Playing With the Boys (11 page)

Lucy stepped back ten more yards as Devon knelt down once again. His eyes darted over to the guys on the sidelines, watching. Lucy took another deep breath, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. This time it was her turn to go first.

She stepped back . . . one . . .two paces. Then she lunged forward, taking two strides, and just as her foot was about to collide with the ball—WHOOSH! She completely missed it and stumbled back, having to keep herself from falling backwards. As she struggled to keep her balance, the guys snickered. Devon had a sadistic smile on his face. Shocked, Lucy knew in an instant what had happened.

He’d purposefully sabotaged her kick.

She felt just like the cartoon Charlie Brown when the cartoon Lucy would whisk the football out of the way as Charlie Brown tried to kick it. She would have laughed at the irony if she hadn’t been so pissed.

“You moved the ball,” she said accusingly to Devon.

He was instantly defensive. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did!” Lucy exclaimed. “Right before my foot hit.”

Coach Offredi stepped in. “You making excuses now?”

Lucy felt a growing lump in her chest and was determined not to cry. That would only give them another reason to keep her off the team. She wanted to scream,
Yeah, it’s not as easy when someone moves the freaking ball!
She tried to stay calm. Getting upset wasn’t going to help. She knew that from soccer.

“I need a sec,” she said as she walked to the sidelines. Coach Offredi tried to contain his smile.

Pickle ran over, followed by Charlie and Carla. “Lucy, you’re doing awesome. Now keep your head in it.”

“You saw what just happened!” Lucy said. “You saw what that guy just did!”

“Yeah, he pulled a Lucy on you,” Charlie said dryly. “I’m cringing at the irony.” Martie walked over. Max bounded up beside her, joining them.

“Lucy, you look awesome out there,” Max encouraged.

“You really do,” Carla agreed. “So stick with it! You’ve got this!”

Martie put an arm around Lucy. “You’re the best kicker out there. Now finish this, hon.”

Lucy’s heart swelled. That was what her mom had always called her. Hon.

“Okay,” she said, determined. “I’m ready.”

Wordlessly, she jogged back onto the field, ready to kick again. Coach Offredi’s posture deflated. There was no way anyone was stopping her now.

“Come on, Luce,” the girls yelled. “Do it!”

Devon set up the ball again. Lucy shot him a dirty look. If he moved the ball again, she planned to conveniently kick him in the head . . . or somewhere worse.

Another deep breath.

Benji stood up to get a better look.

The cheerleaders crowded in. It was so quiet that Lucy imagined even traffic on the road behind her stopped for a minute. She popped forward, and this time, her foot hit the center of the football perfectly. It sailed up . . . up . . . a perfect end-over-end . . . five . . . ten . . . fifteen yards. It was right on target, heading for the metal posts . . . twenty yards . . . and it took a turn toward the left post. . . .

“No,” Lucy whispered. As if it could hear her plea, the ball sailed through, just grazing the post, but still—
good!

From the sidelines, the cheerleaders exploded! She’d done it! Lucy had done it. She’d kicked a forty-yard field goal! Farther than any other guy on the team.

Coach Offredi turned his back, upset, and looked down at the ground. He appeared momentarily distracted by a patch of dirt.

Lucy ignored his not-so-subtle reaction and proceeded to kick two more times. She made them both! She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she grinned from ear to ear.

Coach Offredi shook his head. “That’ll be it,” he muttered. “Hit the showers.”

Lucy looked at him, surprised. That was it. No “good job” or “awesome kick” or “you made the team.” Just “hit the showers.”

Devon looked at him, panicked. “Well, who’s supposed to show up to kick at practice tomorrow? We’ve got a game on Friday—”

“I’ll make a decision when I decide,” Coach Offredi barked. “Now hit the showers.”

Devon slunk off, clearly worried. The other guys followed. Lucy walked to the bench to grab her athletic bag and book bag.

“Hey,” a boy’s voice called. Lucy turned. It was Ryan. “Nice job out there. I didn’t know a girl could kick like that.”

Lucy shrugged. “Lots of girls can—it’s just no one ever asks them.”

Ryan nodded. “Good point. And, you know, good luck.” He turned and jogged to catch up with the other guys. Lucy watched him go, a broad smile spreading across her face. Then she hurried to join the girls on the sidelines.

They grabbed her and without a word of explanation ushered her into Charlie’s car.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asked, laughing.

“To celebrate,” Pickle informed her as she pulled the car door shut and cranked the radio.

“But I haven’t even made the team yet,” Lucy pointed out.

Charlie peeled out of the school driveway. “Oh, don’t worry. You will.”

 
Thirty minutes later, Lucy was suffering from a full-out sugar coma.The girls had taken her to Ben & Jerry’s, where, between the five of them—Lucy, Pickle, Max, Charlie, and Carla—they had scarfed down an entire Vermonster.

“A what?” Lucy had asked when Pickle ordered.

“A Vermonster,” Pickle explained. It was a tub of thirty-two flavors of ice cream, bananas, hot fudge, caramel, whipped cream, nuts, and all the toppings. Lucy seriously doubted she’d be eating dinner tonight.

Max collapsed back into her chair and rubbed her belly. “I look pregnant,” she lamented. “At least, like, six months.”

Pickle stuck out her belly. “I look nine months pregnant!”

