Game on, p.1
Game On!, page 1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
0.0
1.0
1.1
1.2
1.3
1.4
1.5
1.6
1.7
1.8
1.9
1.10
1.11
2.0
2.1
2.2
2.3
2.4
2.5
2.6
2.7
2.8
2.9
2.10
2.11
2.12
2.13
3.0
3.1
3.2
3.3
4.0
5.0
5.1
5.2
5.3
5.4
5.5
5.6
6.0
6.1
6.2
6.3
6.4
6.5
7.0
7.1
7.2
7.3
7.4
7.5
8.0
8.1
8.2
8.3
8.4
9.0
9.1
9.2
10.0
10.1
11.0
11.1
12.0
12.1
13.0
13.1
13.2
13.3
13.4
13.5
14.0
14.1
14.2
14.3
14.4
14.5
14.6
14.7
15.0
15.1
15.2
15.3
15.4
15.5
15.6
15.7
15.8
15.9
15.10
15.11
15.12
15.13
15.14
15.15
15.16
15.17
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2021 by Mary Amato
All Rights Reserved
HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
Printed and bound in July 2021 at Maple Press, York, PA, USA.
www.holidayhouse.com
First Edition
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Amato, Mary, author.
Title: Game on! / Mary Amato.
Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2021]
Series: Star Striker ; #1 | Audience: Ages 8–12. | Audience: Grades 4–6.
Summary: “Albert, a 7th grader, is abducted by aliens who recruit him to play Star Striker for their interplanetary soccer team, but it isn’t until after he agrees that he discovers that someone or something is trying to kill him”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021010213 | ISBN 9780823449118 (hardcover) ISBN 9780823450329 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Human-alien encounters—Fiction. Soccer—Fiction. | Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.A49165 Gam 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010213
ISBN: 978-0-8234-4911-8 (hardcover)
To my beautiful-game teachers—to Lucy Neher who first kicked it off for me (it’s true, Lucy!), to Ivan who kept the ball rolling by stepping up to coach, to Simon and Max and all their friends and teammates over the years, to Howard Kohn, especially for the summer camps that have delighted and employed so many kids and teens, and to Karen Giacopuzzi and Bob Antonisse and all the dedicated coaches out there who teach kids to love both the game and the community with just the right spirit. Goal!
You can be a superstar; you just can’t be one alone. What you need is a star system: a constellation of positive, authentic influencers who support each other, reinforce each other, and make each other better.
—Shawn Achor
0.0
The day aliens abducted Albert Kinney happened to be the day he was trying out for his middle school soccer team.
Actually, it was the third and final day of tryouts; and, as Albert and the other seventh graders were warming up with a run around the track, his mind was racing. But it wasn’t because he knew that a dangerous and extraordinary mission was about to bring him to the Fŭigor Solar System. Like the rest of you on Earth, he didn’t know the planets in that system even existed. Albert’s mind was racing because he was thinking about his soccer career. If he didn’t get on the school team in seventh grade, he couldn’t possibly make the eighth-grade team; and if he wasn’t on the eighth-grade team, forget about playing in high school or college or having any hope for happiness.
That’s the way life works for you, too. You think the most important thing in the world is that tryout or that math quiz or whatever—and you don’t even see the huge tornado coming your way.
1.0
Eyes on the track, Albert jogged.
“Hi, Albert,” Freddy Mills said, approaching him on his left.
“Hey,” Albert said, immediately turning on the heat. Freddy was slow, which meant Albert’s own pace must have fallen.
A kind of light-headedness came over Albert, and he wondered if he was having a panic attack. It’s the final day of tryouts, he thought, and I’ll probably pass out during the warm-up. He pushed through it, though, and increased his pace, catching up with Trey Patterson and his pack.
And then Trey pointed at Albert’s yellow soccer socks and shin guards and said, “You got chicken legs, Kinney!”
It was a ridiculous, immature joke—who cared what color his socks and shin guards were?—and yet the guys actually laughed.
Trey Patterson. A year ago Trey would have been running by his side, not making fun of him. All their lives, Trey and Albert had been next-door neighbors and friends. Not heart-to-heart friends—they were too different for that. But they had grown up playing soccer together and had a great connection as teammates. First in Albert’s yard, and then in the park down the street, and then as the two strongest stars in their recreational league, and finally, last year, as the stars of the same travel team. At the beginning of the summer, though, Trey left for a six-week soccer camp—the first camp experience that the boys didn’t share—and he came back transformed. A growth spurt combined with new training changed not only Trey’s body, but also his mind. He informed Albert that he was quitting their old travel team to play in a more serious league. That wasn’t the surprise. Trey had always been competitive. The surprise was the condescension and contempt in his voice. Trey, for no good reason, had turned mean. And now, some of the other guys, impressed by Trey’s bulked-up physique, were siding with him. And that was messing with Albert’s mind.
“Bawk!” Trey called out, and the guys laughed again.
“Not funny,” Freddy called from behind.
