Julian the Mighty Read online

  Translated from the German by Helga Schier

  Editor: Michael Part

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters are either invented or used fictitiously.

  Original title: Die Wilden Fussballkerle. Julie die Viererkette.

  Baumhaus Verlag in the Bastei Luebbe Gmbh & Co. KG

  © 2010 by Bastei Luebbe GmbH & Co. KG, Cologne

  “Die Wilden Fußballkerle”™ und © dreammotion GmbH

  © 2012 Wild Soccer USA, Inc.

  All English rights reserved to Wild Soccer USA, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  For information regarding permission, write to Wild Soccer USA, Inc., P.O. Box 10445, Beverly Hills, CA 90213

  Special thanks to:

  Yonatan, Yaron, and Guy Ginsberg

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data in file.

  ISBN 978-0-9844257-6-1

  Published by Sole Books

  First Edition August 2012

  Printed in the United States of America

  Layout: Lynn M. Snyder

  10987654321

  Hi Wild Soccer Bunch fans!

  You are holding the fourth book in the Wild Soccer Bunch series. I know how many of you were waiting for this moment and I’m glad that each book makes you ask for more!

  In soccer, as in life, great achievements are a result of group effort. Every great player will tell you that they are only as good as their team. The secret to your own success is to trust your teammates and to treat everyone as you would like to be treated. It is easy to blame your teammates for the losses and errors they make. But this won’t help your team improve or win. Only true friendship and trust will bring you back when things aren’t going well. In order to trust your teammates, you need to know them, like a family. The more you know and like your teammates, the better you understand each other and the better you will play. To get to know each other better, you must spend time together, practice, and build your trust, communication skills, and appreciation for each other.

  I wish you a great soccer year.

  Your Friend and Teammate,

  Landon Donovan

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Twilight Zone

  Hot Chocolate and Big Secrets

  The Eighth Dimension

  Tattoos and Other Dreams

  Beyond the Grim Woods and Across the Prairie

  A Pact with the Devil

  Where Have You Been, Julian?

  Too Good to Be True

  To Hell and Back

  No Safer Place on Earth

  The Sea Monster Kraken Feel-Good Dream

  Fort Knox

  All for One

  A Thief in the Devil’s Pit

  The Worst Day of My Life

  At the End of the World

  The Wild Bunch

  On a Tightrope

  The Battle for camelot

  One More Secret

  Star Shower

  The Twilight Zone

  Shhh! Now be real quiet!

  Do you hear it?

  Silence. Not a sound. No wind. No animal. Nothing. Listen to it.

  That’s my world; the world of Julian Fort Knox, the all-in-one defender. I know, long name. Everyone says so, but after the adventures unfold in this tale, the pain and suffering, the terror and the joy, more will change than just my long name.

  But beware! Better look for a safe place to hide, just in case! Best you stand with your back to the wall and always carry a flashlight. This story will take you on a tightrope walk over a deep and dark abyss, and like a coin, this story has two totally different sides. One side promises adventure and happiness. Like when you face your fears. The other side is failure and misery. Like when you risk it all and don’t listen to the fear in your heart that warns you. It’s hard to tell the two apart. Believe me, I know.

  I tossed the coin up in the air one more time. It spun so fast it made me dizzy. Then it dropped against a twig, changed direction, and landed on the ruins of the old house gate that towered over me, dark and threatening.

  Lying on my back in the Grim Woods, flashlight in hand and head resting on the moss, I looked up into the sky and watched the stars make room for the morning light. The stars sparkled one last time as if they were coins lit by my flashlight.

  I took a deep breath and spread my arms as wide as I could. Then I closed my eyes, exhaled slowly and tried to feel which side of the coin I belonged to, which side I came from.

  To my left was the Green Forest – that’s the world of the Wild Soccer Bunch and my mother. To my right were the area known as “The Projects” with a huge empty lot we called the “Prairie” and at the other end of the prairie, the ominous “Graffiti Towers” that loomed over and pointed into the sky, darkening the morning down below. Mickey the bulldozer and his Unbeatables lived in these uninviting steel and concrete building projects. So did my father. I was sure of that.

