Lacrosse Firestorm Read online

  “Oh, my gosh! Hold on! I’m coming!” Garry started to step onto a rock in the river.

  “No! Stay back! That’s how I fell — !” A foaming wave engulfed the boy’s head, cutting off his cry.

  “Okay, okay!” Garry looked around desperately. Rocks, leaves, bushes — they were no help! Then he spotted a long tree branch stuck in the mud farther up the bank.

  “I’ve got it!” he cried. He raced up the river edge, yanked until the branch pulled free, and dragged it back. Then he sat down on the muddy bank, braced his feet against two big rocks so he wouldn’t slip forward, and yelled, “Here it comes!”

  He swooped the tree limb over the rushing water, praying that it would reach Scottie. It did.

  “Got it?” he yelled. Scottie didn’t answer, and for one heart-stopping moment Garry thought he’d struck him on the head or swept him from the rock with the leafy limb.

  Then the branch vibrated in his hands and he guessed that Scottie had grabbed it.

  “Okay, I’m going to pull you in now, so hold on tight!”

  He took a deep breath and then, hand over hand, slowly pulled the branch and the boy toward him. His backside sank deep into the cold mud, his palms were scraped by the rough bark, and his arms and legs ached from fighting the current and pulling the branch. But at last, he dragged Scottie to safety.

  “Th-thanks!” Scottie sputtered. “I thought I was a g-g-goner!” A cool breeze had set the wet boy’s teeth chattering. Garry took off his sweatshirt and gave it to him.

  Scottie put it on, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. After a moment, he stopped shivering. Then he gave Garry a puzzled look. “How did you get to me so quickly?”

  Garry blinked at the question. “I ran when I heard you yell. Scottie, what are you doing out here?”

  Scottie hugged his knees closer. “I was looking for you!”

  “Why?”

  Scottie didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. See, I’ve been in your position before. I was bullied by a big jerk last year, kind of like Donofrio’s bullying you.”

  “Michael’s not bullying me!” Garry protested. “I mean, sure, he calls me names, makes fun of me when I mess up on the field, slams me to the ground on purpose, trips me …” His voice trailed away.

  Scottie gave a small shrug. “That sure sounds like bullying to me.”

  Garry picked up a rock and threw it into the river. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But don’t worry about me, I can handle Michael. I have before, anyway.”

  “You have?” Scottie looked at him with interest. “How?”

  Garry told him what had happened between Michael and Todd and how he had dealt with it.

  Scottie whistled in admiration. “You kept him from being top scorer? Cool.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s paying me back now. So what’s your story? Why were you being bullied?”

  Scottie held up his arms. The sleeves of Garry’s sweatshirt covered his hands. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a big guy.”

  “So?”

  “So even though I’m small, I’ve got great reflexes and can read the action on the field better than anyone else on my team.”

  Garry raised his eyebrows.

  Scottie laughed. “I know it sounds like I’m bragging, but really, it’s the truth.”

  Garry smiled. “Yeah, I know. I watched you during practice earlier.”

  “Anyway,” Scottie continued, “last year, another kid, someone bigger and older than me, wanted to be starting goalkeeper. But I got the position instead of him. He, um, didn’t like that too much. To say the least.”

  “What’d he do to you?”

  Scottie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took off his wet sneakers and dug his toes into the slick mud. “Oh, the usual stuff,” he said finally. “Teasing, throwing my hat around on the school bus, getting other kids to call me Snottie. I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but it did, you know?”

  Garry nodded. He knew.

  “Anyway, life is much better now,” Scottie said.

  “Because you stood up to him?”

  Scottie flashed a mischievous grin. “Because he moved up a division this year so we’re not on the same team anymore!”

  Garry grinned too. Then he stood up and twisted around to look at his muddy backside. “I gotta change. Want to get going?”

  Scottie ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Good idea. My head’s freezing.” He put his shoes back on and stood too. Then he reached behind his neck for something. “Hey,” he said when he came up empty-handed, “how come your sweatshirt doesn’t have a hood?”