After five humiliating laps—each pass punctuated by bawking from Trey—the coach split the group into four teams for simultaneous scrimmages, and Albert’s heart sank even more. His name was called for Team C. Trey and Raul and all the other skilled players were on Teams A and B. Honestly, Albert knew he had a better sense of the field than Trey or Raul. They were both strong, but Raul couldn’t kick the ball with his left foot to save his life, and lately Trey hogged the ball and took risky shots for personal glory rather than seeing the passes that would pay off.
“It’s over,” muttered a player on Team D.
“Mr. Perez is crazy,” Freddy, assigned to Team C, whispered. “Everybody knows you should be on Team A, Albert.”
“Perez hates me,” Albert muttered. Unfortunately, it was true. Right before school had started, the old coach left and tapped Mr. Perez to take his place. Mr. Perez had been Albert’s history teacher in sixth grade and had been, in Albert’s opinion, criminally boring. If Albert had known that he’d have to impress Perez this year, he would have tried harder last year. Yesterday, when they did drills, Perez praised others and didn’t say a word to Albert, even though Albert knew he had done well.
When the whistle blew to start the scrimmages, Albert tried to shake off his anxiety and come out hot. He was playing center forward, his favorite position, and that boosted his confidence. In the first five minutes, he had three shots on goal and set up two chances that resulted in two more shots on goal—all of which Mr. Perez missed because he was watching Teams A and B. Still, Albert kept firing. In the ninth minute, he pressured Team D’s left outside back to force a bad pass into the midfield. Freddy was actually in the right place at the right time and somehow delivered a solid pass to Albert. In the nanosecond before Albert received the ball, he glanced around. No defenders on either side. He took a couple of touches to the inside and ripped it.
Goal!
“Yes!” he yelled, hoping Mr. Perez would tear his attention away from Teams A and B to look.
His teammates cheered, and Mr. Perez glanced over. A quick, distracted nod was all the coach gave. And then he called out his announcement for the scrimmages to end and told them the last drill they’d do: shots on goal.
Albert felt his spirits lift. This was his final chance to show what he knew to be true, that he deserved to play for the team.
1.1
The dog, a muscular Ridgeback named Tackle that lived next to Albert Kinney and belo nged to Trey Patterson, stood still, eyeing the furry thing in the tree. Oh, the thing looked like a squirrel, and it climbed like a squirrel and it jumped like a squirrel, but it didn’t pee, didn’t eat, and—
Tackle made a sudden dash, leaping up onto the trunk and barking at it sharply.
See? The thing didn’t run, didn’t even move. Tackle sniffed. Not a whiff of fear. He sniffed again. The scent it exuded was faint but detectable, a scent similar to the Pattersons’ cell phones. Grrr. He didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust it for a second.
To be clear, Tackle was one hundred percent ordinary Earth dog. That you are witnessing his intellect in action here doesn’t mean he came from another planet or had technologically enhanced abilities. Whether you’re aware of it or not, animals think; you just can’t always hear them. That said, there is a range of intelligence in dogs, just as there is in humans, and it can be safely said that Tackle’s was above average.
Normally, he didn’t bother with squirrels. Strangers, package-delivery persons, approaching storms, unusual vehicular sounds, changes in the way people smelled, an occasional rat, and one particularly aggressive neighborhood raccoon—these were his priorities—to protect not just the Pattersons but also the Kinneys next door. But, to be honest, this was work that typically used only a fraction of his brawn and brain to resolve. The four-footed furball in the tree? It was getting the better of him.
He began to pace. The squirrel-thing had arrived at some point before school started. Maybe two or three weeks ago. Tackle wasn’t great with time, but he had noticed it right away and had been watching it ever since. Not just watching. He had tried to catch it numerous times since then, only to be outmaneuvered.
Now that school had started, the thing tended to perch in two favorite spots. One was the maple tree closest to the street, which it hung out in when school was in session. The other was a sweet gum tree on the side of the Pattersons’ yard whose limbs reached over the fence to Albert’s house. For some mysterious reason, the creature seemed to be obsessed with Albert. When Albert came home from school, it would settle itself on the limb of the sweet gum tree that was closest to Albert’s bedroom window and perch like a statue.
Without success Tackle had tried to warn Albert and had tried to get Trey’s help. Neither of the boys understood what he was barking about. Today he was going to show them. He stopped pacing and shook out his muscles, his glossy reddish-brown coat gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Yep. Today he had a plan. When Albert came home and the thing jumped onto the fence top, Tackle was going to be ready. He would finally grab that freak in his jaws.
1.2
“Line up single file at the cone,” Coach Perez said from the eighteen-yard box. “We’ll do a one-two. You pass to me. I’ll lay it off and you strike it.”
Albert was fifth from the end, in front of Freddy.
Trey was first. One-two. Goal.
Raul, Mr. Perez’s other favorite, was next. Another goal.
Jealousy began to gnaw at Albert.
Michael next. A good, hard kick. The goalie stopped it, but it was a solid strike.
