Lazer McNulty is crazy about soccer and pushes the envelope every time he's on the field. He has a serious temper problem. When his coach cancels soccer season early, Lazer and his friends have a lot of time on their hands. The situation takes a radical turn when Lazer is pulled into an adventure of discovery. While learning that something terrible is about to happen in his town, he discovers a lot about himself, his sidekick cousin, Carmen, his friends, and the town's adults. Lazer becomes the unofficial leader of the pack as he and his friends try to stop the looming disaster.

Trouble in Soccertown

A Lazer McNulty AdventureBy Rita Olin Spencer Olin

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Rita and Spencer Olin
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-5376-1

Chapter One

If you want to know the truth, except for a couple of things that I'll tell you about eventually, life is good. Take today, for example. Here I am on the beach poking around in the holdfast of a giant kelp plant. Holdfast is the gnarled-up bundle at the end-like a root. Blue and orange brittle stars hide in the slippery jumble. Sometimes you can find pieces of polished green glass in the tangles.

Anyway, here I am with the sun warming my back and a little breeze keeping the rest of me cool. It's a typical warm fall day in Santa Elena, where I live. In fact, almost every day, a breeze blows from the ocean into Santa Elena. Usually, it's just a salty whisper reminding me that the Pacific Ocean is only a few miles away. This part of the California coast has sandy beaches, tide pools, and sometimes washed-up kelp.

The homes in Santa Elena are built tight against the sage-brush-covered hills. My street curves around, close to the hillside, and is filled with what my mom calls rustic cottages. Ours is one of the most rustic. A heavy sycamore tree leans against one side and gives the whole place a slightly tilted look.

My best friend, Benny, lives three streets away in a less rustic place. His dad is an environmental inspector. His job is to check water samples for pollution. If he's not out of town, analyzing sludge, Benny's dad is in the flower garden in front of their house. Plants with pink puffy flowers; long, snaky spikes with purple blooms; you name it, he grows it.

Spending time poking around in the kelp is interesting and all that. Plus, today there are a few surfers to watch. Beyond the waves, they wait on their boards for the next juicy wave. But the really big thing to do in Santa Elena is play soccer. Even little kids who don't have a clue are plopped on the grass with balls to push around. Every time they touch the ball with their chubby legs, some parent yells, "Woo hoo! Good job!" I'm not lying.

Santa Elena is soccer-crazed. We have leagues, camps, and clubs-all of that. Everyone in town has a favorite league team. Local players have gone on to play for big universities and big teams.

Mom enrolled my older sister, Kayla, and me in a soccer camp six years ago. Right away, my sister started picking up the moves, fast on her feet, awesome balance. Me? Not so much. I'm more of a diamond in the rough.

When we weren't practicing soccer, my sister and I used to bike to our favorite spot by the tide pools at least once a week. It was something we did so much that the idea of not doing it never occurred to me. Then, last spring, Kayla received a huge university soccer scholarship. She moved to her dorm a month ago. My mom is feeling lost without her.

Mom is in the mobile-food-service business. She drives a big, pink van with the words "Ruby's Famous Dogs" painted in large, red letters on the outside. Ruby is my mom's name. On the inside are stainless steel floors, two refrigerators, a sink, a grill, a built-in ice chest, and two coffee urns.

Early every workday morning, the van is packed with supplies. Oodles of all-beef, kosher franks are jammed into the refrigerators. Drinks are put on ice. Then Mom starts the coffee and pops cinnamon rolls and muffins into hanging bins above a counter. After everything is ready, off she goes on her downtown rounds.

The pink van rolls beeping into parking lots of shops and other places where people are hungry. Everyone wants a fast meal, and they want it, like, yesterday. Once she pulls into a spot, the action starts. She and her partner, Sid, pull open the van's side panels and start taking orders. Lunchtime is the busiest part of the day. That's when people order Ruby Dogs. Sid and Mom make them fresh. They are the absolute best hot dogs in the universe.

Mobile-food-service work isn't easy. At the end of each workday, my mom and Sid are exhausted. Kayla used to help out. She called her job "hosing the roach coach." I used to be the assistant hoser. Now I've been promoted.

Sid, our neighbor, is Mom's partner and co-owner of the business. We've known him for years. For someone who's on the old side, he's in good shape. He has long, gray hair, which he pulls back into a ponytail. Every day, he wears jeans and sandals and a collection of bright, beaded bracelets on each wrist.

There are more important things about Sid. I wasn't going to bring this up yet, but I guess you should know. Seven years ago, my dad found out he had cancer. When he couldn't help with the van business any longer, Sid pitched in. And, when Dad went to the hospital, Sid was right there by his side. Even at the very end, he was telling Dad stories and lame, worn-out jokes. It was Sid who convinced Mom to enroll Kayla and me in a soccer camp.

