Julian the Mighty Page 2

  The sign above the entrance was huge. It said, Devil’s Pit, in bright orange letters.

  “Wow!” Roger murmured. “That is wild!”

  “Wild as a bag of cats,” Zoe hissed. She had been one of us for about two weeks now. Although she was a girl, Zoe had our utmost respect.

  “Sick!” I acknowledged. “The wildest soccer field ever!”

  “Sure is!” Josh exclaimed. “Hail the great Hag-of-gnats!”

  Zoe gave the kid a look and was about to say something but the others reassured her not to worry about it. Josh didn’t know what we were talking about half the time.

  Larry turned around and instead of the usual grin, he just glared at us. Our smiles disappeared immediately. Something was wrong, but what? Speechless, we watched Larry tighten the last screw, limp down the ladder, and march onto the soccer field. We followed behind him at a respectful distance and gathered in front of his kiosk.

  Larry looked us up and down. His eyes hidden in the shadows of his red baseball cap, he glared at each and every one of us.

  “Soccer field? Is that what you call it? That’s a joke! What world do you live in?”

  We swallowed hard. But honestly, we had no clue what we had done wrong. Nonetheless, Larry was so furious, he balled his fists.

  “Soccer field? How dare you? Now listen carefully because I am not going to repeat myself. From now on, anyone who calls this stadium a ‘soccer field’ will be banned from it. Is that clear?”

  We looked at each, puzzled. “Stadium?”

  But he wasn’t done. “I asked you a question! Is that clear?” Still glaring at us, he waited for an answer. So we just nodded. “Good. Now I’ll tell you!” he grumbled, but a tiny smile betrayed his real mood.

  “Starting today, you’ll be playing in a real club league. From this day forward, you’re playing in Division 8, against teams from all over the state!

  “Dimension 8!” Josh exclaimed. “That’s huge!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Division 8,” I said. “Not dimension.”

  “Josh is right,” Larry smiled. “Playing for a real league adds a new dimension to our game. The battle for the championship title begins next Saturday with your first game. And the first game of a club league championship sure doesn’t take place on some run-of-the-mill soccer field. Championship games are played in a stadium.”

  Now Larry couldn’t hide his smile any more. “Welcome to the Devil’s Pit guys, the new stadium of the Wild Soccer Bunch!”

  With that, Larry turned around, and threw the huge breaker bar on the old electrical box. After some moaning and creaking, sparks flew, something zapped and hissed and crackled, and one by one, six bright lights thumped on around the field.

  “Incredible!” I shouted. I was amazed, to say the least.

  “OMG! Real floodlights!!” Roger was excited.

  “What did you think?” Kevin laughed. “Did you think this was a nursery playground? Far out, dude! This is the Devil’s Pit!” Ever since the game against Mickey the bulldozer and his Unbeatables, Kevin had been our leader. “Welcome to the wildest stadium in Division 8!” Kevin said, grabbing one of the lemonades Larry handed out.

  “To Larry!” Tyler shouted, lifting his bottle. Tyler was Kevin’s brother and had just turned ten.

  “Yes, to Larry, the Devil’s Pit, and real floodlights!” Roger cheered. And Josh, my little brother, shouted as loud as he could: “To the wildest stadium in Dimension 8!” And everyone cheered.

  Tattoos and Other Dreams

  Naturally, we practiced late that night. After all, we had to baptize those floodlights. After practice, we all went home and straight to bed, and when our parents were finally convinced that we were fast asleep and left us alone for the night, we snuck out one-by-one and met at Camelot. That’s what we call our tree house. Josh and I built it in our backyard. It’s three floors high, and ever since the gunslinger, a.k.a. Diego’s mom, challenged us to fight the Furies, it’s been our headquarters.

  As usual, when something important, exciting, or dangerous was on our agenda, we moved the old wooden keg to the center of the room. One by one, we would put our arms on it, and while Larry, who was always with us, told his stories about the great soccer heroes of the past, guys like Pele, Maradona, and Cruyff, and compared them to Messi, Ronaldo, and Wayne Rooney, Tyler would use a black Sharpie and draw a real-looking tattoo on our arms of the Wild Guy above a set of cross-bones. The logo fits right in with the Devil’s Pit and our pirate treasure map player contracts. The logo also goes well with Larry’s stories, you know, the ones that captivated us for hours? And it goes perfectly with our dreams.

