Chapter 2

Sammy was feeling somewhat better. The hot sensation was gone, and he had stopped sweating and panting. The boy turned off the radio and saw the clock: seven in the morning. His friends would be calling him up in about an hour. In fact, he had just seen lights shining in his friends' houses. He even got a glimpse of Reggie as she opened her window, so he had to hurry. Since he was already undressed, he could go directly to the shower. Taking fresh clothes from his closet, he crossed the hall to the bathroom.

He showered calmly. The cool water felt great as it refreshed his body and washed the sweat away. Maybe he had fever during the night; that would explain the abundant sweating and the hot, burning feeling all over his body. It might also explain the vividness of the nightmare and the overall weakness he felt.

When he finished bathing, he got dressed and headed for his room to prepare his equipment. When he went out of the bathroom, his mother called him from her bedroom.

"Already up, honey?"

"Yep" – replied Sammy, cheerfully - "Good morning, mom."

Sammy went to kiss his mother. She was still in her bed, but had been awake for a while, reading a book. She kissed her son and watched him; his face was still a bit pale, but he seemed animated, feeling reasonably well; still, like any mother, Mrs. Dullard had a sixth sense to notice when something was not quite well with her son.

"You feel right, Sammy?"

"Yes, mom. Don't worry."

"But you look pale. Are you OK?"

Mrs. Dullard tried to touch Sam's forehead and cheeks to gauge his body temperature; but Sammy gently evaded her. He knew that if she felt he had fever, she would not let him go out with his friends, and he really needed to be with the kids that day.

"Yes, mom. Don't worry; I'm fine."

She looked at Sam. She was not quite convinced; she knew that Sammy had been having asthma attacks all week long. But the boy reassured her that he was fine, and she believed him.

"You rose early this morning, Sammy. Why?"

"Well, I woke up and just could not sleep again. I am very excited because today is the great game I had told you about, you know…"

"Oh, yes! The street hockey game with your friends, right?"

"Yep. We have to be in the parking lot at eight, eight thirty to warm up."

"Wow! Then you better hurry. I'll prepare your breakfast. They are coming for you, right?"

"Yes. Mr. Rocket will drive us there."

"Ok. In that case, you better go to your room and prepare your things. I'll fix you something to eat."

"Thank you, mom."

"And don't forget your inhaler!"

"Don't worry. I always carry it with me."

Mrs. Dullard rose and put a coat on. She went to the kitchen and prepared a light breakfast for herself and her son. She was worried; something told her that Sammy was not completely fine that morning; besides, she had a bad feeling when the boy kissed her. Maybe… No; she was just nervous. She should try to think in something else.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The morning was setting things in motion at the Rockets' house too. This was to be a great day. As usual, Lars and his Lasers had challenged the Rockets to a street hockey match, and the kids had accepted it with characteristic enthusiasm. This was going to be an official match for the local street hockey league, and it would be broadcasted live from the parking lot. For that reason, they had to be there early. They planned to go surfing after the game.

Otto and Reggie were up since about six thirty. They had breakfast and were cleaning their rooms while Ray was away. The two kids were very excited, especially Otto, who looked forward to show off some new moves he had been preparing for this special occasion. He was confident; they had been practicing hard for weeks and, save for Sam, all the kids were in prime condition for that game.

"What worries me," he said to Reggie while making his bed, "is the Squid. He's been very slow and distracted lately. I hope he'll remember that a goalie needs to be concentrated on the game and not on his laptop computer, for a change."

"Leave him alone, Otto," responded his sister. "It's not like he does it on purpose. Besides, remember that Sammy has been ill; his asthma has worsened; that's why he's had to slow down a bit. But yesterday he said he felt better, and I think he will perform well in the game. He isn't called Sam 'Stonewall' Dullard for nothing, y'know."

"Yeah. I know, Reg; even I must concede that. Sammy might be a lousy skater and surfer, but he's one heck of a good goalie. I just don't wanna lose to those jerks; I've been working on some new moves and I wanna try 'em out."

"Why worry, then? If I know you, Otto, you won't let 'em within ten meters of our goal," Reg reassured her brother. "They'll be too busy with their meager brain power trying to figure out just how to stop you! And you know you can count on me too. I want to teach Lars a lesson, so he stops calling me a lame-o. We'll keep pushing forward; they won't even get to the middle of the field, right?"

"Yeah. You're right, Reg," Otto said with newly buoyed spirit. "If we keep on the attack, the Lasers won't have a chance to get to the goal, and Sammy won't have to do all that much. Good thinking, sis!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The day was also beginning for Twister, although not in the most comfortable way. Lars had just entered his room and caught Twist in his bed, and, as usual, gave him the good morning salute with a rigorous whomping session. Although Twister fought back in earnest, his older brother easily rendered him helpless, and after a very short fight, the freckled boy was pinned face down on his bed, with his wrists and ankles held fast behind his back by Lars, like in those cartoons where a clumsy cowboy is tied down by a calf in a rodeo. Lars took off Twister's cap and began rubbing his fist on the boy's head. He really enjoyed bullying his younger brother, but very deep inside he actually cared for him… particularly when he was bored.

"So you Rocket dorks think you'll beat us today?" – Said Lars while whomping his brother.

"Oow! You better believe it, Lars!" – Responded Twister, desperately trying to free himself from his brother's grip - "we'll kick your butt at the match!"

"We'll see that, lame-o" – replied Lars, rubbing Twist's head harder.

"Oooow! Stop that! It hurts!"

"Aaaw! The baby boy is about to cry!" - responded Lars in singsong.

"That's enough, Lars! Get off me!"

"Never!"

"MOM!"

"Shut up, chicken liver!"

"What's going on up there?" – asked Mrs. Rodriguez from the kitchen.

"Nothing, mom! We're just playing" – replied Lars hypocritically.

"Are we?" - asked Twister, shyly.

"Shush!" - replied Lars, letting go abruptly of Twister, who was pulling back in an attempt to escape.

"Whoa!" – cried Twist, falling from the bed on his butt. – "Ooow!"

"You better behave, boys! And come down for breakfast; you'll be late for your game!"

"We're coming, mom!" - Answered Lars. – "Saved by the bell again" – said to Twister, helping him up. – "I can't believe how lucky little worms like you can be!"

"I'm not little!" – replied Twister pitifully while rubbing his sore behind.

"Oh… Ok; BIG worms like you! HA, HA, HA!"

"Tarado!" - said the boy under his breath.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" – Thundered Lars, bending Twist's left arm behind his back.

"Ooow! Nothing! I said nothing!"

"That's better. Let's go down for breakfast, dude. We have a hockey match to get to."