  “My brother and I kept getting our sweatshirts mixed up, so I cut the hood off mine. I never liked the way it felt, anyway.”

  They walked along the trail out of the woods in silence for a few minutes. Then Scottie remarked, “You know they give out the top scorer award after this tournament, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure good of Michael will be trying for it.”

  Scottie waggled his eyebrows. “Well, he won’t get any help from me, I can tell you that!” Then he laughed. “You know what would be really great? If you won it instead of him!”

  Garry smiled. “It’d be a real kick in his ego, that’s for sure!”

  The sun was going down when they reached the edge of the woods. Scottie started to take off the sweatshirt but Garry waved him off. “Keep it for now. You need it more than I do.”

  The two boys parted company and Garry hurried back to his cabin. He was changing out of his muddy shorts when Todd and Jeff came in.

  Todd flopped onto his bunk. “What happened to you?”

  Jeff eyed Garry’s filthy shorts and sneakers. “Mud wrestling, from the looks of it!” he said with a laugh.

  “Ha-ha,” Garry said.

  “Seriously, we’ve been looking all over for you,” Todd said. “So where —”

  Todd was cut off by the crackle of the loudspeaker. “Attention, attention!” came an urgent voice. “There is a fire in the woods behind the Boulders section of camp! The fire department is on the way but we still need everyone to report immediately to the lake for the bucket brigade!”

  8

  For one long second, Garry, Jeff, and Todd stared at one another.

  “Holy cow!” Todd finally cried. “Come on!”

  They jumped up and ran from the cabin.

  Garry smelled the smoke the moment he set foot outside. He craned his neck around and looked up. A black plume blocked out the stars that had begun to emerge in the night sky. Garry traced the smoke trail down to the treetops, knowing the fire had to be just below. Then he dropped his gaze lower — and found himself staring at the path he had followed into the woods.

  His mouth turned dry. That path leads to the boulder where I was lighting matches.

  “Come on, Garry, we gotta go help!” Todd yelled.

  Garry took a few faltering steps backward, then turned and raced after his brother. His mind was racing even faster than his feet, asking the same question over and over.

  Did I start the fire?

  His breathing was ragged when he reached the lake. Four lines of boys and men had already been formed. Buckets of water and sand were being passed hand to hand down the line and into the woods to the fire. Empty buckets were returning down other lines. Jeff and Todd immediately joined a line to help.

  Garry did too, but his mind wasn’t on the work. It was replaying the scene on the boulder in his mind.

  The first match burned out. The second match blew out. The third match …

  He nearly let go of the bucket of sand he was holding.

  I dropped the third match when I heard Scottie yell! I don’t know if it burned out or not! And if it didn’t …

  If it didn’t, it could very well have caused the fire. Meaning he had caused the fire.

  “Come on, kid, hurry it up with that bucket!” the boy next to Garry urged. “We’ve got t
o get this fire out!”

  A fire you started, a voice inside his head accused.

  I don’t know that for sure! he argued with himself. There could have been someone else out there!

  Someone else was out there, he suddenly realized. Scottie!

  Of course, the Thunder goalkeeper hadn’t started the blaze — unless he’d lit the fire and then jumped in the freezing cold river.

  Freezing cold … Garry’s heart started hammering in his chest.

  Scottie has my sweatshirt! The matches are still inside the pocket. What if he finds them — and puts two and two together?

  Garry looked up and down the line, searching for Scottie. He didn’t find him. There was nothing to do then but continue passing buckets.

  After what seemed like an eternity, a call came down the line that the fire department had arrived and put out the last of the flames. Now the boys were all to go to the mess hall.

  As the crowd began moving, Garry searched for Scottie again. This time, he found him. He ran toward his new friend — but then stopped short. Scottie had changed out of his wet clothes and was no longer wearing the Rockets sweatshirt.

