FADE IN:
EXT. STREET – DAY

A suburban side street in June. A bungalow with a tree is a perfect setting if not for and a Ford GT parked at the curb. It seems completely out of place. Young voices are heard grunting, running and sticks hitting other sticks.

The sound of cheering fans takes root from the heat, followed by and excited announcer and his play by play.

                        ANNOUNCER (V.O)

... he passes to McKelvie in the

neutral zone who tips it to his

partner, Drake... the Wicked Wonders.

Drake dances around O’Mally, shoots!

Save by Buckner!

The sound of fans gives way to Steve, Terry, Mark and Rob who are battling for the orange ball.

Darren playing with a normal stick is goalie for Steve and Terry. Peter, wearing the Herd Jersey is goalie for Mark and Rob.

Behind Darren a puck-marked “Dead End” sign is mounted to a wooden platform.

Terry helps Darren make a miraculous save. The ball is slapped to centre where Mark and Rob prepare for another play. They whip past Steve and rush towards Darren.

Darren places himself but feels uneasy.

Rob takes a pass, swings and slaps the ball. It zips through the space between Darren’s arm and chest and into the net.

Darren turns, kicks the net, and shakes his head. In an odd way, the dead end sign provides relief before he taps the ball towards the centre of the road.

Mark and Rob raise their sticks and wave them like flags after a victory.

                        MARK

              The Wicked Wonders of the Herd strike

              again!

                        MARK AND ROB

                   (Chanting)

              Yeah! The Wicked Wonders! The Wicked

              Wonders strike again!

Steve and Terry are flushed as they shuffle to the curb.

Darren drops stick and plops to the pavement, watching them, not sure how to react to their disgust. He slams goalie mitt to the ground, wipes face and unfastens buckles. Shin pads fall away. His dark T-shirt is soaked from chest to belly button.

                        MARK

              Four goals in five minutes! That’s

              got to be an official record!

                        STEVE

              Be quiet.

Terry grumbles at Mark.

Rob lowers his stick, raises arms and cheers. Mark slaps one of his hands.

                        DARREN

              I guess I’m not much of a goalie.

                        TERRY

                   (In a loud sigh)

              Yeah, whatever.

Terry tosses his stick and lies in the grass.

Peter faces the other net. BUCKNER is spelled out across his shoulders on his Herd jersey.

                        PETER

                   (Turning)

              Hey... hey... wait a minute! Don’t

              Forget who’s the real star here!

The Herd crest covers his chest and stomach. The horns stick up, the furry goatee curled under its chin. The teeth are jagged and frozen in an angry smile.

                        PETER (CONT’D)

              Remember, if it wasn’t for Buckner

              here in nets for you, the score would

              be a lot higher.

                        STEVE

              Who you kidding, MacDonald? You

              don’t have the moves that Buckner’s

              got and he’s a lot bigger than you.

                        PETER

              Oh yeah, I do. I read about

              Stonewall--

                   (He stops suddenly and smiles,

biting his lip)

              I mean Buckner-- I read about his

              moves in Sports Log two months ago.

              He goes like this, puts his stick

              in front of him like this, and he

              covers his angles like this...

Peter jabs his stick forward, bends his knees and shifts awkwardly sideways.

Darren shakes head and frowns.

Terry pounds the grass and howls in laughter. Mark and Rob look at each other and laugh.

Steve laughs to a coughing fit.

                        ROB

              Do you dance like that in front

              of other people too?

                        PETER

              What do you mean dance! This is how

              Stonewall moves, OK?

                        ROB

              Yeah, like I really believe you.

                        PETER

              You’d see him do it in the game

              tonight. Wicked. The game for the

              cup! I wish I had a ticket.

                        DARREN

              How do you know he’s called

              Stonewall?

Darren feels like an idiot for the way Peter is looking at him.

                        PETER

              What?

                        DARREN

              I said how do you know he’s called

              Stonewall?

                        PETER

              ‘Cause I heard it from a friend

              who knew a guy who knew him, Ok,

              shrimp?

Darren frowns, looking at the Forg GT.

Mark looks at that area in general.

                        MARK

              Does anyone know who lives there?

              ‘Cause that’s a wicked car.

Steve stands, looking at the house.

                        STEVE

              I don’t know, but I heard it’s

              someone famous.

                        MARK

              Famous, around here? This isn’t

              Hollywood.

                        STEVE

              Like I said, I don’t know. But what

              kind of a person around here could

              own a car like that? It looks really

              expensive.

Peter taps his stick on the pavement.

                        PETER

              Ah, who cares? Let’s just play.

Darren feels exhausted as she fastens shin pads and gloves before taking position.

Mark and Rob nod to each other.

Darren tenses up and assumes the best position he knows as Mark and Rob start their attack.

Mark stick-handles the ball quickly, passing it between Terry’s legs and passes to Rob. Rob pushes past Steve.

Mark and Rob run side-by-side, towards Darren.

Darren grows more tense, working through various possible counter-moves, opening and closing glove like he saw a crab do in cartoon as it was preparing to defend itself.

Terry turns and catches up to Mark and Rob, moving between them.

                        ROB

                   (To Mark)

              Go for the pass.

Rob slaps the ball. Mark stops it and lifts his stick back high in the air. Darren drops to his knees.

Rob swings down fast. The ball is shot low and curves to Darren’s left, his stick side. He sticks out left pad. The ball is deflected from his left shoulder to the sign, then bounces and rolls behind the sign.

Mark grunts as he runs behind the net, and is chased by Terry and Steve.

The three huddle and kick the ball between their feet. The ball is shot right, past Darren, to Rob.

                        TERRY

              No!

Darren sticks to the right side of the net before shifting left, forcing left leg out, slamming knee to the pavement, and falling.

Rob flicks his blade. The ball sails over Darren.

He stands, turns and pokes ball slowly from the folds at the bottom of the net. He looks at the dents and black marks on the sign, anticipating the worst comments.

Terry and Steve yell at the air, at each other, curse and then mumble.

Darren turns, thinking mumbles are worse than yelling.

Mark and Rob chant as they trot towards Peter.

                        MARK AND ROB

              Wicked Wonders!

                        PETER

                   (Straining voice)

              Right on! Right on! Right on!

Steve holds his stick like an axe, hits the net close to Darren’s arm, and then walks to the curb and throws his stick on the lawn.

Darren kneels, faces the net, and works his fingers between knee pads and shins.

Terry swings his stick in the air, grunts, and then slap shots the ball towards Peter. The ball veers to the passenger side window of the Ford.

All but Darren gasp. An alarm erupts in high-pitched hi and low squeals.

Darren turns, hearing it, and watches them run away.

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The balance of this story is available at Amazon as part of a collection in the book "Short Stories: To Think and Feel"