Suspended by Robert Rayner Page A

Magic and Brandon hurried in behind him.
    â€œSorry we’re late,” said Magic. “We didn’t hear the bell.”
    â€œYou each get a demerit for being late,” said Mr. Justason.
    â€œBut we’ve never been late before.”
    â€œAnd I don’t expect you ever to be late again. What about you, Brandon. Would you like to apologize, too?”
    Of course Brandon said nothing.
    â€œI repeat — would you like to apologize?”
    Either he’d forgotten that Brandon never spoke, or he hadn’t learned that yet in the few weeks he’d been at our school.
    â€œVery well,” Mr. Justason said. “You receive two demerits — one for being late and one for refusing to apologize.”
    â€œBrandon doesn’t speak,” Magic explained.
    â€œHe should have told me,” Mr. Justason snapped.
    Julie, Toby and I burst out laughing. Then we realized he hadn’t meant it as a joke.
    â€œThat’s stupid,” said Magic.
    He put his hands in his pockets and stared at Mr. Justason. At that instant I understood he was like me. He didn’t like to break the rules — but once he started, he couldn’t stop.
    â€œThat gets you another demerit,” Mr. Justason roared.
    Magic scowled and he and Brandon sauntered to their seats.
    Between classes, I said to Magic, “Too bad about soccer. Do you want to play with the Wanderers?”
    â€œThe Wanderers?”
    I told them about playing secretly at the Cemetery Road.
    â€œI’m in,” said Magic.
    And Brandon nodded too.
    Ice got off the bus from the high school as we were walking past the Main Street Convenience on the way home.
    â€œThe Westfield Ridge coach called this morning in French class,” he said.
    â€œYou answered your cellphone during French?” I said incredulously.
    â€œSure,” said Ice. “I told Mme. LaPointe, ‘Je doit repond, s’il vous plait, Madame.’ And she said, ‘Bien, Ice.’ Please take your call outside.’ Anyway, the game’s next week. I suppose you’d like me to arrange transport again.”
    â€œYes, please. We’ll have a full team,” I said. “Magic and Brandon are playing.”
    â€œThat means I won’t have to think of any fancy tactics. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
    * * *
    We met on the Cemetery Road, and later found Ice and Grease listening to the van idle. Ice wore a soccer shirt under his trench coat.
    â€œWhere did you get that?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “I found it in my closet. I thought I might as well look the part.”
    Then I noticed that the van had Cemetery Road Wanderers painted on both sides.
    â€œHow much do we owe for having our name painted on the van?” I worried.
    Grease grunted and shook his head.
    Ice said, “It’s all part of the service.”
    Most of the people from Westfield Ridge work in the city, so it was quiet as we drove along. The town looked nice enough — lots of malls, subdivisions and golf clubs where you have to wear the right clothes. Grease found a parking spot, then stood with Ice to watch the game.
    Ice was right. It was an easy game. Fifteen minutes after the start we scored our first goal. Julie robbed one of the Westfield Ridge forwards of the ball and slipped it to me. I kept it while I surveyed the field. A few seconds earlier Magic had been helping defend. Now, from the corner of my eye, I saw him drifting unhurriedly through the Westfield Ridge midfield and defence into a space on the left touchline. I swept the ball out to the wing, where Magic was already moving toward the goal. The defenders rushed to cut him off. He waited until they were close to him before pushing the ball to Brandon, whose shot was in the net before the goalkeeper could move.
    We scored again when Toby cleared the ball out to the wing, where Jillian raced the length of the pitch with it before cutting the ball back to Brandon, who