Blow Out (6 page)

Norcross answered with two quick scores of their own. Then the tall defender charged Elise, knocking her to the ground. The Norcross player was charged with a foul, and the Copperheads were awarded a free direct kick.

Lacy glanced at the sideline. Coach Berg nodded back. She appreciated his confidence in her, but she tensed up anyway. A goal would tie the score and go a long way toward making her a starter. Wiggling her arms and legs, she set the ball and stepped back. She approached the ball and kicked. The solid contact against her instep told her it was good. The ball flew up and just over the defenders' heads. It landed in the corner of the net and out of reach of the keeper's extended arms.

Screams of “Awesome!” and “Yeah, Lacy!” came from the sideline. Nita was jumping up and down, her ankle miraculously healed. Lacy couldn't believe it. It was as though her injury and those months of pain and stress had never happened. With only a few minutes left in the match, the score was 3–3. If Lacy could assist or score again, she'd cement her place on the team and send Raven to the sidelines.

At the moment, the action was on the Copperhead's side of the field. In quick succession, Addie stole the ball from a Norcross striker and passed to Olivia Cooper, who passed to Sophie. Sophie dribbled over the centerline and after Raven's shout of “Here!” sent her the ball. Lacy ran a cross pattern. But instead of passing in front of the charging defenders, Raven kicked into them.

Suddenly, all Lacy could see were churning legs and feet, like the whirring blades of a lawnmower. If she sprinted right then, she'd probably get to the ball first. But she hesitated—a second too long. Norcross took control of the ball.

T

he match ended in a tie. After Coach Berg made some announcements and gave a few notes, he ended his postgame wrap-up with, “For the most part, I liked what I saw. Nice hustle and pretty good ball control. But we have a lot of work to do, especially on communication. That will be task number one at Monday's practice.” He looked at his clipboard, then back at the Copperheads. “Okay, that's it. Go home and have a good weekend.”

Lacy had started back toward the locker room with her teammates when Coach called, “Sheridan, McAlister.”

Lacy wasn't surprised he was calling her back. She just wondered how bad it would be. Nita followed and sat on the bench. “You can go,” Lacy whispered.

Nita shrugged. “I know.”

Coach looked at Raven first. “I liked your striking and aggressive play out there. But you were close to getting carded. You were just lucky the ref was out to lunch. Keep your eyes on the ball, not on the players. And you need to work on your passing accuracy.”

Lacy knew this last remark was about Raven's pass into those defenders. There wasn't anything wrong with Raven's accuracy. She'd known exactly where she was sending the ball.

“Sure, Coach. I understand,” Raven said with simpering sincerity. Lacy was tempted to see if Nita was rolling her eyes.

“That's it,” Coach Berg told Raven. “You can go.”

Raven paused, looking from Coach Berg to Lacy. Lacy knew what she was thinking:
How come she gets to hear my scolding, but I can't hear hers?
Lacy wondered the same thing. It must be bad.

“Is there something else, McAlister?” Coach Berg asked.

“No. Thanks for the feedback.” She left, but not before giving Lacy a subtle glare.

Coach Berg took a deep breath as he turned to Lacy. Her legs felt wobbly, and she wished she could sit.

“First of all, I empathize with your situation,” he said. “I've had my share of leg injuries and know what it's like. You played good ball today, all things considered.”

Lacy nodded. He was giving her one of his “sandwich” critiques—saying something nice before he told her everything she'd done wrong.

“The thing is, we have games to win,” he continued. “In conference matches I can't risk being in a situation like what happened late in today's game. You hesitated. That may have cost us a goal.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” She stared at the ground.

Coach sighed. “You're a good kid, Lacy. An excellent athlete. You had a solid goal, a nice assist. But I need to be able to depend on players in critical situations.”

“Are you saying I'm off the team?”

“No. I'm just letting you know where you stand. You and Raven both have great skills. But, frankly, she's playing more fearlessly. Our first conference match is in one week. You have between now and then to get your head on straight. I hope you do.” He paused before asking, “Any questions?”

Lacy shook her head.

“Okay,” he said softly. “See you Monday.”

Lacy sank onto the bench next to Nita and pressed her chin on her hands. By then, the field and bleachers were empty. The field lights had been shut off.

“Come on, Lace.” Nita patted her back. “You had an assist and scored a free kick. That's more than I had.”

“I hesitated. I blew a goal.”

“Personally, I think Coach was being a little harsh.”

“No, he's right. If he can't depend on me, I shouldn't play.” Lacy wondered about the dress her mother bought her for the Belle League luncheon. She hoped “fabulous” didn't mean puffy princess sleeves.

“Nita, come on, I'm starving.” Lacy raised her eyes. Reggie was tugging on Nita's wrist. Peyton stood beside him.

“Let's shower and get out of here,” Nita said to Lacy.

The last thing Lacy wanted was to run into Raven in the locker room. “I think I'll shower at home. Go ahead. You don't need to babysit me.”

Nita sighed. “Are you sure? Because you seem, I dunno, miserable? You won't do anything stupid, will you?”

“Like what, drive without a seat belt?”

“Sense of humor. That's a good sign.” Nita took Reggie's hand, and he pulled her off the bench. She looked back at Lacy. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure. Have fun.” Lacy watched as Nita and Reggie walked across the field toward the gym, swinging their clasped hands between them.

“You wouldn't really drive without a seat belt, would you?” Peyton asked, sitting next to her.

