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  They were still tied 0–0. Much of the game had been played in the Strikers end with the Vipers pressing the attack. Nate was getting impatient with the lack of a Strikers offense. It was as if he had hardly been in the game. His game shirt wasn’t even sweaty.

  The Vipers right forward sailed a dangerous crossing pass toward the front of the Strikers net. Nate instinctively took a few steps closer to the right sideline.

  Cam was ready. He stepped out and with a quick leap snatched the ball out of the sky. But instead of waiting for his teammates to run downfield, Cam whipped a long sidearm bounce pass down the right sideline.

  Nate and a Vipers defender raced toward the ball. Nate beat him to it, stopped on a dime, and with a slick heel kick flicked the ball back toward the Vipers goal as the defender flashed by. Nate now had nothing but open field between him and the Vipers’ goal!

  The Vipers defender skidded to a stop and scrambled to catch up. Nate pushed the ball ahead of him, sprinting to the Vipers goal. Finally he had a chance to score.

  Another defender dashed over to cut Nate off. But Nate was really flying now, a game’s worth of stored-up energy bursting out of him. He cut sharply to the left, leaving another Viper defender in his dust. With a light touch, Nate was in the clear and bearing down on the goal.

  Breakaway!

  The Vipers goalkeeper dashed out, hoping to grab the ball before Nate’s next touch. Nate tapped the ball to the right just as the keeper tumbled forward, grabbing nothing but grass and air. Nate leaped over the diving keeper and sprinted to the ball, now bouncing toward the goal line. He reached out with his right foot and redirected the ball toward the open net. The net jumped back.

  Goal! The Strikers were ahead, 1–0.

  Nate sprang into the air and spun around, then raced back into his shouting teammates’ arms.

  “All right, breakaway!”

  “Great goal!”

  “Super move.”

  “We finally got you the ball!” Sergio shouted.

  “What do you mean ‘we’?” Nate laughed. “Cam got me the ball. What a pass.” He pointed the index fingers of both hands down the field to the Strikers keeper.

  Cam raised a gloved fist.

  Coach Lyn paced the sidelines, clapping his hands. “All right! Good defense! Nate and Anton, drop back and help out. We’ve got to keep the lead.”

  The Strikers played carefully for the last few minutes, milking the clock with each possession. The forwards fell back, packing the defensive end and jamming play in the middle of the field.

  Nate didn’t have any more scoring chances, but neither did the Vipers. When the referee blew the whistle to end the game, Nate jabbed his fist into the air.

  The Strikers had won again, 1–0.

  After shaking hands with the Vipers, Nate and his teammates turned toward the bench.

  “Hey, look,” Nate said scanning the sidelines. “It’s some of the Monarchs—I see Hunter and Luke.”

  “Yeah, I saw them,” Sergio said. “They were watching the game.”

  “I’ll bet they were rooting for a tie,” Stevie said.

  “Or a loss,” Nate added.

  “What were you watching the sidelines for?” Cam asked in mock outrage. “Next time, pay attention to the game. They must have had a million shots on me today.”

  Sergio held his arms out to his sides. “Hey, I’m just saying I saw them.”

  “Hunter!” Nate shouted. “How’d you guys do today?”

  “We won. Easy, 4–0.”

  “Who’d you play?”

  “The Rapids.”

  “They stink!” Sergio shouted. “We’ll beat them 6–0.”

  Nate lowered his voice. “The Rapids aren’t that bad. The Monarchs must be playing really well to win 4–0.”

  “We’ve got a few more weeks before we play the Monarchs,” Sergio said. “We’ll be ready.”

  “Yeah, if you pay attention to the game and stop checking out who’s in the crowd,” Cam teased.

  Nate traded high fives with his father and mother, who were waiting near the parking lot. Aunt Lizzie was all smiles. “Great goal,” she said. “You were really motoring on that breakaway.”

  Nate held up two fingers. “I got two goals in two games. You’d better start looking up cookie recipes.”

