The Best Soccer Game Ever
by Luke S.
"Get out of here!" a kid yelled. The black boy turned his head and walked away. I never jeered him like the other kids did. I don't see why he couldn't play but then again, if I spoke out, I could possibly get beat up. "Julian! Defense!" someone called. I whirled around just in time to see Jack running by with the ball. He wouldn't score. Not if I could help it. I ran after him and blocked the ball right as he was shooting it. I totally forgot about the black boy once we started the game again but all my thoughts came back to him when I saw him hiding behind a building watching our game. Once we finished, everyone went home, but the thought of him was nagging my mind for the rest of the day. I wouldn't like to be him with nobody to play with. "Julian? Julian? I asked if you would like anything to drink," my mother repeated. "No thanks. I'm fine." I wondered what I could do to help him. Meanwhile, the black boy was walking to his own house. He hated the kids who played there. He could always beat them in a game of soccer any day, but he was afraid to speak out. He could see no difference between a black boy like him and them. They were always jeering him, except for two or three kids, and only one looked like he didn't want the others to do it. The other two just kept quiet. It was interesting to watch their games though, he thought. The boy who didn't want the kids to jeer was really good compared to the others. He scored quite a few goals in the games they played. I hope I will be able to play sometime. I loved summer vacation. School could be so boring sometimes, and besides, in summer we played a game of soccer every day in the vacant lot. I loved soccer more than summer vacation. "Are you ready Julian?" Jack asked. "Yeah. Where's Mitch?" I questioned him. "He's sick so he won't be coming to today's game." Ouch, sick in summer vacation. Too bad for him. I grabbed my ball and ran out the door with Jack. We quickly started our game. I glanced behind the building and saw the black boy. Right then a plan formed in my mind. What if he was so good at soccer that the other kids would like him? At the end of the game I purposely left my ball in the lot and hid behind a building. The boy came out and started juggling the ball. Well, anybody could juggle the ball. Just as I was thinking that he was not that good, he started to do
around-the-worlds and then did a volley into the upper-ninety of the chalked in goal that we had drawn. I changed my mind. He was good. After the boy had scored, he'd walked away. I retrieved my ball and ran home. He certainly was good, but would the other kids like him? Jack and Mitch never said anything to the boy, but that didn't mean that they wanted him there. Our next game, the boy was in his usual hiding spot behind the building, but the kid who'd yelled at him before noticed him watching. "I thought I told you to leave," the boy spat at him. "I was just watching," the boy answered. This was the chance to tell the other kids about his skills, but I just couldn't get it out. "Is watching the same as leaving? No!" I closed my eyes. Get it out! "I'll give you five seconds to go. Five...four..." the boy said. "Stop!" I felt myself say. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The bullying kid turned his head around. “What did you say?” There was no going back now. “Just let him play. I watched him and he’s pretty good. I bet he could beat you any day!” “Oh, yeah? We’ll just have to see,” he retorted. “We’ll play one-on-one. First one to score ten goals wins.” He faced the boy. “You’re about to get owned.” I tossed my ball into the center of the lot. Game on. The black kid quickly ran to the ball, but waited until the other boy was ready. He dribbled the ball right up to the bully and did a neat rainbow over him. By the time the other boy had turned around, the ball had already bounced off the back of the building and the black boy was jogging back to his side. Black Team 1, White Team 0. The other boy quickly switched to offensive mode but the Black Team was already on defense. He stopped the ball and easily scored another goal. Some kids cheered. It was working! The other kids were rooting for the black boy! I later came to know him as Jim. Everyone cheered as Jim scored the last of ten goals. The final score had been, Jim 10, bully 3. He’d run away red-faced and angry at us, but we didn’t care. We invited Jim to play with us every day and he agreed. “Thanks for helping me,” he said when we were alone. “It was nothing,” I answered, but inside, I knew I had accomplished a great thing and that I would never forget this experience.