-dressed guys stagger into
him. Momentum carries all three of them past the doorway and out of sight. We hear a crash and groans.
“What’s going on?” Alex says. We hurry in. Just in time to see the garbage can tip over and water bottles tumble like bowling pins. The team cheers and claps.
The three guys are in a heap. The first one on his feet is Julio.
“Oh, man! Who’d we knock down?” He looks at Gil, flat on his back, and his eyes open wide. “I’m so sorry! We were just messing around. Here, let me help you up.”
But he can’t. There are water bottles all over the floor, and Danny is sprawled across Gil close enough to give him mouth-to-mouth. Danny kicks at the water bottles, and Gil’s arms and legs are going like a flipped-over ladybug’s.
I can’t help but laugh.
“Nice work, guys,” says Alex. “You trying to break him?”
Gil is not laughing. “Get off me, you son of a—” Gil shoves Danny off, swearing under his breath the whole time.
Alex and Julio give Danny a hand up. Then they hoist Gil to his feet. He’s as red as our jerseys, even his neck.
“Sorry, man!” Now Gil’s got hands patting him all over. He slaps them away, huffing like a guard dog choosing who to bite. It’s pretty funny.
Until he shoves Danny up against the wall.
Alex grabs his shoulder. “Hey, lighten up. They were just horsing around. They didn’t even see you coming.”
“Yeah, wasn’t D-Man’s fault!”
“Get a sense of humor,” someone mutters.
No one’s laughing now. It’s like we chugged a carton of milk and realized it’s sour.
“What an initiation,” I say. “Seriously, guys. Try a handshake next time.”
“Initiation?” says Gil.
Uh-oh. Bad choice of words.
Gil glares at me, then at Alex. “You set me up?”
“No. No! Calm down. Let’s try this again.” Alex clears his throat dramatically. “Guys, listen up. I’d like you to meet Gil.”
“This guy’s our new striker?” Danny’s still rubbing his neck.
“Not the way I wanted to introduce him. But, yeah.”
Gil’s watching the team, and I’m watching him. His eyes flick from face to face, then land hard on Alex.
There’s going to be trouble.
The guys dress and get out, leaving Alex with Gil. What a mess.
The locker room floor is a disaster too. Water bottles. Garbage. Gil’s new uniforms.
Alex looks around and sighs. I bet he feels like tossing his captain’s armband on the pile.
I start picking up the water bottles. When he tries to help, I shake my head. “I got it. You go ahead. I’ll be out to warm you up in a few.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Keepers warm up with a partner. I’ve been filling in since our backup keeper broke his ankle. Coach says I’m his utility player—one size fits all. Alex calls me his backup backup.
Alex is already in the net when I walk on the field. But why is Gil with him? Uh-oh.
Strikers suck at warming up a keep. They think it’s a shooting drill.
But it’s really a catching drill—the keeper is
supposed
to stop the ball.
Gil lines up balls at the edge of the box. Then he winds up.
Shot after blistering shot. One corner. The other corner.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
It’s like the YouTube video. But it’s not cool this time.
Alex dives right and left. He leaps up to the crossbar. There’s no time between shots to reset. He can’t even get up before another ball whizzes in.
I don’t know why Alex doesn’t just walk away. I would.
Right after I stuffed a soccer ball down Gil’s throat.
The guys stop warming up to watch. They’re buzzing. There’s no doubt about it. He’s good.
And he’s still fighting mad.
Probably because Alex is stopping some of his shots. And whenever he does, we cheer.
Coach blows the whistle and calls us in. I wonder how long he’s been standing there. I bet he didn’t miss much.
The team makes a circle. It opens for Gil but doesn’t close around him.
He stands in the gap, eyes front, legs apart and arms crossed. Give him a rifle and a uniform and he’d be G.I. Joe.
“I see you’ve all met our new striker, Gil Joseph,” says Coach.
Gil Joseph, right! His name really is G.I. Joe. I snicker.
“Something you want to add, Jack?”
“Uh, no, Coach. Sorry for interrupting,” I mumble.
Alex joins us, and he fills a gap beside Gil.
I meet his eyes across the circle.
What an idiot. You okay?
An imperceptible nod.
G.I. Joe stares at me, and I stare right back.
Listened in, did you? Good
.
“Jack?”
I face forward again. “Yes, Coach.”
“Sure you have nothing to say?”
I start to shake my head, then freeze. “I mean—I’m sure, Coach.”
“Do a lap and figure it out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I bend down to tie up my shoelace.
I hear Coach say to Alex, “The goalkeeping coach wants to work with you today. Take a break. He’ll be out shortly.”
“Okay, Coach.” Alex mops his face with his sleeve and limps over to the bench.
As I jog away, Coach says, “The rest of you, grab a partner and loosen up. Properly. I’ll be right back.”
I knew he was watching. Coach doesn’t miss a thing.
Gil is still standing there when I finish my lap. No partner. He either got the cold shoulder or he’s waiting for me. I’m stuck with him.
Then Danny breaks away from a group of three and waves me over. I lope past Gil without saying a word.
That’ll teach you.
I turn around to see how G.I. Joe likes the silent treatment.
But I never get the chance. Alex stands up to work with him.
Now I’m mad at both of them.
That’s why I share the G.I. Joe joke with Danny. He thinks it’s so funny, he spreads it around. By the end of practice, everyone is calling him G.I. Joe or Soldier Boy behind Coach’s back.
Everyone but Alex.
The locker room is pretty quiet after practice. Alex doesn’t say much, even when we’re the only two left. But that sure changes on the way home.
“I had to do something. He didn’t exactly get the warmest welcome.”
“I get that he was mad, Alex. But you take that out on an empty net. Not your keep! Not your captain!”
“You should’ve left it to me.”
“We were teaching him a lesson! You can’t treat team like that!”
“Did you treat
him
like team?”
“You’re defending him after what he did to you and Danny?”
“No! It’s just…” He shakes his head and pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “It was my fault things got out of control.”
“Your fault? You didn’t knock him down. It was an accident!”
“I should’ve fixed it. I’m the captain.”
“Would you skip the ‘burden of leadership’ crap? He tried to humiliate you. He wanted to show you up! After you showed him around.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Argh! What a…a…tool!”