Roller Hockey Radicals Read Free Page B

sister, like so many of his friends back in Minford. Being
     an only child was okay, because you didn’t have to share any of your stuff. On the other hand, it could be lonely when none
     of your friends was available. Of course, now that he’d met the E Street Skates, that didn’t matter anymore. He was going
     to be all set for the summer.
    Dinner was ravioli — Kirby’s favorite, with broccoli, one of the few green vegetables he wasusually willing to eat, and mint chip ice cream for dessert. Clearly his mom had gone to the trouble of making foods he liked
     for their first dinner in their new home.
    As they were eating, Mr. Childs told them all about his first day at his new job. “It’s quiet up there in that office,” he
     said. “Not like down on the plant floor, where I used to be, back in Minford. I think I could get used to this.” He seemed
     really happy about things at work.
    Good, Kirby thought. Because he had a really big favor to ask both his parents.
    “So, Kirby, what did you discover on your skates this afternoon?” his mom finally asked as they were finishing dessert. “Did
     you meet any kids?”
    “He sure did!” his dad said. “First words I got out of him when he came home.”
    “Dad,” Kirby said, rolling his eyes. His dad was always doing that — answering for him. “She asked me, not you.”
    “Oh. Sorry,” his dad said, wiping his mouthwith a napkin. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on with what you were about to say.” Kirby could tell his dad was smiling under
     the napkin. It irritated him. His parents still thought he was a little kid.
    “Anyway, these kids were playing in-line hockey, and they let me play with them. I did really well, too — I was in goal, and
     I stopped all of their shots… well, except one. They call themselves the E Street Skates, and the best thing is, they said
     I can practice with them again tomorrow.”
    “E Street?” his father echoed. “You went all the way over to E Street?”
    “Kirby, you told me you were just going around the block,” his mother chided. “If I had known you were planning to skate all
     the way over there, I don’t think I would have let you go.”
    “But Mom —”
    “No buts, Kirby. E Street is just too far away,” his father admonished. “What if something had happened to you? If you’d gotten
     hurt? I’m guessing roller hockey is a very physical sport,with lots of bodychecking and cheap shots. Or what if you’d gotten lost? You could have been skating around for hours, after
     dark, trying to figure out where you were.”
    “We don’t know anything about those kids or their parents, either. I’m sure you’ll find some other friends to play with tomorrow,
     closer to home,” his mother added in her patient, therapist voice.
    Kirby couldn’t believe his ears. “I don’t want to find other friends!” he yelled. “I want these friends!”
    Ignoring his parents’ shocked faces, he stormed out of the kitchen. He hated it when his parents treated him like a baby.
     Kicking a pebble as far as he could, he trudged into the garage and started rummaging through boxes of stuff. He pulled out
     an old deflated basketball, a skateboard with a wheel missing, and a pair of muddy soccer cleats.
    As he did, he remembered when his mother had packed the gear up. She had commentedwryly that he was pretty hard on sports equipment, then asked him if he still wanted it all or if they could get rid of it
     before the move.
    “Don’t throw it out!” he had insisted. “I might use it again someday.”
    His mother had given him a disbelieving look and mumbled something about his trying out sports like he was trying on new clothes:
     If he didn’t like them after a few months, he just tossed them aside. But she had packed up the gear anyway.
    Now Kirby fished around, looking for his old hockey stuff. After a minute of searching, he found it and tried putting it on.
     It was all too tight on him.
    Well, thought