  But nobody dared to go there. Not on purpose, anyway. Even the Grim Woods, as we called the forest separating our world from the “Projects,” was forbidden. But yet, here I was and no one knew I was here. It was my secret. My mom always said, “you are only as sick as your secrets.” Well, this was my biggest secret which is probably why I didn’t feel too well about being here. I came here just before dawn, just before the birds started their singing for the day, greeting the sun, when all that is goodness in the city was still sleeping.

  I thought I was alone.

  But that day I was wrong.

  I heard the footsteps too late because I had been lost in thought. I jumped up as a gang of kids broke through the brush and came directly towards me. I could see their shadows between the trees, but they hadn’t seen me. I looked around; too late to run away. Where could I hide? The trees around me were half dead spruce. No branches within reach. The only hiding place in sight was the old house ruins.

  Without hesitation I climbed the gate and flattened myself on the archway. The stones moaned and groaned, and I prayed they’d hold my weight. Thank God they did.

  Anxious, I stared at the creatures approaching from the Grim Woods. I knew it! It was Mickey the bulldozer, the Darth Vader of our neighborhood. His breath rattled like the chains of two dozen medieval torturers. His eyes glowed like killer satellites. His t-shirt stretched like a balloon over his enormous belly and the gobs of muscles and the dark soul underneath. Just like sugar attracts flies, Mickey the bulldozer attracts morons, and his gang, the Unbeatables, who were now decidedly beatable, followed him everywhere: Oscar Octopus, Mow-Down Mark, Juggernaut Jim, Humungous Henry, Rick the Grim Reaper and Kong, the monumental creature from the Prairie of Mongolia. We all knew that these jerks didn’t care about soccer any more, but what I was about to learn was above and beyond anything any of us had ever imagined. They were a band of thieves! If any of them ever played in a movie, it would be a bad horror movie.

  They laughed and jeered as they marched through the Grim Woods. Candy, comic books, and soda cans fell from their plastic bags, but they didn’t care. They had plenty, enough to supply all the children’s birthday parties for centuries to come.

  Suddenly Mickey stopped. He stood directly below me and told his gang to shut up. They did, and expectantly they surrounded their leader. Mickey the bulldozer grinned, grabbed a coke, opened it, gulped it down, crushed the can between his fingers, and then lifted his arms to the sky: “Yeah! That’s how you do it!”

  He burped as loud as a foghorn and the others doubled over, laughing. Then they drank and lifted their arms in unison and yelled: “That�
��s how we do it!”

  Then they all burped.

  I had to grin. But my grin disappeared in a heartbeat when I accidentally bumped my flashlight, which rolled towards the edge of the archway. If it fell, it would hit Mickey smack on the head. OMG! That would be it for me. I’m sure they had plenty of putrid ideas of how to dispose of an all-in-one defender!

  Just before the flashlight was about to fall over the edge, I reached out and grabbed it at the very last second. Unfortunately, a few little stones came loose and rained down on Mickey.

  Boink boink boink! They hit his head, and boink, the last little stone landed on his nose just as he looked up at the archway, directly above him.

  “Hey!” he yelled at the others. “Shut up for a sec.”

  They were quiet in no time and just as fast, their eyes scanned up searching for the source of the noise. Luckily, I had flattened myself as much as possible and pushed my face into the stone. My heart beat like rolling thunder, and Mickey’s next words hit me like lightning.

  “Octopus!” he barked. “Something moved up there.”

  Octopus, the skinny jerk with a Mohawk, and arms so long I swear they touched the ground, did as he was told immediately.

