carton.
“That’s gross,” said his older brother, Larry, who was thirteen. “The rest of us drink that stuff, too, you know.”
Ben wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his soccer jersey. “I was thirsty,” he said.
“So was I,” Larry said. “Guess I’ll have some water.”
Ben took another swig of the juice.
“Mom!” Larry called. “Ben’s drinking out of the carton again.”
Their mother came into the kitchen. “Ben, I’ve told you not to do that.”
“It’s gross,” Larry said.
“You already said that!” Ben set the carton on the shelf and closed the refrigerator door.
“And you got grime all over the door handle,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you wash your hands first?”
“Because I was dying of thirst.”
“Well, get a paper towel and clean it up,” Mom said. “And wash your hands.”
“Don’t rush me.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll do it in a minute. I’m starving. I just played a soccer game, remember?”
Mom pointed toward the bathroom. “Don’t mess up the towels,” she said.
Ben walked to the bathroom. “I guess nobody cares if we won or not,” he said loudly. He slammed the bathroom door.
When he came back to the kitchen, he said, “I need lunch.”
“I need lunch,
please
,” said Mom. “You’re acting like a total brat today, Ben.”
“Well, none of you came to my game and you didn’t even ask how we did.”
“We’ve been to every one of your games so far. Larry had a cross-country race this morning. You know that.”
“And you didn’t ask how
I
did either, Ben,” Larry said.
“Well,
we
had a terrible game,” Ben said.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “Larry ran very well.”
“Big deal.”
“It
is
a big deal…. I think you’d better go spend some time in your room until you’ve got a better attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving.”
“You’ll live.”
So Ben stomped off to his room and flopped onto the bed. Nobody seemed to get it. He’d played poorly, at least at the end of the game. Didn’t he have a right to be angry?
He looked around the room. He had a giant
Tyrannosaurus rex
poster on the wall above his bed, and a Boston Bruins hockey jersey hanging on the one directly across from it. Books and toys were in fairly neat piles on the floor. He glanced around the room for his soccer ball, then remembered that it was out in the yard.
Halloween was about a month away, and his mom had put a plastic jack-o’-lantern on his dresser. It was about the same size as a soccer ball, but it had a flat bottom.
Ben took it down and laid it on its side so it would roll. He stepped back a few feet, imagining an opponent just in front of him. He brought his right foot forward and swept the pumpkin out in front of him. He leaned hard to his right, then shifted to the left and raised his right foot, bringing it over the top of the “ball” and replanting it on the other side. Then he nudged the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it in the opposite direction.
In his mind, the opponent was left there, lunging in the wrong direction as Ben smoothly went the other way.
That’s it!
he thought.
That’s how the guy burned me
. Ben had stepped over the ball without touching it, then swept it back with the outside of his foot.
He practiced it a few more times, trying to go faster with each attempt. Then he put the pumpkin back where it belonged and headed downstairs.
“Sorry, Mom,” he said. “I was mad because I messed up the game.”
“Well, maybe you’ll feel better after you eat.”
“I already feel better,” he said. “Could I have a peanut butter sandwich?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe two?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Thanks. Then I’m going to practice in the yard for a while. I’m working on a new move. Wait’ll you see it. It’s going to be great!”
Next game
, Ben thought,
I’ll be the one with the fancy footwork
.
CHAPTER THREE
Slipping and Stumbling
The last day of September was crisp
“That’s gross,” said his older brother, Larry, who was thirteen. “The rest of us drink that stuff, too, you know.”
Ben wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his soccer jersey. “I was thirsty,” he said.
“So was I,” Larry said. “Guess I’ll have some water.”
Ben took another swig of the juice.
“Mom!” Larry called. “Ben’s drinking out of the carton again.”
Their mother came into the kitchen. “Ben, I’ve told you not to do that.”
“It’s gross,” Larry said.
“You already said that!” Ben set the carton on the shelf and closed the refrigerator door.
“And you got grime all over the door handle,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you wash your hands first?”
“Because I was dying of thirst.”
“Well, get a paper towel and clean it up,” Mom said. “And wash your hands.”
“Don’t rush me.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll do it in a minute. I’m starving. I just played a soccer game, remember?”
Mom pointed toward the bathroom. “Don’t mess up the towels,” she said.
Ben walked to the bathroom. “I guess nobody cares if we won or not,” he said loudly. He slammed the bathroom door.
When he came back to the kitchen, he said, “I need lunch.”
“I need lunch,
please
,” said Mom. “You’re acting like a total brat today, Ben.”
“Well, none of you came to my game and you didn’t even ask how we did.”
“We’ve been to every one of your games so far. Larry had a cross-country race this morning. You know that.”
“And you didn’t ask how
I
did either, Ben,” Larry said.
“Well,
we
had a terrible game,” Ben said.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “Larry ran very well.”
“Big deal.”
“It
is
a big deal…. I think you’d better go spend some time in your room until you’ve got a better attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving.”
“You’ll live.”
So Ben stomped off to his room and flopped onto the bed. Nobody seemed to get it. He’d played poorly, at least at the end of the game. Didn’t he have a right to be angry?
He looked around the room. He had a giant
Tyrannosaurus rex
poster on the wall above his bed, and a Boston Bruins hockey jersey hanging on the one directly across from it. Books and toys were in fairly neat piles on the floor. He glanced around the room for his soccer ball, then remembered that it was out in the yard.
Halloween was about a month away, and his mom had put a plastic jack-o’-lantern on his dresser. It was about the same size as a soccer ball, but it had a flat bottom.
Ben took it down and laid it on its side so it would roll. He stepped back a few feet, imagining an opponent just in front of him. He brought his right foot forward and swept the pumpkin out in front of him. He leaned hard to his right, then shifted to the left and raised his right foot, bringing it over the top of the “ball” and replanting it on the other side. Then he nudged the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it in the opposite direction.
In his mind, the opponent was left there, lunging in the wrong direction as Ben smoothly went the other way.
That’s it!
he thought.
That’s how the guy burned me
. Ben had stepped over the ball without touching it, then swept it back with the outside of his foot.
He practiced it a few more times, trying to go faster with each attempt. Then he put the pumpkin back where it belonged and headed downstairs.
“Sorry, Mom,” he said. “I was mad because I messed up the game.”
“Well, maybe you’ll feel better after you eat.”
“I already feel better,” he said. “Could I have a peanut butter sandwich?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe two?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Thanks. Then I’m going to practice in the yard for a while. I’m working on a new move. Wait’ll you see it. It’s going to be great!”
Next game
, Ben thought,
I’ll be the one with the fancy footwork
.
CHAPTER THREE
Slipping and Stumbling
The last day of September was crisp
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