“My sister said your sister got on the best team in the state,” Freddy said to Albert as they moved up the line to take their shots. “She said that club is where all the future Olympic gymnasts train.”
Albert kept his mouth closed. Yesterday the coach had yelled at Freddy for “chitchatting.”
“My sister saw her over the summer at that exhibition tournament,” Freddy went on. “She won, like, gold in everything. Did you go?”
“Yeah,” Albert said quickly. “Shh.”
“Kinney and Mills,” Mr. Perez called out. “Cut the chitchat.”
“Yeah, cut the bawking,” Trey whispered to more laughter.
Albert’s face reddened. He turned away from Freddy and tried to focus. Two more players and then it would be Albert’s turn. The keeper was tall and strong, great at catching and blocking the shots that went to his right, but not as solid when it came to diving to the left, Albert noticed.
One guy’s shot bounced off the goalpost; the other was easily caught. On it went, and then Albert was up. He could feel the eyes of the coach on him, the keeper’s eyes, too, as he crouched, ready to spring.
Almost shaking with the desire to score, Albert passed the ball to the coach, who sent it rolling. Albert raced toward it, planted his left leg at the perfect angle, and fired his right leg forward, knowing in his bones that the connection between foot and ball was going to be perfect. But then—time seemed to shift into slow motion—at the exact same moment, dozens of black birds flew out of the trees just behind the goal, screeching, as if a huge invisible hand had struck the branches. Startled, Albert felt his upper torso jolt back and his plant foot slip out from under him. He fell with a thud.
A few laughs.
Albert jumped up quickly, hoping the coach would give him another shot, but instead the coach called out for Freddy to step up. Avoiding all eyes, Albert retreated to the back of the line, fuming.
It wasn’t fair. He would have had that shot. He was perfectly placed.
After the last guy took his shot, the coach blew the whistle. “That’s a wrap. Stretch and cool down, boys. I’ll post the list by tomorrow. Good job, everyone.” Just like that, he set his clipboard on the bench and started to collect balls.
Feigning the need to leave, Albert skipped the cooldown and grabbed his backpack from under the bench. The “yes” list on the coach’s clipboard was easy enough to see. Trey Patterson’s name was first and had the word captain next to it. Albert’s name wasn’t on the list.
For the next few minutes, he tried to focus on getting home. One foot in front of the other. His phone buzzed in his backpack. The sixth text from his mom since school had ended:
How did tryouts go? Your sister’s practice is almost done. She was flawless on beam. Bars to go.
A grim heaviness came over him. His soccer career was over. At the end of the summer, his mom had called a family meeting to discuss the fall schedule. Erin’s new opportunity on the most competitive gymnastics team in Maryland was going to make after-school and weekend schedules complicated. As a single parent, his mom couldn’t get Erin to her new team’s practices and get Albert to his travel team’s practices, especially since Trey—their carpooling partner—was no longer playing on Albert’s team. At that time, Albert had assumed he would spend the next six years of his life playing soccer for his schools’ teams, and since those teams routinely took state and attracted recruiter attention, he had agreed to drop out of the travel league.
He couldn’t believe what was happening now. He was losing what he loved most.
Another buzz. Another text.
When you get home, let me know how Nana is doing.
This is what I have to look forward to, Albert thought bitterly. Failure, humiliation, and checking up on my grandmother.
Deep in this vortex of anger and depression, he walked up his driveway. As he headed toward the side door, he could see between the slats in the fence that Trey’s dog, Tackle, was running toward him at full speed. Albert’s anxiety level rose instantly. For three weeks now, Tackle had been aggressive, jumping and barking and scaring the heebie-jeebies out of him, and he couldn’t understand why. Now, Albert saw the squirrel out of the corner of his eye and, with horror, watched the dog leap up, slam against the fence, and grab the poor squirrel between his teeth with a sickening crunch.
Startled, Albert jumped, dropping his backpack.
Then, in an even worse development, he watched Tackle rear back and fling the corpse over the fence. It landed with an appalling thud at Albert’s feet, and Albert staggered back. “Tackle, what’s wrong with you?”
The dog jumped on the fence, barking and baring his teeth, drilling into Albert with his oddly intelligent eyes as if he were trying to tell him something.
“Stop it!” Albert yelled at the dog. He didn’t say what he was really thinking, which was that it was bad enough to lose Trey as a friend, but Tackle’s sudden aggressiveness was driving him crazy.
In the next second a dozen birds from the oak tree across the street flew up, and the dog’s posture changed radically. His head jerked up, and he jumped back and froze, looking skyward.
Albert felt it then—something was above him. He looked up, expecting to see a bird hovering over him, but the sky was blue and clean.
Tackle, able to see ultraviolet wavelengths that no human could see, watched a patch of UV light appear high above Albert’s head and grow rapidly larger, as if the light were a flame burning a hole in the fabric of the sky. Emerging from the hole was a sphere of small, tightly packed shapes, like shimmering snowflakes that created a sound like the crackling of a fire in a frequency no human could hear.
