Lacrosse Firestorm (2 page)

Garry obeyed meekly. Then he asked his brother what the team was supposed to do the rest of the day.

“We’ve got free time this morning,” Todd replied. “And then practice after lunch. Jeff and I are going swimming. Want to come?”

Garry did, so the three hit the lake after breakfast along with several of their teammates. Garry was happy to see that Michael
was not among them. By the time practice rolled around, he was determined not to let, the other boy get under his skin again.

That proved more difficult than he had imagined, however.

Midway through practice, Coach Hasbrouck split the team into two lines for a stationary zigzag passing drill. He dumped a
bucket of lacrosse balls at one end and called, “Start it up, Conor! I need to talk with the tournament director.” Then he
headed over to an adjacent field where a man with a clipboard waited.

Conor scooped up a ball and threw it across to Pedro. Pedro caught it and hurled it to Eric, who was standing next to Conor.
Conor, meanwhile, started another ball going.

Within moments, multiple balls were zigzagging in rapid succession back and forth across the twenty-foot divide. If one ball
was dropped, there was always another one right behind it.

Garry was receiving balls from Carl and throwing them across to Michael. Carl usually threw with pinpoint accuracy, but today
his tosses were a little off. Garry missed one,
jumped for another, and caught a third at knee level. His throw after this third catch set Michael off on yet another rant.

“Wallis, I’d need a trampoline to catch that!” he yelled as the ball sailed far above his head. “You see a trampoline here?
No? Then how about you aim for my stick instead of the clouds!”

A few nearby Rockets tittered. Evan, standing next to Michael as usual, held up his hand for a high five. Michael, as usual,
ignored him, instead focusing his attention — and sarcasm — on Garry.

“My stick doesn’t telescope eight feet in the air, you know! Or do you think I can bring the ball down to earth with the power
of my mind?”

Garry was about to retort that he didn’t think Michael could do
anything
with the power of his mind when —
thwap!
A fast-moving ball struck his side.

“Sorry, Garry,” Carl called apologetically. “I thought you were ready!”

“Oh, he’s ready all right,” Michael said with a snort. “Ready to ride the pine in the game tomorrow, I’d say!”

Any intention Garry had of putting up with Michael’s taunts went straight out the window then. “Shut your yap, Donofrio! Wait,
never mind. I’ll shut it for you!”

Blood boiling, he scooped up the ball that had hit him and flung it as hard as he could at Michael. Michael ducked. The ball
bounced away into the tall grass.

“Ooooo,” Evan said. “You gonna stand for that, D-man?”

Michael narrowed his eyes and tapped the neck of his stick against his gloved hand. “I don’t think I am, Evan.”

Garry took a step toward him but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“All right,” Coach Hasbrouck said quietly. “That’s enough.”

Garry stiffened for a moment. Then all his anger vanished, replaced by shame. “Sorry, Coach,” he mumbled.

The coach dropped his hand and nodded. “Okay.” He blew a blast on his whistle. “Set up for the run-and-pass drill. Two lines
mid-field, ball in the right line. Let’s see some hustle and some teamwork!”

Garry hurried to the left sideline. Jeff and Todd came up behind him.

“Man, why do you bother mixing it up with Donofrio?” Todd said in a low voice.

“The guy’s a pile of dog doo,” Jeff added. “And you know what happens when you mess around with dog doo? You end up smelling
just like it, that’s what!”

Garry swished his stick head through the grass. “I know, I know. I’ll try to ignore him.”

“Good,” Todd agreed. Then he looked over to the other line and gave Garry a shove. “But don’t start now, because he’s your
partner for the drill and it’s your turn!”

Michael had already started down the field. Garry had to pour on the speed to draw level with him. When he did, Michael fired
such a hard pass that the ball nearly tore the stick out of Garry’s hand.

But at least I caught it
, Garry thought grimly.
Bet “D-man” didn’t expect that!

G
arry and Michael tossed the ball back and forth the rest of the way down the field. Garry ended up with it close to the goal
and rocketed a shot into the net. Then he retrieved the ball and returned to the end of his line. To his relief, he had a
different partner the next time around.

After fifteen minutes, the coach called them together. “Another team is taking over the field soon. What do you say to a little
six-on-six scrimmage in the time we have left?”

