Free Death's Academy by Michael Bast Page B

intend to be on that team. I know I’m the best roller my age, and with this new roll I’m going to knock their socks off … at least I hope so. I didn’t study a lick for my practice exam. It’s this afternoon. So I’ve got to do great today, or I’m up the River Styx without a paddle.
    “Whoa there, son,” a voice calls out.
    Startled, I look up, and I am nose to nose with the umpire. I stop short and jump back sheepishly.
    “Sorry,” I say, and I see her. The halo captain is none other than the girl I nearly killed an hour earlier. If she could shoot lasers from her eyes, I would have a fiery hole burned right through my forehead. I can hear her teeth gritting and her knuckles popping. I gulp.
    The tinny voice from before rings out over the loud speakers: “Welcome Guardian Angels and Deaths to the Under-14 Skull Ball Championship. For today’s match we have the pleasure of welcoming Lightcrest Michaels, the hero of the Queen Suzanne , to do the honorary coin toss and guest announce.” A deafening cheer goes up from the halo’s side.
    Queen Suzanne , Queen Suzanne ? Why does that sound familiar, I almost say out loud. It seems like I should know what he means by the “hero of the Queen Suzanne .”
    I see a tall, muscular halo striding breezily toward us. His sun-kissed blond hair ripples in the air like a flag atop a ship’s mast. A dazzling smile is plastered across his face. He’s carrying a golden coin in his right hand and a skull underneath his left arm. He reaches us at the peak and turns and waves at the crowd.
    “Black captain, it’s your field, your call. Heads or tails?” the umpire asks.
    “Tails,” I say.
    The halo Lightcrest Michaels tosses the golden coin into the air and it hits the grass with a thud.
    “It’s heads,” the umpire says. “White, you’ve won the toss. It’s your choice. Do you want to defend the rings or attack them?”
    The girl’s eyes haven’t ceased boring into me. “We’ll attack,” she says.
    The umpire nods and pulls his gazer from his pocket and speaks into it. His voice echoes over the loudspeakers.
    “White has won the toss and will be attacking.”
    The halo half of the stands cheers. Lightcrest Michaels turns to the girl and pats her on the shoulder.
    “Be the hero, honey,” he says and then looks at me and grunts something I can’t make out before turning to walk away.
    “I will, Daddy,” she calls, her eyes still fixated on me. She then flicks her head to the side and spits before leaving to go back to her team.
    The umpire and I exchange glances. He too can tell that she wants to rip my arms off and beat me silly with them. You see, halos never spit in public, and when they do, it usually means all Heaven is about to break loose.
    I trot to my position at the roller’s X . My teammates pass by me as they jog to their positions. All of them, except Dred, give me a thumbs-up or a nod. Mal slugs me on the arm.
    “Go get ’em, Tiger,” she says and winks. I watch her as she jogs out to her position as a scamper.
    I turn back around and face the coffin and the awaiting halo. He’s a big burly dude that looks like he can bench-press two refrigerators. I immediately guess what the halo team’s strategy is going to be. They want to get this gargantuan onto the peak so they can use him to smash into our players while we are trying to get the skull.
    I smirk. “You can’t smash us if you can’t even reach the peak.”
    A whistle pierces the air.
    “Let the match begin,” the loudspeakers bellow.
    I peek up at the stands and then to the box where theDeath’s Academy coach is sitting. The entire crowd’s attention has been turned toward me. I get into my stance and stare down the line at the halo standing inside of the coffin. He has the iron boot on his right foot, and he is rearing back, waiting for my roll.
    “Try and strike this, muscle brains,” I say.
    I do my secret windup and heave the skull toward the coffin. Spinning