Chasing The King (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: Swerve Ball

I froze at the bottom of the stairs.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Can you come upstairs for a minute? Mom and I need to talk to you." Dad repeated.

I gulped loudly. I knew something important was about to happen. The last time Dad spoke those words, he told me that Mom was pregnant. My sister Keri turned out to be pretty cool. So I knew the news wasn't guaranteed to be bad, just important. I climbed the stairs and tried to guess what was in store for me.

I turned the corner into my parents' room. I noticed a happy look in both of their eyes. I took a seat in Mom's favorite chair and began rocking. I started to get a little excited. "So what's the news, another kid on the way?"

"No." Mom giggled.

I stared blankly at her. "What then?"

"I'm just going to say this, Jason." Dad continued. "I've been offered a job in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil."

I stopped rocking in Mom's chair. "What?" I whispered. I was confused as I leaned in closer to Dad. "What do you mean?"

Dad's voice grew deeper. "Well, I've accepted this job, Jason--in Brazil. I start next month. I'm going to move down there and start looking for a house right away." He paused. "Then you, Keri, and Mom will join me."

"In Brazil?" I was totally confused, even shocked. I could feel Mom and Dad staring at me. They were waiting for a response. I was frozen. I couldn't speak. Where the heck was Brazil, anyway? Do the people there speak English? What about my soccer teams? "What about..." I started with this last thought. I couldn't finish my sentence without crying. So I stopped.

Mom broke the silence. "We know that this will be a tough move for you. Especially with your friends and..."

I never heard Mom finish. I started to feel dizzy and ran down the stairs and out of the house. I only stopped to grab my soccer ball. What started as a normal Sunday had turned into the worst day of my life. How could I leave San Francisco? This was my home. I felt betrayed. I was mad at my parents for not giving me any warning. I was nervous about a future in a strange country.

I walked through the hilly streets of our neighborhood and thought about Brazil. I'd heard of it before. But I wanted a picture, some idea of what my life would be like. Brazil. Let's see--Pele, the Amazon River, and South America. I tossed these three around in my head. The only one I cared much about was Pele, the greatest soccer player of all time. He'd led Brazil to three World Cup championships. At seventeen, he became the youngest player to score a goal in the World Cup. Brazil had Pele going for it, but not much else.

Mom and Dad had seen Pele play once. Suddenly, I remembered that my parents had met one another in Brazil. They'd spent two years there before I was born. So that's why we're moving to Brazil!

I rounded the corner onto Nineteenth Street and stepped into Dolores Park. I couldn't imagine anything more magical than my home. It was a crisp afternoon. The sun was moving toward the ocean and the park lights flickered on. I looked down at my most loyal friend--an old soccer ball. I kicked the ball a few feet in front of me. I had my first positive thought about Brazil. At least they take their soccer seriously down there. I lifted the ball onto the tip of my right foot. Then I dropped it softly onto my knee where I began juggling. I alternated between my left and right. My mind wandered: 1, 2, 3...Brazil, China, Russia, it was all the same to me. 12, 13, 14...How could Dad make me leave my friends? 23, 24, 25...And my soccer teams too! 26, 27, 28...Would they even miss me? This question broke my focus. The ball skipped off the outside of my left foot.

"Twenty nine, not bad Skids," a voice called out from behind me. Nobody ever called me by my given name, Jason Tyler Skidder. It had been simply "Jay" up until the fourth grade. Since then, everyone had been calling me Skids.

I spun around and saw Kevin Hoover.

"What's up Bones?" I asked, calling Kevin by his nickname.

"Not much," he replied. "Huge win yesterday."

I nodded and forced a smile. I kicked the ball crisply to his right foot. A moment later we fell into touch passing. It was impossible for two soccer players to look at a ball without kicking it.

The events of the last hour had shaken me up. I'd almost forgotten about yesterday's big game. In addition to playing on our high school teams, Kevin and I were members of the under-sixteen Bayside United team. Bayside United brought together the best talent in Northern California. Kevin, our goalie, was tall with great quickness. I was small, with decent speed, and usually played midfield.

Yesterday's championship game had been a tough contest against a team from Arizona. They never quit. We eventually won, but not before Arizona scored eight minutes into the game. I remembered that goal as if it just happened. One of their midfielders made a strong run up the left sideline. He sent a high cross into the middle of the goal box. Once I saw him take off, I raced after him. I stopped myself around the eighteen-foot line. The ball made its way toward the goal. I tried to get my head on it, but I couldn't reach. The leather barely touched my hair, but didn't change direction. Luckily, Kevin was behind me. I was sure he'd make the play--he always did. But just as he jumped up to grab the ball, someone banged into him. Kevin's lower body crumpled. The ball passed just over his arms. It landed on the forehead of an Arizona player, who calmly headed it into the empty net.

We were able to tie it up before halftime on a goal that I assisted. We then got the go-ahead goal from my friend, Kyle. He was the best player on our team. With four minutes left, he proved it. He ran through four Arizona defenders easily and blasted a shot that looked like a bullet, not a soccer ball. Their goalie had no chance.

