Iggy sets the ball down, steps back a few
more feet, and then surges forward. The ball
jumps off his foot. It goes high and bends to
the right. But Malcolm seems to know exactly
where it will go before it even leaves Iggy’s
foot, and he leaps up and easily plucks the ball
out of the air.
Iggy has been working on this shot all
summer, and Malcolm has been working on
stopping it. They’ve practiced nearly every day
together in the alley behind their houses.
“Put some power behind it,” Malcolm says
as he rolls the ball back. “That was pretty soft.”
“Just warming up.” This time, he kicks the
ball harder. It doesn’t bend or go high. It rockets
straight at Malcolm. The goalie barely gets his
hands up in time to knock the ball down.
“Better!” Malcolm grins and rolls the ball
back to Iggy. It’s the same grin that greeted
Iggy nearly ten years ago when he first moved
next door to Malcolm. Iggy was new to this
country, and his English wasn’t good, but he
understood Malcolm perfectly when his new
neighbor knocked on the door with a soccer
5
