Murphy & Mousetrap by Sylvia Olsen Page B

goalie,” he said. “For such a little white guy.”
    â€œDon’t worry about him, cousin,” Jeff said. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
    Being called little white guy didn’t sound so bad, not this time.
    â€œWhy doesn’t he just go home where he belongs?” Albert sneered.
    â€œThis is his home,” Jeff replied. “And you’re an awesome forward. So why don’t you just let him be our goalie?”
    On the way home, the boys talked about the Easter weekend tournament.
    â€œSix weeks are all we got,” one of the big boys said. “Dad said he’s registered our team. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
    â€œI heard there’s gonna be ten teams or more,” Haywire said.
    When Murphy heard that the tournament was going to be held in the city, not far from his old apartment, he was excited. Mom would be excited too.
    â€œYou gotta be out tomorrow,” Jeff said as Murphy headed down Grandma’s driveway. “Uncle Rudy’ll want to see you. He’ll pick you for sure to be the keeper.”
    â€œSee ya tomorrow,” Murphy called out. He was beginning to like living on the reserve.
    He reached under the car and pulled Mousetrap up into his arms. Mousetrap was gray, and his feet were sandy and dirty. Murphy looked at his own hands. They were covered in thick mud, and spots of dirt weresplattered up his sleeves and all across his jacket. His legs were soaking wet, and his feet sloshed in his running shoes.
    Mom opened the door and stared at the grubby twosome. “Oh, my,” she said, laughing, “it looks like you two have had fun.”
    Murphy pulled off his shoes, and water sploshed across the floor. He changed his wet clothes, wiped up the mess and curled on the sofa next to Mom and Mousetrap. He told them about the game and about Albert and Levi’s plan to hurt him.
    â€œI had a plan too,” he explained. “GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE BALL.”
    â€œWhy?” Mom asked.
    â€œBecause then the boys would figure out I wasn’t a goalie, and they would pull me out of the game.”
    â€œThat’s not a good plan,” Mom said.
    â€œIt didn’t work anyway,” Murphy said. “When they kicked the ball at me I couldn’t move. I was too scared. And once I had loosened up I moved right in front of the shots.”
    â€œWow,” Mom said. “So it worked out in the end.”

    â€œI guess so,” he said. “I still can’t really believe it. They all think I’m a goalie.”
    Murphy was so proud that tears spurted down his still-grubby cheeks. “I saved Albert’s shot, Mom. And then I saved the next one and the next one.”
    Mom listened quietly while Murphy explained. Even Mousetrap was interested in his story.
    â€œI only missed two shots. Big Foot kicked them both. He was up so close I didn’t have a chance,” Murphy said. “I’ll figure it out. And get them next time.”

13
    Uncle Rudy was waiting at the field when Murphy and Jeff arrived the next day.
    â€œI’m going to sit right here and watch,” he said as the boys gathered around the bleachers. “I want you boys to play just like you do every day. Ignore me. Pretend I’m not here.”
    â€œHey, Uncle,” Albert said as he sauntered toward the bleachers. Did that mean Albert was Murphy’s cousin? Couldn’t be, Murphy thought. But then, like Mom said, all the kids were cousins.
    â€œYou playing shooter or keeper, nephew?” Uncle Rudy asked.
    â€œShooter,” Albert said. “We got a new keeper.”
    â€œReally?” Uncle Rudy looked surprised. “Who?”
    â€œMurphy,” Albert replied. Murphy stared at him. He almost sounded as if he was happy to be replaced in the net.
    â€œAnd he’s good too. Right, cousin?” Jeff added, slapping Albert on his back.
    Had Jeff talked to Albert?
    â€œYou mean