Free Defending Irene by Kristin Wolden; Nitz Page B

that he was scared for a moment, but then he had thanked me. I had done the right thing. I had done what the mister told me to do. I took a deep breath, ready to tell them so.
    â€œ Ciao , Irene.” Giulia appeared at my side and tugged at my elbow. “Let’s go.”
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œCiao, ciao, ciuccio,” Giuseppe said.
    Bye, bye, baby pacifier? I stiffened. The ch sound, which started every syllable he spoke, landed on my ears like a series of slaps.
    â€œCiao, ciao, cucciola,” Matteo added.
    The different meanings of cucciola ran through my brain: kitty, puppy, little darling. This was definitely not a compliment.
    I was ready to turn and face them, but Giulia said softly, “ Dai , Irene. Don’t listen to them.”
    â€œI am not a cucciola ,” I said through clenched teeth. “I am a brute. Werner said so.”
    Giulia giggled. “Werner would know. But I like him. He’s fair.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    So many people were being fair to me: Werner, Luigi, Emi, Manuel, and maybe even the mister . So how could three idiots ruin everything for me? Or was it just one idiot—one extremely talented idiot?

10
Uaou! (oo-WOW-oo)
Wow!
    The story traveled through the middle school of how I had tried to put the ball into my own goal. I smiled a patient smile and told everyone how I was feeding it to the goalie. Hadn’t they ever seen a defensive player do that on television? Yes? Well then, they understood.
    Luigi overheard me repeating my explanation to a group of popular girls. I had picked them out quickly in the first few days by their hair, nails, clothes, and tendency to travel in packs. He promptly stepped between Giulia and me and into the conversation. His voice took on the rhythm of an announcer doing a play-by-play:
    â€œBoth Mendichela and Irene Benenati race for the ball. My heart beats in my chest. I know the signs. The crazy Americana plans to shoot the ball into her own goal—my goal.”
    â€œIt was a pass,” I said.
    Luigi ignored me. “Irene’s eyes drop. She brings her foot back. Puuut! The spectators gasp. Mendichela gasps. The ball comes directly to me—to my chest. It is a pass. I know it. But I am still afraid. Will it knock me backward into the goal?” Luigi paused. His eyes slid sideways to look at me, offering me a chance to protest. I did not take it.
    â€œBut no!” Luigi continued, gesturing widely. “I pull the ball into my arms. For now, it is safe from Mendichela and his team.”
    â€œUaou!” said one of the girls. “How bello ! Brava , Irene!”
    Luigi grinned at me.
    â€œBut Luigi, isn’t it dangerous for Irene to play with the boys?” a girl named Elena asked. As far as I could tell, she tended to do most of the talking for her group.
    â€œWeren’t you listening to me?” he asked. “It is my head that is in danger.”
    â€œIf only,” I said.
    â€œMonte Catino at Merano 2000 is more dangerous, Elena,” Giulia pointed out. “And you ski down that like a crazy woman.”
    â€œMonte Cattivo,” someone else said, which could be translated as “Bad Mountain.”
    Elena smoothed down the front of her shirt, looking pleased. “ Sí. But the trees and course markers don’t move themselves on the mountain. Matteo told us how the ball hit you in the stomach and the mister called you off the field. Matteo was so worried.”
    Oh, yes. Worried that I might get up again. Worried that I would keep getting up no matter what.
    â€œIt was so cute,” another girl cooed. “Maybe Matteo has fallen in love with you.”
    â€œHa!” I said. The syllable jumped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Giulia snorted. Luigi covered his ears with his hands.
    â€œMadonna!” he said. “Has Matteo asked for your phone number too?
    â€œToo?” echoed an appreciative crowd.
    â€œNo.” I said,