The Comeback Challenge (8 page)

He knew his grandparents would wait until he was ready to say something. Finally he decided to tackle the easier problem first.

“I guess I might have been a little angry at some stuff that’s been happening on the soccer field,” he admitted.

“Is that it?” his grandmother prodded gently.

Mark shrugged.

“What about your mother and father, Mark?” Grandpa Conway said softly. “Doesn’t it make you kind of mad that they both keep
trying to win you over to their side? Because I don’t mind telling you, it makes me mad to watch them do it.”

At last Mark looked up. “It does?” he asked.

“You bet it does. I will always love both of them, Mark, but there are times I just want to wring their
necks!” Both his grandmother and grandfather smiled ruefully.

“I — I guess it does make me a little angry. I mean,” he continued in a louder voice, “I feel like — like — like a soccer
ball in the middle of a close game sometimes! Both teams want to get ahold of me, but they have to fight each other to do
it! But it’s no big deal,” he finished, embarrassed by his outburst.

“See, there you go again,” said Grandpa Conway. “It
is
a big deal. Your parents are just so busy trying to hurt each other that they don’t seem to realize that they’re hurting
you, too. They should be able to put aside what’s bothering them about each other to make things a little nicer, a little
easier, for you during this whole thing.”

As Mark listened, his eyes filled with tears. They were the first tears he had cried in a long, long time. But it felt good
to let it out, he realized. It felt good to be able to talk about all the confusing feelings he’d been trying so hard to ignore
for so long.

Grandma Conway got up and came over to him. She crouched down and held him in her arms. “I
know,” she said, “I know it has to feel real bad. But you can’t hold it in or you’ll just explode.”

“Talk to your mother and father, Mark,” said his grandfather. “When you’re ready, talk to them and make them listen. Believe
me, they’ve been acting dumb. It’s about time they realized it.”

Mark gulped. The idea of confronting his parents terrified him, but he knew that his grandparents were right. But still …

“Do you really think it’ll make a difference? Do you think they’ll pay any attention to me if I say something?”

Grandpa Conway looked him square in the eyes. “If you’re asking if their feelings for each other will change because of something
you say, then no, Mark, I don’t think so. But I do know that it’ll help you burn up some of that anger you have inside and
that it will make them open their eyes a little wider to what they’ve been doing to you. And that alone will make it worth
your while.”

With that, he pushed himself up out of his chair and said, “Now, then. Mother, you go put your feet up, and Mark, you get
your body into a shower. I’m cooking dinner tonight.”

As Mark was toweling off a few minutes later, he realized how right his grandparents were. He did bottle things up too much.
Although he was a little embarrassed at having cried in front of them, he knew it had been as cleansing for his emotions as
the shower had been for his body. But the situation with his parents was only part of the problem.

Craig hadn’t been talking about the same thing as his grandparents, but his message wasn’t any different. Some of the anger
stored in the depths of Mark’s gut had another name on it — and the label read “Vince Loman.”

Might as well do a test run there before tackling the big one, Mark thought grimly.

M
ark had noticed that Vince often rode his bicycle to school. He checked it out on his way into the building the next morning.
Sure enough, the bike was in the rack. So, after practice, Mark got cleaned up in record time and waited out near the bike
rack for Vince to show up.

It didn’t take long. Vince came down the path toting his schoolbooks and gear bag over his shoulder. When he saw Mark near
the bike rack, a dark look came over his face, but he didn’t say anything.

“I want to talk to you, Vince,” said Mark.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t have anything to say to you, so just get out of my way.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I have a lot to say to you.” He took hold of the handlebars of Vince’s bike. “For
one thing, I don’t like the way you’ve been acting toward me.”

“Let go of my bike!” Vince snapped. “Or do I have to make you?”

He stood up next to Mark, fists clenched.

Mark took a deep breath but didn’t back down.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers out of you. What did I ever do to you? It’s like you wish you
never laid eyes on me! You treat me like I’m the enemy. I don’t care if we never became friends, but I can’t pretend that
you’re not the best soccer player out on that field. I’ve tried to make things work between us out there, for the sake of
the team, but you act like you’re playing against me!”