  “Or I’d better score another goal this weekend to catch up.” She looked at Nate as if she’d just remembered something. “Hey, I’m covering the Saint Joe’s–Landis Prep football game tonight. You want to come? I might be able to sneak you into the press box.”

  Nate looked at his mother and father with big, begging eyes. “Can I?”

  “I don’t see why not,” his mother said. “It’s not a school night.”

  Nate’s father laughed. “But you’ll still have him home by midnight. Right, Lizzie?”

  Aunt Lizzie gave him an angelic look and posed her hands like she was swearing on a bible in a courtroom.

  “I do solemnly promise,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  Nate and Aunt Lizzie climbed the concrete steps to the press box perched at the top of the Landis Prep stadium. Lizzie opened the door. A long, flat wooden table sat in front of three windows. Ten metal folding chairs were scattered along the length of the table.

  “Hey, Tom!” Lizzie called to an older man in front of a laptop.

  The man took a sip from his Styrofoam cup without looking up. “Hi, Lizzie. What’s up?” Then he noticed Nate. “Your paper’s paying for assistants now?”

  “Yeah, right,” Lizzie said. “This is my favorite nephew, Nate. He’s going to hang out here and watch the game. Is that okay?”

  “No problem,” Tom said. He eyed Nate. “You play football?” he asked.

  “No sir, I play soccer.”

  “He scored the winning goal in his game today,” Lizzie said proudly. “On a breakaway.”

  Tom nodded. He looked tired even though it wasn’t even seven o’clock. “You like football?” Tom asked.

  “Sure.”

  Tom brightened. “Good. Then you’re in for a treat. Saint Joe’s and Landis Prep are big rivals. They have two of the best football programs in the area.”

  “Who are you rooting for?” Nate asked.

  Lizzie interrupted quickly. “First rule up here in the press box: we don’t root for any team.” She turned to Tom. “No cheering in the press box. Right, Tom?”

  Tom nodded and took another sip of coffee. “We root for the best story,” he said with a hint of a smile.

  “When was the last time Saint Joe’s beat Landis?” Lizzie asked.

  Tom thought for a moment. “About ten years ago,” he said. “But the games are always close. They go right down to the wire. Last year Landis won on the last play of the game.”

  “We’ll root for Saint Joe’s,” Lizzie whispered to Nate. “It’s a better story if they win.”

  Lizzie opened her laptop and started typing. A few more reporters wandered in and sat down. The stands were filling up fast. Soon people packed every corner of the stadium. Even sitting way up in the press box, Nate could feel the hum of excitement in the crowd.

  The moment the game started, it was all business among the reporters. Just as Lizzie had said, there was no cheering. They typed away, occasionally tossing comments or questions at another reporter.

  “What’s the running back’s name?”

  “Which one?”

  “Number 24. The kid from Landis.”

  “Jarvis LaChance.”

  “Isn’t he the kid who’s going to the University of Virginia next year?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He can play.”

  Nate sat quietly. Finally, during a timeout, he asked Lizzie, “What are you typing?”

  “A running description of the game,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the field. “I’ll put the final score and a quick summary of the game in the first paragraph, the one we call the ‘lede.’ The game stuff will go in the back.”

&n
bsp; Landis Prep jumped out to a 14–0 lead behind a powerful running attack led by LaChance. But Saint Joe’s didn’t give up. They scored a touchdown before the end of the first half, then scored again in the second half on a wild, broken-field 72-yard run. The score was tied, 14–14.

  Landis Prep put together a long drive, eating up yards and the clock. They scored on a short pass and regained the lead, 21–14.

  Saint Joe’s came back again. Starting with only three minutes to go, they drove downfield until it was fourth down on the eight-yard line with just twenty seconds to go. Everyone in the stadium was on their feet. The Saint Joe’s quarterback faded back but couldn’t find an open receiver. He scrambled to his right and fired a desperation pass to the back corner of the end zone. The Saint Joe’s receiver stretched out, snagged the ball, touched the chalk sideline, and tumbled out of bounds. The linesman raced in, pulling both hands toward his chest.

