The Roar of the Crowd by Rich Wallace Page B

pie. “It isn’t marked.”
    The girl looked at the pie for a few seconds, twisted her mouth around, and sighed.
    “Shouldn’t be more than a quarter,” Donald said.
    “Sounds about right,” she answered, and punched in the sale.
    They laughed as they left the store. “You shouldn’t do that,” Manny said, but he was grinning.
    “It was an emergency,” Donald said. “I’d faint if I had to walk all the way home without eating.”
    Manny had been teammates with Donald before, in Little League baseball and on a parish soccer team. Neither had played organized football before this year, but they’d be entering sixth grade in a few days and figured it was about time. Manny was a little surprised they’d made it through the cuts and actually won places on the roster. Now he was wondering if he should have stuck with soccer, where he was sure he’d be playing instead of sitting on the bench.
    “That stunk getting in for only one play,” Manny said. “Weren’t you angry?”
    “Sort of,” Donald said. “That’s the breaks though. Most of these guys have been playing football since third grade. We’re new at it.”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    They walked along in silence for a few minutes, sipping their Cokes and looking at the traffic. They could see the New York City skyline down the hill and across the river.
    “Coach said we’d be on some of the special teams, like for kickoffs and punts,” Donald said.
    “When did he say that?”
    “He told me before practice. He’s going to start working on that tomorrow. Gotta get ready for the game.”
    Manny perked up. “Really? You sure? He didn’t say anything to me.”
    “Well, he told me.”
    “Hope he meant me, too,” Manny said.
    “I’m sure he did.”
    The season was set to begin on the following Saturday, just eight days away. Under the lights at the high school stadium.
    They’d reached Manny’s street. “See you tomorrow,” Manny said.
    He put his half-empty soda bottle into one of his cleats and held one shoe in each hand. He put his helmet back on his head and began running up the hill toward his house. In his mind he was racing down the field on a kickoff. The roar of the crowd was deafening.
    “Don’t you ever need a rest?” Donald called.
    “Nah,” Manny yelled back. “You’ve got to be in shape to run down those kick-returners.”

3
    Speed and Brains
    F ive-year-old Sal was waiting for Manny, leaping down the two front steps as Manny came up the sidewalk.
    “Hi, Manny!” he hollered.
    “Hey, squirt.”
    “Did you do anything great today?” Sal asked his brother, grabbing Manny’s helmet and carrying it up to the porch.
    “Sure did,” Manny said. “I made this touchdown-saving tackle right at the goal line, Sal. You should have seen me.”
    “You clobbered the guy, Manny?”
    “I clobbered him all right. The big-shot quarterback.”
    “Wow. You should be the quarterback, Manny.”
    Manny laughed. “I’m too quick for that. They need me to run, not pass. What’s for dinner, Sal? I’m starving.”
    “I don’t know. Daddy’s not home yet.”
    “Okay. I’ll shower.”
    Manny entered the kitchen and gave his mom a hug.
    “You’re soaked with sweat,” she said. “You must have been working hard.”
    “I was. What are you making?”
    “Fried fish. It’ll be ready soon. Now go get cleaned up.”
    “Cool.”
    Manny’s mom worked as a bank teller. His dad was a driver for a package-delivery company. Dad could get home anytime between six and eight, depending on the workload.
    Sal followed Manny upstairs to the bedroom they shared. Sal had Legos and trucks spread all over the floor. “You should clean this up, buddy,” Manny said. “I don’t want to step on a Lego and break my ankle.”
    “I will. I was playing all afternoon waiting for you. I was trying to build a football stadium. Like the one you’ll be playing in. And the Giants.”
    Manny patted Sal’s head and laughed. “I think Giants Stadium is a