Double Fake Page 5

  “Spencer did?”

  “Yeah.” Jessie looked around, a little embarrassed and a little bold. “When you were getting the soda earlier.” She shrugged. “What the heck, right? The carnival’s only once a year.”

  Calvin was quiet for a moment. “Did he know you were here with me?”

  Jessie shrugged. “It wasn’t very obvious, I guess. There were a lot of us hanging out by then.”

  Calvin stared at the ground. “Man,” he said under his breath.

  Jessie touched his arm, then drew her hand away. “It’s not like this is a boyfriend thing,” she said. Calvin wasn’t sure if she meant him and Jessie, or Jessie and Spencer. Either way, there wasn’t much to cheer about.

  Jessie’s tone brightened. “Anyway, I had a great time. Thanks for the food and everything.”

  “No problem.”

  Zero and Danielle had arrived, and Calvin could see Dr. Rosado walking toward them. “There’s your dad,” he said flatly.

  “Yeah.” Jessie stood up from the bench. “Thanks, guys,” she said sweetly. “It was a blast.”

  “Thanks,” said Danielle, giving them that little finger wave. “See you on the soccer field.”

  Calvin stood with his mouth hanging open as the girls walked away. Zero stared at him. “You okay?” he said.

  Calvin shook his head slowly. “I guess,” he said. “Man, that is one confusing girl.”

  “Confusing or confounding?”

  “Both.” Calvin started walking. “Never did get a drink tonight. I’m thirsty.” He looked around the grounds. Spencer, Sherry, and the others were hanging with a large group over by one of the food tents. They were laughing and looking animated. “Let’s get out of here,” Calvin said.

  He led the way out of the carnival grounds and down Ninth Street toward the Boulevard. “I had enough of this,” he said.

  “The grocery’s closed,” Zero said as they reached the main street. A few blocks up, the digital clock above the Hudson City National Bank said 10:09.

  “I know a place,” Calvin said. He was walking quickly. They were both supposed to be in by 10:30. “Might be a little late getting home, but we can weasel out of it.”

  Zero stayed in step with Calvin, who didn’t say much as they walked past the mostly darkened stores. A few taverns and the pizza places were still open, and a Latin rhythm was coming from the Lupita Music store.

  When they reached the corner of Third, Calvin said, “What’s the count?” to the man with the German shepherd.

  “One up, two down,” was the reply.

  “Must be a slow night,” Zero said to Calvin.

  “He just starts over when he gets to five.”

  “Where we going, anyway? It’s getting late.”

  “Two more blocks,” Calvin said. “We need to expand our horizons some, you know?”

  They reached First Street, just inside the town’s border, and Calvin turned down the hill toward the river. A quarter block down was Carolina’s Cantina, a small Mexican restaurant that served mostly take-out food. There were just three tables, but there was a refrigerator stocked with juices and soda near the counter.

  “How’d you know this would be open?” Zero asked.

  “My dad knows every late-night place to eat around here,” Calvin said. “We get tacos and stuff sometimes.”

  The round, dark-skinned man behind the counter nodded to the boys and smiled. He and two men at a table were watching a soccer game in Spanish on the small TV that was perched on a shelf next to cans of beans and tomatoes. Soccer posters on the wall said FUTBOL MEXICO and CLUB DE FUTBOL MONTERREY.

  “That’s our sport,” Calvin said, pointing to the TV.

  The men turned to him and grinned. “Who do you play for?” one asked. He had a strong Spanish accent.

  “Little Italy. In the Y league.”

  The man behind the counter said, “We sponsor a team in the older division. You look like a striker.”

  Calvin shrugged. “They play me all over. It’s my first year....”

  “You like it?”

  “Bueno,” Calvin said. Then he broke into an embarrassed grin. He didn’t know much Spanish.

  “Greatest sport in the world.”

  Calvin tapped on the glass door of the cooler at a row of sodas—Jarritos, Manzana, Lupiña—in mandarin orange, coconut, guava, pineapple. “That is good stuff,” he said to Zero. “A whole lot better than mixing Sprite and orange-colored sugar water.” He took out a bottle of pineapple soda. Zero reached in for another.

