Touchdown for Tommy by Matt Christopher Page B

down, didn’t you?
    “Don’t be so rough next time, Tommy,” cautioned David. “The minute a guy’s down, he’s tackled. Didn’t you know that?”
    “Sure, but—” Tommy didn’t finish. He had always tackled that way before. Nobody had ever told him that was the wrong way.
     Maybe these guys just didn’t know how to play real football.
    A car drove up to the side of the road and stopped.
    “There’s Mr. Powell!” cried David. “Maybe he’ll stay with us for a while.”
    Mr. Powell stepped out of the car and walked onto the field. His gray topcoat made him look huge.
    “Hi, Mr. Powell!” the boys greeted him.
    Mr. Powell’s grin was broad and friendly. “Hi, boys. Brushing up on some new plays?”
    “Well, not exactly,” said David, smiling. “We’re just playing pickup. When is our first real practice, Mr. Powell?”
    Mr. Powell chuckled. “Getting anxious?”
    “Yes!”
    “Well, the league starts a week from Saturday. How about tomorrow after school? Four-thirty sharp.”
    “Okay!”
    “I’ll stay to watch you run through a few more plays,” said Mr. Powell. “Then Tommy, I think you and I will have to leave.”
    Tommy shot him a look, then nodded.
    The teams lined up on the thirty-five-yard line. The team opposing Tommy’s had the ball. They made a two-yard gain, then tried
     a forward pass. The pass was completed. The receiver was tackled on the forty for a first down.
    Tommy played hard. He pushed his man aside and plunged after the ballcarrier with his chin set square as a box and his eyes
     flashing. He wanted to show Mr. Powell how well he could run and how well he could tackle. If Mr. Powell had played football
     inhigh school or college,
he’d
know what a good tackle was.
    But Tommy didn’t have a chance to show Mr. Powell anything except how hard he shoved aside his man and how fast he could run.
     Mr. Powell said it was getting late and he and Tommy had better leave for home.
    In the car, Tommy remembered the ten-dollar bill. He felt in his pockets for it. A chill went through him. He couldn’t find
     it!
    Mr. Powell backed the car out of the school driveway and headed for home. “Have you lost something, Tommy?” he asked.
    “No. Guess not,” said Tommy. But his face got red. He hoped that Mr. Powell didn’t see it.
    “You’re quite a runner,” said Mr. Powell. He grinned at Tommy. “Like football?”
    Tommy was worried about the ten dollars.But he forced a smile. “I sure do. We used to play a lot where I came from.”
    “Did you play in a league?”
    “No. We just chose up teams and played, that’s all.”
    “You didn’t have a coach?”
    “No. We didn’t need any.”
    The thought of the lost money drifted farther and farther away from Tommy’s mind. He became excited talking about football.
     He tried to remember all the things about football he could. He remembered the time he had tried to tackle a boy and ripped
     off the boy’s sweater. He remembered another time when he had purposely tripped a quarterback and the quarterback fell and
     hurt his knee. Those were things he didn’t want to tell Mr. Powell, though. All he could tell Mr. Powell about were the times
     when he had caught long passes and had made long runs. But then that made him sound asif he were bragging, and he didn’t like to brag.
    They drove into the Powells’ driveway, and Tommy asked, “Did you play football with a team, Mr. Powell?”
    A light sparkled in Mr. Powell’s eyes. “Yes. I played in college, Tommy. I was a tackle.”
    “Boy! That must have been great!” Tommy sighed deeply. A warm glow went through him all of a sudden.
    Mr. Powell drove the car up to the garage door and stopped. Tommy jumped out and opened the door, and Mr. Powell drove the
     car in.
    Mr. Powell came out. He put his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. They walked toward the house.
    “You’ve been with us about five months, Tommy,” said Mr. Powell quietly. “How do you like staying with us? Have we