Free Tight End by Matt Christopher Page A

it weren’t Chuck DeVal’s? Chuck had just thrown the ball too short of his target, that was
     all.
    With the ball on their own twenty-one, the Indians tried a line plunge and were held. Then, with only a few seconds left to
     play, they tried a field goal. It was good.
    Two seconds later the first half was over. The Indians led, 13–7.
    The Rams headed for the locker room and the inevitable talk by Coach Butler. All went except Jim. He remained on the bench,
     his helmet on the ground in front of him, his elbows on his knees, his hair blowing in the wind.
    Why should I go? he asked himself. He wasn’t wanted, anyway. Chuck said he was messing up the plays, and Chuck was right.
    But why didn’t that wise-guy quarterback realize why he, Jim, was messing up the plays? Even though Chuck didn’t know about
     the harassing phone calls and the drawing, he should be able to tell that something was bothering Jim. If Chuck did sense
     something wrong, perhaps he didn’t care.
    Jim heard feet pounding and saw a shadow sweep up in front of him and stop.
    “Jim! Are you all right?”
    He looked up at Margo. “Yeah, I’m all right.” He grabbed his helmet and rose to his feet. “Half the guys treat me like dirt,
     the other half ignore me. I might as well take my shower and go home.”
    “Most of that could be in your head, Jim,” she said. “You’re so bothered about those phone calls and that drawing that you
     think everyone is against you. That isn’t true. Maybe there are a few who have a grudge, but not all of them.”
    “Oh, what do you know?” he said irritably, and started to head toward the school.
    She touched his arm. “Jim.”
    He stopped and looked at her.
    “Don’t give up,” she urged. “Don’t quit. Your dad and your sister are in the stands. They came to see you play.”
    “Yeah, I know,” he said.
    He turned from her and continued on his way, her words about his father and sister ringing in his mind. He felt an ache in
     his throat and suddenly felt glad that he was alone.
    Before he entered the school he wiped his eyes with his knuckles. He had always loved football; but, at that moment, he hated
     it.
    The Indians kicked off to start the second half. Ed Terragano caught the end-over-end kick and carried it back to the Rams’
     twenty-two.
    They gained eight yards on two right tackle runs. Then Chuck hit Ed on a long forward pass that put them on the Indians’ thirty-one.
    “We’re rolling,” Chuck said, sweat glistening on his proud face. “Another run, Mark?”
    “How about a reverse for a change?” Pat cut in.
    “Using the ends, you mean?” Chuck asked, glancing at him.
    “No. Using Ed and Tony.”
    Jim felt his face redden. He shot a quick glance at Chuck, then lowered his gaze.
    “Okay I’ll fake to Mark and hand off to Tony”
    “What about an audible?”
    “We won’t need to call a color,” said Chuck. “On three. Let’s go.”
    They broke out of the huddle, and Chuck started calling signals. On the third “Hike!” Steve centered the ball. Chuck took
     it, faked a handoff to Mark — who went through the line as if he were carrying the ball — then handed the ball to Tony. Tony
     sprinted behind the line toward the left side of the field, then handed the ball to Ed as the left halfback came sprinting
     toward the right side of the field.
    Jim blocked his man, fell to his knees, sprang to his feet again to follow up on a block against another oncoming Coral Town
     Indian. The man got by him. Jim made a last-ditch attempt to stop him and barely touched the player’s right ankle, but it
     was enough to make the man lose his balance and fall.
    “Shreeek!”
went a whistle. The play stopped.
    Jim, still on the turf, glanced around to see what the call was.
    “Clipping!” said the ref, striking the back of his right calf to indicate the infraction. “Number eighty-eight! Fifteen yards!”
    Jim groaned, and took his time getting to his feet.
    “You’re really