Lacrosse Face-Off Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2006 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of

  Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09393-4

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Matt Christopher®

  THE #1 SPORTS SERIES FOR KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER®

  1

  Eleven-year-old Garry Wallis stood at the .edge of the playing field with seventeen other middle-school boys. He gripped his lacrosse stick tightly in one hand. The fingers of his other hand drummed against his leg, the only sign of his nervousness.

  Garry had been interested in lacrosse ever since he'd done a school report on the sport in fourth grade. When he'd researched the subject, he'd learned that lacrosse had been invented by Native Americans and was part of the religion of many tribes. They called it “the Creator's game” and featured it in several myths about creation. Long ago, the fast-paced sport was used to train warriors for battle by developing their strength and endurance. Sometimes, instead of actual battles, games were played to settle arguments between warring tribes. And once, lacrosse helped a tribe capture a British fort. The soldiers had become so interested in a match, they hadn't noticed how close the players had come to the fort until it was too late!

  The spring after he'd written the report, he'd asked his mother if he could play lacrosse instead of baseball. She'd agreed to let him join the local Lightning Division team. He'd played for that team for the last two years. He loved the game and was pretty good at it too. But this year he was in sixth grade, and that meant he had to move up a level, to the Junior Division. Now he'd be playing with and against sixth- and seventh-graders. One quick glance at his teammates reminded him that many players at this level would be bigger, stronger, and faster.

  With a few exceptions, of course, including his older brother, Todd. Todd had never played lacrosse before. He was more of a sit-inside kind of kid than a get-out-and-play sort. His idea of competition was dueling with monster-and-magician trading cards, a game he'd been obsessed with for months. He'd collected such a huge stack of cards that he had to hold them together with a big rubber band.

  Garry was pretty sure Todd wouldn't have joined the lacrosse team this year either, if it hadn't been for their last visit to the doctor. Each year Mrs. Wallis brought her sons for their annual checkups. There they were measured and weighed and had their hearts, and lungs listened to, their blood pressure taken, and their ears, eyes, and throats examined. Usually they were declared fit and healthy and sent on their way.

  This year, however, the doctor frowned when she looked over Todd's chart. “Todd,” she asked, peering over her glasses, “do you exercise regularly?”

  Todd shrugged. “I have gym class twice a week at school,” he answered.

  “Hmmm,” the doctor said.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Wallis asked anxiously.

  “Todd has gained twelve pounds since his last visit,” the doctor replied.

  “Well, he is a growing boy, after all!” said Mrs. Wallis.

  “Er, yes, but the trouble is, he's growing sideways, not up. He's only gotten one inch taller in the past year.”

  Garry snuck a glance at his brother. Now that the doctor mentioned it, Todd was looking a little pudgy.

  The doctor scribbled something on a piece of paper as she kept talking. “It is possible that Todd's weight gain is just the beginning of a growth spurt, of course. But what if it isn't? I'm going to give you a prescription that should help. I'd like you to get it filled as soon and as often as possible.” She handed the paper to Garry's mother.

  Garry looked over her shoulder to see what the doctor had written. There was only one word, but it was underlined three times and had a big exclamation point after it: Exercise!

  Mrs. Wallis took the doctor's advice seriously. That night, she told Todd to choose some kind of physical activity to do regularly. After much hemming and hawing, he chose lacrosse. “You drag me to all of Garry's games anyway,” he said. “I might as well get this exercise stuff over with then.”

  And so now here they were, the Wallis brothers together on the same lacrosse team. Garry was pretty sure Todd wasn't the only newcomer to the sport there today. But compared with the other boys, Todd was the least athletic-looking. The protective pads he wore on his arms and shoulders only made him look that much bulkier. Garry wondered if his brother would survive even the first week.

  “Hello, boys, and welcome to practice!” A booming voice interrupted Garry's thoughts. He turned to see a man and a boy jogging toward them. Both carried lacrosse sticks and looked so much alike that they were clearly father and son. The father wore a sweatshirt with their team name, “Rockets,” across the front. He took out a clipboard, and the son joined Garry and the rest of the team.

  “My name is Fred Hasbrouck, but you can call me Coach,” the man said. “As some of you know, your old coach retired after last season. I understand that that season was a phenomenal one for this team. First place in the division!” He nodded appreciatively. “Well, many of last year's players have moved up to the next division, but that doesn't mean this team won't be just as strong.” He looked at his clipboard. “Now, let's see who you are.” He started to read down a list of names.

  “Anderson?”

  “Here, Coach!”

  “Backus?”

  “Yo!”

  “Donofrio?”

  Silence. The coach looked up. “Donofrio?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, right here,” came a voice from behind the coach.

  Garry stared in surprise, then smiled with delight. He hadn't realized that Michael Donofrio was on his team!

  Michael was a seventh-grader, like Todd. When Garry had started playing lacrosse in fourth grade, Michael had been on his team. He'd been one of the better players then, and Garry figured he had to be just as good now.

