Fake Out by Rich Wallace Page A

to each other. They were two of the best players on the team, and they’d finally learned that it took a lot of teamwork to win a soccer game.
    But Mark and Ben both had scored in the third game, finally figuring out that passing was much more effective than trying to dribble the length of the field by yourself. They’d won that game. So today’s tie left their record at one win, two losses, and a tie.
    The Bobcats’ next several games were also against teams from the other division. Then they’d have rematches with the three teams in their own division. After that, the top two teams in each division would compete in the play-offs.
    Ben glanced over at the Panthers, who were huddled up around their coach. They looked excited. And happy. Ben and his teammates weren’t even smiling. They’d led for nearly the entire game, so letting a win slip away in the final seconds really hurt.
    Their game had been the last one of the day, so the officials were already posting the updated standings on a bulletin board near the parking lot. Ben walked over to have a look. He saw that the Bobcats had a lot of ground to make up before they could even think about getting a play-off spot.
    “Looks like we can get back on track nextweek,” Mark said. “The Falcons haven’t won a single game.”

    Ben shrugged. “We’ve only won once,” he said. “But you’re right. Nobody will burn me like that again, I can promise you.”
    The kid who’d faked Ben out went running past, heading for the parking lot. “Nice game,” he said, flashing a big grin.
    “You too,” Ben mumbled. He couldn’t tell if the kid was rubbing it in or if he really was congratulating him. It didn’t matter. The kid
had
played a nice game. Ben had just been his victim.

 
    KICKERS

CHAPTER TWO
A New Move

    Ben’s parents hadn’t been able to make it to the game, so he and Erin had to walk home. They lived on the same block and had been friends since first grade. It wasn’t a long walk, but Ben was tired from running hard for an hour.
    He stopped and peeked in the window at the market. He could see a cooler of sports drinks and soda bottles.
    “A cold drink would be great,” Ben said. His water bottle was empty but he didn’t have any money. So he’d have to wait until he got home.
    “You could have some of my water,” Erin said, holding out her bottle to him.
    Ben winced. “No way,” he said. “It looks like warm spit.”
    “Thanks a lot,” Erin said. She looked at the bottle and frowned. There was only about an inch of water left in it. She took off the cap and drank it. Then she stuck her tongue out at Ben. “It’s warm, but it’s not spit.”
    Ben let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He could still see the kid making that move, sending Ben sprawling in the wrong direction as he took a direct path to the goal. Ben’s heart sank again as he thought about the ball rippling into the net.
    He started walking, kicking at a stone and sending it into the street.
    “What are you doing after lunch?” Erin asked. “Want to come over?”
    Ben stared straight ahead. “Nope.”
    “Why not? It’s a beautiful day.”
    “I just don’t feel like it.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I
don’t
, that’s why.”
    Erin shook her head. “You sure are a grouch today.”
    They walked two more blocks before Ben said anything. When they reached the corner by Erin’s house, he said, “We should have won that game.”
    “So? We tied.”
    “We should have
won
. Don’t you care?”
    “Yes, I care. But I’m not going to let it ruin my day.” Erin turned and waved to her dad, who was trimming the edge of their lawn. “So I’ll see you later. Or not,” she said.
    Ben walked away. How could Erin be so cheerful after a game like that?

    He let the back door slam on his way into the house and kicked his shoes down the cellar stairs. He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and drank some orange juice right out of the