We become famous
? Chapter ELEVEN
The story so far: S.O.R.’s special soccer team has yet to win a game, but the final match of the season looms.
I was sitting in class trying to follow the math teacher, who was working out a problem on the board. Looking down, I discovered a folded piece of paper on my desk with my name on it. A passed note. I looked at Saltz. He shrugged. Propping up my math book to hide my hands, I carefully unfolded the note. It read:
Meet me after lunch by the downstairs dump bins. Lucy
I slammed my elbow into Saltz and palmed the note to him. He looked at it and turned all red. I tried to squirm around to look at Lucy, but all I got was the math teacher saying, “Ed, you need to know this math. It might help your team add some goals.”
Big yuks.
Anyway, all during the first part of lunch hour, Saltz and I had a serious discussion about Lucy Neblet. As we stuffed bad cafeteria food in our mouths, the talk went something like this:
Saltz: “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I am working on that history project with her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Did you ever see her sister?”
“Whose sister?”
“Lucy’s.”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Just, well.”
“That’s all you think about.”
“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
“Yes, you were.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then how come you asked?”
“Just wanted to know.”
“So nosy.”
“You like her?”
“Who?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do too.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Curious.”
“Why, do you?”
“Me, what?”
“I just said.”
“No way.”
“You used to.”
“You’re crazy.”
“So you do like her.”
“Maybe.”
“Think she likes you?”
“Don’t know.”
“Someone once told me if she winks at you, that means she does.”
“Who told you?”
“What’s the difference?”
“I’m going.”
“Tell me what she said.”
“She hasn’t said anything yet.”
“Watch her eyes.”
“I’ll try.”
I told the teacher on lunchroom duty that I had to go to the boys’ room. Instead I went downstairs, my heart beating, my head thinking, “This is it,” except, I had no idea what “it” was.
At the back of the stairwell were these big garbage bins. The place stank. It was dark and mysterious. There was Lucy, perky and pretty.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she returned.
That was all until I said, “What’s happening?”
“You’re captain of the special soccer team, aren’t you?” She was whispering, as if we were about to pass secrets to a foreign power.
“Yeah,” I said to her question. Don’t ask me why, but I whispered too.
“Well,” she continued, “I just thought I’d tell you… ” She stopped.
“Tell me what?”
Her eyes were cast down. “I’m sorry you’re losing.”
“What?”
She looked up. No winking yet. “I’m very sorry that you’re losing.” Then she blinked both eyes.
Something inside of me started to boil. “Why?” I said for the millionth time. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Just am,” she said, startled by my reaction. “You must feel so badly.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’m glad we’re losing.” By then I was almost shouting.
She looked at me as if I was crazy.
“Because if everyone else in this whole school wants to win,” I kept on, “we’re the eleven most unusual people in the whole building. I like it that way!” Turning, I started for the steps, yelling, “Let’s hear it for losers!”
For all I know she just stayed there by the garbage bins. It was the end of a beautiful romance.
I should have guessed what was going to happen next when this kid from the school newspaper interviewed me. It went this way.
NEWSPAPER: How does it feel to lose every game?
ME: I never played on a team that won, so I can’t compare.
NEWSPAPER: How many teams have you been on?
ME: Just this one.
NEWSPAPER: Do you want to win?
ME: For the novelty.
NEWSPAPER: Have you figured out why you lose all the time?
ME: They score more goals.
NEWSPAPER: Have you seen any improvements?
ME: I’ve been too busy trying to stop their goals. Ha-ha.
NEWSPAPER: From the scores, it doesn’t seem like you’ve been too successful.
ME: You can imagine what the scores would have been if I wasn’t there. Actually, I’m the tallest.
NEWSPAPER: What’s that have to do with it?
ME: Ask Mr. Lester.
NEWSPAPER: No S.O.R. team has ever lost all its games in one season. How do you feel about that record?
ME: Records are made to be broken.
NEWSPAPER: But how will you feel?
ME: Tall.
NEWSPAPER: Give us a prediction. Will you win or lose your last game?
ME: As captain, I can promise only one thing.
NEWSPAPER: What’s that?
ME: I don’t want to be there to see what happens.
Naturally, they printed all that. Next thing I knew, some kids decided to hold a pep rally.
“What for?” asked Radosh.
“To fill us full of pep, I suppose.”
“What’s pep?”
Hays looked it up. “Dash,” he read.
Saltz shook his head.
“What’s dash?” asked Porter.
“Sounds like a deodorant soap,” said Eliscue.
Ms. Appleton called me aside. “Ed,” she said, whispering (I guess she was embarrassed to be seen talking to any of us), “people are asking, ‘Do they want to lose?'”
“Who’s asking?”
“It came up at the last teachers’ meeting. Mr. Tillman thinks you might be encouraging a defeatist attitude in the school. And Mr.
Lester – “
“Ms. Appleton,” I said, “why do people care if we win or lose?”
“It’s your… attitude,” she said. “It’s so unusual. We’re not used to… well… not winning sometimes. Or… or not caring about losing.”
“Think there’s something the matter with us?”
“No,” she said, but when you say “no” the way she did, slowly, there’s lots of time to sneak in a lot of “yes.” “I don’t think you mean to lose.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s important to win,” she said.
“Why? We’re good at other things. Why can’t we stick with that?”
All she said was, “Ed, your last game is coming. Just try harder.”
Later, I said to Saltz, “Maybe we should defect.”
“Where?”
“Must be some country that doesn’t have sports.” I sighed. “They’ve stopped sending people to the moon.”
• NEXT WEEK: A school rally for us!