  Scottie waved and hurried over. “Wow, can you believe this?” he said as they climbed the wooden stairs into the mess hall. “Do you think that fire was anywhere near where we were?”

  Garry blinked, suddenly hopeful. Maybe Scottie didn’t find the matches after all! If he did, wouldn’t he have asked about them?

  But in the next moment, his heart sank down to his toes.

  “Say, Garry,” Scottie said, his voice low, “are you going to tell someone what happened out there? Because if you don’t, I will.”

  Garry sank down onto a bench. “Wha — what do you mean?”

  “I mean, someone should know what you did! You should at least tell your coach.”

  Garry hung his head. “But I don’t know for sure that I did it!”

  “Huh?” Scottie gave him a surprised look. “Of course you did it! No one else was —”

  Whatever Scottie was going to say got cut off by a shout from one of his teammates. “Whoops, I gotta go sit with my team. But listen, tell your coach — or I will!” With that, he hurried to join the rest of the Thunder, leaving Garry to stare after him in dismay.

  Jeff appeared at that moment. “Who’s that kid?” he asked. “And what does he want you to tell my dad?”

  9

  Garry was saved from answering by the crackle of a microphone. He turned in his seat to face the stage at the far end of the mess hall. There stood a burly man in a firefighter’s uniform.

  “Your attention, please, boys,” he said. “The fire that started behind the Boulders section is out. And I want to take a moment to point out the boy responsible for that.”

  For one horrid second, Garry thought the firefighter was talking about him. But then the man called out a different name: “Michael Donofrio, will you come here, please?”

  Every head swiveled. Usually, Michael’s walk was a casual saunter, as if he had all the time in the world. This time, it was a pure strut.

  The fire chief laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “When this young man saw the smoke, he dialed 9-1-1. Thanks to him, what could have been a major forest fire was just a small blaze. Well done, son.”

  Michael puffed out his chest. “Just being a responsible citizen, sir.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Jeff whispered as applause echoed through the room.

  Todd pointed at the stage. “Oh, no!” He started choking with laughter. “I — I think he’s going to give a speech!”

  Sure enough, Michael was holding up his hands for silence. “Men,” he said when everyone’s eyes were upon him, “I hope this won’t make any of you treat me any differently. Of course,” he added, “if it weren’t for me, the tournament would probably be canceled because everything would be burned to the ground!” He put a hand on his heart. “But I’m still the same guy you’ve always known.”

  “Too bad,” Todd commented to Jeff’s amusement.

  The firefighter took back the microphone. “I have one other announcement. We are launching an investigation into the cause of the fire. Anyone who has any information should contact us, your coaches, or the tournament director immediately.” He paused, as if waiting for someone to step forward.

  At that moment, Garry saw Scottie staring at him. His heart started to thump furiously. Would Scottie stand and tell everyone that he had found matches in Garry’s sweatshirt pocket?

  But Scottie stayed in his seat, only rising when the fire chief dismissed them to their cabins. Garry tried to find him in the crowd. But the goalkeeper had disappeared.

  10

  Sleep didn’t come easily to Garry that night.

  It’s all Michael’s fault, he thought as he tossed and turned. That fire wouldn’t have started if he hadn’t humiliated me in the mess hall! Scottie shares the blame too. If he hadn’t yelled, I wouldn’t have dropped that match!

  But even as these thoughts raced through his mind, he knew they weren’t true. No one had forced him to light those matches. He had done that, even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea.

  That’s when he knew what he had to do. He had to confess.

  He rolled over and checked his watch. It was after midnight, too late to go to the coach.

  I’ll tell him everything first thing in the morning. I’ll probably get booted out of the tournament, maybe even off the team, but that’s no one’s fault but my own.

  Then he rolled back over and finally fell into a deep slumber. In fact, he slept so soundly that he didn’t wake until the breakfast bell sounded. Groggy, he stumbled out of his bunk, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and hurried to the mess hall, intending to find Coach Hasbrouck and tell him what happened.

