Garry’s jaw dropped. “You think Scottie is letting me score?”
Michael snorted. “You got another answer for why he’s stopping everything I send — and missing all your shots?”
And unfortunately, Garry didn’t.
Unless it’s his way of repaying me for pulling him from the river?
11
Coach Hasbrouck clapped his hands, calling Garry and the rest of the team to attention. He praised them for pulling into the lead but then pointed out that there was still a whole half to go.
“You’re playing well, don’t get me wrong,” he said. “But they have plenty of time to surge ahead. And in case you hadn’t noticed, their goalie is outstanding. To get the ball past him, you’ll have to be one step ahead of him. You won’t be able to just carry it downfield and put it in the net” — here he looked pointedly at Michael — “you’ll need to work it around until there’s an opening.”
He knelt down and laid a dry-erase board in the grass in front of him. “Right, here’s a play I want you to try. It’s called the middie sweep. It starts with the ball with the right middie.” He glanced up. “Todd, that’s you this quarter. You’re subbing in for Samuel.”
Todd nodded.
“Michael, you take up position at the top of the crease, here.” Coach Hasbrouck marked a spot outside the goal circle. Then he drew in two other spots behind the goal. “Garry and Conor, you hustle behind and start switching off. You’re there to distract the goalie and to be backup shooters, if necessary. So keep your eyes on the action.”
Now the coach marked another spot in front of the goal but behind Michael’s position. “Jeff, you stack up behind Michael, here. Evan, you’re parallel to Jeff on the left side. Everyone got it?”
When the players nodded, the coach gestured to Todd. “Todd, when you see that these five are in their places, you bring the ball across the line. Fire it over to Jeff.” He drew a sharp arrow from Todd’s mark to Jeff’s. “Then cut across the field between Jeff and Michael” — a dashed line indicated the path — “and take a return pass from Jeff. Use Michael as a screen and take a shot on goal if you can.”
Michael made a disgusted sound in his throat.
Coach Hasbrouck looked up sharply. “You have a question, Donofrio?”
“No. Sir,” Michael replied with exaggerated politeness.
The coach pressed his lips together in a thin line. Then he continued. “Jeff, after you pass to Todd, dodge around your defender to Michael’s other side. If Todd gets in trouble, he’ll look for you. Then you’ll use Michael to screen your shot. Meanwhile, Evan, you fall back on defense.”
“What about us, Coach?” Conor asked.
“You two stay behind the goal and keep moving. Remember, Todd or Jeff might need you as backup. Everyone got it?”
The team nodded as one just as the buzzer signaled the end of the break.
The coach stood. “Michael, rake the ball back to Todd if you win the face-off. Todd, call for the middie sweep. I think the play just might confuse that hotshot goalie, so work it when you can. Okay, hands in the middle. Go, Rockets!”
The players echoed the cry. Garry bumped fists with his brother.
“Make it work, bro,” he said.
“I will, if Michael lets me!” Todd replied grimly.
Garry hustled to the wing area and Todd to his midfield position for the face-off.
Tweet! The referee blew his whistle.
Michael stabbed at the ball and controlled it. But he didn’t pass off to Todd as the coach had instructed.
“Come on, Donofrio, give it up!” Garry cried as Michael tore down the field with the ball in his stick pocket.
Michael ignored him. Two defenders bounded toward him. One leveled his stick at him to poke-check the ball free.
Michael whirled away from one and feinted around the other.
“Here!” Todd cried.
This time Michael did pass. Todd caught it cleanly.
“Back!” Michael held his stick high for a return pass.
Todd ignored him. “Middie sweep!” he cried.
The Rockets moved like clockwork. Todd cradled the ball safely in his pocket and hurried down the sideline. Garry streaked past Scottie and took up his position behind the goal. Conor reached his spot at the same time. Evan and Jeff moved into position too.
Now the only person not in the right place was Michael. Then he seemed to realize that since he didn’t have the ball, he had no choice but to take part in the play.