The Rockets were all in favor, so Coach Hasbrouck split them into two teams. Garry
had Todd, Conor, Brandon, Pedro, and Andrew on his side; playing against them were Michael, Jeff, Carl, Evan, Eric, and Samuel.
Christopher, the team’s starting goalkeeper, volunteered to referee with the coach.

Garry headed to the center X for the face-off. Michael stood opposite him. He gave Garry a lazy grin.

“Well, this is going to be a piece of cake,” he drawled. “Even if you do get the ball before me, you’ll drop it, like you’ve
been dropping balls all practice!”

Garry flushed a deep red. He had a sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered what Jeff had said about
dog doo. So as difficult as it was, he kept his mouth shut.

The coach appeared then and put the ball on the ground between the two boys. “Ready?”

Garry put in his mouth guard and squatted
down. He held his stick parallel to and almost touching the ground, right hand near the throat, left hand midway down the
shaft. His muscles tensed with anticipation. “Ready, Coach,” he answered.

Michael crouched down too, and grunted his readiness to the coach.

“At my signal, then. And make it look good,” Coach Hasbrouck added with a grin. “The next team is here already. Let’s show
them what they’ll be up against when they play us tomorrow!” He stepped back out of the way and gave a blast on his whistle.

Garry moved fast, but Michael moved faster. He clamped his stick over the ball and raked it backward with one swift move.
The ball flew over the grass behind him and right into the pocket of Evan’s stick.

Evan scooped up the ball and fed it back to Michael. Michael made a nice over-the-shoulder catch and took off down the field,
stick held high and twisting in his hands to keep the ball secure in the pocket.

“Take it away!” Evan cried.

Don’t mind if I do, Evan
, Garry thought as he chased Michael down the field. He leveled his stick and poke-checked the shaft of the other boy’s stick.
The jab was just strong enough to pop the ball free — and just unexpected enough to catch Michael off guard. Garry was heading
in the opposite direction with the ball before Michael could even turn around.

Evan started toward Garry but Garry whirled away and made for the sideline. He intended to streak down the line and then cut
in toward the goal. But Jeff charged him, matching him step for step while trying to edge him out-of-bounds.

“Here!” Pedro called from midfield.

Garry flung the ball to him with a quick
downward slash of his stick. Pedro caught it just as Samuel reached him.

“Ball!” Samuel yelled to let his teammates know that he was covering Pedro. He shadowed the fleet-footed attackman for several
yards.

But then Pedro stopped short. Samuel took a few steps more before realizing his man was no longer next to him. Pedro, meanwhile,
found Conor cutting across the field.

Conor snagged the ball out of the air. He and Pedro switched places so that he was now carrying the ball down the middle of
the field.

Garry ran parallel to his teammates. When Conor got into trouble, he was ready to receive his pass.

But Eric, playing defense, guessed that Conor would feed the ball to Garry. He slid in front of Garry just as Conor threw.
Fwap!
The ball stuck in Eric’s pocket instead of Garry’s, and suddenly the tide had turned again.

Eric hurled the ball to Jeff, who relayed it to Michael.

“Back!” Jeff yelled, looking for a return pass.

But Michael held it instead of passing. He dodged and feinted his way around two defenders, including Todd, and fired the
ball into the empty net.

“Oh, yeah!” Evan bellowed.

Michael raised a hand to acknowledge the praise, and then pretended to lick his finger and make a tally mark in the air. “One
for the good guys,” he said as he strode to the center X.

Garry bit his lip to keep from remarking about how easy it was to score when there wasn’t a goalie to block the shot.
Let your
moves do the talking for you
, he told himself as he squatted for the face-off.

Christopher put the ball between them, then trotted back out of the way and yelled, “Game on!”

This time, Garry’s stick covered the ball before Michael’s did. With a practiced flick, he sent the ball bouncing across the
grass to Pedro. Pedro scooped it up and made a dash for the goal.

Once more, Samuel challenged him. He mirrored Pedro the length of the field, positioning himself between the attackman and
the goal.

Pedro saw he didn’t have a clean shot. He couldn’t find an open man to pass to either, so he kept moving until he was behind
the goal.