Vince stared at him stonily for what seemed like an hour. Mark was ready to give up, when he finally spoke.

“You say you’re playing
with
me,” said Vince. “Sounds good, but it isn’t like that at all. You’re such a good player, you think everyone should do things
your way. And you’re not quiet about telling them how it should be done, either. You’re the new guy on
the team, some hotshot from England, so everyone’s excited about everything you do. Even the coach, for Pete’s sake! You take
every chance you can get to show off your skills. From the very first practice, you’ve been trying to impress everyone. Me?
They take
me
for granted. They forget that I’m the one they voted captain last year, that I’m the MVP who led them to an 8-and-3 record!”

Mark stared.

“I don’t forget who’s captain,” he said lamely. “And as for MVP, I just told you I think you’re the best player out there.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ll be surprised if anyone else thinks so. Even when I score a goal, half the time it’s because you’ve set me
up. You end up getting as much credit as I do.”

“But that’s teamwork,” Mark protested. “That’s what makes for a winning squad. There had to have been someone who set you
up all last year, too. What makes what I do out there so different? Don’t you know that you and I could be an unstoppable
offensive team if we just worked together?”

“And I’m sure you’ll be able to outline all kinds of
neat plays for us, thanks to your near-professional experience in England,” Vince said nastily.

At that, Mark lost his patience.

“Okay, have it your way! If you’re too stupid to see I’m just trying to patch things up between us for the good of the team,
then to heck with you! But I can tell you one thing: You have my word on it that I’ll be doing my part in each and every play
whether it involves you or not. Coach Ryan and the Scorpions deserve that much.”

Vince swung a leg over his bike. “You think I don’t know that?” Without a backward glance, he pedaled away, leaving Mark standing
there.

I hope you do, Mark thought. But I’m not sure you got what I was talking about.

He headed over to the bus stop. A few of the guys from the team were already there.

“Hey, Mark, where’ve you been?” called Charlie Burns. The ruddy-faced Scorpion goalie always had a smile. He was one of the
cheeriest guys Mark had ever met.

“Busy signing autographs for the fans?” Mel joked.

“Nah,” Craig Crandall joined in. “Mark’s been
talking to his talent agent. You know, lining up those TV commercials.”

“Oh, right,” said Charlie. Then he went on in a deep, husky voice:
“Hi, kids, this is Mark Conway. I always drink three quarts of milk before every game. That’s one hundred percent cow juice,
and don’t get anything else or you’ll never be a big star like me.”

Then Mel started in, too.
“If you want to get the kind of job that means you don’t have to do any real work, try the Mark Conway home course in soccer
and become outstanding in your field.”
He stopped and looked at the other boys. “Get it? ‘Outstanding in your field?’ As in
‘Out standing
in your field’?”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” shouted Craig above the groans. “How about this:
Hi, kiddies, this is Uncle Mark. Have you tried my home workout video? You can have big muscles just like me for only a few
dollars a day. Send in for your thirty-day trial right now!
” Craig struck an absurd muscle-man pose.

By now, they were all doubled over with laughter. At first, Mark had still been too steamed to join in the fun. But after
a few imitations, even he had to admit his teammates were a bunch of natural comedians.
As the bus drove up, he announced good-naturedly, “Okay, you guys, I want to thank you for all your kind endorsements. And
I want to tell you about a one-time offer. Play your cards right and you — yes, you — can get to do my math homework, you
— yes, you — can help clean up my room, and you — yes, you — can have my autograph for half the going rate!”

“Some deal!”

“A real sport!”

“What a guy!”

The bus took off with a jolt, almost knocking them over like bowling pins. But they were all laughing so hard, no one seemed
to notice.

M
ark arrived at practice the next day with a good feeling. He hoped that some of what he’d said to Vince had sunk in by now.
The two of them could lead the team to a league victory if only they could join forces against the opposition.

