I don wanna play goalie

SOCCER PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT SOCCER

BY KARINA DREYER

Recess. Time for a soccer scrimmage with t= he select soccer team.

“Schmuck!” I muttered as Derrick bowed to an invisible applause when he kicked a goal.

“Come again, SHANE-DUD?” Derrick rushed over and shoved his sweaty face into mine.

“Yeah, you need to be deflated!” I rammed him in the ribs and he fell backward. =

Derrick jack-knifed up, grabbed my le= gs, forced me to the ground and punched me in the nose. As I mopped up the blood with my dirty-tan T-shirt, the end of recess bell rang.

“See you at soccer tryouts tomo= rrow, L-O-S-E-R!” Derrick smirked and ran back to class.

I dragged myself home after school. Tomorrow is the tryouts for the select soccer team. Derrick has been playing on that t= eam for 2 years. Last year I didn’t make it.

I opened the side gate and Fluffy cha= rged through his doggy door, yapping.

“Hey, Fluffster!” I scoop= ed up the snow-white Pomeranian and ruffled his tiny ears. His pink tongue flicked out and licked at my grimy fingers.

All afternoon I practiced passing and shooting techniques in the backyard, while the icy-blue water of the pool tempted me.

That night I lured Fluffy to my room = with a smelly T-bone treat. My stomach clenched at the thought of not making the t= eam tomorrow. I had to make Dad proud. He played on the Olympic =

Soccer team a few years ago. Was the extra practice worth it? I turned on my side and raked Fluf= fy closer as my eyes grew heavy.

During the night, Fluffy woke me when= he slurped at my face.

“Stop it, Boy!” I pushed = him away and my bedside clock flashed midnight.

A thud sounded outside my window and = Fluffy bounded off the bed. The flap of his doggy door thwacked as it opened and closed and he growled. I dashed after him to call him back.<= /p>

The moment I lifted the flap, an icy = draft hit me in the face. In a swir= l of silver clouds, the emptiness pulled me through and I landed on something so= ft.

There, in a bright room, Fluffy sat beside me on a goldfish-colored sofa. Gigantic windows overlooked an Olympic soccer stadium. Enormous lights blazed down on the lime-green field where a game was in progress.

“Yikes! Am I dreaming?” I rushed over and squashed my nose against the window.

High above the zillions of red chairs= , a black banner flapped in the breeze. The words “OLYMPIQUE MARSEILLE - World Cup Soccer - 2008” were written in bold golden letters. The scoreboard showed France 0 and Italy 1 point.=

“Sweet!” <= /p>

Someone hiccupped behind me and I whi= rled around. Derrick sat on the sofa. He looked confused and his spiky auburn ha= ir was a mess. He grasped a midnight-black cat against his chest.

“You?” I frowned at him.<= o:p>

“Where...?” His question = was drowned out as the crowd disrupted into boisterous cheering.=

I spun around to see what had happene= d. Derrick sprang up and joined me.

France had shot a goal! The scoreboard numb= ers flicked over, France a= nd Italy t= ied at 1 point each. In slow motion, the digital clock counted down. One minute left.

Italy kicked off. Their players ran forwar= d and blocked France. A lean Italian booted the ball to his partner on his right. A player from <= st1:country-region w:st=3D"on">France = cornered him and whipped it away. In a blur, the ball passed from one player to the next. Time was running out, two seconds to go.

The commentator’s booming voice= carried across the stadium, “BADEAU crosses from the left and pass it to frair. He hammers it high into the net= ! AND FRANCE WINS THE TOURNAMENT!&#= 8221;

The buzzer sounded and the crowd disr= upted.

“WOO YAH!” In the excitem= ent, I forgot that Derrick was my archenemy and high-fived him.

“Wow, did you see that move!= 221; He exclaimed as his cat leapt down from the sofa.

The furry creature purred and wrapped itself around Derrick’s legs. They disappeared in a cloud of gray fog= .

“Weird!” Fluffy pressed h= is damp snout against my leg. I felt dizzy and blinked. The scent of fresh blankets tickled my

nose as my head touched the pillow. Fluffy snoozed peacefully at my feet. The red glitter of my c= lock showed midnight.

SATURDAY, 3:45 P.M. Countdown commenc= ed.

“Mom, I’m going to tryouts!” I hollered and ran out the door before she could respond. I clutched my favorite metallic-bl= ue soccer ball under my arm and rushed across the street to the schools’ soccer field.

At the signup table, a smiling parent checked my name off and wished me luck.&nb= sp; I saw Derrick and a couple of his buddies clowning around.

As I joined the group, Coach Devlin j= ogged over. Tryouts had officially started. He gave us instructions and told us w= hat he expected from us.

“It’s all about teamwork, kids. Without it we can all go home, because the game would be lost even before we started,” he did = an awesome imitation of the president delivering his weekly radio address.

I stuck my tongue out at Derrick and = he pulled an alien face behind the coach’s back. Oh boy, and then the re= al warm up exercises began!

Coach Devlin made us stretch and then= we ran 10 laps. Afterward we did several grueling drills. All the while, he scribbled on a snow-white piece of paper clipped to a filthy-brown clipboar= d.

“Okay boys, time for a scrimmag= e! You’re versing the Under 12 team,” Coach Devlin said and put his baseball cap backwards on his gleaming head.

“But coach, they’re huge!” Zach the skeleton griped.

Coach Devlin ignored The Whiner, and = told Derrick and me to sit out for the first half of the game. He sent the other boys off to their various positions.

Derrick and I snarled at each other a= nd plopped down on the sideline.

The whistle blew and the Goliath̵= 7;s maneuvered the ball skillfully around our team and kicked a goal. Tension swirled

around us. Our defenders played hard, sweat streamed down their fac= es. Zach was playing center forward and when a defender passed the ball to him,= he ran with it all the way to the goal area. He lined it up and kicked a fluky goal.

We were even!

“WOO YAH!” Derrick and I = sprang up and did a chest bash. As we bounced off each other, we overlooked our enmity.

Coach Devlin blew the half-time whist= le and told us to take a water break.

Dad arrived and handed me an ice-cold= water bottle.

I nursed a brain-freeze as Coach Devl= in summoned the team.

“Derrick, you take Left Wing and Shane you’re center forward,” he told us and everybody took the= ir positions.

He blew the whistle. The game was tor= ture and we barely kept the giants out of our defense area. My mind kept wandering to the World Championship match.

“One minute!” Coach Devlin bellowed.

An Under 12 boy kicked the ball to his teammate in the corner, but Derrick intercepted it. He maneuvered the ball forward.

“PASS!” I hollered.<= /o:p>

“GO Shane!” he yelled bac= k, dribbling the ball past the competition.

I sprinted to the corner goalie line, leaving my shadow behind. Two burly boys swooped down on Derrick and he pas= sed it triumphantly to me. In the next millisecond, I trapped the bouncing ball, lined it up and booted it past the goalie, high into the net. Coach Devlin blew the end whistle.=

“WE WON!” I did a boogie-= dance and the team grasped me and lifted me up in a winning cheer.

Derrick smiled.

On the sideline, Dad talked to Coach = Devlin and then shook his hand.

I knew it! This year I made the Select Soccer team!

“Hey, Shane?” Derrick bec= koned me over.

“What?”

“Great move, Dude. All your ext= ra practice made the game perfect! Let’s get together sometime.” he whacked me on the back.

I grinned, relieved that our rivalry = ended. This was going to be the best soccer year ever!