This year, I'm a Santa Elena Striker. That's the name of our soccer team-the Strikers. It's a league team. Our leader, Coach Marin, tells me I have potential. He tells me other things too, of course. There are three games left in our season. Another win and we're tied for first place. In fact, we have a game against the Rangers tomorrow.

Chapter Two

I can hear the commotion when I skid my bike into the chain-link fence next to the field. One of the best things about living in Santa Elena is this very soccer field. More than a hundred kids use this space, and it's totally grassless in spots. When you stand in the middle of the field, you can see the ocean. That's because the whole thing is on top of a little hill, surrounded by pepper trees. No place better in the world.

The Strikers are already warming up. Winning this game against the Rangers means a chance to be league champs again. Today, the sidelines are jammed. Voices of parents, neighbors, and kids rumble in the background.

In fact, there's so much noise that Coach Marin is almost yelling by the time he gives us last-minute instructions. "This season, we've had too many red flags, too much unsportsmanlike conduct. Each of you, remember, you are part of a team. Reckless play by one player has a negative impact on every other player." He's wearing sunglasses, and I still know he's looking right at me.

To be totally honest, Coach has a reason to be mad. I have been yellow-carded plenty of times. Two games ago, Coach pulled me off the field to calm me down. Other players are pushing the envelope too. I'm not the only one.

Summer is over, but it's still really hot. Sweat runs down the back of my neck as I slap high fives with my teammates. I rush for my place between our fullbacks and forwards. My usual position is midfielder. I play offensively and defensively, depending on the situation. Offense is the best. Then it's my job to set up the goals, or even better, score the goals.

Benny Ramirez, my best friend and an excellent goalie, catches up. We look around, and I see my mom and Sid standing next to Mr. Hollis on the sideline. Mr. Hollis is a real estate broker and major soccer fan. Benny recognizes a few Rangers players from last season. "Yo, Lazer, remember that humongous halfback? He shoved you all over the field last year." How could I forget?

The Rangers' midfielder starts the game with a kick that sends the ball down the field like a rocket. For the next couple of minutes, we chase it from their end of the field to ours. They chase it back again. No one has even been in a scoring position yet. Finally, I get a chance to score off a fast pass from one of our midfielders. Just as I bring my foot back to kick the ball, a Rangers player slams his shoulder hard into my side.

Suddenly, I'm off balance. The ref awards us a direct kick twelve yards from their goal. I walk at the guy a little and give him my most fierce, beady-eyed stare. Then I try to forget the foul and concentrate. This is the perfect chance to score. Shifting weight to my left side, I kick full throttle. Like a bullet, the ball shoots off the side of my foot toward the sideline. I feel my face turn red hot.

It's not easy to shake this off. I'm working on it when a Rangers player traps the ball outside our box on the right side. He turns and quickly blasts a shot past Benny into the upper left corner. The score is Rangers 1, Strikers 0.

Benny is the tallest guy on our team and moves like a cat. When he stretches out his long arms, he covers a lot of open space. Plenty of players in our league can't get a ball past him. Today, things are different; he's all moody and distracted. At the end of the first quarter, Benny digs his cleats into the dry grass as he walks by. Pushing his dark hair back with his fingers, he goes, "Your move back there-that was like a banana kick on steroids."

Before I can come up with some kind of stupid-sounding reply, Coach Marin gets our attention. He has suggestions about how we can all do better, especially one of us.

"Lazer McNulty," Coach begins, "you have to cool down. Concentrate and be patient. Let the game come to you." I'm the first one he picks on, of course. Message to self: remember to stay cool.

As the first half ends, one of the Rangers breaks away from midfield with a great pass to one of their forwards. I can see him from behind as he picks a section on the right side of the net and powers the ball past our goalie for their second score of the game. It's a real thunder kick. Can't blame Benny for missing this one. No one else manages to score during the rest of the first half.

We begin the second half behind 2-0. I'm on slow boil and feel, well, prickly. Our team has been playing with a lot of determination. We just have to get into better scoring positions. Benny looks at me and puts his hands flat in the air, palms pushing down toward the ground. I get it. Slow down. Now my pouty friend is also my coach.

About halfway through the third quarter, I send a corner kick to the box from the left side. Our forward, Randal Winger, is there to chest the ball past their goalie into the net. We've scored! I need a rest.

During the break, Coach Marin discusses strategy. He tells us to tighten-up our defense and move the ball to our forwards. Duh! I'm barely listening as I watch drops of sweat fall from my forehead to the trampled grass by my feet.

Play is about to start again when I try a second time to find out what's bothering Benny. He's looking over at the crowd as he stands with me by the sideline water jug. When I touch him on the shoulder and ask him what's up, he jumps a little. Benny doesn't say much but lets me know he's mad at his dad, who's missed most of the games this season. Crushing his paper cup flat, he sails it into the trash container and runs back onto the field.

My mom, on the other hand, never misses a game. She's still hoping that I might be the kind of special player that Kayla is.

But forget about all that.

