Football Double Threat
Copyright © 2008 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group USA
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at
www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com
First eBook Edition: September 2008
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-03991-8
Contents
R
ocky Fletcher entered the middle-school locker room with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The twelve-year-old wide receiver greeted a few of his teammates and then headed to an empty row to get into his uniform.
He unzipped the main compartment of his bag and took out his protective gear. First came the shining gold helmet with its image of a hissing, coiled snake on each side — the logo of the Park City Pythons, Rocky’s team. Rocky loved that logo. The snake made him think about squeezing the ball tight after making a catch and slithering past the defense into the end zone.
He polished the helmet with his sleeve before putting it on the bench. He reached back into the bag and pulled out his other gear. There were pads to protect his stomach and hips, shoulders and arms, thighs, knees, and shins. His cleats and mouth guard came out next, followed by his team jersey — #83 — and pants. Finally, he pulled out a handheld music player with attached earbuds.
Putting the player aside, Rocky quickly suited up in his pads, pants, jersey, and cleats. A glance at the clock told him there were five minutes to spare — plenty of time to listen to his favorite new song.
He grabbed his music player, put the buds in his ears, and sat on the bench. He thumbed his way around the dial to a playlist he’d named Pre-Game Pump. Then he scrolled down to the song he wanted to hear, tapped a button to start the music, and closed his eyes.
A staccato drumbeat filled his ears. It was slow at first but then picked up speed. Rocky tapped his toes along with the rhythm. When a bass guitar joined the drums, his heart seemed to pulse in time with the thrumming tones. Suddenly, an electric guitar wailed out a single, ear-splitting chord. Even though he’d known it was coming, that note sent a rush of adrenaline through Rocky’s veins. Heart racing, he drummed his fingers against his thigh pads.
Wait for it, wait for it,
he thought.
And
. . .
and
. . .
NOW!
As that last word flashed across his brain, the lead singer belted out the first phrases of the song — and Rocky just couldn’t sit any longer. He leaped to his feet, punched the air, and bobbed his head to the beat. He would have sung along, but experience had taught him that people who sang to music only they could hear looked foolish. So he settled for mouthing the words and performing a mean air guitar solo.
Suddenly, an arm circled his neck and pulled him into a choke hold. Startled, Rocky broke free and spun around. The arm belonged to his best friend and teammate, Bobby Richards. Standing behind Bobby were five other Pythons. All were clapping and laughing.
Beet red with embarrassment, Rocky hit pause and took out the earbuds.
“Encore! Encore!” Bobby cried then.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Rocky muttered. “Don’t you guys have something better to do — like get ready for the game?”
Still laughing, everyone except Bobby left to put on the rest of their gear.
“Yo, Rock Star,” Bobby said, a wide grin splitting his face. “What were you listening to?”
“That new song from the Phantasms,” Rocky replied. “It totally psyches me up, especially the ending. In fact, I want to hear that part before the game.” He started to put the buds back in his ears.
Bobby stopped him. “I haven’t heard that song yet! Lemme listen, okay?” He made a grab for the player.
Rocky blocked him with his body. “Not a chance!”
“Why not?”
“I bought this player with money I earned mowing lawns this summer. I’ve only had it a week and I’m not about to loan it out, okay?” Rocky knew he sounded selfish, but he didn’t care. He’d worked hard for his player; what if he let Bobby use it and Bobby broke it?
“Fine.” Bobby turned away with a grumpy look. But as Rocky started to put the buds in his ears, Bobby whirled back and lunged for the player.
“Bobby! Cut it out! Come on, get back!”
As the two boys tussled for control, Jeff Abbot, the Pythons quarterback, walked by.
“Save it for the game, will you?” he said. “Coach Royson and Coach Ward want us on the field right now!”
Rocky and Bobby stopped horsing around immediately. While Rocky stowed the player in his locker, Bobby grabbed their helmets. He tossed Rocky his and then together they ran out of the locker room and toward the gridiron.
“Seriously, Rocky,” Bobby said as they jogged onto the field, “I’m dying to hear that song.”
“Seriously, Bobby,” Rocky replied, “get your own player and you can!”
T
he two boys lined up on the field along with their teammates for the pre-game warm-ups.
“Ready, Pythons?” Coach Royson called. “Jumping jacks! Begin!”
The players moved in unison, swinging their arms over their heads and down to their sides, opening and closing their legs, and giving out a loud grunt each time they’d finished a set of ten jacks. Five sets later, they ran in place, lifting their knees as high as possible. Then they did a quick-feet/push-up combo — five seconds of rapid footfalls followed by a drop to the ground for two push-ups. After a series of leg stretches, they followed Mr. Ward, the assistant coach and head of the defensive squad, in a lap around the field.
“Let’s hear it!” Coach Ward called. “Py-
thons
! Py-
thons
!”
The team picked up the chant. When they passed the bleachers, Pythons fans joined in. Rocky grinned. That chant did just as much to get his blood pumping as the run and his favorite song had done.
Rocky was breathing hard when he finished the lap. Sweat pricked his hairline. It was a warm afternoon by September standards, but he didn’t mind. The heat made his muscles feel loose, and, as for the sweat, heck, what was the point of playing sports if you didn’t need to shower after a game?
He paced up and down the sideline. As he did, he passed the Pythons’ newest member, a wiry boy named Jared. Unlike the other players, who were gathered in small groups and talking in loud, excited voices, Jared was sitting alone and silent on the bench.
