Captain Nobody Read Online Free Page B

21-14.
    When the crowds stood up to stretch their legs, I blinked and looked around, confused. Without realizing it, I had gotten so caught up in the action that I had followed the game up and down the field, pacing in the aisles. Now I found myself standing at the far end of the bleachers. I sat down on a step and tried to use halftime to focus on my Halloween costume problem.
    Suddenly from behind me a voice boomed, “Can I see your ticket?”
    I turned to find a tubby, red-faced teenager wearing a Fillmore Ferrets button pinned on his Fillmore HS Usher jacket.
    â€œExcuse me?” I said.
    â€œYou can’t sit here,” the teen barked. “There’s rules.”
    I scrambled to my feet. “Oh. See, you’re gonna laugh. . . . I’m actually supposed to be over there”—I pointed to the midfield seats—“but I kinda got squeezed out . . .”
    â€œTicket!” The usher snapped his fingers in my face.
    â€œIt’s here somewhere,” I promised, digging deeper and deeper into my empty pockets.
    And that’s how I wound up standing out in the parking lot at the far end of the stadium, watching the second half through the wire fence surrounding Fillmore Field.

    When the Ferrets stormed back from their locker room, I positioned myself so I could look between the uprights of the goalpost, right down the middle of the field. It was weird seeing the game from that angle because, depending on the play, the teams were either running away from me . . . or directly at me. For the first time ever, I truly understood the scary stampede my brother was always facing.
    As I stood on the cold, wet grass in the dark, the Ferrets and the Chargers battled through the third quarter and into the fourth. My brother was doing a fantastic job of keeping Fillmore out in front until—with only forty-five seconds left to play in the game— Merrimac kicked a field goal and pulled ahead by two points. The enemy was winning!
    I paced nervously as Merrimac kicked off to Fillmore for the last time. A few more plays brought the Ferrets far enough downfield toward me that I could now see Chris huddling with his team through the backs of the Charger defense. But I could also see the clock.
    It said :07.
    â€œNo way!” I gasped. Chris only had enough time for one more play! It was his last chance to save his final game.
    The Ferrets lined up opposite the Merrimac defense. Time slowed to a painful crawl, and it seemed like it took forever for my brother to bark his signals and take the snap.
    Then everything exploded into fast motion.
    As Reggie Ratner bulldozed through the line, Chris staggered backward, looking for a receiver. Reggie lunged for my brother, but Chris faked to one side and left him grabbing at empty air. Chris spun around and handed the ball off to Darryl Peeps, his running back, who found a hole and started tearing down the field. The screaming in the bleachers sounded like ten jet engines at full throttle, and I swear I was screaming louder than all of them .
    The Merrimac players looked like an orange-and-green avalanche roaring toward me, while on all sides, red-and-white Ferrets chased anybody who got close to Darryl. At the fifteen-yard line, a Merrimac tackle lunged for Darryl and caught one ankle.
    â€œNo!” I shrieked. “Stay up! Stay up!”
    Just as Darryl tumbled to the turf, he tossed the ball sideways— right into the hands of my big brother, who, as usual, was in just the right place at the right time.
    The stadium went wild!
    Please don’t think I’m a wuss when I tell you that tears welled up in my eyes as my brother zigged and zagged, dodging tackle after tackle in the last ten!, nine!, eight! yards. Everyone was closing in, surrounding Chris in a tidal wave of green-and-orange-and-red-and-white. And leading the pack, breathing down my brother’s neck, was Reggie Ratner.
    Finally, at the two-yard line, a desperate Merrimac