Soccer Duel by Matt Christopher Page B

darkening.
    You and your big mouth, a voice inside his head said. First you set Turk after him — who probably would have gone after him anyhow — then you give Renny the piece of advice that helps him win! Now his team's in the championships. How are you going to feel if he outplays you and walks off with the MVP trophy? Who's Coach Harrelson going to be impressed with then, huh? You stupid loser!
    Bryce winced and tried to shut out the little voice.
    “Got a headache?” Renny asked. “What's the matter, aren't you feeling well? You haven't even touched your fries.”
    “What are you, my mother?” Bryce asked sharply. Then he pulled back, seeing the hurt look in Renny's eyes. After all, Renny was a good kid. He hadn't done anything bad to Bryce, other than play good soccer. It wasn't as if he'd purposely shown him up or anything like that. “Sorry,” he managed to say.
    “Anyway, thanks again for the advice,” Renny said. “It sure did the trick today. See you at the championship!” He went to join his teammates.
    Bryce nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “And this time, I'll know you're coming.”
    Bryce paid for his uneaten fries and left the store, still torn about everything that had happened.
    “Hey, McCormack!”
    Bryce came to a sudden stop as Turk Walters loomed up in front of him, scowling. “Oh, hey, Turk,” Bryce said. “I heard you lost. Too bad.”
    “Yeah, too bad,” Turk said darkly. ‘Too bad for you, you double-crossing bum!”
    “What are you talking about?” Bryce asked, annoyed.
    “That was some great ‘advice’ you gave me,” Turk said. “You lost us the game, jerk!”
    “Oh, yeah? How'd I do that?” Bryce asked, not giving an inch.
    “Your advice got me kicked out, that's how!” Turk shouted. “First it gave them a penalty shot, which that kid Renny converted, by the way. Then I had to watch from the sidelines while they scored the winning goal. You think they would have scored if I'd been out there?”
    “I don't know. Probably,” Bryce said. “That kid Renny's good. Besides, I didn't tell you to foul him
dirty.
You did that on your own. Face it — you should have listened to me when I told you to forget the whole thing.”
    For a minute, Turk looked as if he were going to haul off and take a swing at Bryce. But evidently he decided Bryce was too tough. “I'm gonna get that kid,” he growled, kicking the dirt.
    “You'd better leave him alone,” Bryce said.
    “What are you, his protector or something?” Turk wanted to know.
    “He's a good kid,” Bryce said. “You leave him alone or I'm going to have something to say about it, you hear me?”
    Turk's eyes narrowed as he stared back at Bryce. He nodded menacingly, then walked right past Bryce, muttering, “I hear you, McCormack. I hear you, all right.”
    Bryce looked after him, shaking his head. Turk's a real loser, he thought. Renny Harding has a hundred times more going for him.
    Bryce thought about the upcoming championship series. Only one team would come out the winner. He and Renny might never meet head on, because they'd both be playing on the front line, but it would still be a contest between the two of them. Each was his team's best player, the one the team looked to when a crucial score was needed.
    There would be only one MVP. Coach Harrelson would be watching every game, and he would remember how each boy played when it came time to select the JV team's center striker next fall.
    Bryce wasn't worried or scared, just determined. He walked up his front steps, smiling. This was going to be interesting. May the best man win, he said to himself.

13
    T he two-out-of-three championship round was scheduled tightly, with games on Friday afternoon, Saturday at noon, and Sunday at noon if necessary. It was almost Memorial Day weekend, and baseball season had begun. Space on the field was scarce.
    Renny was driven to the first game of the series by his mom, on her way to show some houses to