Winning that tournament was big. It ensured our team a place in the Championships in Florida in four months. I'd been looking forward to that trip for over a year. But with this crazy Brazil news, everything had changed. I didn't know if I would be in America in four months--forget Florida. I came back to reality and passed the ball back to Kevin. "You played a great game yesterday, Bones." I smiled, "Even if you did have that clumsy fall."

"You think that weak foot of yours can back up your big mouth, Skids?" Bones shot back smiling. "Penalty kicks--best out of five for a soda?"

"You're on," I said, grabbing the ball.

Bones and I had been through this routine a thousand times. He grabbed a metal trash can and placed it about fifteen feet from an old tree. I ran back about twenty feet and positioned the ball.

As good as Bones was in goal, penalty kicks were pretty easy. A pro soccer player makes about seventy-five percent of penalty kicks. I was no professional, but I liked my odds of making three of five to beat Bones. I jogged slowly toward the first ball and could taste the soda in my mouth.

Head down. Left foot--plant. Swing your body through the ball. I'd done it a million times before. My first kick came screaming off my right foot at exactly the angle I'd planned. To my surprise, Bones dove left right away. His fingertips barely touched the ball, knocking it into the metal trash can. The can went flying and the ball came to a stop.

One nothing, Bones.

Luck, I thought. I ran over to get the ball while Bones repositioned the dented trash can. Again, I jogged slowly to the ball and nailed a shot toward the tree, our right goalpost. This one will get through, I thought. But there was Bones again. Like a cat, he jumped left. This time, he caught the ball.

Two nothing, Bones.

Without saying a word, he rolled the ball back to me.

"Are you kidding me with that save?" I wondered aloud. I reset the ball. I looked at Bones straight in his eyes. I ran at the ball and hit it squarely with my right foot. This one didn't have the proper angle and Bones easily knocked it away. He then flicked the ball to me and winked. "One orange soda please." I walked over to the vending machine and returned with two cold sodas.

"

You were giving it away with your eyes." Bones greeted me as I took a seat next to him on a bench.

"I've got a lot on my mind right now." I began thinking about Brazil.

"Excuses, excuses." Bones said, waiting for me to smile. I stared straight ahead. He knew something was up. "What's wrong?"

I decided that Bones would be the first friend to hear the bad news. "Well, I don't know all the details yet." I didn't know what to say. "I--I'm moving to Brazil."

Kevin's jaw dropped, "Where?"

"Brazil," I continued. "I don't get it either. My Mom and Dad just told me. I'm still trying to figure everything out."

Kevin looked uncomfortable. He tried to be upbeat, "I read about Rio in my brother's surf magazine. They've got great beaches."

His comment annoyed me. "I don't care. Are you even listening? I'm leaving. All my friends, Hilltop High School, our Bayside United team, this neighborhood. Who cares about the stupid beaches?" The more I talked about moving, the more upset I got.

Kevin sensed my frustration. "Well, it's not a straight one, Skids, that's for sure. This kick has some swerve."

He stared off into space along with me.

"What?" Swerve was something a soccer player did to make a ball curve through the air. What did that have to do with me moving to Brazil? What the heck was Bones talking about? I wished I hadn't mentioned this to him.

"Life, Skids." Kevin continued. "You moving to Brazil, my mom dying of cancer last year--life will put some swerve on the ball, you know?"

Our eyes met, I knew now that he was the perfect person to speak to about this. "Swerve balls?"

"Yeah, swerve balls, Skids. You'll be fine." He stood up and bumped my knuckle. "You can kick with swerve can't you?" He then took the last sip of his soda and started walking away. He turned to face me. "This is kind of good news."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well, I always wanted to go to Africa. Now I have a reason to."

I laughed. "Brazil's in South America, you moron."

"I know, just testing to see if you did." He shouted. "Swerve balls, Skids!"

I yelled back, "Swerve balls!" And watched Bones disappear.

I sat back on the bench and looked up at the first stars of the night. Kevin was right. Brazil was a kick with swerve--something I hadn't expected. How was I going to handle it? I had no clue. I'd spent most of the past year adjusting to high school. I'd just made the varsity soccer team as a freshman. Everything was going well--until today. I tossed my empty soda into the trash can. Slowly, I dribbled back home.

I opened the door to our house and rounded the corner into the kitchen. Dad was waiting for me. I could tell that he wasn't happy. Good, I thought, that makes two of us.

"Jason," he started in, "I know this is hard for you. But I expected you to handle this with more maturity."

"Maturity?" I spoke loudly. "It's not like you're asking me what I think about us moving down the block. You're telling me that I'm moving halfway around the world!"

"You haven't even given Brazil a chance." Dad remained calm.

"And I don't want to give it a chance!" I was yelling now. I couldn't remember ever having spoken to my father this way. I shook my head, "I don't want to go."

Dad spoke with a forced smile. "Brazil's a great place, Jas. I know leaving your friends will be tough. It'll be OK, though. Your friends are still your friends no matter where you are. You'll still see them." Dad looked into my eyes and I started to calm down.

"It's not just my friends." I paused, swallowing a lump in my throat. There was a moment of silence that followed. "It's my school, this neighborhood, and my soccer teams. I've worked so hard to get where I am. Do you know how important soccer is to me?"

There was a knowing look in Dad's eyes. "I do, Jas. Trust me, I do."