  We dream of our own league, of our victories as the best soccer team in the whole world, and of our life with the Wild Soccer Bunch, friends you can trust and depend on. Always.

  “Hey Julian! You okay?” Zoe asked suddenly. She stood in the doorway and looked at me.

  I looked up at her, surprised. Then I looked around the room and only Zoe, Tyler, and Kevin were still there. Everyone else had left. I must have lost track of time. Did I fall asleep? Why was my face wet? I quickly wiped the tears away: “I’m great. I’m fine.”

  “Really? You sure?” Tyler asked, and Kevin just looked at me.

  “Of course! Go home, guys!” I laughed. “Tomorrow is going to be a tough day. I’m warning you, I don’t think Larry is going to be as nice as he was today. The championship is at stake.”

  Zoe smiled. “Exactly!”

  “All is well!” I assured her.

  “As long as you’re wild,” Tyler said and left with Zoe.

  But Kevin stayed. He just looked at me.

  “Julian, we are counting on you!” he said and looked into my eyes and into my soul.

  I nodded.

  I’d never let my friends down. Ever.

  Beyond the Grim Woods and Across the Prairie

  I was still sure of my resolve to never let my friends down the next day. At school everything was business as usual. But at home, at 44 Dearborn Street, I had trouble even sitting still. After dinner I went straight to my room. Math homework took me forever, and when my little brother called from the kitchen, “Hey, where are you, Julian? Practice starts in exactly ten minutes!” I tore open my door and yelled at him, “Yes, and in one minute, it will start in nine minutes. Stop being such a pest! I’m not a kid anymore! I know how to get to the stadium.”

  Josh looked at our mother, irritated. She just shrugged. Then he looked at me again. “Is that so? In that case, how about you just get lost!”

  With that, he grabbed his backpack, and stormed out the kitchen door and into our backyard where he grabbed his bike and furiously rode off. I went back to my room and pretended to look busy, just in case someone came in to check on me – someone like my mom, for instance. But basically all I did was sit there listening and counting to 100. Then I ran out of my room as fast as I could so my mother wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t wearing my soccer cleats and didn’t take my backpack. Don’t worry, I’ll explain.

  I ran and ran, taking streets and alleys where I wouldn’t meet any of my friends. I didn’t stop until I reached the ruins of the old house. I was totally out of breath, and with a racing heart I walked as calmly as I could through the gate and continued slowly. I didn’t stop until I reached the other end of the Grim Woods.

  The barren wasteland of the Prairie lay in front of me. The Graffiti Towers on the other side were so tall they seemed to touch the sky. I was hiding in the high weeds. No one had seen me; I could have turned around. But somehow that wasn’t an option any more.

  I had to find him. It’s not every kid who gets to play in a soccer stadium called the Devil’s Pit, especially a stadium with lights!

  I had to tell him. Just like Kevin, Danny, Fabio, and Alex had surely told their fathers, I had to tell mine. That much I knew I had to do. I realized it the day before at Camelot while Tyler was painting the Wild Guy on my wrist. I was thinking about my dad. That’s
what brought tears to my eyes. I imagined how happy my father would be when I told him all about it, and when I invited him to a Division 8 championship game.

  I took a deep breath. This was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Then I marched on. Yesterday the weeds seemed to part for Mickey and his Unbeatables. Not for me. The tall brush hit my face, arms, and legs. I didn’t care; I marched on until I finally reached the Prairie.

  I looked around. Everything seemed desolate. Grass and thistles grew all around me on the dusty ground; and although it was broad daylight, a rat scurried past my feet.

  I must have jumped a mile. I stopped. I prayed for a reason to turn around. But there was none. I had no doubt that my father was in there, somewhere. He had to be. It was a place on Earth like no other. Even my mom knew very little about it even though she knew more about every other place in the whole world than anyone. The news and the newscasters talked about remote places like Tasmania or Pago Pago. But they never mentioned anything about the Graffiti Towers behind the Grim Woods across the Prairie. Not ever.