  Garry raised a hand in greeting. Michael nodded and moved to the spot next to him. Evan Fitzgerald, the boy who had been standing there, shifted to make room for him.

  “Mr. Donofrio, in the future please be on time for practices,” the coach said.

  Michael shot a finger gun at him. “Gotcha,” he said.

  Coach Hasbrouck raised an eyebrow, then shook his head slightly and continued down his list. Garry sounded off when his name was called, as did Todd.

  Michael stared down the line, then jabbed Garry in the ribs. “Your brother's here too?” he whispered. “Man, I didn't even recognize him! Is it the pads that make him look so fat, or is that he's gotten a little tubby?” He chuckled. “Yeah, that's it, Tubby
Todd! Tub-eee Todd. T.T. for short!”

  Evan snickered. “Good one, bro,” he said. “You crack me up!”

  Michael gave Garry a half smile. After a moment, Garry laughed too.

  Then Coach Hasbrouck called for their attention, and Garry's first practice as a Junior Division lacrosse player began.

  2

  The coach started them off with some simple stretches, then had them do push-ups and leg lifts. “The stronger your bodies are, the better the lacrosse players you'll be,” he told them. “And because speed and stamina are essential too, let's see you do three laps around the field. Come on, I'll lead the way”

  There were some groans, but everyone took off after Coach Hasbrouck. After two laps, Garry was breathing hard. Michael, he noticed, looked as if he could go another three times around without breaking a sweat. He glanced over his shoulder to see how his brother was doing—then quickly turned back. Todd was bringing up the rear and looked like a bear cub lumbering along on two legs.

  When the laps were finished, Coach Hasbrouck had them pair off for catching and throwing drills. “Helmets on, everyone, and mouth guards in. Those of you new to lacrosse, try to find a partner who knows what he's doing. Make two lines facing each other about ten yards apart.”

  “Wallis, you're with me,” Michael said. “Garry Wallis, that is,” he added with a frown when Todd took a step toward him. “I came here to play lacrosse, not babysit a newbie.”

  Garry saw his brother flush a deep red. He felt a stab of pity for Todd. Then Michael called to him again and the moment passed.

  “Okay, listen up and follow my commands,” Coach Hasbrouck called when everyone was in line. “Ready position!”

  Garry snapped his stick up, holding it with the head upright and the shaft angled across the front of his body. One gloved hand gripped the stick beneath the head. The other rested near the end. His feet were shoulder-width apart.

  The coach handed out balls to everyone in Michael's line. “I want you to do a top-handed cradle, then throw the ball to your partner, who will do the same. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

  Garry bounced on his toes, ready to capture Michael's toss. Michael cradled the ball as instructed, rotating his top hand back and forth to keep the ball in the pocket. His bottom hand held the stick steady so the shaft wouldn't swing around. Then he lobbed the ball in a smooth arc across the field to Garry.

  Garry automatically pulled the head back when the ball landed in his pocket, softening the catch so that the ball stuck instead of bouncing out. Judging from the number of balls that fell to the ground, others in his line either forgot to soften or didn't know they were supposed to. Across the field he saw Michael shake his head. Garry concentrated on cradling the ball and throwing an accurate toss to his partner. He breathed a sigh of relief when the ball zoomed directly toward the head of Michael's stick.

  Coach Hasbrouck had them continue the drill for fifteen minutes. He made sure they caught the ball three different ways. First he called for stick-side catches—when the ball came to the head of the stick without the players having to move it much. Then he had them catch on their off-stick sides. This was a little more difficult because the catcher had to sweep the stick across his face to make the catch.

  Last, the coach had them try over-the-shoulder catches. Those without the ball turned their backs to their partners and held their sticks in ready position. When the partners threw, each receiver looked over his shoulder, twisted the stick so the pocket faced the ball, and caught it without turning around. The trick was realizing which side the ball was going to, the right or the left, and making sure the stick was over that same shoulder.

  Garry dropped a fair share of over-the-shoulder catches, but not as many as some of his teammates. Michael, on the other hand, mishandled only a few. It was obvious to Garry that Michael was a very good player, maybe even the best on the team. The fact that he had chosen Garry for his partner made Garry feel good.

  The coach called for a two-minute water break, then told them to find new partners for the next drill. This time Garry was paired up with the coach's son.

  “Hi, my name's Jeff,” the boy said, holding out a gloved hand. “I just moved to town a month ago.”

  Garry shook it. “I'm Garry, Garry Wallis,” he replied.

  “Oh, Todd's brother, right?” Jeff said. “I was with him on the last drill. He's new to lacrosse, isn't he?”

  Garry looked at Jeff quickly, unsure if the boy was taking a jab at his brother's lack of skill. But he simply seemed to be making an observation. “Uh, yeah, except for throwing the ball around with me in the backyard a few times, he's hardly ever held a stick before,” Garry finally said.

