A Goal for Joaquin

  A GOAL FOR JOAQUIN

  Young Adult Adventure

  by Jerry McGinley

  Kindle: 978-1-58124-437-3

  ePub: 978-1-58124-468-7

  ©2012 by Jerry McGinley

  Published 2012 by The Fiction Works

  http://www.fictionworks.com

  fictionworks@me.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Afterword

  About the Author

  This book was originally published in hardcover under the title Joaquin Strikes Back. That version was published by Tudor Books Inc. of Greensboro, North Carolina. The author appreciates the cooperation of publisher Eugene Pfaff, Jr. in releasing the rights of publication. Copyright 1997 by Jerry McGinley.

  bookmarks:What the Critics Had to Say

  “One of the Top 100 Most Inspiring Teachers

  in the United States.”— Newsweek

  -

  “I recommend this [story] for all ages.”

  — Robyn Foster, Wisconsin State Journal

  -

  “Incorporates solid messages about succeeding

  in sports and life in general.”

  — School Library Journal

  -

  Recommended reading list of

  the World Soccer Network

  -

  Recommended list for books about Latinos

  (Barahona Center at California State

  University San Marcos)

  For Megan, Shannon, and Gail

  Chapter 1

  With less than a minute left in the game, Joaquin Lopez sat on the bench staring at the ground. He had been sitting there the entire game. Each time his team had a throw-in, he looked at his coach, hoping to hear the call for a substitution. Several times the coach asked the referee to stop play to allow for a substitute to enter the game, but Joaquin never heard his name called. He was the only member of the Lakeshore team not to see action in a game this season. He could not understand why he was being left out. Sure he was new on the team, but Joaquin knew that he was a good enough player to really help his team. However, for some reason, Coach Sommers completely ignored him.

  When he heard the yells and screams coming from the opposing fans on the far side of the field, Joaquin reluctantly raised his head to see what was going on. When he did, he saw one of the players from Blakefield racing down the field, expertly dribbling the ball with his feet, zig-zagging through the Lakeshore defense as though their shoes were glued to the grass. When he was thirty yards from the goal, the little striker faked to the left, then flicked the ball from his left foot to his right, and broke deftly toward the middle of the field. The sluggish Lakeshore fullback stumbled awkwardly in the wrong direction, and the Blakefield player flashed toward the goal. None of the other Lakeshore players was close enough to cut-off the offensive charge. Joaquin shivered as he watched the opposing player go one-on-one with the Lakeshore goalkeeper. The crafty little ballhandler made a quick fake to the right and then sent the ball sailing toward the left goal post. The goalkeeper was caught leaning in the wrong direction and never came within five feet of the ball.

  The fans on the far side of the field let out a loud roar as the ball flew into the net. The scoreboard showed five goals for Blakefield and none for Lakeshore. Joaquin rubbed his arms to smooth out the goose-bumps. He felt angry and hurt and confused. He wanted to play so badly. There was no doubt in his mind that he could make plays for his team just like the one he had watched his opponent make. If only he could have a chance.

  He remembered what his mother said when he came home discouraged after a practice. “Be patient, Joaquin, you just moved here. The coach doesn’t know you yet. When he sees how well you play, he’ll give you a chance. Just wait and see. Everything will work out.”

  Joaquin wished he had his mother’s faith. Perhaps she was right. He should not become discouraged so quickly. He knew this, yet it was so hard. He had always been a starter on his old teams. He had been playing since he was five, and he was always considered one of the top players in whatever league he was competing in. In fact, when he was eleven years old, his coaches had moved him up to an older division because they felt there wasn’t enough competition among players his own age. It was painful to think about these memories now.

  Mercifully, his quiet thoughts were interrupted by three shrill blasts from the referee’s whistle. Time had run out. The game was over. Joaquin stood up and walked out to meet his teammates. They dragged themselves toward the sideline covered with sweat and mud and despair. Most heads were dragging. No one spoke or even looked at the other team members as they gathered around the bench to pick up sweat suits and water bottles. As they walked toward the awaiting school bus, there was nearly total silence. Joaquin walked alone, lost in his thoughts.

  Suddenly he heard Coach Sommers call in a harsh voice, “Jock-queen, gather up the practice balls and the other equipment and carry it to the bus. The rest of you guys sit down. I want to say a few things about the way you played out there today. Hurry up and get your tails over here!”

  Joaquin didn’t know what hurt more, the intentional mispronunciation of his name or the fact that he was clearly being left out of the team meeting. He lowered his head and walked over to pick up the mesh bag which held all the practice balls. No one acknowledged him. It was unclear whether the other players disliked him, or if they were simply afraid to cross their coach by showing sympathy to the new player.