  Unfortunately, the coach was sitting at a table with all the other coaches. From the expressions on their faces, they seemed to be having a very serious discussion. One look at them, and Garry lost his nerve.

  After breakfast, he told himself.

  But when the meal ended, there wasn’t time to talk to the coach, because the Rockets were playing in the first game of the day. Garry had no choice but to hurry back to his cabin, get into uniform, and report to the field with his brother and Jeff.

  I have to put the fire and Scottie out of my mind, he thought.

  But that wasn’t going to be easy. The Rockets were playing the Thunder — which meant he was going to be facing Scottie all morning!

  Sure enough, as he passed by the Thunders bench, he saw Scottie. The goalkeeper was sitting with his head bowed, his arms resting on his legs. Garry wanted to tell him that he intended to tell his coach what had happened. But then Scottie looked up and gave him a blank stare. Once again, Garry lost his nerve.

  “Okay, Rockets, onto the field for warmups!” Coach Hasbrouck called.

  After their running and stretching exercises, it was time to play. As usual, Garry, Michael, and Conor made up the attacking lineup. Behind them were middies Evan, Jeff, and Samuel. Carl, Eric, and Brandon were on defense, with Christopher in the goal. Todd, Pedro, and Andrew sat on the bench, ready to bring fresh energy to the field when needed.

  Garry bounced on his toes in the wing area as the Thunder players took up their positions for the face-off. Opposite Michael at the center X was a ferocious-looking Thunder attacker.

  The referee placed the ball between the two, stepped back, and blew his whistle.

  Michael instantly flipped his stick head over the ball and raked the rubber sphere between his legs. The Thunder attacker tried to dig it free but Michael scooped it up and twisted away to begin a run down the field.

  Garry exploded out of the wing area to race parallel with Michael. He called for a pass, but Michael seemed determined to make this first goal attempt a one-man show. He dodged, feinted, and twirled down the field, cradling the ball up high.

  Then he got in trouble. A defenseman leaped out and poke-checked the shaft
of his stick. Some players would have lost the ball then, but not Michael. When the jab popped the ball free, he swooped his stick down, pocket opening skyward, and reclaimed it! Two steps more and he was just outside the crease.

  Garry ran forward to offer backup just as Scottie came out of the goal to face Michael.

  Swish! Down came Michael’s stick.

  Zoom! The ball streaked on a line toward the net. Then —

  Thwap! Scottie lunged sideways and nabbed it!

  The amazing save left Michael staring dumbfounded for more than a second. By the time he recovered his wits, the ball was halfway down the field. Two minutes later, the Thunder had pushed it past Christopher and into the goal.

  Garry knew he should be disappointed that Michael hadn’t scored, but he couldn’t help feeling his teammate had gotten what he deserved. Lacrosse was a team sport, after all. Maybe if Michael had passed the ball to Garry or another Rocket, the score would be Rockets 1, Thunder 0, instead of the other way around.

  Besides, Scottie deserved credit for the spectacular save. And it wasn’t the only one he made the first quarter. By the time fifteen minutes had passed, he had only let three balls past him into the net. Garry had thrown one of those balls, Conor another, and Jeff had sent in the third after receiving an unexpected pass from Evan.

  Unfortunately for the Rockets, the Thunder had chalked up five goals during that same quarter. During the short break, Coach Hasbrouck took Christopher aside and spoke to him in a low voice. Whatever the coach had said seemed to make a difference, for in the second quarter, the Rockets goalkeeper allowed the Thunder to score only two goals. The Rockets, meanwhile, slashed in four to tie things up, with Garry scoring two and Jeff and Michael one each.

  Garry was surprised. He had always contributed his share of goals, but it was usually Michael who netted the most per game. But he now had four and Michael only one! He couldn’t help wonder what was making the difference.

  Michael, it turned out, had been wondering the same thing — and he let Garry know what he thought.

  “Your buddy in the goal sure seems to be giving you a break,” he growled.