Soccer Halfback by Matt Christopher

mimicked Karen. “Blah!”
    Jabber put the dish down. His mother served the others and they began to eat. Not another word was said about sports. Most
     of the conversation was dominated by Mrs. Morris, who seemed to have a lot to tell about the people she worked with at the
     office.
    Jabber paid very little attention to her. He didn’tknow any of the people she was talking about. And tonight he couldn’t seem to get interested in them.
    It was the lump in his back pocket that he was concerned about. How long was he going to keep it there before he’d tell Pete
     about it?

10
    M aybe they were right. Maybe he should quit soccer and shift to football.
    He thought about it as he lay on his back in his room later that evening. It was a small room, containing just his single
     bed, a small desk, and two long shelves under the wide windows. The shelves were filled with books and magazines his parents
     had started to subscribe to for him when he was seven years old. One of the magazines,
Nature Life
, still came.
    He thought about the rugged game he had played that day. Practically knocked himself out running up and down the field. And
     being bushed when he had attempted that goal.
    Pete was right. You do an awful lot of running in soccer.
    But you also run a lot in football. If it wasn’t running, it was guarding, or tackling. But it wasn’t as fast a game as soccer.
    When you boys were born he bought a football and a helmet for each of you
: his mother’s words rang again through his mind.
That was indication enough that he wanted both of you to play the one sport he liked best. And Jabber, though you can do what
     you want, remember that sport wasn’t soccer
.
    He had loved his father. John Morris was a strong-willed man who didn’t smoke or drink. He had laid down a law in the house
     that he expected to be obeyed. But he was also as warm and gentle as he was strict. He took the kids to circuses, carnivals,
     rodeos, and sports events. He bought them candy, ice cream, hot dogs, and hamburgers. What he didn’t do was give them money
     freely. He didn’t believe in that. “You’ll learn the value of money when you get older and have to work for it,” he had said.
    Restless, Jabber turned and lay for a while on his stomach. Pete and his mother had made him feel guilty. If you don’t play
     football you don’t love your father. That was what they were telling him.
    They were so wrong. He loved his father as much as they did.
    He just didn’t care for football.
    He took the wallet out of his pocket and looked at it again. It was like some vial of poison in his hand. He wished he had
     never seen it, never picked it up.
    The Nuggets played the Blue Jackets on Thursday afternoon, a game Jabber wasn’t looking forward to. He had too much on his
     mind to enjoy playing soccer. The guilty feeling about not playing football — and Pete’s wallet.
    The Blue Jackets scored a goal just before the first quarter ended. But it was on a penalty shot. Jack Sylvan had been accused
     of tripping one of the Blue Jackets’ players.
    In general, the Blue Jackets looked only half as good as the Sabers. They lacked finesse. They had no big men. They should
     have been knocked off easily.
    But Jabber wasn’t playing as he had in the Sabers game. As if he didn’t know it himself, Coach Pike had to rub it in. “What’s
     the matter, Jabber? Youhave weights on your legs? You’re not running like the old Jab.”
    “Maybe it’s his shoes, Coach,” Stork Pickering gibed. “Look at ’em. They’re all cleaned up. Maybe he doesn’t want to get them
     dirty again.”
    “Very funny, Stork,” snorted Jabber.
    Jabber tried to improve his performance, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was glad when Mike kicked a goal in the middle of
     the second quarter to tie up the score.
    The coach took Jabber out with four minutes to go in the half.
    “You look tired, Jab,” he said. “Or maybe you’re not feeling well. Don’t hold back