  Jeff shrugged. “Well, if he's worried he won't see any playing time, tell him not to be. My dad's big on making sure everyone gets into every game.”

  They stopped talking to listen to the coach explain the drill. “We're going to work on cradling the ball while running. One player will be the ball handler. The other will try to get him to drop the ball by chasing him around the square.” He indicated areas he had marked off with orange cones. “There is to be no, I repeat, no contact between the two players. Ball handlers, focus on cradling and keeping your body between the ball and your opponent. Chasers, do your best to make him fumble the ball. The goal is to hang on to the ball for ten seconds.”

  There were four squares, so four pairs of boys took their turns while the rest of the team watched. Garry and Jeff were in the first group. Jeff had the ball. When the coach blew his whistle, Jeff started moving around the square. Garry went after him, but Jeff was quick. He dodged, feinted, and twisted away from Garry, all the while cradling the ball in the pocket. After ten seconds, Garry hadn't come close to forcing him to drop it.

  The coach blew his whistle, and the ball handlers became the chasers. When the ten seconds had passed, Garry was panting—but he still had the ball. He and Jeff stepped out of the square to let the next pair have their turn.

  Jeff grinned at him. “I'd say we're pretty evenly matched, wouldn't you?”

  Garry nodded. “What position do you usually play?”

  “I've played everything except goalkeeper,” Jeff replied, “but I like middie best.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn't mind playing midfield,” Garry agreed. “But I like attack position better.”

  “You like to score, huh?”

  “Well, as my mother might say, it's right up there with winning the lottery!” Garry quipped.

  Jeff threw his head back and laughed. Garry laughed too.

  Jeff's a good kid, he thought. I bet he's lonely, being new and all. He decided to invite him over to hang out after practice. He opened his mouth to ask when suddenly he heard a sharp cry. He turned to see what the problem was—and his eyes widened with horror.

  3

  Todd lay on the ground, clutching his ankle. The coach was kneeling beside him. Michael stood off to the side.

  Jeff turned to Evan. “What happened?”

  “"I'm not sure,” Evan answered. “One minute Michael and Todd were doing the drill, the next Todd was eating dirt.”

  Coach Hasbrouck beckoned to Garry. Garry hurried onto the field, hooked an arm under his brother, and helped hoist him to his feet. With Todd between them, the coach and Garry guided Todd to a bench. Michael followed.

  “He must have tripped over something, Coach,” Michael said.

  Todd's head snapped up. “Yeah,” he said angrily. “Your stick!”

  Michael's jaw dropped. “You're accusing me of tripping you?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. He turned to Coach Hasbrouck. “I swear, I wasn't even anywhere near him when he went down!”

  “He wasn't, Coach,” Evan suddenly piped up. “I saw the whole thing. Todd just fell.”

  Garry stared at him in surprise. “But didn't you just tell Jeff that—”

  “—that Todd was just starting to get the hang of cradling when he tripped?” Michael cut in. He laid a hand on
Todd's shoulder. “I was going to say the same thing. Really, T.T., for a newbie, you were doing great.”

  Todd blinked. “Uh, thanks, Michael,” he said after a moment. He sounded confused.

  Coach Hasbrouck stood up. “Todd, take a few minutes. The rest of you, resume the drill. And let's all be careful out there, okay?”

  Garry and Jeff trotted back to a square. “Am I mistaken,” Jeff said in a low voice, “or did Evan just lie for Michael?”

  Garry scuffed his foot in the grass. He wasn't sure what to make of the exchange either. The fact that Michael had called Todd “T.T.” hadn't escaped him, but then again Michael had also given Todd a compliment.

  “I don't know,” he said at last. “To be. perfectly honest, I wouldn't be surprised if my brother did trip over his own feet. He's not the most athletic kid around, in case you hadn't noticed.”

  Jeff gave him a funny look. “He's not that bad. And you've got to admit it's weird. One minute Evan says he doesn't know what happened, the next he's claiming that he saw the whole thing. Has he got something against your brother?”

  Garry glanced over at Todd. His brother's leg was stretched out on the bench, an ice pack on his ankle. Todd's head and arms hung over the back of the bench, making his round stomach appear even rounder. Garry looked away. “Let's just forget about Todd and get back to practice.”

  The team continued to do the cradling drill. Todd rejoined them after five minutes, still limping slightly. Twenty minutes later, the coach announced that practice was through for the day. Garry was tired, but his brother looked completely done in.

  And at home later that night, Todd fell asleep on the couch. Garry picked up the book his brother had been reading, marked the page for him, then tiptoed away.

  For the second time that day, he wondered if his brother would make it through the first week of practice. It seemed doubtful. Afterall, he thought, he almost didn't make it through the first day!

  Todd did make it through the week, but just barely. He always brought up the rear in the warm-up laps, collapsed after push-ups, and turned beet red with exertion when doing leg lifts. He was clearly the worst player on the team. The only person who regularly chose him for a drill partner was Jeff.