  “We better hustle,” Calvin said as they paid for the drinks. Then he had a second thought. He paid for a bottle of guava soda and held it up to the light. “For my dad. That’ll make sure he gets over me being twenty minutes late.”

  Then they hurried out the door toward home.

  10

  Corner Kicks

  Little Italy lost a close one to Hector’s Garage but beat Bug Busters Extermination to run its record to 4-2-1. With three regular-season games remaining, they were in good position for a playoff spot.

  The standings were taped to the wall of the refreshment stand at the recreation field. Calvin checked them out as he waited for the rematch with the Grotto.

  Zero had gone into New York City with his parents and wasn’t back yet when Calvin left for the match, so he’d walked over alone. Now, just ten minutes before game time, Zero still hadn’t shown. Victor Alvarez was vacationing at Seaside Heights with his family, so Little Italy wouldn’t have any substitutes if Zero didn’t get there. The evening was hot and sticky.

  “This is a big one,” Coach Diaz said as the players gathered around him. He was wearing a yellow Brazil soccer jersey with green trim and had shaved off his wisp of a mustache. “If they beat us, we drop into second place. And whoever ends up second in our division is going to get Bauer Electric in the first round of the playoffs.”

  “We’ll beat them,” Calvin said, meaning Bauer Electric.

  “They don’t think so,” said Coach, gesturing toward the Grotto players, who were warming up on the field. “They’ve been playing well the past few weeks. They want this rematch bad.”

  The Grotto was clearly fired up, and it showed in the opening minutes of the game. Mary Pineda was playing goalie for Little Italy and she made a couple of nice saves, but the third shot was unreachable and the Grotto had a quick 1-0 lead.

  Calvin glanced over at the sideline and noticed that Zero had not yet arrived. “Let’s suck it up,” he called to his teammates. “Let’s get it back.”

  The Grotto’s three subs came running onto the field and took their spots on the front line. This could be a problem, Calvin thought. The opponents had the advantage of rotating their players frequently, getting fresh legs out there while the Little Italy players wilted in the heat.

  And the pressure continued. Little Italy barely crossed midfield more than a couple of times, while the Grotto kept up a steady game of quick, short passes and runs at the goal. Calvin was ineffective from his position at sweeper, unable to help generate the offense. By halftime, the Grotto had a 2-0 lead.

  Zero was standing near the bench as the players walked slowly off the field, needing drinks and rest. All seven players had been out there for the entire half.

  “Where you been?” Calvin said sharply as he caught Zero’s eye.

  “Bad traffic at the tunnel,” Zero said with a shrug.

  “We’re getting our butts kicked.”

  “We’ll be all right.”

  Calvin moved closer to Zero and lowered his voice. “You better be ready to run with me, man. The rest of these people are out of gas.”

  Coach came over to them and said they’d be at the midfield positions in the second half. “You two have to control the game,” he said. “We’ll put Angel, Orlando, and Mary in the front line, but that’ll leave our defense very vulnerable. We need to tie this game up, at least.”

  Calvin nodded. He went to the bench and grabbed his jug of water. His shi
rt was soaked with sweat. He shut his eyes and poured a bit of the water over his head.

  “Different game this half,” Coach said as the players huddled up around him. “We put the pressure on now. We control the field.”

  It wasn’t easy, but the mix of speedier players did make a difference for Little Italy. Calvin felt the frustration of having a long, sustained attack thwarted by an excellent save by the goalie, and he shook his head in resignation as the three rested Grotto players trotted onto the field soon after to give some teammates a breather.

  The first break came when Orlando made a steal at midfield and found Mary looping over from the sideline with a world of space in front of her. She quickly covered twenty yards with the ball, then crossed it cleanly to Angel, who fielded it without breaking stride and hammered it high and hard into the net. Angel had become a consistently dangerous scorer.

  “There we go!” Coach Diaz called, clapping his hands. “Plenty of time left. Keep it going.”

