Playing With the Boys (22 page)

Something inside her said,
Push harder.
She didn’t want to lose with everyone watching. She had been working so hard to earn her teammates’ respect. She wasn’t going to lose it now.

She lunged forward, moving ahead of Benji. As she crossed into the end zone, her body hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A sweaty, disgusting, panting sack of potatoes. She dizzily looked up at the blue sky. It spun around her. But she’d done it! She hadn’t won, but she hadn’t lost. Suddenly, Ryan’s face came into focus.

“You all right?” he asked. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. All she could think about was oxygen . . . lungs . . . water.... She hoped she hadn’t collapsed in someone’s puke. “Blink once for no, twice for yes.”

She tried to blink twice but accidentally blinked three times. Ryan laughed, then held out a hand. She grabbed it and in one quick motion, using all one hundred and fifty pounds of his body weight, he pulled her to her feet. Unsteady, she kind of fell into his arms.

“Whoa,” Ryan laughed. “Easy there.”

Lucy giggled. “Sorry.” Benji stared at them both.

“Mason!” Coach Offredi yelled. “You want a personal invitation? Run your last lap!” Once he rejoined the team, Coach Offredi gathered everyone together.

“Who are we?” Coach Offredi yelled, psyching the team up. The guys ferociously clapped their hands together.

“Beachwood!” they all yelled back in unison.

“WHO ARE WE?” Coach Offredi yelled again, even louder.

“BEACHWOOD!” they screamed back. Lucy supposed this was part of the whole spirit/pride thing.

“WHAT DO WE DO?” Lucy considered.
Uh, run so hard we puke?

“
WE WIN!” they answered.

Coach Offredi nodded, satisfied. “Okay, hit the showers.”

Exhausted, Lucy headed to grab her stuff. She tentatively approached Benji.

“Sorry about back there,” she said. He was still mad at her for sticking him with Pickle at Kendall’s party. Beating him in front of his teammates probably hadn’t helped matters. But before Benji could get a word out, his dad rushed over, yelling at Coach Offredi.

“Coach!” he bellowed. “What is this crap?” Lucy noticed he was wearing a suit and guessed he must have just come from work. “I don’t pay twenty grand a year so a girl can take my kid’s spot on the team.”

“Dad!” Benji said, horrified. Lucy couldn’t believe this was happening. Ryan put an arm around her shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “You don’t need to hear this.” He ushered Lucy away from Benji’s dad. Benji watched them move off.

His dad pointed a finger at him. “What was that out there? I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” Benji shut up, fast.

Coach Offredi folded his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t think you want to do this here,” Coach Offredi said to Mr. Mason, raising his eyebrows. “If you want to go down to my office, we can talk.”

“Talk about what?” Mr. Mason scoffed. “You bringing this girl onto the team as a publicity stunt? What? You think you’re gonna move up to coaching college that way?”

Coach Offredi looked pissed. “We talk in my office. Or we don’t talk.”

Mr. Mason threw his hands in the air. “Fine, lead the way.” As the two men marched off, Lucy looked helplessly at Benji. She’d had no idea he was getting this not only at school but at home, too.

“Benji,” she began, “I’m so sorry.”

Benji angrily grabbed his stuff. “Forget it, Lucy. Don’t worry about it.”

But as Lucy changed into her cutoff sweatpants and a tank top, she couldn’t help but worry. Suddenly, she heard her voice mail beep. She’d listened to the message and realized it was her dad. And her worry turned to full-out panic!

“Hey, kid,” he’d said. “Got done early. Thought I’d come grab you and maybe we could try that Italian place off PCH for dinner. See you in a few.”

Panicked, Lucy looked at her watch. Her dad had left the message eight minutes ago. She bolted for the door and up the stairs to the field. She started to run for the parking lot but realized the cheerleaders were still practicing their half-time routine. If her dad showed up, he’d wonder why she wasn’t with them. Frantic, she ran over to Regan and breathlessly explained her situation.

“Okay, calm down,” Regan said, as the girls grabbed water, preparing to do their routine again. “Just grab some pom-poms and jump in.” Kendall sighed nearby. Regan asked her tentatively, “K, is that okay?”

“No offense,” Kendall answered, “but I’m supposed to lie for some girl I barely know?”

Suddenly, Ryan and Cope walked by, heading to their cars. Ryan saw Lucy holding two pom-poms and laughed. “Malone,” he called out, “don’t tell me you just gave up the pigskin for some pom-poms.”

