Read Sabotage Season for Free Online Page A

Prankster!” Frida said in an ominous tone.
    I frowned. “Stealing my duffel bag could have kept me out of the game. I don’t think anyone on the team would pull a prank that would jeopardize a game, would they?”
    Everyone was quiet for a little bit, and I knew they were silently agreeing with me. Finally Frida spoke up.
    â€œHmm. I still think treachery is afoot,” she said.
    â€œOkay, Shakespeare. Chill out,” Jessi said, laughing.
    Just then Emma’s phone beeped.
    â€œIt’s from Zoe,” she reported, looking at the screen. “She says she misses us and she’s going to come to practice tomorrow to watch, even though she can’t play. Yay! You know, maybe we should do something fun with her after practice. I know it hasn’t been easy for her, getting around school in her sling and all that.”
    â€œIt hasn’t,” Frida said. “Brendan Insler has been following her around so he can carry her books. Zoe’s totally annoyed.”
    â€œBrendan?” I asked. I still didn’t know most of the kids in seventh grade.
    â€œActually, I think he’s totally cute,” Jessi said.
    â€œYou think every boy is totally cute,” I pointed out, and Jessi gave me a light punch on the arm.
    â€œThen we definitely need to cheer her up,” Emma said. “We should go to the mall after practice since tomorrow’s Friday.”
    â€œOnly if we all shower and change first,” Jessi argued, looking down at her dirty uniform. “I am not going to walk around the mall all muddy and nasty.”
    â€œI’ll ask my mom if I can go,” I said.
    â€œSpeaking of moms.” Frida nodded toward the door, where her mom’s car was waiting. “It’s time to go!”
    We cleaned up our table, went outside, and piled into Mrs. Rivera’s car. She drove each one of us home, which was nice. When I got inside, Dad was making dinner. Even though I’d eaten a frozen yogurt, I was still hungry, and I eagerly approached the stove.
    â€œWhat are we having?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s Maisie’s night to choose,” Dad said. “So . . .”
    â€œNoooo!” I wailed. “Not tuna casserole again!”
    When I was little (and Maisie was just a baby) my mom got this idea that we could each pick out what we ate for dinner one night a week, so we wouldn’t argue so much when she forced healthy food on us all the other days. It worked out for a long time, because Maisie mostly picked chicken fingers and mac and cheese when she was little. But three years ago she fell in love with our aunt Sally’s tuna casserole, and now she had asked for it every week for three years.
    â€œMaisie, how about tacos next week?” I asked when we sat down to eat. “You love tacos.”
    â€œI can get tacos at a restaurant,” Maisie shot back. “But Dad is the only one who makes tuna casserole like Aunt Sally.”
    â€œHow about . . . ravioli, then?” I asked. “You love ravioli, too.”
    â€œI also love tuna casserole,” Maisie said stubbornly.
    I sighed and picked through the mushy mess of noodles, tuna, sauce, cheese, and peas on my plate, pushing the peas to the side. I didn’t mind snow peas in Chinese food or edamame when we went to the Japanese restaurant, but mushy peas . . . ugh.
    â€œHey, can I go to the mall tomorrow?” I asked as we finished up eating.
    â€œWith whom?” Mom asked. (She was the kind of mom who used proper grammar at all times.)
    â€œJessi, Emma, Zoe, and Frida,” I said. “To cheer up Zoe.”
    â€œAnd who’s driving?” Mom asked.
    â€œI’m not sure,” I replied.
    Mom nodded. “I’ll text the moms and we’ll figure it out. But it’s fine with me if it’s fine with your dad.”
    â€œSure, why not?” Dad said. “You’ve been practicing and studying a