Rocky didn’t know much about Jared other than that he’d played soccer for a few years before switching to football this season. Now he was the Pythons kicker, a position he seemed well suited for.
But not really interested in,
Rocky couldn’t help thinking as he eyed the other boy’s slack posture and stony expression.
Wonder why he even joined the team?
Fweet!
A sharp blast from the official’s whistle sent all thoughts other than football from Rocky’s mind. It was game time at last!
The Pythons were playing the Shooting Stars, a tough but not impossible-to-beat team. The Pythons won the coin toss and elected to receive first.
Rocky was a wide receiver, but he was also on the kickoff return team. He hurried onto the field with the other members of the special squad. The official placed the ball in the tee, jogged backward out of the way, and blew his whistle again.
The Stars raced forward. Their kicker’s right toe connected with the ball, sending it sailing end over end toward the waiting Pythons.
Rocky was in the best position to make the catch. He looked the ball all the way into his hands, tucked it securely against his side, and began to run. He crossed the Pythons forty-yard line . . . the forty-five . . . the fifty . . . and had almost reached the Stars forty-five when
wham!
he was pancaked by a hulking boy in silver and blue.
Coach Royson clapped and nodded with satisfaction. “Good run!” he called as the Pythons offense took to the field.
Rocky stayed on the field. He was breathing hard and smiling when he joined the huddle. Jeff gave him a pat on the back. “You got us good and close, Rocky,” he said. “Let’s see what else you can do. Bootleg, with a fake handoff to Rasheed and a short pass to Rocky. Got it?”
Rocky and the others nodded their understanding.
Jeff clapped once and called, “Break!”
Time to make it happen!
Rocky thought.
R
ocky’s heart was hammering in his chest as he hurried to his spot on the far left of the field. He rubbed his hands on his pants to dry off the sweat. He didn’t want to blow the catch because of slippery palms!
The Pythons linemen crouched at the line of scrimmage. Jeff got behind center Joe Dever. Running backs Lars Nielsen and Rasheed Tiwari stood behind and on either side of Jeff. Isaac Brown, who played wide receiver like Rocky, set up on the right.
When everyone was in place, Jeff called the play. Joe snapped the ball between his legs. The moment the ball hit Jeff’s waiting hands, both teams exploded into motion.
Whump! Thud!
“Oof!”
Helmets and pads clashed as the offense collided with the defense in a ferocious head-to-head battle for turf. The Pythons line held steady, giving Jeff time to fade back into the pocket and look for Lars. Lars raced to meet him for the fake.
Rocky, meanwhile, streaked down the left side of the field with the Stars cornerback rushing to cover him.
Now came the bootleg. Jeff spun away from the Stars defense and pretended to give Lars the ball. Lars cradled his empty arms against his stomach and ran as if he had the ball.
As one, the Stars moved to tackle Lars. The fake had worked!
Rocky put on a burst of speed and got clear of his defender. Jeff finished his spin and threw a bullet of a pass. Rocky stretched out his arms, keeping his eyes on the spiraling ball as it shot toward him — and into his waiting hands!
He gathered the ball in close but didn’t gain any more ground because the cornerback flattened him. The play was over, but the completed pass had earned the Pythons seven yards. They poked a hole in the Stars defensive line on the next play for first down at the Stars thirty-six-yard line.
“Coach is calling for a running play up the middle,” Jeff relayed in the huddle. “Line up in I-formation. Lars, you block for Rasheed. Rasheed, find the hole and run with it. Ready? Break!”
The I-formation found Lars stacked behind Jeff, and Rasheed behind Lars. After the ball was snapped, Lars dashed past Jeff to clear a path for Rasheed’s run. Rasheed sprinted toward Jeff. He held one arm across his chest, the other across his stomach, making a perfect target for Jeff to hit with a handoff.
Unfortunately, the handoff never came because Joe slipped and fell after the snap. A defender jumped through the sudden opening, lunged at Jeff, and pulled him to the ground before Jeff could get rid of the ball. It was a loss of three yards, second down and thirteen.
Back in the huddle, Joe started to apologize. Jeff cut him short with a wave. “Forget it. It’s over and done. Moving on. Same play, but different results, okay? Break!”
This time, the handoff was successful. Rasheed, one of their biggest, strongest players, rushed for a gain of four yards before being pulled to the ground. He was grinning widely when he joined the huddle.
“Took two of them to bring me down, did you see?” he bragged.
Jeff thumped him on the back and then outlined the next play. “We need to pick up at least six yards. Coach wants more, though, so we’re going with the long bomb. Rocky, Isaac, you slant to the center and then back out to the corners. I’ll hit whichever of you is open. Right? Break!”
Rocky trotted to his spot. If successful, this play could end in a touchdown. He licked his lips in anticipation. He wanted to be the one to carry the ball into the end zone so badly, he could practically taste it!
Jeff called out the signals. Joe snapped. Ball in hand, Jeff danced back. Rocky and Isaac ran on diagonals toward the center and then darted back to the sidelines.
“Quick feet, quick feet,” Rocky urged himself. He had the advantage over his defender. He looked back just as Jeff threw the bomb.
The ball flew toward Rocky, a brown egg spiraling against the deep blue sky. Both Rocky and the Stars cornerback saw it coming. As the ball descended, the cornerback jumped for the interception. But the ball was just out of his reach; it landed in Rocky’s reaching hands instead.