Todd set the middie sweep in motion. He whipped the ball to Jeff and cut across in front of Michael. Jeff sent the ball back to him. Todd spun to look for the shot.
But Scottie had followed his movements and filled the empty corner of the net.
So Todd rocketed the ball back to Jeff. Jeff nabbed it only to have a Thunder defender bulldoze a shoulder into his ribs. Jeff stumbled and the ball bounced to the ground. He and the Thunder defender stabbed their stick heads at it.
But then Michael joined the fight. He captured the ball, twisted around, and slashed his stick sideways in a vicious and off-balance shot.
The ball flew toward an empty corner of the net, a surefire goal — if the corner had stayed empty, that is.
Stick outstretched, Scottie hurtled across the goal mouth and snared the ball just before it crossed inside. The ball didn’t stay in his oversize pocket for long, however. As Scottie made the save, one of his middies moved to collect the outlet pass. Scottie flicked the ball to him in a move so perfectly executed that it was obvious the two players had done the same thing many times before.
Michael, meanwhile, had been so certain of the goal that he had raised his stick in victory. For the second time that game, he stood rooted to the spot, jaw slack with amazement.
12
Any other time, Garry would have paused to enjoy Michael’s distress. But not this time.
“Fast break!” Garry heard Christopher yell from the Rockets goal.
Brandon came out to challenge the Thunder player carrying the ball. Quick as a wink, the attacker flung the ball to his teammate, who in turn hurled it right back as Brandon followed the throw.
With Brandon pulled out of position, the first attacker switched to a one-handed cradle and held up his free arm to fend off Brandon’s approach.
“Hold!” Christopher yelled from the Rockets goal, signaling for Brandon to try to force the attacker toward the sideline and away from the crease.
Brandon did his best, edging as close as he could to the attacker. But the Thunder player wasn’t intimidated. He whirled away, switched to a two-handed cradle, and then fed the ball to his waiting teammate.
The Thunder receiver bobbled the catch! As the ball bounced away, Eric swooped in and scooped it up. He found Conor in the outlet slot and sent the ball sailing toward him.
Conor caught it cleanly and looked ready to carry it down the field. Instead, in a move rehearsed many times in practices, he fed the ball to Garry who had come charging toward the middle of the field to receive it.
Unfortunately for Conor, an enormous Thunder middie seemed to think he still had the ball. Slam! He hit Conor with a powerful body check — so powerful, in fact, that Conor’s feet left the ground on impact!
The referee immediately blew his whistle and pointed a finger at the Thunder middie. “Two-minute penalty for illegal checking!”
Garry was close enough to see the midfielder glowering beneath his helmet. But the Thunder player ran to the penalty box at the sidelines without protest.
“Okay, Rockets, it’s a power play!” Coach Hasbrouck bellowed. “Plan A! You’ve got two minutes to make it happen!”
Plan A, the Rockets’ primary extra man offense strategy, called for the six offensive players to circle the perimeter of the goal. Michael, Garry, Conor, Jeff, Todd, and Evan raced to their positions and began to deliver short, quick passes back and forth around the goal. Their object was to find the best angle and get off a shot or to pull the
defense out of position and create a scoring opportunity for someone else.
Garry received a sharp pass from Conor, squared off as if to shoot, and then fired the ball over to Todd. Todd twisted away from a savage poke check and threw a high toss over his defender to Evan. The throw was just a bit past Evan, however, and he missed the catch.
“Pick it up!” Michael screamed. Evan stabbed at the ball and scooped it up. Michael held out his stick to receive the pass.
Instead, Evan threw to Jeff.
Jeff lunged forward, caught it, and then flipped it up and over his shoulder in a backward pass. It was a risky move, because a Thunder defender was close by.
But Garry was closer. He grabbed the ball out of the air and spun away from the defender.
“Can’t see!” he heard Scottie cry.
