Defending Irene Read Online Free PDF

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    Whump! Somewhere, out of my line of sight, someone’s foot connected with a soccer ball. It had to be one of my teammates. I doubted that any of the munchkins could put that much energy on the ball. I felt like kicking something myself, so I left my blue and white duffle on the bench and trotted down to the field.
    The mister stood with his feet planted on the white line. The mesh bag of soccer balls rested at his feet. His arms were crossed as he studied Luigi, the only player on the field so far. The man nodded at me as I pulled a ball out of the bag. “Irene.”
    I nodded back at him. A “ciao” would have seemed too friendly, and the formal “buona sera,” good afternoon, didn’t seem right for the soccer field.
    I dribbled my ball onto the dirt field while Luigi positioned his at the corner of the penalty area. He took a few steps back before booming it into the goal. I could imagine it sailing just above the gloved hands of a goalkeeper, leaping to attempt a save. Luigi didn’t have the quickness of Emi or Matteo, but he certainly had a good leg.
    I accelerated and charged forward, dribbling the ball at my top speed. A few steps after crossing into the penalty area, I slammed the ball into the goal. Luigi and I both arrived to bend down and pull our balls out of the neon orange netting at the same moment.
    Luigi raised his eyebrows. “You’re here.”
    â€œOf course. Where else?” I asked lightly, determined not to take offense at his obvious surprise.
    He shrugged. “In the shade. At the pool.”
    My chin dropped in outrage. Did he think I’d skip practice just because a sauna would be a cooler, drier place to work out?
    â€œEveryone else will arrive at four-thirty on the dot,” Luigi continued calmly before I had a chance to say a word. “Not early. Not late. It’s too hot today.”
    â€œOh,” I said, feeling foolish. “But you’re here.”
    â€œAh, but my papá …” Luigi jerked his head in the direction of the mister . Then he stopped himself. “No, I mean to say, I must work now. I stand around during half the scrimmage.”
    â€œIt’s the same for me,” I observed. “At least you get to stand on the field.”
    Luigi’s lips twitched and then widened to a smile. He opened his mouth, but a roar from the sidelines stopped him.
    â€œDon’t chatter! Dai , Luigi!”
    I pressed my lips together, annoyed that the mister had yelled at my teammate. Practice hadn’t even started yet. Even worse—and this is going to sound completely stupid—he hadn’t yelled at me . What kind of coach would treat two players so differently? He sounded more like a father yelling at his son. And then it hit me: Fornaio. Luigi Fornaio. The mister was Luigi’s dad. I should have guessed it earlier. Luigi had practically said so. But to me, Luigi had seemed so much more like a fresh wad of Silly Putty than a chip off the old block of granite that I hadn’t been able to see it.
    This was still just a guess, and I had to know for sure. I waited a few minutes before timing my ball to fly into the orange netting a few seconds before that of Luigi’s.
    â€œThe mister is your papá ?” I asked Luigi in a voice I hoped would not carry.
    â€œOf course. This surprises you? Everyone says we are as alike as two drops of water.”
    Not to my eyes.
    I defended myself. “At the first practice, you called him ‘the mister .’”
    Luigi shrugged. “My older brother Renzo did the same. My papá has coached the Esordienti for years. It pleases me to play on his squad finally.” He broke off and pointed. “Look! Here come the others. Like I said: neither early nor late.”
    Eleven boys trotted onto the field. Matteo led the group with an easy loping stride. It hit me again just how gorgeous he was with his black curly hair and eyes of startling