Three On Three Read Free

scribbled the final few words.
    â€œAll those who have handed in their journal entries are free to go to out for recess,” Mrs. Orr said.
    As the kids headed for the door, I fought my way upstream to Mrs. Orr’s desk and tossed my journal onto the pile of other books.
    Kia was waiting for me in the hall, holding a tennis ball. “Wanna play foot hockey?” she asked.
    â€œOf course not. We have to get a third player and then practice!”
    She shrugged. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re going to win or anything.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” I demanded. “Of course we can win! We’re the two best players in grade three!”
    â€œMaybe, but aren’t you forgetting a couple of things?” Kia asked.
    â€œI am? Like what?”
    â€œGrades four and five.”
    Her words hit me like a slap in the face. What was I thinking … or I guess, what wasn’t I thinking? How could I forget about almost one hundred kids — all of them older, most of them bigger, and some of them better at the game then either me or Kia.
    I slipped on my coat as the dream slipped away. Of course she was right. Sometimes at recess I’d stand off to the side and watch the grade fives play basketball. They never allowed us ‘little kids’ into the game. If they’d let me or Kia play, we could have beaten most of them. But not all. Some were pretty good, and there were two — Marcus and Kingsley — who were really, really good. Of the two, Marcus was the best. I’d seen himplay in the community center gym where his team often had games scheduled right after ours.
    Well, next year those guys would be gone from our school. I’d just have to wait for the Second Annual Clark Boulevard Public School Three-on-Three contest.
    â€œI guess we should still enter the contest anyway,” Kia said.
    I shrugged. “It’ll be fun, even if we don’t win. Any ideas who we should get for the third player?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe Kyle or Paul or…” Kia stopped and a smile came to her face. “Or Marcus.”
    â€œMarcus!” I yelped. “What makes you think he’ll play with us?”
    â€œDon’t you remember what Mr. Roberts said? There can’t be three grade fives on a team. He might just be looking for a team. It can’t really hurt to ask him. Besides, didn’t you tell me that he once talked to you?”
    â€œUm … he didn’t really talk to me … he sort of talked about me.”
    â€œWhat did he say about you?” Kia asked.
    â€œI couldn’t hear it all,” I admitted reluctantly. “But it was something like, ‘let the kid out of the garbage can.’”
    â€œWhat?” Kia asked.
    â€œLet the kid out of the garbage can.”
    She laughed. “Why would he say that?”
    â€œBecause I was in a garbage can.”
    â€œWhat were you doing in a garbage can?”
    â€œI climbed in,” I answered meekly.
    â€œYou climbed in? Why would you do that?”
    â€œBecause three bigger kids told me I had a choice. Either I could climb in or they’d stuff me in. I figured climbing in would hurt less than being stuffed.”
    â€œWhen did this happen?” Kia asked.
    â€œAbout a year ago.”
    â€œBut … but, why?”
    â€œDo older kids ever need a reason to pick on younger kids? They said I crossed over the basketball court while they were playing and it wasn’t safe to leave garbage lying on the ground in case somebody stepped on it.”
    â€œDid they let you out when Marcus told them to?”
    â€œSort of. They knocked the can on its side and then rolled it down the little hill beside the court.”
    Kia began to chuckle and I remembered clearly why I never told her any of this before.
    I frowned. “Glad you think it was funny. I was dizzy for ten minutes and picked garbage out of my hair and