Free Defending Irene by Kristin Wolden; Nitz Page A

a time-out for you?”
    â€œWhere’s the ball?”
    â€œFar away, or I would not be here.”
    â€œI’ll be okay. Only a second.”
    â€œBrava.” His fingers tightened briefly on my shoulder.
    I lurched to my feet and made it back to my area with about twenty seconds to spare before the next attack. One of Lana’s forwards dribbled the ball up the sideline on Giuseppe’s side of the field.
    â€œPut it out! Put it out!” our mister roared. Mendichela and another forward were waiting in the center of the field for a crossing pass from their teammate.
    Giuseppe put it out. The whistle blew. With a sideways gallop, I made my way into the penalty area to join the fight for the ball. But the mister called me: “Irene, come here. Federico, you too.”
    Reluctantly I went.
    â€œEverything all right?” Werner asked as our paths crossed.
    â€œSí,” I said.
    â€œGut,” he said, switching to German. He sounded relieved.
    â€œHow do you feel, Irene?” the mister asked.
    â€œFine,” I said.
    â€œWell done, Irene. Bravo , Federico,” the mister said. Instead of taking us aside and commenting on our play, he was already looking past us to the action on the field.
    Federico was the one person who didn’t seem interested in my health. He stared right past me, as if I didn’t exist. Matteo had gotten to him. I was sure of it.
    Between a punt from Luigi and a header by Davide, the ball finally moved back down to our forwards. Emi and Matteo managed a few more shots on the other team’s goal before a long blast on the whistle signaled the end of the game. Another win.
    Federico pumped his fists in the air. He turned to me, his face bright with enthusiasm. His mouth opened to say something. Then it closed to a tight, horrified O when he realized his near mistake. He spun around.
    Mom and Dad waved from the stands. Dad’s wide smile told me that he would have a lot to say when I met him at home. Most of it positive.
    In the locker room, the mister distributed a few compliments and a lot of criticism. He was greatly disappointed by our lack of stamina. We did not pass well. We did not play our positions. He made his way around the circle for personal remarks, but skipped right over me. When he finished, I grabbed my blue backpack with our team name and sponsor stenciled on it and headed for the bathroom to change.
    Three people were standing in line when I came out. But they weren’t waiting to use the bathroom. They were waiting for me.
    â€œPoverina,” Matteo said softly. “How are you?”
    I glanced back over my shoulder, as if looking for the “poor little girl.” Then I stood up as straight as possible. Even though I had changed into tennis shoes and Matteo still wore his cleats, I was taller than he was.
    â€œTo whom are you speaking, Matteo?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “I fear it is too dangerous for you here. I saw how that ball knocked you to the ground. Poverina ,” he repeated. “And I heard what the mister said to you after the game.”
    â€œHe didn’t say anything.”
    â€œExactly.” Matteo smiled.
    â€œMaybe there is too much for you to remember here in Italy, Irene,” Giuseppe said. “If you are on defense, you must stay in your area.”
    Federico smirked from his spot behind Matteo. “Or did you forget you were on defense, Irene? You tried to score on Luigi.”
    â€œThat’s not true!” I shouted. A mistake. Now they knew they were getting to me. I kept my voice even. “I passed the ball to Luigi.”
    Matteo laughed. “Luigi said that the only time he was afraid during the game was when you “passed” him the ball.”
    â€œIt’s true,” Federico said. “I heard him say it.”
    Not Luigi too? For an instant, my brain froze. Fortunately, my mouth did the same thing. No, not Luigi. He had even told me