Garry hurried to the top of the crease, in case Pedro came around the other side of
the goal. Todd was several steps behind him, with Michael defending him.

Conor, meanwhile, raced down to take up position behind the goal with Pedro. “Pick!” he said urgently as he ran by the Wallis
brothers.

Garry glanced at Todd to see if he’d heard Conor. Todd was cutting to the left of the goal, Michael at his side. Garry grinned.
His brother had heard, all right!

The pick was one of Garry’s favorite plays. While Conor and Pedro played keep-away from Samuel with the ball behind the net,
he darted back and forth in front of the goal, stick up as if he were waiting for a pass. Jeff matched his every step. Todd,
meanwhile, was dancing around as if trying to elude Michael.

Then suddenly, Garry hit the brakes, backpedaled away from Jeff, and planted himself near Todd.

At the same time, Todd rushed toward his brother. Michael followed, watching Todd intently.

Blam!
Michael ran smack into Garry! The blow nearly knocked Garry off his feet, but that was the price one paid when setting a
successful pick.

Now free of his defender, Todd raced on, caught the throw from Conor, and rocketed the ball into the net.

Garry whooped and ran to give his brother a jumping high five.

Michael pounded his stick into the ground and snarled, “Enjoy it now, Wallises. It’s the last time either of you will touch
the ball this afternoon!”

M
ichael backed up his threat by winning the third face-off. But his team didn’t have possession for long because Carl missed
the scoop, giving Andrew time to dash forward and nab the ball out of the grass.

“Go for it!” Garry yelled.

Andrew threw over to Brandon. Brandon relayed it to Todd. Todd ran with the ball for several feet and then sent it downfield
toward Pedro …

… who didn’t get it because Samuel stole
it, turned on a dime, and flashed it back the other way to Eric. Then Samuel, Eric, and Evan thundered down the field, passing
back and forth, with Michael, Jeff, and Carl racing along in front of them.

“Pass it up already, will you?” Michael yelled.

Eric obeyed — only to see Todd leap up and slap the ball down to the ground.

“Whoo-hooo!” Garry whooped, marveling at how much his brother had improved since spring.

Todd scooped up the ball and threw to him. Garry made a clean catch and started down the field. Pedro, running parallel and
just a bit ahead, signaled for a pass. Garry fired the ball to him.

Wham!
Moments after the ball left his stick someone slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground!

Tweet!
The sharp whistle brought play to a halt.

“What’re you doing?” Coach Hasbrouck bellowed. “This is lacrosse, not football!”

Garry rolled over, spat out his mouth guard, and sat up, dazed. “What happened?”

“Your teammate pretty much tackled you, that’s what happened,” an unfamiliar voice answered.

Garry turned to see a small, wiry boy on the sidelines. “Which teammate?” he asked.

“The one your coach is heading to.”

Garry looked to where the boy was pointing. “Michael. Of course.”

The other boy was smirking at Garry. But the smirk vanished the moment Coach Hasbrouck appeared at his side, replaced by a
look of concern.

Garry stood up just as Coach Hasbrouck and Michael came over.

“Wallis, you okay?” Michael asked in a
worried tone — a tone Garry wasn’t buying for a minute.

“Yeah, I’m fine, no thanks to you!” he fumed.

Now Michael put on a hurt face. “You don’t think I hit you on purpose, do you?” He turned to Coach Hasbrouck. “I’m telling
you, I tripped over something while I was chasing Wallis down the line.”

Evan appeared at Michael’s side. “He did, Coach, I saw him!” He made a big show of shaking his head. “I think there must be
a bump in the field, or maybe a gopher hole, or even a rock! Michael’s lucky he didn’t get hurt!”

“Anyway,” Michael said, ignoring Evan, “no harm done, right, Wallis?”

Garry gave him a long look. “Right, Donofrio,” he said at last.

Just then, a man wearing a shirt with the team name
THUNDER
emblazoned across
the chest tapped Coach Hasbrouck on the shoulder. “You about through here? It’s my team’s turn on the field.”

The coach sighed and nodded. “We’ll get out of your way. Have a good practice.”

Garry headed to the sidelines to gather his belongings. The wiry boy who’d pointed out Michael drew alongside him.