All-Star Soccer

“Pass down the sideline,” yelled Dad. He was our soccer coach for the All-Star team, Region 538.

Most of the time I liked having my dad as our coach, but today I wasn’t in the mood. Our team was 17–0 and we were playing the championship game for our area. He kept yelling crazy stuff at me, and I just wanted him to be quiet. Why did he count on me to score so many goals?

I tried to concentrate, but I kept thinking back to last Friday after school. My sister and I had been fighting on the stairs. We banged into each other, and I peeled the skin all the way off my toe. It still hurt to wear my shoe, especially my soccer cleats. It even hurt to wear my sock. The sock stuck to my sore.

“J. D., go down the field! Take it in. Pass and control.”

I glared at my dad, but I didn’t want to tell him that I, fighting with my sister as usual, had torn all the skin off my right toe just before the championship game. I just wanted him to stop before I fell down holding my toe.

Suddenly, I heard a voice yell, “Hey J. D., guess that toe has you down!” It was my sister, Jill. She was so annoying. I’d show her.

The ball came right to me. I moved down the field, slicing, moving around the players. Fancy footwork.

Left foot. Shoot and . . . .

“Oh, man! I missed the goal by an inch!”

“Good try, J. D.,” yelled Dad. “Keep up the pressure.”

I gritted my teeth and looked around the field for the ball. I saw my sister with an evil grin on her face.

Time to buckle down and show her what I was made of!