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first to spot
     oncoming cars. Once again, she pulled the net away, and the others skated to the curb.
    Now a procession of cars came barreling down the block. No sooner did Lainie and Marty replace the net than another group
     of cars forced them to the side again.
    “How come there are so many cars?” Kirby asked Marty anxiously.
    “It’s bad on weekends in summer,” Marty explained. “A lot of cars cut through here on their way to Longwood Lake.”
    “Oh. Couldn’t your dad have mentioned thatthe other night? My parents are getting upset. Look at them.”
    “They don’t look too happy,” Marty agreed. “Come on, let’s just play. Once they see you score a goal, they’ll loosen up. Lainie
     — let Kirby score one, okay?”
    Lainie frowned. Clearly she didn’t like the idea of making herself look bad. “Okay,” she said with a shrug. “But just this
     once.”
    The traffic finally let up. Once more, Kirby took the pass at center ice from Trevor. Marty purposely let him get free for
     the shot, and Kirby wound up for the big blast.
    His stick hit the puck with a resounding
thwack.
The puck sailed toward Lainie, who ducked in real fear. But the shot was just a bit high. It flew just over the net, and
     kept going — right smack into the windshield of Kirby’s parents’ car!
    “Aaaaaagh!” Kirby screamed. “No! No! I didn’t do that! It was an accident — Mom! Dad! Wait!”
    His mom and dad were already at the car, looking at the shattered windshield. “It was an accident!” Kirby repeated as he skated
     up to them.
    “Well, we’ll have to get it fixed,” his father said, tight-lipped. “Right now. And you’ll have to come with us, Kirby.”
    “But —”
    “No buts,” his mom said. “We’ll discuss it in the car.”
    Kirby said a sad good-bye to his friends, then got in, and they drove off.
    “It’s not just the windshield, Kirby,” his mother said as Kirby fought back tears in the backseat. “It’s all the traffic,
     with those crazy drivers…”
    His father agreed. “It’s dangerous, playing in the street. You’ll have to do other things with your new friends. Playing hockey
     in the street is out.”
    Kirby felt tears tumbling down his cheeks. Great. There went his only friends. His whole life was ruined! What was he going
     to do now?

6
    F or the rest of that day, Kirby barricaded himself in his room and didn’t come out except to use the bathroom or sneak some
     snacks. He played a lot of video games and watched a lot of TV. He didn’t say a word to either of his parents — not even when
     his mom knocked on the door at ten o’clock to tell him to shut off the lights and go to sleep.
    The next morning, he felt awful. He hadn’t slept very well. On top of feeling crummy about not playing hockey, he felt guilty
     about not talking to his parents — especially after breaking their windshield. He decided he couldn’t take it anymore.
    His mom and dad were down in the kitchen, eating muffins. “Hi,” he said softly, taking his regular seat at the table. “I’m
     sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to break the windshield, and I guess I should have said good night to you.”
    “Oh, honey,” his mother said, getting up to give him a hug. “We’re sorry, too.”
    “I shouldn’t have dragged you away from there just like that,” his dad said. “I guess I overreacted.”
    “So… I can play?” Kirby dared to ask.
    “Well, no. Not in the street,” his mother said. “There are just too many cars, and they drive too fast.”
    “But it wasn’t like that the other time!” Kirby protested. “Marty says it’s just on the summer weekends, ’cause people go
     to the lake.”
    “I’m sure there’s some truth in that,” his father said, “but unless you can find some other place to play, it’s no deal. Your
     safety comes first.”
    Kirby sighed, realizing there was no use talking about it any further. He knew his parents. When they said no like that,