The scrimmage with the Panthers started ten minutes later. A handful of fans filled the stands, including Garry and Todd's mother. Garry gave her a small wave, then hurried out to the restraining box, where he'd wait during the face-off.
Michael strode to the center. He gave Garry a thumbs-up sign. Then he pointed a finger at him, thumped his own chest, and pointed at the goal. His message was clear: You get me the ball. I'll score the goals. He gave Conor the same signals.
The referee jogged to the midfield mark. Michael and the Panthers center crouched down. Garry's heart started beating fast with anticipation. He bounced on his toes, ready to move. The ref placed the ball between the two centers, stepped back, and blew his whistle.
Quick as lightning, Michael flipped his stick over to clamp the ball. At the same time, he turned a quarter step over the center line so his body was facing the sideline. Garry couldn't make out what was happening because Michael's back was between him and the ball. Then suddenly the ref signaled that the Rockets had possession, and the ball shot out across the grass toward Garry. Garry dove for it, scooped it up, and started running, cradling the ball safely in the pocket of his stick.
A Panther middie rushed him, stick outstretched in classic poke-check position. Garry didn't give him a chance to try the maneuver, however. He spun away, using his right shoulder as a block. As he twisted around he looked over his left shoulder for someone to pass to. Michael raised his stick in the air, signaling that he was ready. Garry came out of the spin and threw a hard pass.
Michael caught the ball and dashed down-field. Garry, Conor, and two Rockets middies kept pace.
“Go, Michael, go!” Evan screamed from behind them.
A defenseman came toward Michael. Michael switched from a two-handed to a one-handed cradle. He used his free arm to shield his stick. As the defenseman lowered his shoulder for a body check, Michael took a quick step to one side. The Panther followed—only to find empty space. Michael had executed a perfect inside-and-out dodge, luring the defenseman one way with that first step, then switching directions. By the time the Panther realized what had happened, Michael was six steps closer to the goal and in prime scoring position. With a quick flick, he hurled the ball into the upper left corner of the net. Swish! Goal!
Michael slow-jogged in a semicircle back to the center, arms held wide and a triumphant grin on his face. “Thank you, thank you!” he called, bowing his head again and again. Evan applauded long and loud.
Garry trotted back to his starting position, wondering why he was suddenly thinking of a film he'd once seen of a prince riding on his horse through a crowd of bowing subjects.
Michael won the face-off again, but this time a Panther swooped in and took possession of the ball before Conor or Garry could get to it. As the Panther rushed into Rockets territory, Garry, Michael, and Conor slowed to a stop. Each had played lacrosse long enough to know that the defending team had to keep three players on their opponent's side when the ball was near their own goal. Otherwise, they'd be called offsides and earn a thirty-second penalty.
Luckily, the ball didn't stay near the Rockets goal for long. Jeff poke-checked the Panther's bottom glove and the Panther dropped the ball. Eric, a Rockets defense-man, scooped it up and cleared it to Evan, who was waiting near the sideline. Evan made a clean catch. Garry, Conor, and Michael were already heading toward the Panthers goal.
For a moment, Garry thought they had a fast break. But the. Panthers middies were on them too quickly, and they were forced to slow down. Evan passed the ball to Conor.
“Feed it to me! Feed it to me!” Michael yelled from a spot near the goal. But he was so well covered that Garry could see there was no way for Conor to get a pass through to him. Conor must have figured that too, because after a split-second hesitation, he threw to Garry.
Garry caught the ball close to the sideline. He had a space of open field in front of him and took off at a dead run. A middle sprinted toward him to cut him off. Garry turned his body slightly to protect his stick. The Panther edged up close and started nudging Garry with his arm. Garry pushed back, still running.
He's trying to get me out of bounds! Garry realized. He knew that if the Panther succeeded, the Rockets would lose possession of the ball. That's when he saw Jeff running toward him. Garry slashed his stick downward, being careful not to connect with the Panther, and passed the ball to Jeff.
Jeff bobbled the catch, and the ball bounced away from him. He tore after it. So did Michael and two Panthers. All four sticks stabbed at the ball as each player fought to gain possession. Garry danced from foot to foot, ready to move where needed.
Jeff came away with the ball and instantly threw it to Garry. But the throw was wild, and the ball sailed over the sideline. The ref blew his whistle and awarded possession to the Panthers. A Panther midfielder retrieved the ball, stepped back onto the field, and play resumed.
This time, it ended with a Panthers goal. Christopher, the Rockets goalie, swept his stick through the grass, clearly disgusted with himself. As Garry returned to the midfield line for the face-off, he couldn't help noticing the deep scowl on Michael's face.
“Hey, it's just one goal,” he called to the center. “We'll still get 'em!”
“We better,” Michael snarled, “because if this is a loser team, we're going to have to make some changes.”
8
Garry didn't have time to wonder what Michael meant by “changes.” The ref placed the ball between Michael and the Panthers center, and the battle for the ball began again.
Seven minutes and a great deal of running, passing, throwing, and scoring later, the first ten-minute quarter ended. The score was 5-4 in favor of the Rockets. Michael had scored all but one of the goals for their team. As he walked to the bench, he accepted congratulations from his teammates. Evan praised him the loudest, giving a play-by-play of each goal between gulps of water.