Almost all of the fourth quarter is fast, furious, and scoreless. Two minutes left, and we have our chance to tie the game. I manage to dribble past a Rangers defender, a quick player who has already stopped me twice. This time, I'm sure I can score. Just as I pick my spot and get ready to kick, I hear the whistle.

Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ghghgheeeet!

"Foul, McNulty!"

"What?" I look at the squinty-eyed ref as he tries to speak through his whistle.

"What?" No way; this is not happening. "What!" I never touched the guy, really! The ref is a total jerk! I say this to myself (at least I think I did).

Anyway, doesn't matter. I'm still trying to be cool, right? Even when the blind ref awards the Rangers an indirect free kick, I'm trying to be cool. Then the big sports god in the sky wakes up for just a second. Remembers to be fair. Their geeky fielder connects with the ball, but time runs out on them. No score. But it doesn't matter. Whistle blows, game over, Rangers win, 2 to 1.

Okay, this is embarrassing. I sort of black out a little bit. I mean, I can still see and hear and everything. But it's kind of like I'm under water; around me, it's crazy and slow motion at the same time. And just sort of ... white. Parents are yelling. Coaches are yelling! Players are yelling! And for some reason, a lot of them are looking at me. Anyway, I'm just using my words, like they tell you in preschool, and expressing my feelings about the ultralame call. Then, all of a sudden: bam!

A Rangers player, Ron "Chopper" Harris, or whatever, comes up to me. Like one last lame joke, he spears me in the back with his elbow. Hard. Really, really hard! This makes Benny and some of the other guys complain, and not in a quiet way.

Now, here is where I get an unfair reputation for having a bad attitude. Obviously, I have to defend myself. Especially now. Except for my friends, the coaches, the refs, the parents, and everyone else are all lined up against me, zombified. So, athlete that I am, I pivot around and, lightning-fast, calculate just how many of Chopper's freckles I can surgically remove with one blow. Pulling back my arm hard, it's payback time.

At the last moment, I hear our disgusted coach yelling, "That's it! I've had it. Our soccer season ends today!"

This totally shocks everybody. My arm falls to my side, and I look around. My team is frozen in place on the field. We're done before the season's even over. When I search out Benny, I see he's looking back at me with a big question on his face. All I do is shake my head.

Rangers players strut off the field like winners. Meanwhile, the rest of us are still waiting for the referee and Coach Marin to change their minds. Finally, like a herd of losers, we all begin to shuffle off the field. I'm ignoring everyone. I press my fingertips into the pain creeping up my back and slink to the dusty parking lot. For a moment, I raise my eyes and see Coach Marin across the field. He yanks off his sunglasses. His hawk eyes are dark and angry, staring right at me.

Chapter Three

It's Sunday morning on another soccerless weekend. A month has gone by without soccer, and my life has changed-and not in a good way. Our soccer seasons are like tornados that blast through town, causing lots of excitement. The Strikers' season ended one month early this year. For us, life has been dead calm, like after a big storm.

Homework's finished, and I'm watching the dust balls under my bed. The smallest breeze floats them along the wooden floor. A lot of these fuzz balls are accumulating. Dust is accumulating, and I'm watching. This is pretty lame.

I've been wearing the same pair of tan cargo pants and worn-out, lime green T-shirt for days. Why change? I look around my room. Normally, I keep slightly used clothes in neat clumps on the floor. Now, pants, shirts, and old soccer magazines are spread wall-to-wall. My primo Beckham and Pel posters are still in place with about a million pushpin holes in each ragged corner. Maybe it's time to take them down.

At school, I'm like the rest of my friends-not so excited anymore about the weekends. Roach-coach duty still dogs me, and homework has to be done. But everyone is broken-hearted about losing out on the last of our soccer season. No one is interested in practice. No one mentions any kind of league finals.

I get the feeling that my friends think I'm mostly the one to blame. Mom is still on my case about the bad-behavior thing. I don't know if she will ever forgive me for acting like a jerk during that last game. Fighting equals bad sportsmanship. I know it. My sister, the star, would never have let something like this happen.

I'm beginning to feel so sorry for myself that I'm about to blubber big time. Lulu, our little gray dog, noses through the slightly open door. She's checking out the mess when her ears go up. Both of us hear my mom on the phone sounding concerned. When I listen more closely, I can tell that Mom's having a long, serious talk with her sister. "Of course, Carmen can stay with us. I'm so sorry that you and Stan are having trouble again. Sure, she can enroll in school here. I'll take care of it; let me help."

Carmen, my cousin, is an eighth grader. She's one year older than I am. Plus, she's slightly taller. She stayed with us for a few weeks during last summer vacation, while her parents went away together. Now I understand why. They were trying to patch things up. In those weeks, I got to know Carmen better.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Trouble in Soccertownby Rita Olin Spencer Olin Copyright © 2009 by Rita and Spencer Olin. Excerpted by permission.
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