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

the goal. Okay?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWatch well the Lana player Number 44. He is very fast. If he is in your area, mark him. Stay with him. If it is safe and appropriate, do not hesitate to kick a ball back to Luigi. Don’t worry yourself. He can stop any pass from you.”
    â€œWithout a doubt,” I said. For the first time, the mister ’ s eyes left the game and focused on me. The left corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile, giving his face an expression that I could not read.
    My stomach lurched. Had I been disrespectful? Or did he think I had complimented Luigi to get on his good side?
    â€œWithout a doubt,” he echoed. The barest hint of smile defrosted the other side of his face. “All right, Irene. Watch and wait.”
    I nodded. Watching and waiting had been my job, and I was becoming very good at it. My legs and arms had stopped demanding “Put us in! Put us in!” when I stood on the sidelines. It was an adjustment, though—one of the many that I had made that week.
    At the beginning of the second period, I trotted onto the field with my hair braided tightly against my head. It seemed less conspicuous than a ponytail. I had thought seriously about having it all cut off, so I would blend in more with my teammates.
    â€œ Forza , Irene!” Giulia cheered from the stands. “Come on, get tough!”
    Werner, a tall, solid boy with light brown hair, smiled at me as we ran onto the field together. “Listen to me and Manuel. We will tell you what to do.”
    Werner usually played in the middle of the defensive line. There he was allowed to dash into our opponents’ territory, break up a play, and go deep into their penalty area for a corner kick. As the tallest player on the field, he had a chance to head the ball into the goal. It had taken me a few practices to figure out that Werner was part of the local German-speaking population. He usually didn’t say much to me beyond “Go forward” or “Come back,” and when he did, it was without an accent.
    I didn’t have much to do at first. Werner, Manuel (the other wing), and the midfielders kept knocking the ball down to Matteo and Emi. Since most players tend to drive toward their right, I knew that Manuel and Werner would see most of the action. There was no better place to put a weak player than where I stood.
    So I watched the red uniforms from Lana work against my Merano teammates in blue, adjusting my position every time things moved in my direction. I tried not to wish that the ball would head toward our goal. That wouldn’t be good for the team. Still, it was only a matter of time before someone decided to test me: the girl, the tempting target. Maybe I should have worn the ponytail.
    Finally, trouble arrived. With a beautiful fake, Number 44, the player the mister had warned me about, drove past Manuel.
    â€œDai, Mendichela, dai!” his coach shouted.
    Werner rushed to cut him off, and I sprinted back into the penalty area to help.
    Thirty feet from the goal, Number 44 dropped his eyes and shot the ball. Luigi batted it away with two hands.
    Like any good player, Mendichela followed his shot in, looking for another chance if the first one failed. He and I raced to the ball. I heard footsteps behind us. My teammates or his? It didn’t matter. Not yet anyway.
    This sprint felt like that drill I had done against Davide at the second practice. The first person to reach the ball would be on offense. I had one or two steps on Mendichela. I reached the ball first and kicked it straight at the goal.
    A gasp of surprise went up. My stomach dropped. Was my aim off? Was it too hard? No. The ball sailed right to Luigi. He caught it and wrapped his arms around it.
    He took only a second to scan the field before racing to the right hand in order to punt the ball. The low, hard kick made the other team scramble back on defense.
    â€œSo, trying to score on me, Irene?” Luigi