At first Vince was no different than before. He was icy cold during the warm-up. There was no sign of any change in his attitude.
When they were off the field, he ignored Mark completely.

Yet on the field during scrimmage, it was a different story. Plays the coach had outlined weeks before suddenly were working
like clockwork. Encouraged, Mark followed his lead as much as possible. Things were far from perfect — but Mark started to
think that maybe some of what he had said had hit home for Vince.

* * *

That night, the telephone rang just before dinner. Grandma Conway picked it up in the kitchen. A few seconds later, she called
out, “Mark, it’s for you! Take it on the cordless phone in the living room.”

“Okay,” he called back. “Oh, hi, Mom. Thanks for getting back to me. I wanted to make sure you’re still going to pick me up
for this Saturday. … You are? Good. … No, I’m just looking forward to seeing you, that’s all. Oh, and I’ve got something kind
of important to talk to you about. … No, I’m not sick or anything. Just don’t be late on Saturday, okay? … Great. See you
then. Bye.”

He walked into the kitchen, still holding the phone.

“Did my dad say when he would be back from that business trip?”

“He should be in his office now, I would think,” said Grandma Conway.

“Okay if I call him?”

“Go right ahead,” she replied. “I’m going to put some potatoes in to bake. Then I’ll come work on that puzzle with you.”

“Grandma, I haven’t done a jigsaw puzzle in weeks!” he said with a smile. “I’ve been too busy.”

“Well, then maybe I’ll just do one by myself,” she said.

“No, I’ll help you,” Mark said. “I’m not as busy as all that!”

He went back into the living room and dialed his father’s office number.

“Dad? It’s me, Mark,” he said. “Listen, are you still planning to come over here to watch that special on World Cup soccer?
… You are? Okay, please don’t get stuck with something else this time. I really want to watch it with you. And — and there’s
something else, too. … No, I’m fine. I just want to talk to you, okay? … Okay, yeah, bye.”

He hung up the phone and got out a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. This ought to take some doing, he thought. He was looking
at the puzzle box, but he was thinking about something else entirely.

Saturday morning was unusually warm. But despite the pleasant weather outside, Mark was anything but cheerful. In fact he
was a bundle of nerves.

“Now, what are you up to today?” his grandfather asked, picking up the newspaper.

“Uh, well, Dad’s coming over to watch that World Cup special later on,” said Mark.

Grandma Conway raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t your mother coming over this afternoon, too?”

“Uh-huh,” said Mark.

“Feel like telling us what’s going on?”

Mark shook his head. “But I have a feeling you’ll know everything before the afternoon is through.”

He left the kitchen without waiting to see their reactions to his announcement.

To kill some time before his parents showed up, Mark decided to clean up his room. He folded all his clothes and shoved the
things that went into drawers into drawers. He found hangers and hung up the clothes that were supposed to be hung up.

He cleaned off the top of his chest of drawers and wiped the glass on the pictures of his mother and father that stood on
either side of his mirror.

When his parents had first separated, he hadn’t wanted to have their pictures out. Looking at them only made him feel bad.
But after his talk with his grandparents, he had realized that the pictures weren’t what had been causing those hurt feelings.
So he had taken them out again and each night made a point of looking both pictures right in the eyes.

He had just finished relacing his soccer shoes when he heard the doorbell ring.

This is it, he thought, giving the pictures one last glance.

“Mark, your mother is here,” Grandma Conway called from below.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he called back. Stall, he said to himself. Hang in there. Hope that Grandma Conway will push her
into having a cup of tea or something.

He could hear the big old clock in the hallway outside his door ticking away. It sounded like a bomb that was going to explode
any minute.

“Mark,” his mother’s voice rang out. “Are you all right? What’s taking so long?”

Before he could come up with an excuse, the telephone rang.

It was picked up in one ring. His grandfather knocked on the door to Mark’s bedroom.

“Mark, it’s your dad,” he said quietly.