Читать книгу The Creator's Game - Art Coulson - Страница 7

Travis looked down at the grass and tried to hide his red cheeks and ears as his teammates ran down the field toward the goal. He hated lacrosse practice. In fact, he hated lacrosse. He didn’t know why Mom and Grandma insisted that he play the stupid game anyway.

“Skinaway, you’re a midfielder! Run up the field when we have the ball. Give your teammates someone to throw to. C’mon, hustle!” Coach Deeley, a tall man with a red face and unruly hair the color of dry straw, was always yelling at Travis.

Travis, a sixth grader and beginning lacrosse player, shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes and jogged down the uneven field. As Travis approached the goal, Tommy Fiorella threw the hard rubber ball at him. Before Travis could get his stick up to catch it, the ball bounced off his face mask and hit the turf.

Coach Deeley kicked the turf and blew his whistle. “That’s it, boys. Practice is over.”

“See, Tommy, I told you the klutz couldn’t catch it,” yelled Barry Amos as he ran for the sideline. Travis hated it when the boys made fun of his awkwardness. He shoved his gloves, pads, and helmet into his small gym bag and trudged to his grandma’s car, idling loudly in the school parking lot.