the Cougars cursing me in the distance.
–
Actually, on Jupiter we all play nicely.
I shut my mouth and tried to concentrate on soccer. But it didn’t matter about my mouth. I couldn’t shut Norbert up. He kept making fun of the Cougars: their hair, their clothes, even their earrings and tattoos.
–
Who’s that supposed to be?
he shouted at Gary, who has an eagle on his forearm, just below the elbow. Actually it doesn’t look bad; somewhere between cool and repulsive. “Cost two hundred dollars,” he boasted, and it might have.
–
It looks like Donald Duck!
Norbert shouted.
Victor grabbed my arm. “Shut up,” he whispered. “Stop insulting the Cougars. They’ll kill you!”
“I’m not doing it,” I said. “It’s Norbert.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe he was right, but I caught an admiring glance from Miranda. “My hero!” the glance seemed to say. “My knight in armor! My champion!” She passed me the ball.
“Kick it downfield, Squeaky!” she called.
My Squeaky. Oh well. I kicked the ball as hard as I could.
The Cougars didn’t know what to think. They were sure it was me – which is what I was afraid of, and why I spent a lot of time near the referee – but, well, when Norbert talks my lips don’t move. It’s like I’m a ventriloquist, only of course I’m not in charge. I can’t make Norbert say what I want. You’d be closer to the truth if you said I was the dummy.
“You wait, Dingwall,” said Mary. “I’ll see you after school!”
I shivered with fear, and tried to tell her I was sorry and that it wasn’t my fault, but Norbert made a whistling noise.
–
I’ll wear a carnation
, he said. –
Just remember, I don’t kiss on the first date!
Even Larry laughed at that. Like I said, he’s not a realbully. I stared at Miranda helplessly. She was laughing. “Way to tell her, Squeaky!” she called.
The game was deteriorating – a lot of pushing the ball back and forth in the center area. I didn’t mind. It was easy to keep close to Mr. Stern. Every now and then we’d work the ball to Miranda, and she’d boot it down the field a long way, and all the Cougars would chase after it.
Mr. Stern blew his whistle. “Last minute of play!” he called, looking at his watch. I dodged out of Prudence’s way – not the first time I’d had to do this. She’d been following me for most of the half, like a bloodhound on the trail of an escaping convict. Norbert’s insults were rattling her team. They were rattling her. His plan was working: the Cougars were playing badly. I was scared. I knew she’d get me sometime. For now I tried to keep her and Mr. Stern in my sight. She tried a blind-sided tackle while he was looking at his watch, but I edged away just in the nick of time.
Speaking of Nick, he was standing still, watching Gary and the ball get closer and closer. He might have been a bird watching a snake. I ran up to help.
–
Pussycats!
Norbert yelled at the top of his lungs. –
You’re not Cougars at all! You’re just little kitties!
Gary got so mad he stopped dribbling – that’s what he was doing – and shouted back. “Well, you’re not a Commodore, you’re just …” and then he stopped, because he couldn’t think of an appropriate insult. Mr. Stern laughed so hard his whistle fell out of his mouth. Good name, Commodores.
Meanwhile, Nick darted forward, took the ball away from Gary, and booted it down the field. Gary pushed Nick down, and we all raced after the ball. Guess who was there first? Not me. Not Gary. Not Prudence … she was right behind me. Not Nick, of course … he was on the ground. Not Mary … she was second. The first person on the ball was Miranda. She must have started running even before Nick kicked it. Anticipation, they call it – a very useful quality. The ball was in the corner. Miranda couldn’t dribble it anywhere with her bad ankle, so she waited until the rest of us got downfield, and then booted it right in
–
Actually, on Jupiter we all play nicely.
I shut my mouth and tried to concentrate on soccer. But it didn’t matter about my mouth. I couldn’t shut Norbert up. He kept making fun of the Cougars: their hair, their clothes, even their earrings and tattoos.
–
Who’s that supposed to be?
he shouted at Gary, who has an eagle on his forearm, just below the elbow. Actually it doesn’t look bad; somewhere between cool and repulsive. “Cost two hundred dollars,” he boasted, and it might have.
–
It looks like Donald Duck!
Norbert shouted.
Victor grabbed my arm. “Shut up,” he whispered. “Stop insulting the Cougars. They’ll kill you!”
“I’m not doing it,” I said. “It’s Norbert.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe he was right, but I caught an admiring glance from Miranda. “My hero!” the glance seemed to say. “My knight in armor! My champion!” She passed me the ball.
“Kick it downfield, Squeaky!” she called.
My Squeaky. Oh well. I kicked the ball as hard as I could.
The Cougars didn’t know what to think. They were sure it was me – which is what I was afraid of, and why I spent a lot of time near the referee – but, well, when Norbert talks my lips don’t move. It’s like I’m a ventriloquist, only of course I’m not in charge. I can’t make Norbert say what I want. You’d be closer to the truth if you said I was the dummy.
“You wait, Dingwall,” said Mary. “I’ll see you after school!”
I shivered with fear, and tried to tell her I was sorry and that it wasn’t my fault, but Norbert made a whistling noise.
–
I’ll wear a carnation
, he said. –
Just remember, I don’t kiss on the first date!
Even Larry laughed at that. Like I said, he’s not a realbully. I stared at Miranda helplessly. She was laughing. “Way to tell her, Squeaky!” she called.
The game was deteriorating – a lot of pushing the ball back and forth in the center area. I didn’t mind. It was easy to keep close to Mr. Stern. Every now and then we’d work the ball to Miranda, and she’d boot it down the field a long way, and all the Cougars would chase after it.
Mr. Stern blew his whistle. “Last minute of play!” he called, looking at his watch. I dodged out of Prudence’s way – not the first time I’d had to do this. She’d been following me for most of the half, like a bloodhound on the trail of an escaping convict. Norbert’s insults were rattling her team. They were rattling her. His plan was working: the Cougars were playing badly. I was scared. I knew she’d get me sometime. For now I tried to keep her and Mr. Stern in my sight. She tried a blind-sided tackle while he was looking at his watch, but I edged away just in the nick of time.
Speaking of Nick, he was standing still, watching Gary and the ball get closer and closer. He might have been a bird watching a snake. I ran up to help.
–
Pussycats!
Norbert yelled at the top of his lungs. –
You’re not Cougars at all! You’re just little kitties!
Gary got so mad he stopped dribbling – that’s what he was doing – and shouted back. “Well, you’re not a Commodore, you’re just …” and then he stopped, because he couldn’t think of an appropriate insult. Mr. Stern laughed so hard his whistle fell out of his mouth. Good name, Commodores.
Meanwhile, Nick darted forward, took the ball away from Gary, and booted it down the field. Gary pushed Nick down, and we all raced after the ball. Guess who was there first? Not me. Not Gary. Not Prudence … she was right behind me. Not Nick, of course … he was on the ground. Not Mary … she was second. The first person on the ball was Miranda. She must have started running even before Nick kicked it. Anticipation, they call it – a very useful quality. The ball was in the corner. Miranda couldn’t dribble it anywhere with her bad ankle, so she waited until the rest of us got downfield, and then booted it right in
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