Read The Counterfeit Tackle Online

Authors: Matt Christopher

The Counterfeit Tackle (6 page)

“All right, all right,” interrupted Dad. “You pulled off a great job impersonating your brother. But just because you two
look alike doesn’t mean that you can switch around your lives.”

He got off the chair, stuffed his hands hard into his pockets, and walked over to Buzz.

Buzz was scared stiff. He wasn’t sure
what was coming now. Probably a good whacking on that spot where it did the most good.

“Buzz, I wasn’t too surprised when Corky confessed to me on the way home about this unbelievable switch you boys pulled,”
Dad said. “I’m not surprised either that you pulled if off as neatly as you did, in spite of the fact that you’ve hardly ever
played football before. I know you’re a pretty smart boy. And very clever, too. But you have let this smartness, this cleverness,
get the better of you. You’ve twisted it to make it do wrong things. This time, by impersonating Corky on the football field,
you went way out. And I mean you really went way out.”

Buzz nodded. He certainly had to agree with that.

The phone rang. Joan went to answer it.

Buzz sighed. He could breathe freely for a moment.

“Corky, it’s for you.”

Corky went over and picked up the receiver.

“Yes, this is Corky. Who? Dougie?” He listened awhile, open-mouthed. “
I
told you that? When? Oh… oh!”

Buzz stared at him. Dougie Byrd! He remembered seeing Dougie at the field for a moment — that one moment he had forgotten
that he wasn’t Corky — and asking Dougie to come over tonight to play chess.

“Okay, Dougie,” said Corky. “I’ll see you after supper. ’Bye.”

He hung up and stared at his brother with a dazed look.

10

T
HAT was Dougie Byrd!” exclaimed Corky. “He said that
I
had asked him to come over to play a game of chess!”

“Well… it was me who had asked him,” said Buzz sorrowfully. “I saw him at the game while I was running after a football. For
a second I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be you.”

“I guess you did,” snapped Corky. “Well, when he comes,
you
play him. I’m not. He’d beat my pants off.”

He walked into the living room and dropped unhappily into a chair.

“So what if he beats your pants off?” said Buzz. “At least you know how to play the game. Play him one game. Then just tell
him that you guess you didn’t get so much from those books as you thought.”

Corky stared at him. “What books?”

“The books that I borrowed from the library!” Buzz stamped out of the room and returned with the books on chess. “These!”
he said. “I got them so that I could learn more about the game.”

“One moment, please, boys,” Dad said, raising his hand. “The whole problem could be solved very simply.”

Buzz and Corky turned to him as one. “How’s that, Dad?” asked Buzz.

“By just telling him the truth. That it was really you and not Corky who was playing football.”

“Oh, no, Dad!” cried Corky, jumping to his feet. “I can’t let him know that! The whole town of Kellsburg would hear about
it in no time and then I’d really be kicked off the team!”

“But the truth will have to be known sometime, Corky,” said Dad.

“Maybe sometime, Dad,” said Corky. “But not now. Please. And not to Dougie. Give me a break, Dad! Don’t you want me to play
football?”

“Okay, okay,” said Dad, lifting his hands in surrender. “We won’t tell Dougie. In that case, get this business straight about
what Buzz told Dougie. Who did you tell him got the books, Buzz — you or Corky?”

Buzz thought a minute, then slowly explained exactly what had happened.

When it was clearly understood that
Buzz had told Dougie that it was he who had gotten the books and that Corky had read them, too, Dad said, “Now let’s get
back to where we were before that telephone call interrupted us.” He looked at Corky. “I know you said that you might get
kicked off the team, Corky, but you admitted to me in the car that what you and Buzz did wasn’t right. What are you going
to do about it?”

Corky and Buzz exchanged looks.

“Bob,” Mom broke in, “I’m about as guilty as the boys. I could have stopped Buzz from going to the game, but I didn’t. So
I’m at fault, too.”

Dad stared at her with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you were in cahoots with the twins, Kate!”

