Authors: Matt Christopher
There were four squares, so four pairs of boys took their turns while the rest of the team watched. Garry and Jeff were in
the first group. Jeff had the ball. When the coach blew his whistle, Jeff started moving around the square. Garry went after
him, but Jeff was quick. He dodged, feinted, and
twisted away from Garry, all the while cradling the ball in the pocket. After ten seconds, Garry hadn't come close to forcing
him to drop it.
The coach blew his whistle, and the ball handlers became the chasers. When the ten seconds had passed, Garry was panting—but
he still had the ball. He and Jeff stepped out of the square to let the next pair have their turn.
Jeff grinned at him. “I'd say we're pretty evenly matched, wouldn't you?”
Garry nodded. “What position do you usually play?”
“I've played everything except goalkeeper,” Jeff replied, “but I like middie best.”
“Yeah, I wouldn't mind playing midfield,” Garry agreed. “But I like attack position better.”
“You like to score, huh?”
“Well, as my mother might say, it's right up there with winning the lottery!” Garry quipped.
Jeff threw his head back and laughed. Garry laughed too.
Jeff's a good kid,
he thought.
I bet he's lonely, being new and all.
He decided to invite him over to hang out after practice. He opened his mouth to ask when suddenly he heard a sharp cry.
He turned to see what the problem was—and his eyes widened with horror.
T
odd lay on the ground, clutching his ankle. The coach was kneeling beside him. Michael stood off to the side.
Jeff turned to Evan. “What happened?”
“"I'm not sure,” Evan answered. “One minute Michael and Todd were doing the drill, the next Todd was eating dirt.”
Coach Hasbrouck beckoned to Garry. Garry hurried onto the field, hooked an arm under his brother, and helped hoist him to
his feet. With Todd between them, the coach and Garry guided Todd to a bench. Michael followed.
“He must have tripped over something, Coach,” Michael said.
Todd's head snapped up. “Yeah,” he said angrily. “Your stick!”
Michael's jaw dropped. “You're accusing me of tripping you?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. He turned to Coach
Hasbrouck. “I swear, I wasn't even anywhere near him when he went down!”
“He wasn't, Coach,” Evan suddenly piped up. “I saw the whole thing. Todd just fell.”
Garry stared at him in surprise. “But didn't you just tell Jeff that—”
“—that Todd was just starting to get the hang of cradling when he tripped?” Michael cut in. He laid a hand on Todd's shoulder.
“I was going to say the same thing. Really, T.T., for a newbie, you were doing great.”
Todd blinked. “Uh, thanks, Michael,” he said after a moment. He sounded confused.
Coach Hasbrouck stood up. “Todd, take a
few minutes. The rest of you, resume the drill. And let's all be careful out there, okay?”
Garry and Jeff trotted back to a square. “Am I mistaken,” Jeff said in a low voice, “or did Evan just lie for Michael?”
Garry scuffed his foot in the grass. He wasn't sure what to make of the exchange either. The fact that Michael had called
Todd “T.T.” hadn't escaped him, but then again Michael had also given Todd a compliment.
“I don't know,” he said at last. “To be. perfectly honest, I wouldn't be surprised if my brother
did
trip over his own feet. He's not the most athletic kid around, in case you hadn't noticed.”
Jeff gave him a funny look. “He's not that bad. And you've got to admit it's weird. One minute Evan says he doesn't know what
happened, the next he's claiming that he saw the whole thing. Has he got something against your brother?”
Garry glanced over at Todd. His brother's leg was stretched out on the bench, an ice pack on his ankle. Todd's head and arms
hung over the back of the bench, making his round stomach appear even rounder. Garry looked away. “Let's just forget about
Todd and get back to practice.”
The team continued to do the cradling drill. Todd rejoined them after five minutes, still limping slightly. Twenty minutes
later, the coach announced that practice was through for the day. Garry was tired, but his brother looked completely done
in.
And at home later that night, Todd fell asleep on the couch. Garry picked up the book his brother had been reading, marked
the page for him, then tiptoed away.
For the second time that day, he wondered if his brother would make it through the first week of practice. It seemed doubtful.
After
all,
he thought,
he almost didn't make it through the first day!