Now’s my chance! Garry swung around the defender and flicked the ball toward the lower corner of the net.
Scottie swung his stick head at it — and missed the sav[[edot]]!
“Woo-hoo!” Jeff cheered as the other Rockets swarmed Garry to congratulate him. Michael gave him a knowing look, but Garry ignored it. He knew for sure that his shot had caught Scottie by surprise. Maybe Scottie had let him score once or twice before, but not this time.
The rest of the second half was a hard-fought battle between the two evenly matched teams. The Rockets used the mid-die sweep play twice more; one of the times, Todd scored. His grin after the goal nearly split his face it was so wide.
By the game’s end, the score stood at Rockets 15, Thunder 12. Garry, to his amazement, had scored seven of his team’s goals, a new record for him.
Any good feelings that gave him evaporated immediately after the game, however. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Scottie standing there.
“I put your sweatshirt in your cabin,” the boy said. His voice was dull and he avoided Garry’s eyes.
Before Garry could reply, Todd slapped him on the shoulder, crowed, “You, bro, were on fire!” and then moved off to celebrate with the others.
Scottie’s head jerked up. He stared at Garry for a long moment.
“Yeah, you were on fire all right,” he said finally. Then he spun around and stalked away.
Garry swallowed hard. Then, as quickly as he could, he gathered up the rest of his gear and made his way to the cabin.
There was his sweatshirt, neatly folded on the bunk. He pulled it down, shook it open, and reached toward the pocket.
“Looking for something?”
Michael stepped out from behind Garry’s bunk. He had his lacrosse stick in his hands. In the stick’s webbing was a small red-and-blue object. Michael tossed the object in the air and caught it. Garry saw then what it was — and almost got sick to his stomach.
It was the box of matches.
13
How did you get those?” Garry asked, his voice a whisper of dread.
Michael laughed low in his throat. “Let’s just say I found them,” he answered. He came around the bunk until he was nose to nose with Garry. “I can see the headline now: Hero Saves Camp from Fire, Names Arsonist.”
Garry blanched. “Arsonist? I didn’t start the fire … not on purpose, anyway!”
Michael smiled. “But you admit you started the fire? With these matches?”
Garry hung his head. “I-I don’t know, not for sure.”
“You probably did, though, right?” Michael tsked. “And yet you never said anything, not even to the coach. And now it’s too late!”
Garry’s head shot up. “Why? Why is it too late?” He waited for Michael to say that he’d already gone to the authorities.
Instead, Michael guffawed. “Think about it, Wallis! You’d only be confessing because I found out your secret and you’re afraid I’m going to tell!”
“That’s not true!” Garry protested. “I was planning to tell the coach what happened. But there wasn’t time —”
“There’s always time for the truth, Garry,” Michael said piously. “And now I’ll be the one to tell it. But first …”
Garry stared. “First what?”
“First, you’re going to help me get something you stole from me.”
“I never stole anything from you!”
“Oh, yes, you did!” Michael’s eyes suddenly blazed with anger. “You stole the top scorer award from me last season! Well, now you’re going to make sure I get what I deserve” — he held up the matches — “or I’ll go to the coach and see that you get what you deserve!”
Garry sank down onto the bottom bunk and waited, certain Michael was going to explain — and equally certain he wasn’t going to like the explanation.
“You’re going to feed me the ball every time you get it,” Michael said. “Every time. And,” he continued with a nasty grin, “you’ll tell everyone else on the team to do the same thing.”
“Is that all?” Garry asked.
“Almost. You’ll also tell your stupid brother that he’s not welcome on the Rockets. You’ll get him to quit the team like I told you to do last season.”
“What if I don’t?”
Michael shrugged. “Then I’ll tell everyone what I know. See ya.” With that, he pocketed the matches and left, banging the door behind him.
Garry lay back against Conor’s bunk and stared at the slats above him. He wished he could rewind time, go back to the night before, stop Michael from getting under his skin, and most of all, stop himself from lighting those matches and starting the fire.