  After gathering the equipment, Joaquin strolled slowly toward the bus. He was a short boy for a sophomore in high school, and with his shoulders stooped and his head down, he looked even smaller. He considered running over to the bus with the equipment and then returning to the field to join in the meeting, but he was afraid he might be told to leave, and he was too proud to be further humiliated by his coach. He trudged along wondering if things would ever get better. Was there really any reason to stay on a team where the coach and the other players obviously didn’t want him? But what else could he do? He loved soccer. He had played year-round when he lived in California. How could he ever give up something that meant so much to him?

  When he reached the bus, the driver opened the door and asked something about how the game had gone. Joaquin paid little attention to the question and muttered a response so quietly that the driver would never have understood it even if it had made any sense. He walked to the back of the bus, set the practice balls and other equipment on the back seat, then sat down beside it. With the equipment stacked beside him on the seat, he wouldn’t feel so self-conscious when nobody sat next to him. This way there was a reason.

  He sat on the empty bus and mulled over his situation. Why did his family have to move to Wisconsin? Things were so much better when they lived in San Diego. He knew that his father had gotten an excellent job as a computer consultant at a large insurance company located just outside of Madison, but he questioned whether his dad’s new j
ob and higher salary were worth the agony. He remembered how it all started in early August.

  His dad had come home from work an hour earlier than usual. He was carrying travel books and brochures. Though normally quiet and rather subdued about expressing his feelings, his father was beaming with excitement that day. His grin was as wide as his face, and his dark eyes were afire with happiness. “I hope no one has plans this evening,” he proclaimed, “because I want to take everyone out to Alberto’s for dinner. Tonight we are celebrating. Tonight we will make plans for a new adventure in our lives.”

  Joaquin’s mother looked at him with a mixture of joy and curiosity. “Miguel, did you win the lottery or rob a bank?”

  He moved toward her and threw his arms around her shoulders. “I did neither, but what I did do will mean more money for the family. And it will mean a better job for me. I have been offered a new job with an insurance company. I will be working with computers, doing just what I enjoy, and I’ll have a big office and make twice as much money as I make now. That means a better house for us and college for the kids.” He could not contain his happiness. “I’ve been trying for this job for several weeks, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want anyone to feel disappointed if it fell through. But I got a call this afternoon. I’ve been offered the position.”

  “That’s great! I’m very proud of you. All those night classes that you took, they’ve really paid off.” The wide smile on her face clearly showed that Joaquin’s mother shared her husband’s excitement.

  Joaquin remembered how his excitement for his father’s good news had waned when he was told that the new job was in a city two thousand miles away. That meant he would have to leave the town where he had lived his whole life. It would mean leaving his friends, his teammates, and his cousins, Lupe and Filipe, who were more like brothers than cousins. But Joaquin didn’t want to spoil his father’s excitement by bringing up these concerns. He knew how hard his dad had worked to get his degree from the technical college. He had resolved from the day he learned about the move to make the most of the changes. He tried not to complain about how painful the transition had been. He tried, but it wasn’t easy keeping his feelings hidden.

  After about ten minutes, the players began to file onto the bus. No one said a word. No one looked at Joaquin. The players slowly dropped into seats and stared at the floor of the bus. It was at least another five minutes before Coach Sommers appeared and took the front seat right behind the driver. He spoke to no one and didn’t even acknowledge the members of his team. The bus lurched forward, and the defeated team rode silently back to Lakeshore High School.

  Once in the school parking lot, the players quietly left the bus and headed in various directions. Joaquin picked up the bag of soccer balls and other equipment sitting on his seat and headed toward the front of the bus.

  “Make sure that stuff gets put away where it belongs,” Coach Sommers ordered. “And you better make sure every ball is accounted for. If anything is missing, you’re replacing it. You understand, Jock-queen? I’ll have your taco allowance for the rest of the semester is any balls are lost.”

  Joaquin was humiliated. He couldn’t respond or even look at his coach. He brushed the thick black hair from his eyebrows. “Why does he hate me so much?” Joaquin wondered to himself as he walked toward the locker room. “Why can’t he just give me a chance?” He was fighting to hold back tears as he trudged through the dark hallway leading to the athletic storage cage. If only his old coach could move here and take over the team. Then things would be okay. But that wasn’t going to happen, and Joaquin knew it. He would either have to put up with Coach Sommers and his cruel comments, or he would have to give up playing high school soccer. Neither option was appealing.

  After finishing his chores in the locker room, Joaquin left through the side door, making sure it was locked behind him. He’d been warned several times about locking up before leaving. He didn’t want more trouble from his coach than he already had. When he got to the parking lot, the rest of the players were gone. He would walk home alone again, but that was good because he didn’t want to talk to any of his teammates.

