I dribbled the ball down the field -- first with my left foot, then my right. The wind blowing my hair felt good. Even running against the wind was no challenge to me. I knew I could do this. "We can win with this goal." I dribbled to the center of the field. The herd of boys chasing me could not break my concentration. "Line the ball up with the goal," I told myself. I glanced at the goalie. "Good. He's shifted positions with me." I scooted to the right to make him move from center goal. "That's it." The goalie squared off in front of me.

Waiting. Ready for me to slam the ball. I edged to the right just a hair. I kept a poker face. I refused to show my thoughts on my face. I knew that my kick had to be deep in the left pocket. The score was tied.

"Concentrate on what you can do." I glared at the goalie. "I can do this. Left pocket goal. I can do this; I can do this." I took a deep breath and slammed the ball with my right foot. It zinged into the left corner of the goal. The goalie dived. He missed! The crowd went wild. I leaped and roared! I leaped so high I almost touched the sky. I dropped to the ground. Panting. Sweat and tears covered my face. I'd scored -- scored the winning goal. I stood up slowly. My teammates were all around me. I could just stare at them. Someone handed me a towel to wipe my face off. The roar in my ears was caused by the fans, yelling and screaming. My team gave me high fives as fast as I could return them. They lifted me up on someone's shoulders. I was screaming and laughing at the same time. Man! What a game. There could never be such a feeling as this. I grinned so hard my face was sore.

The coach thumped me hard on the back. "Good work man. What a goal! You're one of the best sixth grade forwards I've ever seen." He put both his hands on my shoulders. "In fact that last shot just might earn you the Player of the Year Award." I beamed.

The sixth grade soccer championship game was over. I sat by my best bud Tommy on the team bench. We watched in wonder as a soccer ball zipped past us. Would you look at that!" Tommy poked me. "It's headed to the woods. C'mon Steve. Let's get it." He took off.

I shook my head. "You're over-dressed in that Boy Scout uniform."

"At least I'm closer to it than you."

I flung my towel over my shoulder and trotted past Tommy. "Care to comment, Scout Man?! This ball is moving and so am I." The ball shot into the woods. We leaped over undergrowth and broken sticks.

"Whoever kicked this has a strong leg. We need him for our team."

"Why doesn't that ball have the same trouble moving through this mess that we have?" Tommy said.

"Believe it or not, it's almost to the creek." I jumped over a gully.

"That creek is too deep in the woods for that. The ball can't get there." Tommy said.

"Don't bet on it. It's close."

The ball hit a small tree that was in its path and stopped dead.

"Whoops. How did that happen? It went around all the other trees. But now, I have it." I picked it up and threw it back to the soccer field. As it arched upward I remembered the last few minutes of our game:

The kick into the left pocket, the goalie diving and missing, the cheers from the team. What a game it had been. Stunning.

Then Tommy in his Boy Scout uniform joining me for the last few minutes. Really neat. "What a great goal, Mr. Player of the Year."

I flicked my towel toward him. He grabbed the hamburger he'd balanced on his knee. "Good save, feller. I just had to keep up with you, that's all." I examined Tommy's new badges. "You got both the Tenderfoot and the Second Class ranks from your Scout group. And in the fastest time in the history of your troop. Talk about hard work! Here's to you – my man." I jerked at Tommy's tape measure that was fastened to his belt. "Be prepared. ... and all that good stuff." I loved to tease him.

"Wow. That ball was moving." Tommy came up to me panting.

"Yeah. It looked like it was attached to a string so someone could pull it. It went straight as an arrow," I said.

We climbed onto Flat Rock, our favorite picnic spot. Tommy took a bite out of his hamburger and put it down. I snatched it and snagged a bite too.

"Glad you brought this. It hits the spot."

"Hey, that's my lunch."

"That's OK. You can share."

"I know. I know." Tommy looked up the creek where it entered the woods. "What's that?"

"What?"

"Look. Coming at us straight from the woods by the creek." He stood up.

The bottle bounced to Tommy. It did not roll to the right or to the left. It came straight to Tommy. "The elves are sending us a present." He went to the creek to pick it up. It moved without veering just like the soccer ball had.

Some weird things are happening here. First the ball lures us to the Flat Rock. Now a bottle is zipping up to us without turning. Why does my best friend think that elves are sending us a present?

"Hey, Steve. Look at this."

"What the. ..." I muttered under my breath. Go see what he has. He does have a lot of good ideas.

"Someone wanted us to have this bottle." Tommy took off his bright gold Boy Scout scarf and wrapped it around his hand. Then he picked the bottle up. "Look at this." It was shaped like an old-fashioned pop bottle -- about eight inches tall, light green with oval bumps scattered on it. "This is not one of your run-of-the-mill bottles." He rolled it over touching the large bumps. "I've never seen bumps on a bottle like this. I wonder if it's an antique. If it is, Mom would love it."

I was still staying away from Tommy. My mind didn't want any part of this -- but something in me wanted to join in the fun. "Elves." I muttered. "No such thing as elves. Why should I go to him?" I turned to him anyway. "There isn't any such thing as an elf and you know it! Now what could have 'sent' you that bottle?"

Go see what he's found. He does have neat ideas.

"Who said that?" I looked around me.

"Phew-we! Smell this elf juice." Tommy stuck the bottle out to me.

"It's not 'elf juice'. There's no such thing as an elf and you know it! I tried to pull away but I still got a whiff of the 'elf juice'. "Boy! Don't let my mother smell it. She'll give it to me for cough syrup."

"Here." Tommy shoved the bottle at me. "Set it down on the Flat Rock; I feel funny."

I took the bottle and rolled it over and over. The bumps were different shapes -- some oval -- some round -- and there were a couple of squares. I rubbed my fingers together. The bottle was sticky. I wonder who made this bottle. Then I looked at Tommy. "W-o-w," I gasped. My eyes bugged out and my mouth dropped open. My hands trembled so badly I barely managed to put the bottle down at the edge of Flat Rock. "Tommy. Y-y-you're sh-sh-shorter than me."

"I'm two inches taller than you and you know it." He tried to push me but his arms didn't go very far. "Hey." He stepped back and looked around. "Everything's bigger. The ground's closer than it should be. Is this log larger that it was?" Then he looked up at the Flat Rock. "Oh no," Tommy whispered. "The Flat Rock is higher than it should be."

His voice quivered. "I-I am getting shorter! Much shorter. W-what can I do, Steve? Help me!" Tommy reached high over his head trying to stretch himself taller. He stomped his feet up and down like he was running up stairs.

"Moving...