“Not quite,” she said, a faint smile on her lips. “But after you and Corky had
left for the game, out comes Buzz in Corky’s football uniform. Honestly, I really thought he was Corky for a minute.”

“And you let him —”

“I told him to get right back to his room and take that uniform off,” said Mom. “Right off he started explaining to me how
much seeing the pro-football game meant to Corky. And… very effectively, too, I tell you… what it would mean to Corky if he
didn’t show up at his football game. So… I gave in.”

Dad still looked stunned, as Mom, smiling, prepared to set the table for supper.

Dougie arrived after supper. He and Corky started playing chess, and in just four moves Dougie had one of Corky’s bishops
trapped. He gave up a couple of
pawns, then came up with another sparkling move that took Corky’s queen. He did some maneuvering with his own queen and rooks,
and the next thing Corky knew he was checkmated.

Dougie’s freckles rolled into one as he smiled triumphantly at Corky.

“Guess the books didn’t help much, did they, Corky?”

“Guess not,” said Corky, rising from the table. “Play Buzz. Maybe they helped him.”

Buzz and Dougie won one game apiece, then agreed to play off the rubber at some other time.

Buzz did wish, though, that Corky would get more interested in chess. He would really enjoy playing with him. It wasn’t fun
to play against poor competition.

That night, while they lay in their beds, Buzz told Corky about going up the Tower for the first time, and about the fun he
had playing football. It was, he said, the best day he’d had in his whole life.

“The Tower?” Corky said. “
You
went up the Tower?”

“That’s right,” said Buzz. “With Pete, Frosty, and Tony. It wasn’t just playing the game, Corky, or climbing up in the Tower.
It was the guys. The way they treated me, thinking that I was you. It… well, it’s really hard to; explain, Corky.”

He was quiet awhile. And then he said, “Corky, would… would you mind if I played in your place again next week?”

11

C
ORKY popped his head up like a jack-in-the-box and stared across at his brother. “Are you crazy?”

“No. I’m perfectly sane, Corky. But playing in that football game today made me feel like a different person.”

“Of course,” said Corky. “It made you feel like me.” He dropped his head back to the pillow and drew the covers up to his
neck. “Go to sleep, Buzz. Tomorrow you’ll feel like yourself again.”

“I know,” said Buzz unhappily.

How could he make Corky understand what it meant to him to be with those guys?

“I don’t want to be like myself again,” he said after thinking a bit. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Corky. Today I found
out how good it felt to have guys treat me, well… like a human being. Like someone they were glad to have around.”

There was silence from Corky’s bed for a minute. “Did Goose Marsh invite you over to his house for cookies? Boy, those raisin
cookies his mother makes! I think they’re even better —”

“Yes, he invited me over,” said Buzz, remembering the never-to-be-forgotten moment. “I think they’re horrible!”

Corky laughed. “I know. You hate raisin cookies!”

“Hate ’em is right.”

“And Pete Nettles… did he say anything to you?”

“You think he didn’t? He even bought me an ice cream soda! And I… I’ve always treated him like a dumb animal. That’s what
I mean, Corky. You have the friends because you… well, you treat them like human beings, not like dumb animals.” A lump rose
in his throat. “Oh, well, let’s go to sleep, Cork.”

Silence again. Buzz heard Corky’s soft breathing.

Then Corky said, “Buzz, Dad and Mom wouldn’t let you play in place of me. You saw how mad Dad was that you played today. He’d
never let you do that again.”

“I know, Corky,” said Buzz. “Oh, well, forget it, Corky.”

Beginning the next day, Buzz was a changed person. At least he tried to act changed. Every time he saw Goose Marsh, Tony Krebbs,
Jimmy Briggs, Pete Nettles, or anyone else he knew, he spoke with a friendlier attitude than he had ever used before.

The boys did not act differently toward him, though. He got discouraged and almost gave up.

Heck,
he thought.
They’re not trying to be friendly. They’re still acting like a bunch of jerks. Why should I go out of my way to try to be
friendly to them?