  I gave up. This was it. The end. Finito. But then I saw the coin that had fallen into the ruins. It was crooked and all rusty, but it was still my lucky coin. I had found it years ago on the train tracks near my house on Dearborn Street and had carried it with me ever since. In fact, I carried a lot of stuff around in my pockets. That’s why they were all torn up and ragged, and my mom was always upset with me. She had no idea what this “junk” was good for. She had no idea about the double life of her own all-in-one defender. And if I didn’t come up with a brilliant idea soon, she would find out, and that would lead to all kinds of trouble!

  Octopus began to climb up the gate like a giant octopus slithering out of the primordial seas searching for something to eat.

  I stared at my lucky coin as if it was the Philosopher’s Stone. Then I had an idea: I had a foxtail that once belonged to my father. And the foxtail was exactly what I needed.

  I carefully turned to my side and rummaged in my pockets. OMG! Where was it? Octopus came closer and closer. Eight, no seven more seconds and he’d be … phew, there it was. I felt the soft fur, pulled it out, and inched towards the lucky coin. I could see Octopus’ hand reaching the top of the arch, looking for something to hold on to.

  Oh man, I had to move fast. I waved and wiggled the foxtail near the edge of the archway, but Mickey didn’t notice, and Octopus was about to pull himself up so he didn’t see it either. I had no choice. I kissed my lucky coin one last time and threw it down at Mickey. It hit him on the top of his fat head.

  “Hey!” he complained. “What was that?”

  He fished the coin from his matted hair, looked at it, grumbled, and then lifted his eyes towards the archway, where he finally saw the foxtail.

  “Pssst! Come on down, Octopus!” he hissed trying to keep his voice low. “It’s just a squirrel.” Luckily, the jerk had failed biology and couldn’t tell the difference between a fox and a squirrel.

  “Excellent!” I thought. “Now lose yourself!” But unfortunately Octopus was not that smart either, and it took him a while to react. His Mohawk appeared above the rim, then his oily forehead. I clenched my teeth and prepared myself for his eyes inching above the rim and noticing me. But suddenly the moron stopped moving, and not a moment too soon. Phew! The connection between Octopus’ brain, arms, and legs had finally made their synapse!

  “Why didn’t you say so?” He complained to his leader, and it had been so long Mickey had almost forgotten what they were talking about, then he remembered and he laughed.

  “Come on, forget it. The cute little squirrel paid for your troubles. Here!”

  He tossed my lucky coin to Octopus. Octopus caught it and jumped down from the gate.

  “Are you kidding me? This isn’t worth anything!” he complained as he turned the grimy coin over between his fingers. He was right; it was just an old Buffalo nickel. It meant nothing to anyone but me.

  “Whatever. If you have a problem with it, complain to the squirrel!” Mickey mocked him.

  For a moment Octopus seemed to actually consider this option. My heart skipped a beat. Was the jerk really going to climb back up the archway to complain to a foxtail that was pretending to be a squirrel? But then the dim bulb grew a little brighter and burned through the cobwebs, and he understood the uselessness of such an endeavor. Octopus shook his head and tossed the coin into the forest.

  “Let’s go!” Mickey hurried his gang along. “Party time! Or are you planning to give away the candy in your pockets?”

  Laughing and jeering, the Unbeatables left the Grim Woods and marched on toward the empty lot everyone called “The Prairie.” On the other side of it, the ominous Graffiti Towers loomed large.

  I took a deep breath, and pinched myself three times before I was sure that I was still alive. Holy guacamole! A lot of time had passed. The birds were already awake, so I jumped off the gate and flew home as fast as I could.

  Hot Chocolate and Big Secrets

  My mother and my little brother, Josh, were up already. In the kitchen at 44 Dearborn Street, the smell of coffee and hot chocolate drifted through the air. Adding the breakfast rolls I bought on my way home, our breakfast was perfect. Oh, I was so glad and happy to have a brother, a mother, and a home. Really. I was. You have to believe me, or I won’t continue to tell you this story. We clear on that?

  Good! Glad we agree. But you must swear an oath. So close the book, put your hand onto the Wild Soccer Bunch logo, and repeat after me: “I believe that Julian Fort Knox, the all-in-one defender, loves his mother, his brother, and his home, with all his heart.”