“Man, you killed their defenseman when you did that pick-and-roll right at the top of the crease! Then it was zoom and into the net. Totally sweet.”
Garry was pleased they were winning too, but if being ahead meant listening to Evan kiss up to Michael, he almost wished they were losing.
During the break, Coach Hasbrouck announced some substitutions. “Garry, you and Conor stay in. Michael, come on out for a well-deserved rest. Evan, move up to his position. Andrew, take Evan's place at midfield. Christopher, I'm going to keep you in goal for now, but let's see Todd go in for Carl, and Pedro in for Eric. The rest of you, stay in your positions but be on the lookout for subs on the fly.”
Garry snuck a look at Michael. The coach had said he wanted Michael on the bench for a “well-deserved rest,” but Garry could tell that Michael resented being taken out of the game. Michael pulled Evan aside and whispered intently in his ear. Evan chewed his bottom lip and nodded. Then the ref whistled for the second quarter to begin, and the Rockets hurried onto the field.
“Okay, people, let's take these guys for everything!” Evan cried. Although his words were meant to show strength, Garry thought the older boy sounded nervous.
This should be interesting, he thought. He wondered what Michael had said to him.
“Go, Todd! Go, Garry!”
The sound of his mother's voice reminded Garry that Todd was now in the game. He looked back to see how his brother was doing. He couldn't see his face behind the mask, but the way he was shifting from foot to foot told Garry that his brother was either as nervous as Evan or else so ready to play that he couldn't stand still.
Garry prayed it was the latter but feared the worst. After all, how good could his brother be after less than two weeks of playing a sport that most of the other players—including the competition—had all been playing for years?
He got an answer to that question soon after the face-off. Evan fought hard for the ball, but it was the Panthers that gained possession.
“Fast break!” Garry heard the Panthers ball carrier yell.
A second Panth
ers attacker cut to the center of the field, leaving Samuel three steps behind him. The ball carrier threw the ball, and the attacker caught it at a dead run. Garry thought the new ball carrier would head for the goal, but instead he dished the ball back to the first Panther, who had run up alongside him in anticipation of the pass. Now they were within attack range, with only Christopher and the defensemen to deal with. One of those defensemen was Todd.
“Bodycheck him! Bodycheck him!” Garry muttered through clenched teeth. As if he'd heard his brother, Todd put his shoulder down and charged the ball carrier.
Unfortunately, Pedro had the same idea. He reached the Panther a split second before Todd did. Pedro's shoulder connected with the Panther's midsection—and Todd's shoulder connected with Pedro's back. The three boys tumbled to the ground, the ball bounced out of bounds behind the goal, and the ref rushed forward, blowing his whistle and waving his arms to stop the clock.
The boys slowly untangled themselves and stood up. Garry could hear his brother apologizing to Pedro, but Pedro just waved him off. Possession was awarded to the Panthers since one of their players was closest to the place where the ball went out of bounds. Moments later, they scored to tie the game.
“Wallis, you're out!” Garry heard someone yell as he jogged back to the midfield. He shook his head. He felt sorry for his brother for seeing so little game time. But he understood why the coach was sending a sub in for him. He'd do the same thing in Coach Hasbrouck's place.
“Garry, what are you, deaf? Didn't you hear me tell you you're out?”
Garry spun around in surprise. Carl was gesturing wildly for him to get off the field.
“Me?” Garry asked even as he backpedaled over the sideline. Carl just ignored him and got into position for the face-off.
As he approached the team bench, Garry looked to see who else was sitting there. When he didn't see his brother, he realized that Todd must still be in the game. He turned his attention back to the field—and sucked in his breath. Todd was on the field, but he wasn't playing defense anymore. He was on the front line with Carl and Jeff. Evan was on defense.
Michael, however, was still out of the game. Garry took one look at the seventh-grader's dark scowl and hurried to a spot at the opposite end of the bench.
9
Play started up again. Carl managed to clamp the ball during the face-off, but when he tried to send it to a teammate it rolled free and a Panther scooped it up.
The Panthers quickly penetrated past the Rockets midfielders. Then an attacker bobbled the ball. Evan scooped it up right from in front of the Rockets goal and cleared it out to Jeff, who was dancing along the sideline.
It was a soft throw. Jeff had to lunge with his stick outstretched, pocket skyward, to make the catch. Once he had the ball, he swung the stick, head up high, and made a beeline for the opposite end of the field. As he ran he moved his stick to his right hand, twisting it in a perfect one-handed cradle, and held off a Panther with the other. A few steps later he stopped short, put his free hand on the stick, and jerked a quick pass to Todd.
Garry squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was amazed to see that his brother had made the catch and was running toward the goal. Unfortunately, Todd must have forgotten to cradle the ball. After a few steps the ball flew out of the pocket and bounced onto the field toward a Panthers midfielder's feet.
The Panther scooped it up and hurled it to where his teammate waited at the sideline. Three quick passes and one shot on goal later, the Panthers had added another point to their side of the scoreboard.
