Just for Kicks Read Online Free

tossed it in the air and juggled it with his feet and knees. Then he caught it on his foot again, tossed it in the air and, suddenly wheeling around, slammed it towards the goal. It rocketed into the top corner of the net.
    â€œImpressive,” Julie commented.
    â€œWow,” Brian breathed.
    I couldn’t imagine someone that good bothering with a soccer no-hope like me. I felt like creeping away, but the twins arrived with Linh-Mai, and everyone ran onto the pitch, and when I hung back, Brian said, “Come on, Big T.,” so I followed.
    Mr. Fleet asked us to say our names, nodding as he repeated each name.
    â€œThe first thing you do when you play soccer is warm up,” he said after the introductions, bouncing a ball as he paced back and forth in front of us. “First — twist your body to the left, and as you do so, bring your right knee up as high as you can and swing it to the left, too. Now twist to the right, and swing your left leg the same way.”
    I corkscrewed a couple of centimetres each way, twitching my knees right and left. I felt as if I was doing some kind of new dance, the Knee Jerk — or the Soccer Jerk. I glanced at Brian, beside me. He was twisting himself back and forth so fast, and going so far around, I was afraid he’d drill himself into the ground.
    I wouldn’t have minded being so useless if it had been just my friends there, but having Mr. Fleet in charge, like a teacher, made me nervous.
    â€œNow — grab a soccer ball and follow me,” he instructed.
    With our coach in the lead, we jogged around the outside of the field, dribbling and passing. Then we lined up again. I wasn’t just warmed up. I was exhausted.
    â€œLie down,” Mr. Fleet ordered us.
    â€œThis is my kind of warm-up,” I said, making myself comfortable on the rough grass, with my hands behind my head.
    â€œGrab hold of your right calf with both hands and pull your leg up,” said Mr. Fleet, demonstrating. “Then, at the same time, bring your head forward and touch your knee with your forehead.”
    â€œYou’re joking, aren’t you?” I gasped.
    â€œTry,” said Alan Fleet, smiling.
    I could lift my head only a few centimetres off the ground, while my hands scrabbled around my chunky thighs trying unsuccessfully to get a grip on my calf.
    â€œI need longer arms, or smaller legs,” I said.
    Meanwhile Brian, Shay, and Julie seemed to have their foreheads glued to their knees.
    â€œCome on, Toby,” Brian urged.
    â€œNow for some drills,” our coach announced, standing up. “We’ll practice the ready position. First — relax.”
    All the others stood and shook their shoulders and arms and legs, copying Mr. Fleet. I lay on the ground with my hands behind my head, one leg bent and the other crossed over it.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Toby?” Mr. Fleet asked.
    â€œI’m relaxing.”
    â€œI mean relax in a standing position,” he said.
    I stood like a rag doll.
    He sighed. “Watch, please, everyone, and copy me. Put your arms and feet a shoulder’s width apart.”
    I positioned my arms and feet.
    â€œBend them slightly,” he instructed.
    I bent my arms like a muscleman and, wobbling, pushed my knees forwards a few centimetres.
    â€œNow balance on the front of your feet …”
    I teetered dangerously on my toes.
    â€œâ€¦ and put one leg slightly in front of the other.”
    I fell over.
    When I was back in the ready position, Mr. Fleet said, “Come on, Toby. Let’s you and I demonstrate a drill.” He addressed the team. “I’ll be a defender, in the ready position, and Toby will be a forward coming at me with the ball.” He turned back to me.
    â€œReady, Toby?”
    â€œReady,” I said doubtfully.
    I approached him with the ball. He sprang from the ready position and took it from me before I could even try and get past him. “Nice try,