Lacy smiled. “No. Never.” Then she said, “I'm too scared to take the chance. That seems to be the theme of my life right now.”

“I thought you played great.”

“Not good enough.”

“Well, I saw it differently. Which brings me to a favor I want to ask. It's okay if you say no.”

Curious, Lacy narrowed her eyes.

“Remember at lunch the other day, I said my set pieces suck? Well, Nita was right. Your free kick rocks. And your field vision is awesome. You seemed to know exactly where the ball was all the time. You might think this sounds stupid, but I wanted to see if you'd be willing to train me.”

“What?” Lacy was glad for the compliment, but the offer sounded a little crazy. “Are you testing a new pickup line or something?”

Peyton laughed. “No! I'm serious. You may not believe this, but my coach is threatening to bench me if I don't become a more ‘well-rounded' athlete. To him, that means kicking and field vision. Skills
you
have.” Peyton pressed his palms together. “Please? I'm desperate. And I swear this isn't a pickup line. Although I will take you to dinner as thanks.”

Lacy glanced at the dark sky, then back at Peyton. “Okay. But there's something I'd like from you more than dinner.”

“Anything.”

“Teach me to be fearless again.”

T

he next day was Saturday. Lacy drove her Mini to the soccer park where she'd agreed to meet Peyton. She arrived a little early so she could warm up. She jogged around, then juggled the ball from her knee to her foot and back again. She couldn't have counted how many times she'd done this same exercise at this same park.

Lacy was eight years old when she started playing on traveling clubs. She'd loved soccer from the first day she dribbled the ball up to the goal and clumsily kicked it to the back of the net. Nothing had captured her heart the same way since.

“Hey.” Peyton dropped a bag of balls in front of the goalie box.

“Ready to work?” Lacy asked.

“Absolutely.”

After they had warmed up, Lacy positioned herself where the defensive wall would stand. “Try a couple of free kicks. I'll watch your form.”

“Okay,” he said, “but promise not to laugh.” His first kick went wide of the net, and the other skimmed just over Lacy's head. A taller defender could have jumped up and knocked it away.

She didn't laugh, but she did smile.

“What?” he asked.

“You're stiff. Kicking the ball too hard. You're depending on your power.”

“Well…” He flexed his bicep.

Lacy rolled her eyes. “Kicking is an art form, not a boxing match. Loosen up. Be elastic. Before I kick, I imagine my entire body is made of spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti?”

She laughed. “Whatever works for you. Maybe linguini. It helps with my nerves, too.”

“Okay. What else?”

“I'll show you.” She set the ball on the ground and backed up six paces. “For starters, try approaching the ball from a wider angle. And before you kick, your supporting foot should be closer to the ball, like this…” She trotted up to the ball in slow, exaggerated steps and planted her foot a few inches from it.

“Is that it?”

“No. But it's enough for now. Try a few more.”

As he kicked through the bag of balls, Lacy gave him tips for increasing spin and faking out the goalkeeper.

“Hopeless,” Peyton said after he'd kicked through the balls a second time.

“No, you've improved! You're much looser. And your kicks have a lot more arc.”

“If you say so. I guess those last few did feel a little better.” He grabbed the empty mesh bag. They walked together toward the goal, collecting the scattered balls. “So, spaghetti, huh? You're a weirdo.”

Lacy picked up a ball and threw it at him.

“Hey!” He caught it, laughing. “You were also going to tell me about field vision.”

“Oh, right. It's hard to explain.” She cocked her head. “What are you doing for the next hour?”

“Nothing. Driving home and doing homework, I guess.”

Lacy smiled. “Follow me. It's time to watch a little film.”

Lacy wasn't in the habit of bringing boys home. So when she led Peyton inside, she took him to the downstairs office instead of her bedroom. Dealing with her mother's raised eyebrows wasn't worth the upstairs privacy.

“Nice house,” Peyton said for about the tenth time.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks.” She pulled a second chair up to the computer, and he sat next to her. She started a YouTube video of a pro match.

“Okay. See how Ronaldo has his head up, scanning the field? He hardly glances at the ball.”

“He's looking for someone to pass to.”

“Right. And watching for defenders. Oh, did you see that?” A player had quickly dropped the ball from his chest to his foot. “A quick first touch is really important. It means you can pass sooner. And you can tell Kagawa knew exactly what to do with the ball once he had it. He was thinking ahead.”

They watched a couple more videos, Lacy pointing out other examples of good field vision. “So, does any of that make sense?” she asked when the last video ended.

“Sure. Eyes up, scan the field, quick first touch, think ahead.”

Lacy swiveled her chair to face him. “So, payment time. Tell me about playing through your fear.”

Peyton glanced at the ceiling, then back at her. “I don't want you to think I'm bailing on your question. But all I can tell you is, I don't think about it.”

“You don't think about it? How? Sometimes it's
all
I can think about.”

Peyton grabbed a pencil off the desk and twiddled it in his fingers. “It's like … I just don't worry about getting hurt. If it happens, it happens. I might need surgery again, but so what? I'll heal again, and then I'll play again.” He set the pencil back on the desk. “I mean, I'm not doing stupid stuff out there. In lots of ways I'm more careful than I used to be—like, I make sure I stretch and warm up before I play. I do more strength training.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There really is no big secret. At some point, I asked myself if playing soccer was worth the risk. My answer was yes.”