Touchdown Trouble by Fred Bowen

Author:Fred Bowen [Bowen, Fred]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4308-2
Publisher: Peachtree Publishers
Published: 2009-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The next morning, Sam sat up in bed the moment his alarm went off. He dressed quickly in his usual jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt and tiptoed down the stairs.

“Hey, Sam, where are you going?”

“Huh?” Sam spun toward the direction of the voice. “Oh. Dad,” he said, letting out his breath. “Hi.”

His dad was on the living room floor, doing his morning sit-ups. “What are you up to, Sam?”

“Um, I forgot to tell you that, I, ah, was going to go down to the park early this morning.”

“What? At eight o’clock on a Saturday? I thought you were going to sleep in.” His father sounded confused. “You’ve got a game later today.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “I just need to practice a few plays. But I won’t be long.”

“What about breakfast?”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Okay then,” his dad said, and started doing more sit-ups.

Sam quietly got his scooter from the hall closet and slipped out the door.

A few clouds hung low in the sky as Sam glided off on the scooter. Rain had been forecast, but hopefully it wouldn’t start until after their game against the Bengals. For now, the cool air felt good and Sam enjoyed rolling through the empty streets. It seemed as if everyone was sleeping in except him.

But as he got closer to the center of town, the streets grew more crowded. He hopped the curb with his feet tight on the scooter and coasted down the sidewalk. A block away, a large sign that read “Police Station” hung on a plain, two-story brick building.

Sam carried the scooter up the front steps and pulled it along a short hallway. The station was quiet, except for an officer sitting at a computer behind a long counter. Sam was almost too nervous to speak, but he managed to say, “Um, excuse me.”

The officer looked up. “May I help you?” she asked.

The words tumbled out so fast, Sam hardly knew what he was saying: “I want to turn in some stolen property. I didn’t steal it … I mean, I didn’t mean to … I mean, maybe nobody stole it. The brakes don’t work too well.”

“Slow down, young man,” the officer said. The gold metal name tag on her dark blue uniform said “Sergeant Sharon Jones.” “What do you have there?” she asked.

Sam leaned back and looked down. “This scooter,” he said, pointing.

Sergeant Jones leaned over the counter and looked down. “So it’s not your scooter?”

“Well … no. I mean, kind of. I found it.”

“Okay,” Sergeant Jones said. “Where did you find it?”

“By a trash can. In the parking lot near the North Woodside field. It was after my football practice.”

“And what day was that?”

“Thursday.”

“Last Thursday?”

“No, a week ago.

“A week ago?” Sergeant Jones said, sounding surprised.

Sam could feel himself sweating. “Yes. But I didn’t steal it. I mean, I thought somebody didn’t want it anymore because it was leaning against the trash can.”

The officer walked around the counter. “Let me take a look at it,” she said as Sam handed her the scooter.

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