Suspended by Robert Rayner

opponents looked relieved that we were about to play a normal game. Number 5 kicked off with a flourish, making a show of passing behind him before spinning around to run upfield. He stopped and gaped when he saw us racing back into our line. He and another guy passed the ball casually between them, as if they were playing a game of monkey in the middle with me. I watched a few passes go back and forth, then leaped forward and intercepted the ball. When I looped the ball high over the Keswick players, it landed in front of Julie, who collected it just before she crossed the halfway line.
    â€œGo, darling!” Ice shouted.
    Julie ran around the goalkeeper and tapped the ball into the net. She turned, arms high, grinning.
    The Keswick Narrows coach shouted, “No goal. Offside.”
    The referee hesitated, blew his whistle, and echoed, “Offside!”
    â€œI think not,” called Ice. He strode onto the pitch, his open trench coat flapping behind him. He plucked a tattered book from his pocket. “Take a look at the rules. A player can’t be offside in his or her own side of the field,” he said, planting his finger on the page.
    The referee read and announced, “You’re right. Goal — I guess.”
    For the next ten minutes, Keswick Narrows attacked our line ferociously, but we held firm. Then, they seemed to grow dispirited. It was a boring way to play, I’ll admit. Their attacks were half-hearted, so we held onto our lead until the game ended.
    The Wanderers had won their first league encounter.
    We had to be careful the following week at school to keep the Wanderers a secret, despite our excitement at winning.
    Toby ran into the classroom on Monday morning. “Great win!” he said breathlessly.
    When I looked at him sharply he added quickly, “I mean the hockey game on TV last night.”
    As we left French class, Julie asked anxiously, “Do you think we can use that tactic again?”
    Ms. Watkins overheard. “What tactic would that be?” she asked.
    I made up some story that Julie had discovered a good chess move the night before.
    Outside, in a whisper, I answered Julie’s question. “We won’t get away with a stunt like that again. We need goals in soccer or we’re going to get badly beaten.”

10
Winners
    Magic and Brandon always did their work — well. They were serious, A students.
    Brandon was more than quiet. He was totally silent. He hadn’t spoken since kindergarten. No one knew why as far as I know. He never answered questions or took part in class discussions; he never got in trouble for talking, or using bad language, or being loud. His mission in life seemed to be to make himself invisible. In addition to never speaking, he never looked at you. His hair was dull yellow, as if the sun had bleached out all the colour, and his complexion was so pale you expected to see the face bones underneath. Despite his slight build, he was a star striker, with a mighty shot.
    Magic, with his round eyes and round nose, looked a bit like a monkey. We called him ‘Magic’ because of the way he ghosted into scoring positions in soccer, and got straight A’s in school without seeming to study. Whenever someone asked him how he got them, he’d shrug and say something like, “I was just lucky.”
    At recess a few days after the game with Keswick Narrows, Magic and Brandon sat beside the dumpster, as usual, hidden from the playground. Both had headphones in their ears and were writing in exercise books balanced on their knees. Every now and then one would lean over and point to the other’s work. After recess, while we waited in social studies class for Mr. Justason, I realised Magic and Brandon hadn’t returned to class.
    I whispered to Julie, “I’ll bet they couldn’t hear the bell because of their headphones. I’ll get them.”
    Just as I stood, Mr. Justason swept into the room.