  He was surprised, though, to see Coach Sommers still standing beside his mini-van in the staff parking section. He’d apparently gone to his office to drop something off or to get something that he’d need the next day. At first Joaquin pretended not to see his coach. He looked the other way as he crossed the driveway leading to the student parking lot. But then he had an idea: why not talk to Coach Sommers and find out what he was doing wrong? There was no one else around, so it was a perfect chance to talk to his coach alone.

  “Coach Sommers, can I talk to you a minute?” Joaquin said as he moved cautiously toward the coach’s van. “I’d just like to ask you something if you have a minute.”

  “Ask me something, huh? Well, it better be quick because I’m hungry, and I have things to do tonight.” Coach Sommers was arranging papers in a file-folder.

  “Well,” Joaquin stammered trying to phrase his question in a way that wouldn’t anger the coach, “I was just wondering if there was something I needed to work on in practice, so that maybe I could get more playing time in the games.” He knew that “more playing time” was a funny way of putting it since he’d never even gotten into a game yet, but Joaquin was a polite boy and didn’t want to sound like he was stirring up trouble.

  “So you think you need more playing time. Well, I guess that’s the coach’s decision, and as far as I know, I’m still the coach, Jock-queen. Unless you think you’re ready to take my job. You think just because you played on some hot-shot team in California that you can come in here and take over our team. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “No, sir, I just thought maybe I was doing something wrong and maybe I could work harder on my passing or something. I know you’re the coach. I just don’t understand . . .”

  “Well, let me tell you,” Sommers interrupted, his big face only inches from Joaquin, “we have our own system here. Maybe our style is different than the way you played out West. Maybe the way you play doesn’t work in our system.”

  Joaquin stepped back, his eyes looking down at his uniform that was still spotlessly clean. He didn’t have a reply. He realized that there was nothing he could say that would improve his standing on the team. Without another word he walked away. There wasn’t a sound behind him, but he could feel Coach Sommers’ cold stare stabbing him in the back. He tramped home through the darkness dreading the questions about the game. He hated explaining that his team had been blown out of another game, and he hadn’t even had a chance to walk on to the field. He wished he could just walk upstairs and go to bed without talking to his family.

  Chapter 2

  By the time Joaquin reached the front door of the duplex where he lived, he decided not to tell his parents about Coach Sommers’ “taco allowance” remark. He didn’t want his parents to know that his coach or anyone else was making fun of him because of his ethnic background. The Lopez family was proud of their Mexican ancestors. Joaquin’s grandparents had moved to California in the 1950’s to make a new life for their family. They had worked in the fields as migrant farmers, had held various maintenance and housekeeping jobs in Los Angeles, and had finally moved to San Diego where they opened a small grocery store. Joaquin was the third generation of the Lopez family in this country. He was proud of his heritage, and he knew how much it would hurt his parents if they realized their son was being subjected to racist remarks at school. Joaquin decided to handle the problem himself and try to make the most of it.

  When he entered the house, the living room was dark. No doubt his younger sister Maria was in her room doing homework, his father was in his office working at the computer, and his mother was sitting in the family room reading. He walked to the kitchen as quietly as possible.

  “Is that you, Joaquin?” His mother called from the next room. “There’s pizza in the oven and carrots in the microwave. I’ll get a plate
ready while you clean up.”

  “That’s okay, Mom. I can get it myself. I cleaned up at school,” he lied, trying to avoid a discussion about the game.

  “How was your game?” His mother asked as she entered the kitchen. “Your dad wanted to drive over to watch, but he didn’t get home from work until almost seven. He’ll be anxious to hear how you did.” Her voice trailed a little at the end of the last sentence revealing her concern about the topic. “Did you win?” She asked with a forced smile, her eyebrows slightly raised. It was a look she always gave when she felt sorry for someone or wanted to help somebody but didn’t know how. She handed him his plate of food and went to the refrigerator to get out the pitcher of lemonade.

  Joaquin hesitated before answering. He almost laughed when he thought about saying something about having pizza for supper instead of tacos. Coach Sommers would never believe the Lopez family ate anything besides tacos and burritos. But Joaquin wanted to sound upbeat. He didn’t want to get his parents upset. They were trying so hard to build a new life for the family. He knew it would break his father’s heart if he found out the new job was a source of pain for his son. Miguel Lopez was so happy working at the insurance company.

  “No, we lost again,” he finally answered with a forced smile, hoping to disguise his disappointment. “It wasn’t even close. I think it was five or six to nothing. At least I didn’t do anything wrong.” He stuffed a huge wedge of pizza into his mouth. He’d said enough.

  “You mean you didn’t get to play again?” He could sense the anguish in her voice. “Did the coach say anything about why you’re not playing? Did he give you any tips? You must talk to him.”