Todd did make it through the week, but just barely. He always brought up the rear in the warm-up laps, collapsed after push-ups,
and turned beet red with exertion when doing leg lifts. He was clearly the worst player on the team. The only person who regularly
chose him for a drill partner was Jeff.
Garry, meanwhile, found himself paired with Michael most often—much to Evan's chagrin, he noticed. In fact, Evan reminded
Garry of a cartoon he'd seen once in which a small puppy followed a bulldog everywhere, doing everything the bulldog asked
him to do, no matter how absurd the request. In Garry's mind, Evan was that puppy, willing and eager to do anything Michael
asked of him.
Well, Garry wasn't about to take Evan's
place as Michael's puppy, but he had to admit he liked working out with the best player on the team. Who wouldn't?
Early in the week, Coach Hasbrouck had announced that the team would host a car wash that Saturday to raise money for their
annual dues to the league. Michael had raised his hand and asked why they couldn't just ask their parents to pay the dues
for them. Mr. Hasbrouck had replied that he preferred for the money to come from a team effort. “If we all work together,
we'll have no problem earning what we need,” he'd said.
After practice on Friday the coach reminded them to be in the school parking lot bright and early on Saturday morning. He
asked everyone to bring a bucket and a rag or sponge. Jeff volunteered to make signs. Todd immediately said he'd help him.
So
instead of going home with Garry that night, Todd went with the Hasbroucks.
As Garry watched his brother walk to the parking lot with Jeff and the coach, he felt a spark of jealousy. Todd had pulled
out his stack of monster-and-magician cards and was showing them to Jeff. Jeff was nodding enthusiastically.
Then Garry shrugged.
Jeff is probably just lonely, being new in town and all,
he told himself again as he climbed into his mother's car.
Or maybe Jeff feels sorry for Todd. I know I do, the way he lumbers around the field, trips over his feet, and misses practically
every ball thrown to him. But what can you do? You can't make someone into a lacrosse player overnight!
T
he next morning was warm and sunny, perfect weather for a car wash. Garry changed out of his pajamas and into a bathing suit
and T-shirt and headed down the stairs for breakfast. Todd was already at the table. Three trading cards were spread out in
front of him.
“New cards?” Garry asked.
Todd nodded. “Jeff and I traded last night after we finished the signs. He's got a whole stack too.” He gathered up the cards,
secured them with the rubber band, and glanced at
his watch. “You better eat something quick, or we'll be late for the car wash.”
Garry grabbed two doughnuts out of a box, crammed one into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, then ate the other one in two
bites. He washed it all down with a glass of juice.
“Ready!” he said, his mouth ringed with powdered sugar.
Mrs. Wallis drove them to the school. They collected their buckets and sponges from the trunk and hurried to join their teammates.
Jeff waved to them as they approached.
“Don't the signs look great?” he called. “It was Todd's idea to do them on black poster paper and outline the neon green paint
with glitter, so the words would stand out more. You can see them a mile away!”
Garry had to admit that the signs looked
good, and he told his brother as much. Then the car wash began.
Mr. Hasbrouck had organized the perfect washing system. Cars drove to a spot where a boy waited with a hose. When the car
was completely wet, two other boys slopped sudsy water onto every inch of the vehicle. Another scrubbed the tires, and a fifth
polished the mirrors and fenders. Then the first boy hosed it clean, and it was the next car's turn.
Garry, Jeff, Todd, and two other boys worked as one team, while the other boys broke into three more groups of five. By noontime,
the four car-washing squads had cleaned nearly fifty cars and earned enough money for the league dues.
“I'm starving!” Jeff announced, throwing his worn-out sponge into an empty bucket. “Dad, didn't you bring a bunch of sandwiches
and chips?”
“Sure did.” He gestured to a large cooler resting on the grass. “There should be enough sandwiches for everyone to get one.
Drinks too.”
The boys cheered, and Jeff and Todd set about distributing the food. Garry had just popped the last bite of his peanut-butter-and-jelly
into his mouth when a blast of cold water struck him in the back.
“Hey!” he cried. He turned to find Michael grinning and pointing a hose at him. Garry grinned back, jumped to his feet, and
tackled the older boy. They wrestled for a minute, then Garry freed the hose from Michael's grasp. “Now you're going to get
it!” he bellowed.