Then suddenly, he thought of something. He sat up abruptly and almost hit his head on the bunk.
I still don’t know for sure if I started that fire! Well, there’s one way to find out!
He snatched up his sweatshirt and ran out of the cabin to retrace his steps back to the boulder. At one point he thought he’d gone the wrong way, but then he passed the rusty bucket that had covered the matches.
Then he saw the boulder. He blinked. There were the charred remains of a small tree and some surrounding brush, but it was several yards away from the boulder. He couldn’t imagine the third match landing that far from where he’d dropped it.
Breathing hard, he scrambled to the top of the rock and found the two matches he’d lit exactly where he’d left them. Then he hurried to the spot where he’d struck the third match. He gave a cry.
There was the match, and it was only half burned!
“I didn’t do it!” he crowed happily.
“Didn’t do what?”
Garry jumped at the sound of the voice. He peered over the side of the boulder. It was Scottie! “What’re you doing here?” he asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” a different voice intoned.
Garry shrank back as Coach Hasbrouck stepped into view.
“Garry, please come down from there,” the coach said.
Garry hesitated, then obeyed. When he landed on the ground, he was startled to discover that Scottie’s coach and the burly firefighter were with them.
“Wha-what’s up?” he asked in a small voice.
“I told them about last night,” Scottie said. “About what you did. They wanted to see where it happened.”
“But I didn’t do it!” Garry protested. “See?” He held up the third match. “It burned out on top of the boulder when I dropped it! I didn’t start the fire!”
The firefighter and the coaches exchanged looks. “You were lighting matches out here last night?” the firefighter said at last.
Garry gulped and slowly lowered his hand. “I-I — yes. But you knew that already, didn’t you?” He turned to Scottie. “Isn’t that what you told them? That I started the fire?”
“Huh?” Scottie shook his head. “Why would I think you started the fire?”
“Because you found the matches in my sweatshirt pocket!”
Scottie raised and lowered his shoulders. “I didn’t find any matches, Garry. We’re out here so I can show them where you rescued me from the river!”
The firefig
hter stepped forward then. “Perhaps you boys better walk us through what went on here last night. Maybe we’ll be able to piece together this puzzle once and for all.”
14
Garry was still confused but he did as the firefighter asked. “I found a box of matches under a bucket,” he said. “I lit three of them.”
He shot a quick glance at the coaches and the fireman. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it up on the rock where they wouldn’t burn anything.”
The chief let out a sigh of annoyance. “Son, what you did could have caused a whole peck of trouble — for you and for the forest. Now tell me the truth, did you light more than three?”
Garry shook his head vehemently. “No, sir! I only lit those three, two on the strike plate and the third on the rock’s surface when the strike plate wore down. I swear! Then I heard Scottie call my name and started running toward the river.”
“Show me the path you took,” the chief instructed.
“This way,” Garry said, hurrying down the trail as he had the night before. “See that root? I tripped over it. Look, you can even see where I hit the dirt.”
He pointed to a gouge in the mud and to the skid mark on his sweatshirt. A sudden thought crossed his mind. Maybe the matchbox fell out of my pocket when I fell. But if it did, then how did Michael get it?
A question from the fire chief interrupted his thoughts. “What happened next, after you fell?”
“I went through this thicket” — Garry pushed his way through the brush as he had before — “and saw Scottie there, in the river.”
The fire chief followed him through the thicket. He looked at the river for a long moment. Then he glanced back toward the boulder. He seemed to be considering something. When he spoke at last, it wasn’t to Garry, it was to Scottie.
“Why did you call to Garry?” he asked.
“I was trying to get his attention,” Scottie replied.
“How did you know he was out here?”
To Garry’s surprise, Scottie pointed to a place on the far riverbank. “I saw him over there. That’s why I was trying to cross the river — to get over to him.”
Lacrosse Firestorm Page 4