Raiders Night

Raiders Night

by Robert Lipsyte
Raiders Night

Raiders Night

by Robert Lipsyte

Paperback(Reprint)

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Overview

What's it mean to think team? It means you don't talk team business with anybody who isn't on the team. It means whatever happens inside the team stays inside. It means you can only trust a brother Raider. Any questions?

At Nearmont High School, football stars are treated like royalty, and Matt Rydek has just ascended to the throne. He's got it all: hot girls, chill friends, plenty of juice to make him strong, and a winning team poised to go all the way. If he can keep his eye on the ball now, his future will be set. But when the team turns on one of its own, should Matt play by Raiders rules, or should he go long alone?


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780060599485
Publisher: HarperCollins
Publication date: 07/03/2007
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 256
Sales rank: 670,571
Product dimensions: 5.00(w) x 7.12(h) x 0.58(d)
Age Range: 14 - 17 Years

About the Author

About The Author
Robert Lipsyte is the author of twelve acclaimed novels for young adults and is the recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award honoring his lifetime contribution in the genre. His debut YA novel, The Contender, has sold more than one million copies. He was an award-winning sportswriter for the New York Times and the Emmy-winning host of the nightly public affairs show The Eleventh Hour. He lives on Shelter Island, New York, with his wife, Lois, and his dog, Apollo.

Read an Excerpt



Raiders Night



By Robert Lipsyte


HarperTeen


Copyright © 2006

Robert Lipsyte

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-06-059946-4



Chapter One


The Back Pack hit the gym in the early afternoon, Matt in the
lead, before the yuppies marched in from work, while the young
moms were rushing out to pick up their kids from day camp.
Matt liked the way their hot eyes roamed over him, wondered if
they knew he was still in high school, wondered if they cared.
He felt big and hard. Excited. Was it the moms or what was
waiting for him upstairs, the iron weights that would make him
even bigger, harder. And the juice.

Brody poked him from behind with the football he always
carried. "Check the headlights on the one in blue."

"Someday I'm gonna stick that ball up your ass."

"Ooooh, don't tease me, big boy."

Matt led them through the downstairs crowd of designer spandex
and pastel sweats, cuties perched on shiny machines jiggling
away to love songs as they pretended to work out. What did
they know about working out? He liked the sense of leaving
their soft world behind as he led the Back Pack up the metal
steps into the stink and clang of the second floor, the real
workout room.

He was glad they had beaten the linemen to the gym today. Give
us a chance to get our session going without Ramp's crap.

The ironheads were there; they were always there, older white
guys screaming each other into one more pec-busting rep. They
wore tank topsand bandannas that looked like they were soaked
in diesel fuel. One of them called out a singsong,
half-mocking "Rai-derz."

Tyrell raised two fists. "Raiders rule, niggaz!"

The ironheads liked that and banged metal plates. Some of them
had gone to Nearmont High and played ball.

"Matt?" The gym owner, Monty, came out of his office and
beckoned him over. "New shipment's in."

Matt nodded and felt the excitement rise. Perfect timing. Load
up just before camp so the juice kicks in during the
two-a-days when we really need it. He flashed the Back Pack a
thumbs-up. Hope they all brought their wallets.

They dressed quickly. They were jittery, psyched for the last
heavy workout before camp. Tyrell, as usual, complained about
the music on the upstairs speakers, a pounding mix of disco
and heavy metal. The ironheads controlled those CDs. For now.
See what happens if we win Conference this year.

Matt caught Pete sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror. Pete
was more self-conscious than the rest of them about the
pimples on his shoulders. Backne they called it. From the
steroids. Price you pay. Pete's girlfriend, Lisa, wasn't so
sure it was worth the price. She'd said as much, and Pete
listened to her. Girls hear about the side effects, but how
could they know the feeling of watching a muscle grow bigger
and harder? Pete flexed his biceps when he thought no one was
looking, as if to remind himself that Lisa didn't know
everything.

Matt said, "Quads and glutes win games." He wondered if he was
taking this captain thing too seriously.

"Tyrell says bicep curls win hot girls," said Tyrell. He
mimicked Pete's flex.

Pete, embarrassed, snapped his shirt at Tyrell, who laughed
and danced just out of range. They loved to watch Tyrell move.
He had radar. He glided like a phantom. He was the best
running back in the conference. If we stay healthy and tight,
Matt thought, this could be our season. Maybe State. Senior
year, what a way to go.

Out on the mats, stretching, Matt could tell Brody's mind was
heading to the same place.

"We got a shot." Brody's big freckly face had that dreamy
look. Probably imagining himself winning the state title. With
a quarterback sneak. Not a forty-yard bomb to me or a handoff
to Tyrell, but a heroic scramble out of a collapsing pocket
and a desperate lunge over the goal line. Behind his back,
some of the guys called him All-Brody. Dad thought he didn't
throw to Matt enough. But Brody was all right. Best friend on
the team.

"One day at a time," said Matt.

"You're, like, channeling Coach Mac," said Brody.

"You ready to put the bar where your mouth is?" Matt held up
the clipboard with their workout schedule.

"See what I mean?"

They started with squats, lunges, and power cleans to build up
their legs and lower backs for the explosive starts off the
line of scrimmage. These were the most intense exercises in
the daily program the coaches had laid out in the spring. Matt
had come to realize that if they left those exercises to the
end of the session, they would slack off, especially Pete and
Brody. They preferred to work harder on the lat pull downs,
the curls and flys to build up their upper bodies for the
beach. But they listened to Matt. He was their leader. Tyrell
had named them the Back Pack, the four starting backfield
seniors. Brody, Pete, and Matt had played together since
PeeWee. Tyrell had joined them as a sophomore after he came
out from New York, staying at his aunt's house during the week
so he could go to Nearmont High.

The linemen stomped in, Ramp bellowing, "Yo, Rydek, your girls
done yet?"

Before Matt could respond, Tyrell shouted, "Where you been?
Stop off for lunch at the hog farm?"

Ramp cursed, raised a finger, and led the linemen into the
locker room.

Matt waited until they were out of earshot. "Chill."

"Nobody cool says chill no more."

"Our last season, last chance to win Conference." He glared at
Tyrell until he nodded and started pulling dumbbells off the
rack. "Let's be a team."

"You always right, Cap'n Matt, sir."

Matt and Brody moved to the benches. It took a few reps to
clear his head, but once Matt felt the blood pumping again,
all the good feelings came back. He concentrated on
visualizing his muscles swell and harden as he lay on the ...

(Continues...)





Excerpted from Raiders Night
by Robert Lipsyte
Copyright © 2006 by Robert Lipsyte .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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