  “Touchdown!” Nate shouted. He couldn’t help cheering. Suddenly the press box was alive and full of talk.

  “Score’s 21–20. Think they’ll go for two points?”

  “The St. Joe’s coach may want at least a tie. After all, they’ve lost ten in a row.”

  “There’s no overtime. They’ll go for it.”

  “Five bucks says they go for two.”

  Nobody took the bet. Saint Joe’s was already lining up for the two-point conversion. The quarterback pitched the ball back to the running back, who was sweeping around the right end. A Landis Prep defensive back sliced through the line and tripped up the running back just short of the goal line.

  The Landis Prep side exploded in cheers. The Saint Joe’s fans groaned as the runner slammed the ball into the turf—one yard short of victory.

  “Watch my laptop,” Lizzie ordered Nate as the fans spilled onto the field. “I’ve got to get some quotes.” She grabbed a notebook and was out the door.

  “I told you it’d be a great game.” Tom leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “And boy, that was the best game I’ve seen in a long time.”

  When Lizzie returned, she sat down with her notebook and started typing again. After a few minutes she sat forward with her chin in her hands and silently read the article. She made a few final changes and hit the send button.

  “All done,” Lizzie said with a satisfied smile. “Pretty good game, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet the Saint Joe’s guys are mad,” Nate said.

  Lizzie started to collect her things. “Yeah, they have to be disappointed,” she agreed. “But I think in a couple of days they’ll be okay.”

  Nate wasn’t buying that. “But they lost to a big rival…again!” he said, thinking of how he would feel if the Strikers lost to the Monarchs. “I’d be real disappointed.”

  “I don’t know,” Lizzie said as they stepped out of the press box and into the nearly empty stadium. “I think they’ll see they played a great game—maybe one of their best—against a terrific opponent. They just came up a little short. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Who’s your big rival?”

  “The Monarchs.”

  “Right, the Monarchs,” Lizzie said. They were walking across the football field under the lights, surrounded by the night and the quiet. “You always have a great game against them, right?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You remember all those games, don’t you? The Monarchs bring out the best in you guys. And you guys bring out the best in the Monarchs. You want to beat ‘em, but if give it your very best shot, everything you’ve got, and then lose fair and square? That’s not the worst thing in the world, is it?”

  “I guess not,” Nate said. “But I’d still want to win.”

  “It’s like that thing about kicking the ball out of bounds,” Lizzie continued. “You want to win, but you want to win the right way. Straight up. Not because someone got hurt.”

  Nate walked across the field, with everything Lizzie had talked about—Saint Joe’s and Landis Prep, winning and losing, giving it your best, kicking the ball out of bounds after an injury—bouncing around in his mind like so many soccer balls.

  He understood what his aunt was trying to tell him. But a big part of him still wanted the Strikers to beat the Monarchs. Any way they could.

  Chapter 8

  Nate heard someone call his name and turned to see Ben Goodwin, a Strikers substitute, jogging onto the pitch. Nate didn’t want to leave the game, but he saw Coach Lyn waving him to the sidelines.

  “I wanted to give you a quick break,” the coach explained. “You’ve been doing a lot of running. I’ll get you back in the game in a couple of minutes.” He clapped Nate on the back. “We’re going to need you.”

  Nate found his water bottle and squirted a steady stream of water into his mouth. He grabbed a couple of orange slices and sucked on them, letting the juice dribble down his chin as he checked the scoreboard.

  The Strikers were behind 3–2 with only eight minutes to go. Nate replayed the game in his head up to this point. The Strikers had jumped off to an early lead, but the United had come right back to tie the score 1–1. Nate smiled as he remembered the goal that had put the Strikers ahead 2–1. Sergio had slipped a sweet pass to Nate near the top of the penalty box. Nate had wasted no time and blasted a rocket into the back of the net.

  But not long after that, the Strikers defense broke down and gave up a pair of unanswered goals. So now the Strikers were in real trouble. Nate stood with his hands on his hips, breathing deeply, trying to get ready for one last big push.