He cranked the nozzle on. Nothing happened. Puzzled, he turned the nozzle toward himself, trying to see what was wrong. Suddenly,
water shot out and hit him directly in
the face. With a yelp, he dropped the hose. When his vision cleared he saw Evan bent over laughing, one hand on the spigot.
He also saw Todd and Jeff sneaking up behind Evan with a bucket of sudsy water. Two seconds later, the bucket was empty, Evan
was soaking wet, and Todd, Jeff, and everyone else on the team were the ones doubled over with laughter.
“Hey, that's not funny!” Evan's face was purple with anger.
Coach Hasbrouck handed him a dry towel. “Oh, come on now, Evan, it's just a little soap and water,” he chided. “You know,
good
clean
fun!”
Evan gave Todd and Jeff one last dirty look, then stalked away to sulk.
The rest of the boys gathered up the sponges, towels, soap, and buckets. Then the coach called them together. “Okay, boys,
good work today. I hope to see the same
kind of teamwork next week. I've arranged for us to play a scrimmage on Friday against the Panthers.” The team buzzed with
excitement. “Practices will focus on game situations for most of next week. That means plenty of running, boys, so be sure
to get your rest this weekend.”
M
onday afternoon, Coach Hasbrouck put the team through ten minutes of warm-ups. After the laps were done, he worked on stick
skills, then moved on to checking drills.
“Those of you new to the Junior Division will face body checking for the first time this season,” he reminded them. “The referees
will be watching you carefully to be sure you're doing this move correctly and legally.”
He motioned for Jeff to step forward. “Body checking is legal only when done to the ball carrier or to an opponent who is
within five yards of the ball. Contact is made
below the shoulder and above the knees, to the front or side of the body.” He indicated the legal checking areas on Jeff's
body. “Like a tackle in football, you run at your opponent and drive into him with your shoulder and upper body.” He demonstrated
the move on Jeff in slow motion.
“Use your heads when bodychecking. Or rather,” he corrected with a grin,
“don't
use your heads. Helmets or no, checking with your head will hurt.”
Everyone laughed until the coach held up a gloved hand. “Lacrosse is an aggressive game, so be prepared to check and be checked.
But be warned: if you illegally bodycheck an opponent, the ref will give you a one-, two-, or even three-minute penalty. Three
minutes is a long time to run a team short sided, folks. The other team can score a whole lot of goals if they have one less
player to worry about.”
Coach Hasbrouck instructed them to pair . off and practice body checks. Garry looked to see if Michael wanted to partner up,
but Evan had already claimed him. So instead Garry practiced the move with another sixth-grader, a stocky but surprisingly
quick boy named Christopher. They knocked each other back and forth for ten minutes, trading places as ball carrier and checker.
Finally, the coach called everyone together and told them it was time to scrimmage. He divided the team into two squads of
ten and assigned each player a position.
Garry was an attacker, along with Michael and a sixth-grader named Carl. Carl looked nervous until Michael slung an arm around
his shoulders and said, “Don't worry, kid, just feed me the ball and I'll take care of everything.” Michael pointed a finger
gun at Garry and added, “Same goes for you, Wallis. The
name of the game is put-the-ball-in-the-net, and I'm the one who does that best!”
Behind the attackers were three midfielders, seventh-grade boys Garry was still getting to know. Behind them were the three
defenders. Todd was with this group, on the left. Jeff was in goal.
Coach Hasbrouck called the two center attackers together for the face-off. Michael and his opponent lowered their sticks to
the ground and crouched down over them, their helmets nearly touching. The coach put the ball between the centers, took a
step back, and blew his whistle.
Michael exploded into action. He flipped his stick over, clamped the ball, and raked it away from his opponent in one smooth
motion. Carl ran in and scooped up the loose ball. He immediately passed it to Michael, who sprinted downfield toward the
opposite
goal. Garry hustled after him, ready to help out as needed.
But Michael didn't need help. Cradling the ball in the pocket, he cut left, dodged around a midfielder, and used his body
as a shield when a second player tried to stick-check the ball loose. Suddenly, he was in the attack area to the right of
the goal. He slashed his stick downward and threw. The hard white sphere hurtled past the goalie and swished into the net.