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Manny,” Donald finally said. “We kicked their butts! Get into it.”
    Manny forced a smile, but he didn’t feel like cheering. He slumped in his seat a bit more and waited for the bus ride to end.
    “We’re all going over to McDonald’s to celebrate,” Donald said as they got off the bus. “You coming?”
    “I don’t think so,” Manny said. “Not hungry.”
    “So what?” Donald said. “Get a soda.”
    “Nah,” Manny said. “My parents wanted me to get right home after the game.”
    “How come?”
    “I don’t know.” Actually, Manny’s parents had said that they didn’t expect him home right away. But he didn’t feel like being with the team. He didn’t even feel like part of the team.
    So Manny walked home alone. His parents and Sal were watching TV.
    “Hi, Manny!” Sal said. “You guys won!”
    “Yeah,” Manny said glumly. “No thanks to me.”
    “Well, you’ll get ’em next time,” Dad said. “Keep your chin up.”
    “I know.”
    “You would’ve scored three touchdowns if they’d let you play!” Sal said.
    Manny frowned. “Don’t kid yourself, Sal,” he said. “I wouldn’t score a touchdown if I played for six years.”
    Sal just stared at his brother with his mouth open. Manny never spoke to him like that.
    “Get over it, squirt,” Manny said sharply. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to be a hero.”
    Sal looked stunned, then he blinked back tears. Manny felt awful for hurting Sal’s feelings, but the little guy would have to deal with it. It was hard enough for Manny to know that he was no football star without Sal pretending all the time that he was.
    Manny turned with a sigh and plodded up the stairs. He shut the bedroom door and took off his uniform and pads. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on them, of course. He changed into shorts and a T-shirt and walked back down the stairs. It wouldn’t be dark yet for more than an hour.
    “I’m going for a walk,” he told his parents.
    “Where to?” said Mom.
    “Just around. A run, actually. I’ve got a lot of energy to burn.”
    “You weren’t nice to Sal,” Mom said.
    “I know, Mom. He’ll live.”
    Manny ran along a side street, then cut over to Central Avenue, running parallel to the Boulevard. As he neared St. Joseph’s Church, he heard shouting. His old soccer team was having a game.
    The scoreboard said Home 2, Visitor 1, and showed about three minutes left in the game. Manny watched from outside the fence as his team held off a frantic offensive charge by their opponents and hung on for a narrow win.
    He missed that feeling of running down the field, his legs and the ball moving almost as one. The jittery little fakes and jukes as he worked his way through the defense, finding an open teammate or taking it to the goal by himself.
    Maybe next year. Or maybe the coach had been right when he’d suggested cross-country. Manny could run all day. Football wasn’t looking like the right sport for him these days.
    He took off again, running a bit faster now, excited by the soccer game. He headed to the track and ran a few laps, then walked the half mile back to his house.
    “Worked up a sweat, I see,” Dad said as Manny entered the living room.
    “Yeah.” Manny gave a small smile. “Couldn’t do it at the football game; had to find my own way.”
    “That’s what it’s about,” Dad said. “You always have to find your own way.”
    Manny shut the door to his room and sat on the bed, turning on the radio to a New York City rock station. Sal was downstairs with their parents, so Manny had more time to think.
    After a while, he heard his mom calling from downstairs. He opened the door and said, “What?”
    “You’ve got a visitor.”
    “Send him up.” Manny sat back on his bed. He figured it was Donald, ready to gloat a little more about that tackle he’d made. He’d listen, but he was still in no mood for celebrating. Manny was glad for Donald, but he wasn’t quite over his jealousy.
    But