Double Fake by Rich Wallace Page A

boys,” said the woman at the front desk.
    “Hi,” said Calvin. “Have they posted the teams for the soccer league yet?”
    “Right in the gym.”
    “Thanks.”
    They entered the gym and started scanning the rosters on the bulletin board.
    “Check it out,” Zero said, pointing to one of the lists. “We’re in the pizza division.”
    Calvin saw their names under Little Italy, the sponsoring business. There were nine or ten players listed for each team. Because the rec field was small, games in this league were played with just seven players from each team on the field.
    LITTLE ITALY
    Victor Alvarez
Julie Carrasco
Orlando Green
Peter Leung
Angel Medina
Mary Pineda
Zach “Zero” Rollison
Calvin Tait
Briana Torres
    “Little Italy?” Calvin said. “Looks more like Little Cuba; you’re the only white kid on the team. Anyway, I heard the winner of the pizza division has won the league like four out of the past five years.” He studied the lists again.
    EASTERN DIVISION
    Villa Roma
Luigi’s
The Grotto
Little Italy
    WESTERN DIVISION
    Hudson City Florist
Bug Busters Extermination
Hector’s Garage
Bauer Electric
    Each team would play the others in its division twice and the teams in the opposite division once, for a total of ten games. The first two in each division would make the playoffs.
    “Do we get free pizza after the games?” Zero asked.
    “Doubt it,” Calvin said. “Maybe if we win the championship.”
    “Not if, ” Zero said. “You mean when we win it. Think positive, man. Like me.”
    They left the Y and started walking along the Boulevard. It was eleven A.M. in the middle of June. There’d be a practice session tonight at six thirty. Until then, they had nothing really to do.

2
    Leeches
    G etting to Hamilton Park from the Hudson City business district requires a steep downhill walk along a rutted old sidewalk. Down here by the waterfront, you cross Palisades Avenue and the park stretches out in front of you for about a hundred yards to the Hudson River and about five hundred yards along it. Directly across in Manhattan are the piers with the giant container ships.
    Calvin had a twenty-ounce bottle of lemon-flavored water and had tied his white T-shirt around his waist. Streams of sweat were running from his hair down his dark brown face. He could taste it at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s get to the river,” he said to Zero. “I’m going in. I don’t care who arrests me.”
    “Nobody’s gonna arrest us,” Zero said. “Just might get a skin disease from the water.”
    “I got tough skin.”
    They crossed the jogging/biking/Rollerblading path that circled the park and stepped onto the large, flat, grassy area in the middle. A man was throwing a Frisbee to his dog, and a few other people in the park were sitting on benches or sprawled out under the maple trees, hoping to catch a breeze from the water.
    But what caught Calvin’s eye was a group of six teenagers on the far side of the park, energetically kicking a soccer ball in a three-on-three match and shouting in Spanish. The player with the ball was laughing as two frustrated opponents tried to steal it. He bobbed around them and kept the ball amazingly close to his feet, starting and stopping and then bursting between them and passing to a wide-open teammate.
    “Cool,” Calvin said.
    Zero shook his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hot.”
    Calvin rolled his eyes. “I mean his moves. That’s good soccer.”
    The boys reached the railing above the river. The tide was low, so there was a few feet of muddy bank between the river and the retaining wall. They could easily hop over the fence and wade.
    Calvin tossed his shirt and the water bottle onto the grass and said, “Let’s go.” In one fluid motion he was over the fence, down the wall, and onto the bank.
    Zero quickly followed. “Don’t take your shoes off,” he said.
    “What am I, stupid?” Calvin walked knee-deep into the water. He reached