At sunrise, Bruno Jara juggled the soccer ball beside the field. One kick sent it sailing over the fence—BANG!
Bruno Jara raced after the ball and found it beside the fence. He grinned, tapped it back into the field, and started again.
Bruno Jara dribbled along the neighborhood street and shot at a cardboard goal. The ball bumped a trash can and spun in a circle.
Bruno Jara chased the ball past the rattling cans. “Again,” he said, setting his feet beside the cardboard goal.
At home, Bruno Jara practiced toe taps until the room grew dark. Dinner waited, but he kept the ball moving.
Late that night, Bruno Jara carried the ball to the city park. The goal net flapped in the cool wind.
Under the park lights, Bruno Jara ran, kicked, and shot at the important target. The ball rolled slowly wide.
Bruno Jara dropped onto the grass. The empty net gave one soft flap.
Bruno Jara sat beside the ball and closed his eyes. For a little while, nothing moved except the grass.
After resting, Bruno Jara took a drink and heard a happy bounce. He began again—slow dribbles first, then silly zigzags.
At sunrise, Bruno Jara lined up one more shot. This time, he watched the ball roll straight through the net.
The net lifted with a bright snap. Bruno Jara chased the ball, laughing, and set up another shot.