The Zucchini Warriors Read Free Page A

They’ve got Boots at quarterback. And look — Sidney Rampulsky at wide receiver!”
    “It’s only the first day,” Diane argued lamely.
    “Wait a minute! Sidney caught it! And look at him go! He can really run! Come on, Sidney — whoops!” She looked away from the binoculars. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone trip over the 30-yard line!”
    “Is he okay?” Diane asked.
    Cathy peered through the glasses again. “I can’t tell. I guess so. Ah, wait a minute — Bruno’s going to kick a field goal.”
    “I didn’t know he could kick,” said Diane.
    Cathy snorted. “He can’t. He got it about a metre off the ground. It hit somebody in the stomach. Hey, it’s Wilbur Hackenschleimer! He’s chasing Bruno around the field. Bruno’s running — no, he’s hiding behind Boots. There’s a lot of pushing going on. Hold it. There’s a guy in a suit. It’s —” She looked at Diane. “Hey, wow. It’s Mr. Sturgeon.”
    * * *
    “We are instituting a football program,” lectured the Headmaster, “not an excuse to brawl. Walton, Hackenschleimer, what do you have to say for yourselves?”
    Mr. Carson came to their aid. “The men are just high-spirited from the practice …” he began.
    Mr. Sturgeon faced him with a fishy stare. “They will learn to control their high spirits, or there will be no more practices.”
    “But the Board of Directors —”
    “Expects me to maintain discipline at Macdonald Hall,” finished Mr. Sturgeon firmly.
    Mr. Carson studied the grass. “Yes, Mr. Sturgeon.”
    Bruno let his breath out as the Headmaster walked off in the direction of the Faculty Building. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Carson. You saved our lives!”
    The former student smiled. “I know what it feels like to be chewed out by The Fish.”
    Pete Anderson was awed. “You know about that? I mean that he’s —?”
    “The Fish? Of course. Listen, I don’t want you men to think of me as a teacher. I want to be one of the guys. And together we’re going to build a great team. Although,” he added less enthusiastically, “we’re going to need a lot of work.”
    “That bad, eh?” said Wilbur.
    Mr. Carson nodded. “But I’ll have you men whipped into shape in no time.” He stepped back and cupped his hands to his mouth so that all the boys could hear. “All right, everybody! Thanks for coming out! The list of who made it will be posted outside the gym as soon as I make my decisions!” Coach Flynn shot him a dirty look, so he added, “And Mr. Flynn here, of course. But don’t hit the showers yet, because dinner’s on me!”
    Bruno started to say, “Three cheers for Mr. Carson,” but then he heard bells.
    “Zucchini sticks for everybody!” exclaimed Mr. Carson, as the wagons filed in behind the bleachers via a service driveway.
    “This is cruel,” Sidney observed miserably.
    “Look,” said Larry. “He’s a grown man. He’s not going to die if we don’t eat his zucchini sticks. He can take it.”
    “No,” said Bruno firmly. “We can’t offend Hank the Tank.”
    “Bruno, don’t you think it’s a little selfish to act phony to this guy just because we want a rec hall?” challenged Boots.
    “It’s more than that,” said Bruno. “You saw how he defended me and Wilbur in front of The Fish. Hank the Tank is
us
in thirty years!”
    “I don’t intend to have the pot-belly,” said Boots.
    “I do,” put in Wilbur. “But it isn’t going to come from zucchini sticks. Peanut butter, yes — and maybe a little pasta …”
    “The Tank is really keen on the honour of Macdonald Hall,” Bruno went on, the orator in him swinging into full gear. “Well, he’s right. We have to show the other schools in this province that we can take a sport we know nothing about and put together a great team. Okay, so today’s practice didn’t go so hot; okay, we have to gag down a few zucchini sticks — do we give up this easily on the honour of Macdonald Hall?”
    “When you put it