Shots on Goal by Rich Wallace

Author:Rich Wallace [Wallace, Rich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-47778-1
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

13

ELEVEN MUSKETEERS

We figured we’d start off the second half of the season in a big way, trashing Weston North on our home field. There’s a few dozen people here to cheer us on. And we shut these guys out last month.

But the first quarter’s almost over and we’ve barely crossed midfield. North is putting on some pressure. Their right wing is dribbling toward me, and I attack. He crosses it to another forward, who takes a long shot that Herbie catches. Herbie looks downfield, but heaves it over to my side. I’m shielded by that same wing, and he gets control and starts cutting in from the sideline, a step ahead of me, bearing down on the goal. I catch up and go into a slide tackle, but he steps on the ball and stops short, and I’m on the ground and he’s past me. He chips it toward the center, and their striker heads it into the goal.

Dusty bumps into me as he jogs back into position. “What the hell kind of a tackle was that?” he says.

I stare at him. “It’s called defense.”

“It is, huh?”

“Eat shit.” See if I pass to him later.

Herbie calls over the defenders and the midfielders at the end of the quarter. “Tighten up,” he says. “They’ve had six shots on goal already.”

“We’re overcommitting on defense,” Rico says. “Don’t challenge if you can’t win the ball. Hold your ground.”

“And clear the friggin’ ball,” Herbie says. “At least twice we made little girlie passes right in front of our net that could have cost us.”

Coach yells for us to line up for the kickoff. Rico trots next to me as we head downfield. “That Dusty’s one hell of a guy, huh?”

I sneer. “Yeah.”

“Joey, too,” he says. “They’re two one hell of a guys.”

Second quarter starts out okay. We get the ball down into their end, at least. Trunk tries to pass it through one of their midfielders, and it gets deflected out of bounds. I race over and grab the ball for a throw-in. Dusty’s got room ahead of me, but I throw it short, back to Rico. He slides it to me, and I dribble downfield. I could pass, but I don’t, moving the ball up the touchline.

I race past the wing who beat me before, but a midfielder comes up and taps the ball out of bounds. I scoop it up and throw it down the line, where Mitchell controls it and pokes it toward the center. Joey gets it, dribbles twice, and takes a shot from too far out. It bounces off a defender on my side and I race to control it. I’m out of position, but I’ve got the ball and an open path to the goal.

I’m sprinting now, racing with the ball, but a wall of three defenders is closing in, squeezing me toward the corner. I stop, do a full turn, and penetrate toward the center. I hear them yelling for the ball—Dusty, Trunk, Joey—but now I’m surrounded. I can’t shoot or pass.

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