Read Online Defending Irene by Kristin Wolden; Nitz - Free Book Online Page A

asked instead of ordered. But instead of calling “Why?” or “No!” Luigi joined us, his eyes bright with curiosity.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œI need you in the goal. We’re playing soccer.”
    Luigi crossed his arms, thrust out his lower lip and complained, “But mister , I am always in the goal.”
    â€œPoor Luigi,” Giulia said, playing along with his imitation of a whiny first grader. “You can change with me after five minutes.”
    â€œOkay,” Luigi said. His expression suddenly looked very much like my brother Max when he managed to get his own way.
    I turned back to my questioner. “Find a ball and meet us at the basketball court.”
    We had finished setting up a pair of goals inside the rusting chain link fence when our opponents arrived.
    â€œCiao, ragazze!” one of them shouted.
    An insult. Luigi’s face stayed blank even though the e on the end of ragazze labeled him as one of the girls. With thousands of girls and one boy, it would still be appropriate to use the masculine form and say ragazzi .
    â€œGiulia, I forget. When did those idiots quit playing soccer?” he asked in a low voice. It was the same voice his father had used to speak to Davide about arriving late to practice.
    â€œOh, four or five years ago.”
    â€œVery good. Very, very good,” Luigi said with an evil smile.
    So what happened? The three of us rocked! We cleaned the court with them. As I raced up and down, I thought about how wonderful it would be to stomp Matteo in the same way. Once. Just once. He would need some kind of handicap, though. A bad cold? A twisted ankle? A mild case of salmonella poisoning from a slice of tiramisu pastry that had been left out on the counter too long?
    A small but growing audience cheered every goal we scored. Or, to be more precise, they taunted our opponents for every ball we put past them. I recognized the difference. Ten minutes into this shellacking, some of the ragazzi who had been hanging on the outside of the chain link fence had either grown tired of our opponents’ performance—or taken pity on them—and asked if they could play too.
    â€œWhat do you think, Alessandro?” I asked. That was the name of the boy who had asked me if I really played soccer. I had learned his name while he and the rest of his friends yelled at each other about improving their defense.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he muttered, shrugging. He turned away, his lips a thin line. Giulia and I had probably hurt his and his friends’ poor masculine feelings. Well, so be it. It was worth the trouble. I probably wouldn’t have liked him anyway. At least this demonstration would put an end to the questions about whether or not I could really play.
    And Giulia! Her performance made me wonder again exactly why she had quit. Maybe she wouldn’t have made it into the Terza Categoria , the 16-years-and-up traveling team. But she could have lasted easily through this year and maybe the next one. It was true that male hormones were already at work, giving the guys an unfair advantage. But the honor of being the first girl in town to wear an Esordienti uniform should have belonged to her. Instead, on Saturday, it would be mine.

9
In difesa (een de-FAY-za)
On Defense
    â€œIrene!” the mister snapped.
    â€œHere I am,” I said. I felt a rush of energy. A light breeze made the soft, smooth, almost slippery fabric of my game uniform flutter against me.
    â€œStay by me, Irene,” the mister said, his eyes still locked on the game. “At the beginning of the second period, I must put you in the game for Giuseppe. You will be terzino …or terzina ?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. In any case, it is the same. You will be a wing on defense. Understand?”
    â€œSí.”
    â€œIf a player gets past you, do not chase him. Run to the nearest goalpost and you will find yourself between him and