Lacrosse Firestorm Read Online Free Page A

it up and slid open the tinydrawer. Inside were six wooden matches. He dumped them into his hand, expecting them to feel damp. But, having been protected
     by the bucket, they and the box were bone-dry.
    He stared at them for a long minute — and found himself suddenly itching to light one and watch it burn.
    If only there was someplace safe to do it
, he thought.
    Then he had an idea. He put the matches back in the box, shoved the box into his sweatshirt pocket, and climbed the boulder.
     When he got to the top, he looked and listened to make sure he was alone. The woods were empty and the only sounds were the
     wind in the trees and the rushing water of a nearby river.
    He took the box out of his pocket, removed a match, and scraped the head against the strike plate.
    Fssss!
The match caught fire instantly. Garry was so surprised that he dropped it.
    Fortunately, there was nothing on the boulder that could burn, which was why Garry had chosen to light the match atop it in
     the first place. He watched in fascination as the flame licked down the length of the matchstick. That tiny bit of fire echoed
     the blaze of fury in his gut — and when the match burned out, his own angry fire began to fizzle out too.
    He took out a second match and did it again. A sudden breeze blew that one out before he could put it on the boulder. So he
     tried to light a third. But the strike plate had worn off by then and the match didn’t catch.
    I need something rough to strike the match head against
, Garry thought.
    The surface beneath him was too bumpy and he was certain the match would snap in half if he tried to light it there. But near
     theedge where he’d climbed up there was a flat place that he thought would do. He put the box in his sweatshirt pocket and carried
     the match over to the spot.
    He scraped it against the boulder’s surface. The match caught right away. Garry held it up and watched it burn toward his
     fingers.
    “Garry, wait!”
    The shout cut through the stillness of the forest. Startled, Garry dropped the match and jumped up.
    “Who’s there?”
    The only reply was the sharp
crack
of a branch snapping in two.
    Then —
    “Help! Help! Garry, help me!”

7
    G arry gasped. The cry had come from the direction of the river! He leaped from the boulder and ran toward the sound. Branches
     lashed against his face. A thick root grabbed his sneakers and — “Ooof!” — he stumbled and sprawled face-first in the dirt.
     A long blaze of dirt streaked his sweatshirt but he barely noticed. He was up and crashing through a thicket and onto the
     riverbank.
    “Is there someone out there?” he yelled.
    “Over here!”
    Garry turned in the direction of the voice — and sucked in his breath. Clingingto a jagged rock in the middle of the churning rapids was Scottie!
    “Oh, my gosh! Hold on! I’m coming!” Garry started to step onto a rock in the river.
    “No! Stay back! That’s how I fell — !” A foaming wave engulfed the boy’s head, cutting off his cry.
    “Okay, okay!” Garry looked around desperately. Rocks, leaves, bushes — they were no help! Then he spotted a long tree branch
     stuck in the mud farther up the bank.
    “I’ve got it!” he cried. He raced up the river edge, yanked until the branch pulled free, and dragged it back. Then he sat
     down on the muddy bank, braced his feet against two big rocks so he wouldn’t slip forward, and yelled, “Here it comes!”
    He swooped the tree limb over the rushing water, praying that it would reach Scottie. It did.
    “Got it?” he yelled. Scottie didn’t answer,and for one heart-stopping moment Garry thought he’d struck him on the head or swept him from the rock with the leafy limb.
    Then the branch vibrated in his hands and he guessed that Scottie had grabbed it.
    “Okay, I’m going to pull you in now, so hold on tight!”
    He took a deep breath and then, hand over hand, slowly pulled the branch and the boy toward him. His backside sank deep into