  “Nate, go in for Ben.”

  Nate sprinted on to the field thinking, I’d better make something happen…quickly.

  He scrambled after the ball, but the United defender flicked it to a teammate and started to play keep-away. Nate could feel the game clock running down.

  Sergio intercepted a pass near midfield. He sent a quick pass to Nate, who was racing along the right wing.

  This may be our last chance, Nate told himself. He glanced over and saw Sergio still running down the middle of the field.

  Nate dribbled down the sideline, aiming for the corner. He faked toward the middle, freezing the closest United defender and creating enough space so he could loft a high centering pass toward Sergio near the front of the United goal.

  The pass felt good as it left Nate’s right foot. Maybe too good. The ball sailed past the sprinting Sergio and the United goalkeeper and found Anton, the other Strikers forward near the far post, who volleyed the ball into the back of the net.

  Goal! The game was tied 3–3.

  The Strikers players erupted into cheers.

  “All tied up!”

  “Great goal, Anton!”

  “Way to pass, Nate!”

  Nate tried to settle everyone quickly. “Come on, guys, we still have some time. We need another goal. We need a win!”

  The Strikers had time, but not enough. A couple of minutes later, the referee blew his whistle to end the game. The Strikers and the United had tied.

  “At least we got a tie,” Sergio said as the boys collected their equipment and water bottles from the sidelines. “That’s a point in the standings.”

  “Yeah, but a win is three points,” Nate said. “We’re going to need every point we can get to stay with the Monarchs.”

  Cam’s head dropped. “I never should’ve let in three goals,” he said as he tossed his goalkeeper gloves into his athletic bag.

  “It wasn’t just you,” Nate argued. “The rest of us didn’t play that great either. We’ve got to start playing better soon—we play the Monarchs in four weeks.”

  The boys fell silent. They were still disappointed with the 3–3 tie.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Nate said.

  “There is something we can do about it,” Sergio suggested.

  “Like what?” Cam asked. “Have one of the United goals taken back on instant replay or something? This isn’t the NFL, you know.”

/>   Sergio smiled. “No. We can root like crazy against the Monarchs. We need any kind of help we can get.”

  He scanned the fields at the SoccerPlex. Kids of all ages were playing games in the bright September sun. Parents and fans stood on the edges of the fields and sat on small metal bleachers.

  “I think the Monarchs are playing over there,” Sergio said, pointing toward a field on the other side of the complex.

  “Let’s go,” Cam said. He and Sergio lead the way, weaving through the fans on the sidelines, and Nate trailed behind. When they reached the field where their rivals were playing, Nate checked the scoreboard. The Monarchs were leading 2–0.

  “How’s the game been?” Nate asked a parent standing nearby.

  “The Monarchs are really good. They’ve been controlling play most of the game. They’re beating us 2–0.”

  The Sabres parent noticed Nate’s uniform. “Which team are you on?” he asked.

  “The Strikers.”

  “I think we play you in a couple of weeks,” he said. “How’d you do today?”

  “We tied the United, 3–3.”

  The ball whistled by the Monarchs goal. The parent threw his hands in the air. “Oooohhhh,” he groaned. “We really needed that goal.”

  Nate and his teammates moved in so they could see better.

  Sergio and Cam cheered loudly.

  “Comeback time!”

  “Let’s go, Sabres!”

  “Keep fighting, you can do it!”

  Nate held his hand over his forehead to block the sun, the sweat drying on his arms and face. He stood and watched the game in silence as the action flowed back and forth across the pitch.

  It doesn’t seem right to root for the Monarchs to lose, he thought. Maybe Aunt Lizzie’s right. The best thing would be to beat the Monarchs when they’re playing their best. Straight up. No injuries. No lucky breaks. The right way.

  The Monarchs pressed the attack on the Sabres goal with a series of pinpoint passes. Hunter curved a shot around the Sabres goalkeeper for another goal.

  Nate watched as the Monarchs celebrated. But I sure can’t cheer for a Monarch victory, he said to himself. I just hope we can beat them.