  Go on! What are you waiting for? Close the book already and swear by the Wild Soccer Bunch logo. Do it for me. Do it in secret, under your blanket or hiding in a closet, but do it. I need your help. I need you to trust me. If you don’t swear this oath, this story might take a terrible turn.

  Okay, fine. Don’t do it then.

  You don’t want to lose your place or buy something sight-unseen. I get it. I wouldn’t want to either. Trust is a rare commodity these days; it’s very scarce. Okay, so fine, wait to learn more before you swear that oath. But bookmark this page and remember the page number if you can! And when it’s time, when without your trust I will meet my doom, then you need to go back and swear the oath. Do we have a deal?

  I was watching my mother make our lunches. She knew exactly what Josh and I wanted, she didn’t even have to ask. My little brother called her lunches “sandwich magic” or “surprise meatjellycheese and go-gurtwiches.” I, too, admired my mother’s amazing ability to always make just the right food, say just the right word, and do just the right thing. Warming my hands on my cocoa cup, I wondered why my father wasn’t here admiring her with us.

  Not that this was anything new. My father was the big family secret. I hardly knew anything about him. My mother would probably say I knew everything I needed to know: that he was a great guy, that my mother really loved him, but that they just couldn’t stay together. But really, all I knew was one thing: he was not here. He had disappeared way before Josh was born. And I knew he wasn’t dead.

  That’s why I had a big secret too. My mother, Josh, and my friends thought I was just out getting breakfast rolls at the bakery, when really I would detour to the Grim Woods and hit the bakery on the way home. I wasn’t planning on letting anyone in on my secret, either. Not even after I was spooked by what happened today.

  The Eighth Dimension

  By the time I got to school I had forgotten all about my encounter in the Grim Woods, the Graffiti Towers, and Mickey the bulldozer. That’s because at school, I was part of the best soccer team in the whole wide world.

  “All is well!” my little brother Josh, and I, Julian Fort Knox, the all-in one defender, greeted our friends. They responded with the rest
of our slogan: “As long as you’re wild!”

  School started two weeks ago and we were bursting with pride. After all, we were in the fourth grade now. Tyler, our number 10, was in fifth grade already, and Josh had finally made it to first grade. No more kindergarten for him; he was determined to live wild and dangerous like the rest of us.

  Larry supported him. Larry is our coach, the best coach in the whole wide world. Every day after school we go to the soccer field and practice. But today was different: riding like the wind on our mountain bikes, when we arrived at the field, we slammed on the brakes, and stared up at the gate in utter surprise. Our world was about to change.

  Actually, not all of us stopped. Roger didn’t. Mouth wide open and eyes locked on what hung above the gate, Roger rode straight through the gate, clipped the ladder that was under it, and crashed into the wooden fence that surrounded our soccer field. Larry, who had been standing on the ladder, grabbed the top of the gate as the ladder crashed to the ground, and hung there like he was on the edge of a cliff. One by one, his fingers let go until he finally dropped to the dirt, throwing up a cloud of dust. Roger didn’t see him fall and he didn’t even notice the screwdriver Larry dropped, right on his head. BONK! Eyes wide open, his coke bottle glasses with giant eyes behind them, Roger just stared at the thing hanging above the entrance gate.

  “Hello Roger, been riding long?!” Larry set the ladder back and climbed up as if he had been doing it all day, dragging his bum leg behind him. “Now that you’re here, how about handing me the screwdriver?”

  Roger had no idea what Larry was talking about. He scratched his head precisely where the screwdriver had hit him. “What screwdriver?

  Then he noticed the tool lying in his lap. He picked it up, looked at it, then waved it at Larry. “This screwdriver?”

  He tried to jump up, but his foot was stuck in Larry’s toolbox. “Ahh! Help!” He struggled and pushed and pulled at the toolbox until he was catapulted out and crashed into the fence a second time. Without another word, Roger climbed up the ladder, screwdriver in hand, his face now redder than his hair.