Free Tangerine by Edward Bloor

just going to say it and get on with my life.
    I was standing in the goal at soccer practice taking shots from some of the starting players, mostly eighth graders. They've all picked up on what the kid in the gray sweatshirt said about my goggles. They all call me Mars. That's OK with me. I've been called worse. What's important is that I'm a player, and they all recognize that. I'm their starting goalie, right?
    So I was standing in the goal, wearing the red pullover goalie shirt, handling some pretty easy shots. Gino was over on the sideline talking to Coach Walski. I saw them kind of looking at me, and then Gino came running over and yelled, "Hey, Mars! Is your name Paul Fisher?"
    "Yeah."
    "Coach wants to see you."
    "All right." I figured this was it. This was going to make it all official. The coach was going to tell me how impressed he has been by my play in goal, and so on. I hustled over to the sideline. "Coach Walski? You wanted to see me?"
    "Are you Paul Fisher?"
    "Yes, sir."
    He looked at his clipboard and flipped through some pages until he found a memo. "Uh, Paul, you have an IEP. Is that correct?"
    "Yes, sir."
    Coach Walski looked pained. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Paul, but you're not eligible for the program."
    "Sir?"
    "You can't play. You can't play soccer for Lake Windsor Middle School."
    "What are you talking about—'can't play'? I can play! I'm one of the best players here!"
    "No. No, I mean you're not eligible to play. I have a memo from Mr. Murrow saying that you're in a special program for the visually handicapped. Is that right?"
    "So what? I can see fine!"
    "That's not the point."
    "I don't understand what you're talking about."
    "We have to carry insurance on every boy and girl in the program or we can't play. Period. If we lose our insurance, we lose our program. I'm sorry, but there's no way we can justify putting a visually handicapped student in the goal, of all places, where he could get his head kicked in." He looked at me like I was crazy to think otherwise. Then he added, "Come on now."
    I screamed, "No, you come on now! You see if you can kick my head in! You see if you or anybody else here can get one ball past me—one ball!"
    Coach Walski pulled back. He changed his tone. "Paul, I'm sorry. I know you're upset. I know you're disappointed. But try to understand this. It'd be the same situation if you had a heart murmur, or a hernia, or whatever. I have to play it straight with the insurance company. If any kid has any physical problem, I have to report it. And I know that this condition of yours will not be acceptable to the insurance company. Again, I'm sorry."
    He got even sorrier a few seconds later. I still can't believe what I did. I knelt down on that sideline, took off my sports goggles, and started to cry. I didn't say another word. I just put my head down and cried and sobbed.
    Coach Walski was as much at a loss as I was. Neither of us knew what to do next. He just stood there and watched me. I heard him call an assistant over and tell him to organize a scrimmage. Coach Walski stood a little off to the side and waited. I finally stopped. I wiped my face with my goalie shirt, put my goggles back on, and walked from the field to the parking lot.
    I stood in the bus shelter until five, when Mom pulled up in the station wagon. Dad was right behind her in the Range Rover. Mom rolled down the passenger-side window. "What are you doing here? Are you all right?"
    "I got kicked off the team."
    "What? What happened?"
    "Coach Walski said I'm in a program for the handicapped so I'm off the team."
    "That's ... that's outrageous! He can't do that."
    "Well, he just did it. He said they can't get insurance for me because I'm in a handicapped program. You know all about that. Right, Mom?"
    "Me? What do you mean?"
    "You told them I'm handicapped! You told them I'm visually impaired!"
    "Darling, you are. I just told them the truth."
    "That's not the truth. I can see! Don't you know that? Why did you