Read Online Suspended by Robert Rayner - Free Book Online

pound you.”
    Brian obeyed, while I sighed with relief.
    * * *
    On Saturday morning, I was delivering flowers for Grandad, when Ice appeared at the end of Main Street Parallel. He’d received a call from the St. Croix coach asking when his team could play the Wanderers.
    I knew we’d be recognized by St. Croix, then word would get back and it would all be over.
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œI said we were writing exams so the game would have to wait until next week.”
    â€œShouldn’t we play Bethel Station first? At least we can get that game in before we’re discovered.”
    â€œDone,” said Ice. “You’re playing them on Monday.”
    Grease drove us fifty kilometres north of Brunswick Valley into a desolate area interspersed with scrubby fields. Bethel Station Regional was on an empty stretch of road with no nearby communities.
    I thought we’d be safe playing so far away from home, but the first person I saw was Floyd Wheeler, who used to go to St. Croix.
    â€œWhat’s he doing here?” I muttered to Julie.
    â€œHis parents split up,” she explained. “His mom lives here, but his dad’s still in St. Croix.”
    I groaned. “He’ll tell all his friends in St. Croix about us.”
    â€œGrease will keep him quiet,” Ice offered. “He’s good at that. Just say the word.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” I said quickly. “We’ll take our chances. Let’s call the St. Croix coach back and arrange the game sooner — before word gets around.”
    As soon as we took the field, Floyd Wheeler trotted over, a smirk on his face.
    â€œHaven’t I seen you somewhere before?” he said sarcastically.
    No answer.
    â€œI thought you guys played for Brunswick Valley,” Floyd persisted.
    I still didn’t answer.
    He looked around at the rest of our team. “You are Brunswick Valley. You dropped out of the league. What’s going on?”
    â€œSame team, different name,” I said. “So what?”
    â€œSo does the league know you’re the same team?” Floyd threatened. “You haven’t played my old school yet, have you? I’ll be in St. Croix this weekend. They’ll be interested to hear that ‘Cemetery Road’ is actually Brunswick Valley.”
    We knew Floyd from past games. He was a rough, tough defender who liked to intimidate his opponents. He was bigger than any of us — older, too. He had repeated a grade along the way and was old enough to be in high school. Brandon in particular had been on the receiving end of Floyd’s attentions in earlier games, and was already eyeing him nervously as we took our positions to start.
    Floyd pointed at Magic and instructed two of his defenders, “Stay with him all the time. Even when he’s nowhere near the ball, stay on him.” He looked at Brandon. “I’ll take care of my little friend here.”
    Ten minutes into the game Floyd crashed into Brandon from behind, sending him sprawling on his face.
    He leaned over as if to pull Brandon to his feet. I could see Floyd’s fingers turn white with the force of his grip on Brandon’s arm.
    Ice made his way onto the pitch. He motioned for Grease, too. Grease was wearing his usual camouflage pants and boots and yellow muscle shirt, and he’d just had his strip of hair coloured purple instead of green.
    The Bethel Station coach called, “Wait. What … Who’s this?”
    â€œHe’s our trainer,” said Ice. “Don’t forget your first aid kit, Mr. Trainer.”
    Grease returned to the van, brought out a black box and knelt beside Brandon. He reached into his first aid kit — it was plastic with “Mastercraft” written on the side — and produced a wrench. Brandon sat up.
    Grease tapped Brandon’s knees with the wrench, looked up at Ice and the referee, and gave a thumbs up.
    â€œHe says