Maverick Mania Read Online Free Page A

them.
    Then it came!
    The same bomb play that I had tried the day before.
    Their redheaded striker was bursting toward the center. One of the midfielders booted a high, hard pass.
    I didn’t make the mistake of going for the ball. It was too big a risk. By chasing it, I would have taken myself on a diagonal line away from the center of our net. If I missed it, their striker would have a short clear shot.
    Instead, I turned my back on the ball and focused on the tiny redhead. The ball was just behind him, and he had to take a half-step hop to slow himself down. I slid and hooked my foot, stopping the ball as he overran it. I hopped up, spun around and looked upfield.
    Riggins!
    He was a blue blur, already near their sweeper, who had been just a little too confident about their forward press.
    Without even thinking, I snapped a hard kick, putting my whole body into it. When the ball landed, it was ahead of Caleb by about ten steps, but he was in full sprint and reached it with a three-step lead over the nearest green player.
    The rest of the play seemed to run in wonderful slow motion.
    Caleb dribbled the ball without losing speed, held it long enough to force the goalie deep into the net and picked an easy wide-open corner.
    The net bulged. The hometown crowd went wild. And we were up 2–0.
    I’d held my breath while watching; I finally sucked in some air.
    The redheaded striker on the other team stood beside me.
    â€œNice block,” he said. “And nice pass. You guys deserved that goal.”
    â€œThanks,” I answered. With so little time left, the game was almost ours.
    â€œToo bad about your shorts, though,” he said as he trotted away. “Aren’t you afraid of a sunburn?”
    I stared after him, puzzled. Then I reached around behind me. And discovered a not-so-good thing.
    It had probably started when the dog had nipped my shorts in Caleb’s driveway. And my slide apparently hadn’t helped. When I reached behind me, I discovered a very big hole in the back of my shorts.
    I stood there, worrying about how to get off the field without showing the entire world a part of my body that my mother had powdered when I was a baby. Before I could move, Caleb’s father walked up to the field from the parking lot.
    He was a big man with a dark beard, dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
    Caleb looked over, dropped his head and slowly trotted to the sidelines.
    Although there were still five minutes left in the game, Mr. Riggins grabbed Caleb by the elbow and took him away.
    While everyone was watching them, I was able to get to the bench and put on my sweats unnoticed. But it suddenly seemed that ripped shorts were a pretty minor problem.

chapter six
    â€œCan a parent do that?” I asked at the table during our evening meal. I had just explained to Mom what had happened to Caleb. “I mean, it was like Mr. Riggins thought he owned Caleb. If anyone else had dragged Caleb away like that, it would have looked like kidnapping.”
    Dad pushed his food—some kind of casserole—around on his plate. Because my parents both work, Mom insists thatLeontine and I each make dinner once a week. It was Leontine’s turn to torture us, and everyone, including Mom, was too afraid to ask about what we were eating.
    â€œWell,” Dad said, “it did look unfair. But there might be a lot you don’t know about the situation. I think it’s wrong to judge. For all you know, Caleb lied to you about why he was grounded. And it looked to me like Caleb had disobeyed by going to the soccer game. He wore old sweats to hide his uniform and rode to the field on his bike instead of getting a lift. You know his dad always drives him to games.”
    â€œBut legally, can’t Caleb do something?” I mushed my food, trying to make it into smaller pieces that I could hide under a piece of bread. I hoped the phone would ring