  So I marched on and crossed the Prairie and tried to ignore the rustling noises all around my feet. It couldn’t be that hard to find him. All I had to do was find a nameplate that read Michael Phillips. I knew that once I found my father, he’d protect me.

  I was sure of that and when I reached the parking lot near the Graffiti Towers, I was less afraid.

  The wind howled and the grey concrete rose up like the pyramids of Egypt. The towers moaned and creaked like monsters about to awaken. The graffiti on the wall told stories of what would happen if they did. I stared at the new tattoo on my wrist to help me summon up enough courage to get through this, but compared to the images on the walls here, the Wild Guy looked like a sticker of a flower or an apple they give you in the dentists’ office.

  I was scared! But I warned you at the beginning of this story, didn’t I? Better look for a safe place to hide, is what I said; best to stand with your back to the wall and always carry a flashlight. Well, I might have downplayed the risks. If so, I’m really sorry, but now it’s too late.

  Then again, maybe not. I was alone, after all. No Mickey or any other Unbeatable was in sight. I sucked in another breath and walked towards the first apartment building, fists clenched, ready for anything. The glass entrance door was cracked and looked like a spider web, and I prayed that the spider wasn’t home. Then I started reading the nameplates.

  “Phillips, Phillips, Phillips,” I whispered, “Come on Phillips!” But the more I searched, the more my courage faded. No thank you, I wouldn’t want to deliver the mail here. Most of the nameplates were rusty; some had been torn off. Some had dozens of different tags glued on top of each other. It was as if the people who lived here didn’t really have names.

  But I didn’t give up. Mickey the bulldozer and his Unbeatables were nowhere in sight, so maybe this was my lucky day. And maybe there was a tenant by the name of Phillips in one of the other apartment buildings.

  Slowly I walked through the parking lot toward the second tower. It seemed as if shadows were lurking all around me. But I just ignored them, like the rats on the Prairie. When I arrived, the door leading to the second apartment building slammed in my face. I stood there, motionless. I heard snickering, but I couldn’t see anyone. I convinced myself that I had imagined it, and marched up the steps to the second apartment building.

  Everything was different. The entrance door wasn’t broken and the nameplates were all clean and easy to read.

  “Phillips, Phillips, Phillips,” I began to read, and “Phillips, Phillips, Phillips,” echoed in my head.

  That’s when I smelled the stench, like a thick cloud enveloping me. “Yuck!” I thought and tried to catch a breath of fresh air. But my breath stammered and I rattled like an elephant seal coming up for air. Then I got it. The snickering. The echo. Neither of them were in my head!

  The realization made me sweat. I prayed silently, “Please God, don’t let it be true.”

  I turned around slowly and … I was staring straight into the beady eyes of Mickey the Bulldozer.

  “Hello, loser!” he snarled. “Mickey the bulldozer from Mars. And I don’t come in peace.”

  I looked at him as if he was speaking another language: Martian, maybe. Then I turned around quickly and tried to run. But the door behind me opened and Octopus, the Grim Reaper, and Kong blocked my way. I was trapped. Even though I couldn’t see the other jerks, I knew they were out there somewhere in the parking lot, just waiting for me to try to escape.

  There was no way out. I had to face the monster of all monsters and not a single Wild Bunch friend was around to help me. I couldn’t use the trick with Sox either, you know, like Diego did? Because never in his life would Sox be stupid enough to walk through the Grim Woods and across the Prairie to the Graffiti Towers. What was I thinking?!

  With nothing left to lose, I slowly turned back to Mickey. He grinned like the bellhop at a zombie hotel.

  I only had time for one thought: “Is this as friendly as he gets?”

  That was it. I have no idea what happened after that.

  A Pact with the Devil

  When I started thinking clearly again, I was at the far end of the parking lot between the Graffiti Towers. I lay spread-eagled in the back of a pick-up truck and Mickey the Bulldozer was leering down at me. Whatever was in my pockets was strewn next to him and he was carefully picking through the loot, his Darth Vader t-shirt barely covering his huge belly.

