Maverick Mania Read Online Free

man!”
    â€œWe missed ya, bud.”
    Only the coach stayed silent. Mr. Poulsen was extremely tall and extremely thin. He kept his hair bristly short, and it matched his dark brown mustache. Mr. Poulsen wore dark sunglasses, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry at Caleb for missing two games.
    â€œRiggins?” was all Coach Poulsen said.
    â€œI need to talk to you, Coach,” Caleb said. He looked around at us. “Not a big deal, guys. I just want to explain to the coach.”
    Earlier, Steve and I had agreed to keep quiet about our morning visit. Caleb sometimes got teased because his parents were so protective. We didn’t want to make it worse for him by telling everyone that at sixteen he had been grounded for getting a mark as bad as a B-plus.
    Coach Poulsen and Caleb stepped away from the rest of the team.
    I stretched as I looked around. The players on the Phoenix Memorial High Pirates, in green uniforms, were just coming onto the field. Fans filled the stands on both sides of the field. And in the distance, the mountains cut a jagged line against the blue sky of another perfect desert day.
    I liked the way I felt. Nervous, but not scared. Inside, butterflies were dancing little circles of excitement, like offstage ballerinas who could barely wait for the music to begin.
    My legs felt good too. Two games in one day was pushing it, but with all the games it took for eight teams to play each other, it couldn’t be helped. We’d been practicing and competing all year for this. We still had five games left to make the finals of the tournament, and we had Caleb Riggins back. I was pumped and ready to go.
    As we stepped out of our sweats, Caleb and Coach Poulsen rejoined us. Coach nodded at Caleb, and Caleb peeled off his old sweats to show that he, too, wore our blue uniform.
    I didn’t think it was strange at the time, but I should have. I just wanted to get a chance to talk to Caleb before the game started.
    â€œJust want you to know,” I said, “Steve and I kept it quiet about visiting you this morning. Whatever you tell the team is fine with us.”
    â€œThanks,” Caleb said. “About the dogs—”
    Coach Poulsen called for a team huddle.
    â€œLater,” I told Caleb. “We’ve got a game to win.”
    He grinned.
    It was good to have him back.
    Twenty minutes into the second half, we faced our biggest challenge. We were up 1–0, thanks to an early goal by Caleb. He had taken a pass from a corner kick by Steve and bounced it just under the crossbar of the net with his head.
    Nobody could head the ball better than Caleb. When I asked him about it once,he told me it was simple: He pretended he was throwing his eyes at the ball as he jumped at it.
    As the game wore on, that one goal began to look bigger and bigger. If our defense held, we would win the game. And, so far, our midfielders had done such a great job of clogging the center line that we had not been pressed once.
    Now, though, as two of the green played a tricky give-and-go, Johnnie ran into Steve and both of them fell. The greens took the opportunity to swarm into an open gap in our territory.
    I watched carefully.
    We played a man-to-man defense; Coach Poulsen had told us early in the season he would give us that freedom as long as we could prove it worked better than a zone defense. So far, it had. But now Steve and Johnnie lay in a tangle, way behind the play.
    As sweeper, I didn’t have anyone specific to guard. Last man back, I could see mostof the field. My job was to anticipate dangerous plays and stop them.
    Their striker—one of the forward attackers—was a tiny redhead, quick as a hummingbird. I figured they would try to get the ball to him.
    He began to edge toward the sideline, staying just ahead of me to remain onside.
    I watched their midfielders pass the ball back and forth, advancing it so quickly that Steve and Johnnie couldn’t catch up to