Garry clenched his teeth to keep himself from yelling. Michael threw up his hands and shook his head, plainly disgusted. Others on the bench grumbled and shifted in their seats.
As Todd, Carl, and Jeff returned to the midfield for the face-off, Coach Hasbrouck called for a time-out. Then he gestured for Todd to come to the sideline.
“At last,” Garry heard Michael mutter. The older boy stood up, grabbed his stick, and prepared to run onto the field at the coach's signal.
But Coach Hasbrouck didn't pull Todd from the game. Instead, he spoke to the boy while demonstrating something with Todd's stick. Todd frowned at first, then nodded his understanding.
What is going on? Garry wondered. He found out a moment later. When the ref blew his whistle to restart play, Todd rushed onto the field—and right to the center, for the face-off.
Michael sagged back onto the bench. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said.
Garry didn't say anything, but inside he was thinking the same thing. Todd, taking the face-off? Is the coach out of his mind?
It came as no surprise to Garry that Todd didn't win the stick war. What did surprise him was what Todd did next. As the Panthers attacker sent the ball to his teammate, Todd lowered a shoulder and bodychecked him. Unfortunately, by the time he hit the Panther, the attacker no longer had the ball. And Todd's shoulder struck him in the small of the back.
The whistle shrieked. “One-minute penalty, illegal checking!” the ref yelled, pointing at Todd. Todd looked to the coach, clearly unsure of what to do. The coach motioned for him to step off the field into the penalty box. Once Todd crossed the sideline, play resumed.
Since the Rockets were down a player, the Panthers had a big advantage. They used it well, sending the ball past the middies and jockeying for position near the goal. The Rockets defense did the best they could to stay on top of their opponents, but the Panthers were just too quick. The ball carrier slashed his stick downward and the ball flew into the net.
“Oh, come on!” Michael yelled. He stood up and paced behind the bench. When Todd went back onto the field to take another face-off, Michael smacked his fist so hard against the bench that Garry could feel the vibrations at the other end.
Man, am I glad it's not me he's mad at! he was thinking, when suddenly a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around.
“You and me, we're going to have a little talk after the game,” Michael growled. “Behind the bleachers. Be there—or else.”
10
Garry, Michael, and two other Rockets went back into the game shortly before the halftime break. Garry played well and even managed to score a few goals.
But it was Michael who took control of the game. He threw with such force that Garry could hear the mesh of his pocket sing. He pushed past, dodged around, and spun away from Panthers players as if his life depended upon it. A few times he bodychecked an opponent so hard that the other player was knocked backward. Nothing he did was illegal—it was just much more aggressive than Garry was used to.
Garry suspected that the Panthers weren't used to such play either. He almost felt sorry for them. The more forceful Michael became, the farther they stayed away from him. By the end of the third quarter, Michael was scoring nearly every time he had the ball. When Coach Hasbrouck took him out midway through the fourth quarter, the Rockets were up fifteen goals to the Panthers' seven. Even though Michael had played in the attack position for only part of the game, he had scored twelve of those fifteen.
The game ended ten minutes later. The Rockets won easily, with the final score 20-11. They gave a cheer for the Panthers and slapped hands with them down the line, then started to gather up their gear.
“Good game, good game,” Coach Hasbrouck said to each player.
Garry was picking up his equipment bag when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the bleachers. It was Evan.
“Hey, what gives?” Garry said, snatching his arm out of Evan's grasp and rubbing it.
“Michael wants to talk to you, remember?” Evan growled as Michael stepped out from the shadows.
“Sorry about the arm, Gar,” Michael said, giving Evan a disapproving look. “Man, Evan, take it easy next time, will you? I mean, really, Garry's one of our best players, and you practically tear his arm out of its socket! Apologize to him.”
Evan stared daggers at Garry. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Whatever,�
� Garry said, turning his back on him. “What do you want, anyway?” he asked Michael.
Michael spread his hands. “Look, it's like this. Last year, our lacrosse team was number one in the league.”
“That's because you were the top scorer!” Evan piped in.
Michael preened. “True, I did lead the league in goals. And I plan to do that again this year. But I also want to win the division title again, and I can't do that alone. I need solid players behind me, like you. And Evan, of course.”
Evan grinned, reminding Garry of the puppy again.
“Unfortunately,” Michael continued, “there are some people on the team who are dragging the rest of us down. If the league allowed players to be cut, I know of one person who'd be gone in a second.” He looked meaningfully at Garry. “I think you know who I'm talking about.”
“Okay, so my brother's not the greatest,” Garry said. “But what do you expect me to do about it? I can't make him a good player overnight!”
“No,” Michael agreed smoothly. “But you can convince him to quit.”
Garry stared at him in disbelief.
“We'll be a stronger team without T.T.'s dead weight,” Michael added.
Evan snickered. “'Dead weight.' I get it! 'Cause Todd's, like, fat and all!”
Michael shot a disapproving look at the other boy. Evan stopped laughing. That's when Garry heard his mother calling his name.
“I—I gotta go,” he said.
Michael shot a finger gun at him. “Just think about what I said.”
Garry hurried away without replying.
“There you are!” his mother said. “What were you doing?”
Lacrosse Face-Off Page 3