  “Leave my stuff alone!” I shouted at him. “It’s all junk!” I hurried to say.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Mickey grumbled, obviously disappointed. Then he noticed the foxtail. “Aha!”

  He picked it up carefully and looked at it like a monkey looks at a banana. My fears dissipated momentarily. “Maybe he’ll take a bite,” I hoped briefly, “and then he’ll grow hair on his tongue. Yuck!” But Mickey was smarter than a monkey – barely. He may not have been able to tell the difference between a foxtail and a squirrel. But he recognized the foxtail he thought was a squirrel.

  “Check it out!” he yelled to his fellow gang members, wagging the tail. “Octopus, does this look familiar?”

  Octopus startled awake from the slumber all Unbeatables fall victim to as soon as Mickey starts to think. Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot of respect for them. Alligators slumber in the swamp until they suddenly SNAP! And just like an alligator, Octopus turned around and looked at his leader, fangs ready to chomp.

  “The little twerp tricked us!” Mickey snarled. Then his beady eyes sparkled, and quick as lightning, as if the laws of gravity didn’t apply, Mickey heaved his big body from the roof of the truck and stomped over to me.

  “This little loser doesn’t have anything we want. But worse, this little loser tried to trick us.

  “What do you mean, tried,” I thought. Good thing I didn’t say it out loud; I don’t think they would have appreciated it.

  “Yesterday, when we were coming back with our loot, he spied on us,” Mickey said and the rest of his brutes sucked in breaths of surprise.

  With that, Mickey the Bulldozer grabbed me with hands as big as hubcaps and lifted me up until I could no longer touch the ground. All of a sudden these guys looked so huge, they dwarfed me, and at that precise moment, I didn’t feel wild anymore. Mickey took a deep breath and blew my checkered cap right off my head!

  “We’re done playing games, Sherlock. Got that?!” he hissed and threw me through the air.

  I crashed into the truck cab and crumpled to the deck. The last bit of my confidence was crushed. It got real quiet, as quiet as my situation was serious. The other alligators around me began moving in. “Fight,” was the word that would wake them up, and unlike Mickey, their muscles were not hampered by gobs of fat. The rattle of the bicycle chain the Grim Reaper took from his chest chilled me to the bone. I knew I was sitting on a time bomb ready to explode.

  If only my little brother Josh would show
up. He is like a superhero and always shows up at the last minute and saves the day. But when I thought about it, I knew better. He was where he was supposed to be: training with the Wild Soccer Bunch at the Devil’s Pit.

  Moaning and heaving, Mickey kneeled down in front of me, and his beady eyes stared into the deepest caverns of my soul.

  “What are we going to do with you?” he wondered with fake compassion that made my blood curdle. “What ever shall we do?”

  “Forget this ever happened?” I stammered. “I sure didn’t mean any trouble, so why don’t I just get up and leave you to your usual criminal activity.”

  I tried to get up and one of Mickey’s hubcap hands darkened the sky and pinned me to the back of the truck.

  “I said, what shall we do with you?” he was lost in thought, ignoring everything I said.

  “Torture him?” Octopus suggested as if he was asking the others to play checkers.

  “Good idea!” the Grim Reaper said.

  “And dislocate his toes! So he won’t be able to play any more with the Wild Soccer Bunch!”

  Yikes. I swallowed hard. I liked my toes just the way they are!

  Kong, the monumental creature from the Prairie of Mongolia, let his words melt on his tongue. Then he folded his hands and cracked his fingers and my toes curled up inside my shoes like ten little turtles. It didn’t help. I couldn’t escape. I was like dough trapped in a waffle iron. A waffle iron being held down by a bulldozer. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. “Okay, so torture first, then the dislocation of the toes,” I said, trying to stall them, getting ready to accept my fate. If I was lucky, I would pass out during the torture phase. Wait a sec. I was Julian Fort Knox, the all-in-one defender, and the boys surrounding me were complete morons. Pulling my tail between my legs and giving up would be like Real Madrid losing to the Tiny Town Cuties.