“You can’t expect them to act different in a week,” said Corky, when Buzz told him about it. “Maybe they think you’re acting,
or something. Maybe it would be a good idea if you joined a team, Buzz.”

“I don’t know about that… I’m not keen about football. But if I played this Sunday, too…”

He paused, and Corky stared at him.

“That Craig Smith, for instance,” Buzz went on. “I never thought he was smart enough to captain a football team. But he called
some plays last week that were the right ones at just the right time. I bet he’d make a good chess player.”

“Chess!” snorted Corky. “That’s all you have in that brain of yours!”

The Otters practiced on Tuesday. Buzz went along with Corky. He sat on the sideline and watched. Coach Hayes had the boys
drill on blocking and tackling, then had them scrimmage. They played rough and hard. Buzz could hear the sound of their helmets
and shoulder pads
battering each other even from where he sat.

He couldn’t see any fun in that. Getting knocked around and poked in the ribs by hard helmets wasn’t for him. He’d rather
play something safe, like chess.

But it was on the football field that he had learned what it meant to have guys talk with you, laugh with you, and joke with
you. Those fellows were the same off the field, too. Their friendship with Corky proved it.

Something happened to Alan Rogers, so Bobby Loberg took his place. Buzz saw Coach Hayes look at Alan’s hand and then administer
first aid to it. Alan didn’t go in again.
The Otters will miss Alan badly on Sunday
, thought Buzz,
if he can’t play
.

Buzz accompanied Corky to the practice sessions on Wednesday and Friday, too. There was supposed to be practice on Thursday,
but it rained so hard that the coach called it off.

Then, during scrimmage on Friday, Buzz saw someone lying on the field after a play and not getting up. A chill rippled along
his spine as he recognized the number on the back of the player’s jersey — 76.

Corky’s number!

He stood up on his feet and began chewing his fingernails nervously. Coach Hayes ran out, knelt beside Corky, and felt his
ankle.

Buzz saw Corky wince.

Then the coach and Craig Smith helped Corky to his feet. They got on either side of him and helped him off the field.

Buzz ran over.

“Your brother sprained his ankle, Buzz,” said the coach. “I’ll drive him home so that he can apply a cold pack to it. This
is tough luck for your brother and for the team. We play the Cougars Sunday.”

12

D
AD looked at Buzz long and thoughtfully.

“I know how you feel, Buzz,” he said at last. “Your mother and I had quite a talk about it Sunday. Just about the same time
you and Corky were talking in your bedroom.”

“Then, can I, Dad?” pleaded Buzz. “Corky wouldn’t play anyway. His ankle isn’t completely healed. Can’t I just wear his uniform
and sit on the bench?”

Dad looked at Mom and Mom looked
at Dad as if this were really an impossible situation.

“Well… what do you think, Kate?” asked Dad.

“I think the boys should do exactly what we said they should.”

Buzz’s brows shot up. “What is that, Mom?”

“Mom and I think that you and Corky should tell Coach Hayes and the team just what you did,” Dad answered. “We think it’s
better than trying to keep it a secret. It will bother your consciences later. And both of you — Mom and I, too — might be
sorry. What do you think?”

Buzz looked unhappily at Corky. “I don’t know. What do you think, Corky?”

He knew Dad and Mom were right. But if they told the coach about their
switching places with each other his chance of playing in the next game would surely go down the drain.

Corky shrugged. “I think we’d better tell them,” he said.

Buzz shrugged, too. “Okay. Guess we’ll tell them. And guess I might as well forget about playing Sunday.”

They waited until after dinner to see Coach Hayes, because they knew that he worked every Saturday morning.

The coach lived on Palmer Avenue, not far from their own street. Buzz and Corky found him in the backyard, playing football
catch with Tony Krebbs, Frosty Homan, and Craig Smith.

“Well, hi, boys!” Coach Hayes smiled. “How’s the ankle, Cork?”

“Not so good,” replied Corky.

Buzz hadn’t figured on anyone’s being with the coach. He had thought that he and Corky could make their confession to Coach
Hayes, and then Coach Hayes could tell the team.

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