The Roar of the Crowd by Rich Wallace Page A

his teammates were half a lap ahead already. Manny ran to the sideline and dropped the football in disgust. Then he took off after the others.
    His breath was steady but hard, coming out in short little bursts as he glared ahead and moved faster. Soon he’d passed the stragglers—Anthony and other linemen drained by the scrimmage, and a few lazy backs whose places in the starting lineup were secure.
    Manny picked up the pace as he began his second lap, passing DiMarco and some others and taking aim at the leaders. He swung wide to pass a few more in the end zone, then moved into the lead as he headed along the far sideline.
    After four laps Manny was well ahead of everyone, and he sprinted the last one at top speed, still seething from his one-play afternoon.
    Coach Reynolds was grinning as Manny yanked off his helmet and walked a few yards to catch his breath. “Good running,” he said.
    “Right,” Manny said.
    “You ought to run cross-country in high school,” the coach said with a laugh.
    “Yeah . . . well I ain’t in high school,” Manny said, trying not to let too much venom into his words. “I’m on this team.”
    The coach nodded. “I’ll try to remember that,” he said.
    “I hope so.”
    Coach gave him a stare, but then softened his expression. He pointed a finger at Manny. “Don’t get smart,” he said. “But keep up the hustle. I was watching that last play. There’ll be more chances, believe me.”

2
    The Discount Bin
    M anny stuck his cleats and mouth guard inside his helmet and carried it all by the face mask. “You coming?” he said to his scrawny friend Donald.
    “Yeah,” Donald said. Donald was still kneeling by the cooler of water, wiped out from the five laps. “Give me a second. I’m not a marathoner like you are.”
    Manny shrugged. “Small guys like us better be able to run. It’s too easy to get knocked out otherwise.”
    They headed across the practice field toward the Boulevard. They both lived on the other side of town, a mile walk from the field. Hudson City was small but dense, the side streets lined with old houses on small lots. The Boulevard was loaded with coffee shops and delis and liquor stores.
    “We’ll stop and get a soda,” Manny said.
    “You got any money?”
    “I’ve got a couple of dollars.”
    “I got a quarter in my shoe,” Donald said. “It was digging into my foot the whole time we were running.”
    “You’ll survive.”
    “Yeah,” Donald said. “But I’m starving.”
    “You won’t get much for a quarter.”
    “Yeah, I will. There’s always the discount bin.”
    They ducked into the small grocery store at the corner of the Boulevard and Ninth, across from St. Joseph’s Church. They had to turn sideways to get through the doorway because of their shoulder pads and the stacks of cardboard boxes on the sidewalk.
    “Ahh,” said Manny, shutting his eyes for a second to enjoy the air-conditioned coolness. “What a difference.”
    They walked up the canned-soup and pasta aisle toward the baked goods section at the back of the store. The aisles were narrow and stacked high.
    “Twinkies,” Donald said. “I need Twinkies.”
    They reached the back and Donald started pawing through the discount bin, where items that were turning stale or had ripped packaging were marked down. “No Twinkies,” he said. “Nothing good at all.”
    Donald glanced around, then flicked his eyebrows up at Manny. He gently brought his helmet down on an individual-sized apple pie, pushing until the box was partly flattened and the pie filling was coming through the crust.
    “Oh,” Donald said in mock surprise. “I didn’t see this pie at first. Looks like a bargain to me.”
    Manny shook his head. Donald grabbed the pie and they hurried up the aisle. Manny slid open the door of the soda cooler and took out a couple of bottles; then they got in line to pay.
    “This was in the discount bin,” Donald lied to the teenage girl at the register, handing her the