Defending Irene Read Online Free PDF Page A

whispered.
    â€œNo?” Giulia asked, frowning.
    What had we been talking about? Height. Volleyball. Advantage. “Er, sí . In volleyball, it is an advantage to be tall. But no, I can’t play volleyball.
    â€œMmmmm. I see. Emi told me that you are a good player. Well, enough of soccer. Listen. Let’s go into the center. We’ll eat some ice cream. I know the best place.”
    â€œWhere is it? On the promenade by the theater bridge?”
    â€œNo. Pfff! That one is for tourists. I will bring you to the best. And maybe tomorrow we go to the pool with my friends?”
    â€œPerfect. No, wait. There’s soccer.”
    â€œBut Irene, the pool is only two steps from the field.”
    â€œI know. I saw. But I cannot be dead tired for practice.”
    â€œAh, sí . You’re right. Then how about the day after tomorrow?”
    â€œI’ll ask my mom. But without doubt, she will say yes.”
    The next day I thought longingly of the pool as I sat on a wooden bench outside the clubhouse and changed into my cleats. Dead-tired or completely baked: which was worse? My T-shirt was already damp, and I hadn’t done anything more strenuous that day than pedal my bike slowly to practice.
    The calm, hazy air was thick with pollution and humidity. But relief was in sight. Literally. Dark, threatening clouds hid the mountain peaks to our north; but while they shifted and changed shape, they did not move into the valley.
    A herd of sweaty munchkins limped past me. Max’s team of first graders.
    â€œLook! A girl!” one of them shouted.
    There were plenty of girls who had been dragged along to practice to pick up their brothers, so I assumed by the note of surprise that the kid was pointing me out. I was right.
    â€œUaou!” said another. “She plays at soccer with the guys? How strange!”
    â€œHow schifo !” put in a third.
    â€œTrue,” said a voice I recognized. “She is my sister.”
    â€œReally? Poor you!”
    Ha! I love you too, Max, I thought. The next time he wanted me to kick the ball around in the garden I would say no. Or at least make him beg. I glared at my brother from under my eyelashes as I finished tying my shoe. He grinned at me and stuck out his tongue.
    I leaped to my feet and took a step toward him. He bolted, shrieking happily. Most of his teammates dashed after him. But two girls at the end of line moved more slowly, looking up at me in wonder.
    I checked out the glass case on the wall with its collection of schedules and photos. One notice proclaimed that my group, the Esordienti I of Merano, had a game scheduled for this Saturday afternoon. I glanced at the first three names on the list:
M. D’Andolo
    E. DeChechi
    L. Fornaio
    Matteo, Emi, and Luigi? The goalie and the top two forwards? Naturally, they would be first. I scanned the rest of the list for my name—I. Benenati. It wasn’t there. Not even with the substitutes. I checked again. Nothing. Had I been forgotten or left out on purpose?
    I don’t remember making a noise, but I must have, because Signora Martelli appeared at my elbow. “Ciao, cara. There is a problem?”
    â€œMy name isn’t there,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.
    â€œAh.” She nodded. “There are only enough places in the van for fourteen. Thirteen players and the mister .”
    â€œMy papá could bring me.”
    Signora Martelli shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we do not do it like that. This time, it is you who stays. The other times you will go. Everyone plays at home games unless they annoy the mister .”
    â€œOh. Uh, thanks.”
    â€œIt’s nothing. Good work, cara ,” she said.
    I nodded and faked a smile. I couldn’t complain—much. The plan made sense. I was the newcomer, the foreigner, the girl. Three strikes and I was most definitely out. Not that anyone would have the first clue about softball around