Fast Break by Mike Lupica Page A

basketball practice.”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œFive.”
    She reached into her pocket, whipped out her phone, and checked the time. “It’s only four forty. Plenty of time for us to get this done.”
    â€œSo it’s on?”
    â€œ
Soooo
on,” Zoe Montgomery said.
    They walked back toward the main soccer field, the one Zoe said both the boys and girls used for games.
    â€œBefore we start we need to make a bet,” Zoe said. “Just something to make things interesting. You’re going to get a free shot at me in goal. You can put the ball on that line in front of the goal, ten yards away, like they do with a real penalty kick. Or if you want, you can do it like they do in hockey, and dribble in on me and try to beat me head on.”
    â€œHow close can I get?”
    â€œClose as you want.”
    â€œAnd what’s the bet?”
    â€œIf you score, I show up for your first basketball game and wear a basketball jersey,” she said. “But if you
don’t
score on me, you have to come to my next soccer game and stand behind our bench wearing a soccer jersey.”
    â€œI think I’m getting set up,” Jayson said. “Do I at least get to warm up?”
    â€œAs much as you need,” Zoe said. “But remember, no hands this time.”
    She had some
snap
to her. He had to give her that.
    Jayson and Zoe went out onto the field. All he kept thinking about was how he couldn’t believe he’d let himself get sucked into this, but now that he had, he didn’t want to embarrass himself, again, in front of Zoe.
    He practiced dribbling the ball, making sure he could control it once he started running, not getting the ball too far in front of him, telling himself to pretend that he was just passing it to himself.
    Then he went over near the goal, and practiced taking some shots, knowing he was going to go with his stronger leg, his right one, when it was time to shoot. He hadn’t watched a whole lot of soccer, but he’d watched enough to know that they came at the ball the way placekickers did in football, from the side, planting their left foot—if they were kicking with their right—then swinging their leg through, sidewinder style.
    He missed the goal with his first couple of kicks, but then started to get the hang of it, burying the next four in a row, two in the right corner, two in the left.
    Like he was knocking down open jumpers.
    â€œGood to go,” he said to Zoe.
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œLet’s do this,” Jayson said.
    â€œYou want to place the ball on the line, or dribble toward the goal to shoot?”
    If he wanted this to feel at least a little bit like basketball, he wanted to be moving.
    â€œI want to dribble in.”
    â€œGo back as far as you want,” Zoe said.
    He moved back about thirty yards or so, to her right, planning to get to the middle of the field, about the place where you’d take a penalty shot, and then let the shot go.
    His plan was to make her commit to defending one side first, and then he’d fire one into the part of the net she left open.
    If he could outthink defenders on a basketball court, he could certainly do that with a soccer girl.
    â€œReady,” she called out to him.
    â€œReady.”
    She put two fingers in her mouth and let out an amazing whistle.
    Jayson started off slowly, pushing the ball ahead of him with his right foot, then his left, picking up speed, closing in on her, his eyes on that chalk line ten yards in front of her.
    He could dribble a basketball without looking at it, and found himself able to do that now with this soccer ball. But as he got close to the line, he wasn’t taking any chances, knowing exactly where he wanted to stop, knowing he needed to keep his eye on the ball when he was ready to plant and shoot.
    That was why he never saw Zoe coming out of the goal likea streak flashing by, kicking the ball away from him just as