“I just feel sick,” Charlie groaned. “I could seriously puke.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh God, really?” she gasped. Some people were scared of spiders or drowning—she was scared of throwing up. It didn’t matter whether she was the one doing it or whether someone else was the culprit; the whole idea of it terrified her.

“Someone’s going to need to roll me out of here,” Carla said. “Thank God we don’t have practice tomorrow.”

Pickle nudged Lucy in the side. “But you might.”

Lucy smiled. She’d momentarily forgotten about football tryouts but suddenly, football was back at the forefront of her mind.

If she did have practice tomorrow, she’d be ready for it.

Yeah,
she thought with a private smile.
Bring it on.

 
That night, as Lucy boiled the hot water for another dinner of mac and cheese, the phone rang. She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she couldn’t exactly tell her dad she’d pigged out on thirty-two scoops of ice cream before dinner.

“Probably one of your friends,” her dad said, not looking up from the work he was doing at the dining room table.

“My friends call my cell,” she reminded him as she hurriedly dumped the macaroni into the pot and grabbed the cordless off the wall. And by friends, she meant Annie. Although since the girls from the soccer team had cheered for her at tryouts and taken her out for ice cream, Lucy couldn’t help but think she might have a few more incoming calls than usual. All the girls had programmed her cell number into their phones at Ben & Jerry’s.

“Hello?” she said into the phone, as she headed back over to the stove to stir the noodles and add a little salt, just the way her mom had taught her.

Coach Offredi was on the other end of the line. “
Ms
. Malone?”

Ms. Malone?
That was her mom. Or, as her mom would say, that was her grandma.

“This is Lucy,” she responded nervously. She wasn’t sure if Coach Offredi calling her at home was a good sign or bad one.

“I just wanted to tell you . . .” He took a long pause, as if the words were hard to get out. “You . . . uh . . . yeah, you made the team.”

“I did?” she gasped.

“Mm-hmmm,” he responded, his voice tight. “You’ll be our first-string placekicker this year. Congratulations.”

Lucy was so surprised she dropped the wooden spoon directly into the pot. Quickly, she grabbed tongs to fish it out.

“I . . . really?” she stammered, in complete disbelief.

Her dad looked up from his work. “Is that Coach Reese?” he asked. Since Hell Week, Martie’s name had become a fixture around the house.

Lucy shook her head no and turned her back toward her dad for privacy. She listened as Coach Offredi told her to be there tomorrow before school for weights.
Weights?
Lucy had never lifted anything heavier than three-pounders.

“Okay.” She gulped. “I will.” She paused, feeling obligated to say something nice. “Um . . . thanks.” Coach Offredi muttered something on the other end.

Lucy cringed as she hung up the phone. It was obvious the guy hated her. She turned the water down to a low simmer and placed the metal lid on the pot.

Her dad looked at her expectantly.

“Well?” He waited.

Lucy smiled and gave a cute shrug. “I, um . . . I made the team.”

Her dad beamed. “Luce, that’s great! I knew Coach Reese would come to her senses.”

“Not the soccer team, Dad,” she explained. “The football team. The
boys’
football team. Can you believe it?”

It took a minute for her father to process this information. “Wait—you tried out for football?” he asked, unable to wrap his head around the concept. “When?”

“Today, after school,” Lucy admitted. She hadn’t told him because she hadn’t definitely planned on trying out.

But from the look of betrayal on his face, it was obvious this had been a mistake.

“How could you have kept this from me?” he asked, clearly upset.

Lucy recoiled, surprised at his reaction. “It’s just football, Dad. It’s not like I have a crystal meth addiction or an illegitimate child or something.”

Her dad gave her a look that quickly shut her up. The timer on the oven went off. Lucy turned the burner off and searched in the drawers for pot holders. She was still learning where everything was.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, as she slipped the pot holder mittens over each hand and grabbed the handles on either side of the pot, dumping the water and noodles into a colander in the sink. She loved the feeling of the steam hitting her face. It was like getting a facial—not that she’d ever actually
had
one before.

“We’ll eat after you call the coach back,” he responded firmly.

Lucy gave him a funny look. “Call back? Why? I’m gonna see him tomorrow. . . .”

Her dad folded his arms across his chest. “No, you’re not . . . because you’re not playing.”

Lucy sighed. Not this again. What was with all this forbidding and arguing? Her dad had never been like this back home. First Ryan’s party, now this . . .

“Don’t tell me,” Lucy replied, exasperated. She ripped open the packet of cheese powder and dumped it over the noodles. “I can’t play football until I’m sixteen, too?”

“You can’t play football
period
,” he snapped.

“But why?” Lucy cried. This morning, she hadn’t even wanted to play football, but now, after going through the tryouts and making the cut, she had something to prove—to the coach, to the other players, to Benji, to her dad . . . to herself. “Why can’t I play? I made the team, fair and square!”

“Because I am your father, and I said so!”

“Dad, come on,” she begged. “Remember how we used to play in the backyard at home?” When she was seven, her dad had given her a Nerf football for Christmas, and for three days straight they’d practiced different running patterns and passes. Of course, she’d quickly lost interest when a Barbie Dream House had shown up from Grandma. Hello, Ken and Barbie. Goodbye, Nerf.

“I’ll drop you off early tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re going to tell Coach . . . Coach whoever . . . that you’re not playing.”

“But Dad—” Lucy protested.