Go Long! by Ronde Barber Page B

then?”
    â€œâ€™Cause in a way, I think Cody’s right about Wheeler—sort of.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI mean, the video was okay —just kind of boring after a while. But that ‘close your eyes’ stuff is totally wack.”
    â€œIt is not!” Tiki insisted. “Listen, if Mr. Wheeler thinks it’ll help us, we should try it. I mean, he’s the coach, right?”
    â€œI guess. . . .” Ronde wasn’t sure how in-charge Mr. Wheeler really was. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing, Tiki.”
    â€œWell, don’t you think we should give him a chance?”
    â€œYeah . . . but Cody—”
    â€œNever mind Cody!” Tiki insisted. “He’s just a kid, like us. This whole team is following Cody, when we should be listening to Coach.”
    â€œYeah, well, whatever.”
    â€œMan,” Tiki said, shaking his head and looking at Ronde, “you should think about it.”
    â€œI am thinking about it.”
    â€œYou should think again, then.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve got to go.”
    â€œMe too.”
    â€œSee you after school.”
    â€œYeah.”
    Ronde headed for his next class, shaking his head sadly. He and Tiki always agreed about stuff—well, important stuff, anyway.
    But this time it was different, and Ronde felt miserable about it. Still, he knew Tiki must be feeling even worse. After all, Ronde had most of the team on his side.
    In sticking up for Coach Wheeler, Tiki was pretty much alone.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Ronde stood at the goal line, waiting for the kickoff from Patrick Henry Junior High. His whole body wanted to tense up, but he told himself to stay calm, stay relaxed. The blood was pounding in his ears, and every breath sounded like a freight train inside his head.
    He saw the ball rise into the air off the kicker’s foot. It went up, up right into the setting sun. Ronde winced and shielded his eyes. Where in the word was the ball? It couldn’t be gone.
    No, wait, there it was! It was sinking back down toward him, spinning end-over-end. “Don’t fumble,” he told himself. “Stay relaxed . . . stay loose . . . catch it soft. . . . cradle it. . . .”
    He caught the ball out cleanly and took off like a shot straight down the field. From every direction now, hecould see the purple jerseys of the Patrick Henry Junior High Patriots closing in on him. Hands tore at his jersey, but they were going the wrong way, and his momentum made them lose their grip. Ronde veered to his left, then to his right, and then downfield again.
    Behind the thunder in his ears that was his breathing and his heart, he could barely hear the Patrick Henry fans in the stands, screaming, “NOOOO!”
    He raced down the field—to the forty, the thirty, the twenty . . .
    â€œOoof!”
    He was slammed down onto the turf. But this time—unlike in the first game—Ronde held on to the ball!
    He got up slowly, dusted himself off, and jogged off to the sidelines. He exchanged a high five with Tiki as his brother took the field along with the rest of the offense.
    Ronde took a seat on the bench. “Nice going, Barber!” Coach Pellugi said, slapping him on the back. Now that Coach Wheeler was actually with them on the sidelines, Coach Pellugi was back to being the defensive coach.
    Ronde watched as Cody took the snap from center, faked a handoff to Tiki, then ran a naked bootleg around to the weak side.
    The Patriots were taken completely off guard, and before they could recover, Cody had turned the Eagles’ excellent field position into their first touchdown—on the very first offensive play of the game!
    As he crossed the end zone, Cody dove in, did a somersault, and came up dancing, shaking his hips as he showed off the football. Finally he spiked it between his