"Jeff Verona - Field Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Verona Jeff)

you
like one. Everyone gets on their best behavior, and everyone clams up.
Problems get hidden."
"You think there are problems on Sovereignty."
"I think that if there are problems, the adults certainly wonтАЩt let us know
about them."
"Mister Jeb Lee seemed a nice man," Tevi observed.
"IтАЩd trust Mister Jeb as far as I could throw him. On Earth."
"Duplicity," she said, nodding. "I learned of such a thing on Harmony, in
ethics class."
"Well, youтАЩre about to get some practice to go with your theory," I said.
"Just watch how you talk to the kids. Be a big sister, not an adult."
"I shall." With her chin, she pointed back the way she came. "Patrick Henry
waits to show us our quarters."
"LetтАЩs not irritate the man any further," I said. "After you, Tevi."


#


The next morning, I watched the students play football while Tevi inspected
the school. One of the teachersтАФa young woman with a spray of acne on her
forehead, barely older than her studentsтАФintroduced me to the kids, then
left
me on the playing field. The children ranged in age from five to fourteen,
and
they all had the loose-limbed gait of those native to very low gravity. I
gave
the younger kids a ball and let them kick it around the field while having
the
older kids do drills on footwork, dribbling, and passing. Then I stood back
and watched.
The smaller children quickly forgot about me as they shot across the field,
laughing and shrieking, chasing each other and the ball. Inevitably there
were
collisions and roughhousing, and some of the bigger kids tried to hog the
ball, but they were all playing. No one was being ignored or pushed aside.
I
took my slate from my pocket and jotted a few notes about socialization and
age-group dynamics. These kids were fine, but the youngest ones tended to
be
bubbly and resilient regardless of how they were raised. Any real social
problems would show up in the older kids. As I crossed the field to join
the
older group, I glimpsed a familiar shock of blonde hair. It was Jefferson.
He
dribbled the ball, fired a pass across the field, then trotted to the back
of
his line.
"Jefferson!" I called.