  Calvin crunched up the lower part of his shirt and wrung out a few drops of sweat. He looked over at Zero, who was staring intently toward the goal.

  “Our turn,” Calvin said. “The ice is broken.”

  Zero nodded. “I’m ready.”

  When Calvin intercepted a pass a few minutes later, he dribbled two steps, then passed crisply to Zero. Mary was open on the wing again, and she darted across the center line and gave a quick juke, racing past a defender. She passed back to Angel who was trailing the play, and he chipped the ball ahead to Orlando.

  Calvin was running nearly full-speed down the middle of the field, closing in on the goal box. Orlando’s pass was shin-high and caromed off Calvin’s leg, but Zero was in the right place and shot the bouncing ball toward the corner of the goal.

  The Grotto goaltender dove hard, extending his hand and knocking the ball to the side. It cleared the goal but bounced off a defensive player’s leg and over the end line.

  “Corner kick!” called the official, and Orlando ran over to the corner flag to put the ball in play.

  About three minutes remained in the game. Orlando’s chip was high and soft. Calvin braced his forearm against an opponent’s back, tensed and ready to leap for the ball, hoping to head it into the goal. But in the scramble for the ball he was shoved backward, and the goaltender safely caught the pass, ending the threat.

  “No foul?” Calvin shouted. But the ball was already in play, so he raced back up the field.

  The Grotto players were determined to preserve the one-goal margin, forgetting about offense and repeatedly clearing the ball with long, solid kicks.

  “We have to pick them apart!” Calvin said urgently. “Control the ball. Short passes. Let’s go!”

  Peter Leung had come up from the sweeper position, giving an additional man to the Little Italy offense but leaving Julie unprotected back in goal. Only a minute was left as Peter came charging up the field one more time, chasing the ball as he ran.

  Calvin knew that Peter’s ball-control skills were barely adequate, so he ran over and shouted for the ball. Peter obliged. Calvin stopped the ball and looked up the field. Both teams were spread out before him. This might be the last run of the game.

  “Support!” hollered Zero as Calvin was met near the center circle by a couple of opponents. Calvin passed back to Zero, then moved to an open space so Zero could return the ball.

  Orlando was open, so Zero passed it there and ran. Orlando had room and he dribbled along the sideline. Calvin stayed level with him, with Zero trailing behind.

  The pass went back to Zero, who found Angel darting across the top of the goal box. Angel pivoted and shot, a high line drive that the goalie leaped for, punching the ball over the top of the goal and out of bounds.

  Another corner kick. The players bunched up in front of the goal, shoving for position. Calvin ran into the mix, then swerved around Zero and sprinted toward Orlando at the corner of the field.

  Orlando saw him coming and changed tactics, making the short, easy pass instead of chipping it into the air in front of the goal. Two defenders charged toward Calvin, but he deftly dribbled around them and reached the goal box.

  “Here!” came Mary’s yell, and Calvin scooted the ball ten yards across the field, where his wide-open teammate fielded it and kicked it into the net. They’d tied it up!

  Calvin, elated, ran toward Mary, grabbing her under the arms and lifting her into the air. Zero, Orlando, and Angel joined the embrace, shouting and raising their fists.

  The official blew his whistle before the Grotto could put the ball in play. Game over. Little Italy was still in first place.

  Calvin reached the sideline and yanked his T-shirt over his head, falling to the ground and lying on his back, his arms and legs spread wide. He was panting and sweating hard, but he’d never felt better. His teammates were re-energized, slapping hands and grinning in the wake of their spectacular comeback.

  Suddenly Calvin felt a stream of cool liquid on his forehead and he opened his eyes and sat up. Danielle Rosado was standing there, holding a bottle of water and laughing. “Looked like you needed some cooling off,” she said.

  “At least I’m not sizzling this time,” Calvin said with a smile.

  “We brought you guys something.”

  “Oh yeah?” Calvin got to his feet. Jessie was there, too, holding a paper plate covered with foil.

  “Made some cookies for you and Zero,” Jessie said.

  “How come?”

  Jessie shrugged. “You know.... A thanks for the carnival. ”

  “Yeah.” Calvin took the plate and peeked under the foil. “Chocolate chip. Beautiful.”

  Calvin looked at Jessie now—black soccer shirt, pink hair band, mischievous smile. “Thanks,” he said. “These won’t last long.”

  Jessie nodded. “Gotta warm up now.”

  “Who you playing?”

  “The flower shop. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Maybe we’ll watch,” Calvin said. “And eat our cookies.”

  “You better watch,” Jessie said. “Could be you and us in the finals, you know.... I think you guys still need some education.”

  “Maybe so,” Calvin answered. “But we did the educating tonight. We shut those guys down and came back.”

  Jessie nodded as she trotted onto the field. “Not bad,” she said, looking back. “Not bad at all.”

  11

  The Playoffs

  Good job on the lawn,” Mr. Tait said as Calvin came in for lunch.

  Calvin just nodded. He’d been in a sour mood all morning, edgy about that night’s game. Besides, the mower did the work; all he did was push it around.

  Mr. Tait opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. “Big one tonight, huh?”

  Calvin felt a chill in his gut. He’d been trying not to think about it.

  Wins over Luigi’s and Villa Roma had clinched the division title for Little Italy and set them up for a first-round playoff game against Hector’s Garage. They’d lost the regular season match to Hector’s, 3-2.

  “Those guys are fast,” Calvin said. He blew out his breath. “It’s do or die tonight. Playoffs.”

  Mr. Tait looked at his nails, which were perfectly trimmed and clean. “Nobody faster than you, from what I’ve seen.” The Taits had only been to a couple of games, but Calvin had played well both times.

  Calvin stared at the chicken sandwich on his plate. He didn’t feel very hungry. “I’m just one guy.”

  “You’ve got some good players.” Mr. Tait took a seat and looked closely at his son. “The pressure is always worse before a playoff game,” he said. “The intensity’s higher. And an athlete always thinks he’s going to blow it in the hours before a big match. The good ones simply keep focusing more and more intently as the game gets closer. Visualizing success. By game time, you’re in such a strong emotional zone that nothing can break through and deter you.”

  Calvin looked his dad in the eyes and nodded. He’d bee
n through things like that before, especially at track meets when the entire burden of winning or losing was on him. Dad was right—he had teammates to share the load with tonight. There was some comfort in that.

  “Think positive thoughts, and I guarantee you’ll have your best game ever,” Mr. Tait said. “You’re primed for this. You’ve been working for it all summer.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And eat. I know how you’re feeling—like that sandwich is going to sit in your stomach all day like a rock—but you need fuel.”

  Calvin took a bite and chewed about a hundred times. Then he swallowed hard. He set the sandwich on the plate and stared at it.

  Six more hours until game time.

  Calvin and Zero tried to make the afternoon go quickly, but it dragged. They went to the middle school and shot baskets on the blacktop court, playing a few games of O-U-T instead of going one-on-one, which would have drained too much energy.

  Then they went down to the high school, crossing the parking lot and through an opening in the chain-link fence behind the football field and the track. There was a thick cluster of trees beyond the fence for about twenty yards, then a steep, sudden drop. The cliffs.

  The cliffs ran for much of the length of Hudson City, dropping at a sharp angle to the flat area along the Hudson River. Only four streets ran down to the flats—First and Sixteenth at the opposite ends of town, and Franklin and Ninth, more or less at either end of Hamilton Park along the river.

  From this point above the cliff, the boys had a clear view across to New York City. The cliffs weren’t steep enough to be dangerous, but most of the mile-long stretch was undeveloped—just trees and boulders and narrow paths. It was a good place to while away an hour or so, watching the boats on the river and the traffic on Palisades Avenue running from Jersey City to Hoboken. It was a bit of an oasis amid the glass and steel and concrete of one of the world’s busiest metropolitan areas.

  “We gotta get the jump on those guys tonight,” Calvin said, tossing a stick down the hill at a rock several feet away. He missed. “We always seem to be falling behind to good teams and then scrambling our way back. Would be nice to get an early lead for a change.”