Lucy blushed deeply as he walked over. “No, no. My dad—he’s coming to get me, and he thinks I’m on the cheerleading squad. . . .”

Ryan’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been lying to him all this time?”

“Well, not so much
lying
,” Lucy said innocently. “More like omitting the truth.”

Ryan nodded. “You seem so . . . good. Who knew you had it in you?”

Lucy shrugged. “Well, I can be bad when I want to be.” Was this flirting? Was that what they were doing? Kendall cleared her throat, obviously annoyed.

“Why don’t you two just make out already?” she said dryly. “Okay, are you doing this or not, Lucy?”

Lucy waved a quick goodbye to Ryan and took her place in the back of the formation. Regan stood beside her.

“Just try to follow along,” she instructed. Lucy nodded, then glanced toward the parking lot, just knowing her dad would be there any minute.

With Kendall leading, Lucy tried desperately to follow the dance moves. She’d follow to the left, then back to the right—suddenly, the girls were down on the ground, rolling in one direction, then jumping back up and doing a leap! Lucy could barely keep up. All this time she’d thought cheerleading was a cinch, that all you did was stand on the sidelines and cheer for other people who were actually doing stuff—this was hard work! All the girls did simultaneous backflips! Lucy was stunned.
What?
They were amazing!

By the time the routine ended, she had barely been able to do anything, but she was dripping with sweat and out of breath. She looked up to see her dad standing there with his eyebrows raised.

“Thanks, everyone,” Kendall said. “That’s enough for today. We’ll see you tomorrow. And if you have any time to practice during lunch, Miss Sullivan said we can use the gym.”

Lucy thanked Regan and tried to act as though she knew these girls and fit right in.
Was her dad buying any of it?
She wandered over to him. Regan followed, heading toward her own car.

“You ready?” he asked brightly.

“Yeah, totally,” she answered. “So, what’d you think?”

Lucy’s dad gulped.“Um . . .you were . .. good.You just seemed maybe a little . . . I don’t know . . . behind.”

Regan interjected. “She joined late. She’s just getting the hang of it.”

“Yeah.” Lucy nodded. “The hang of it.”

fourteen

The next day, Lucy hurriedly made her way to English, trying to keep all her thoughts in order for her
Madame Bovary
test. What with all her classes, football practice, and lying to her dad about football practice, her head was spinning. It was hard to keep everything straight—including her homework assignments.

Now she stood at her locker, frazzled, trying desperately to remember her locker combination. She could never keep it straight, and if she actually tried to think about the numbers and which direction she was going, rather than just doing it by instinct, she’d never get it open. Finally she heard a click. She sighed with relief.

As she tried to figure out what books and folders she needed, something caught her eye: a folded-up sheet of paper. She grabbed it and opened it. It was a note. She quickly scanned it, reading it to herself.

Malone—You and me. Under the bleachers. Six o’clock. Don’t tell anyone. Just meet me there.—Ryan P.S.You look cute today
.

Lucy’s jaw dropped as she read the note.
Bleachers? Six?
Cute? What?
She read it again. And again. She could feel the red creeping up her neck and over her face. She was blushing. This couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming. And if she was, she didn’t want to wake up.

She folded the note back up, stuffed it into the outside pocket of her backpack, and rushed to class. Forget
Madame Bovary
, forget football practice, forget everything—all she cared about was getting through today and meeting Ryan under the bleachers after practice.

 
At an exhausting practice that afternoon, Lucy and Ryan hadn’t so much as made eye contact, and that was okay with her. Clearly, he was playing it cool.

She remembered Regan’s instructions from last night. “Be cool,” she’d said. And Lucy was doing her best to do that as she practiced.

The whistle blew. Coach Offredi put his hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “You ready to run now?” he asked pointedly.

Lucy looked at him blankly.
Run?
She was the kicker. Her job was to kick, not run.

Coach Offredi sighed. It seemed as though at every practice he had to explain something else. Yesterday it had been that the quarterback doesn’t actually say “hike” (he often said “hut”). Today it was trick plays.

“These are plays we use when the moment is right,” Coach Offredi told her as Benji waited nearby, seemingly annoyed. He hadn’t really spoken to her in days.

“So with trick plays,” Coach Offredi continued, “you’ll act like you’re going to kick, but you’ll run the ball instead.” Lucy’s eyes widened. Run the ball? Like down the field? Full of players? “We don’t spend much time practicing these things, because we don’t run ’em much,” he explained. “But you should be prepared either way. Just in case.” He looked to Benji. “You too, Mason.”

Lucy nodded obediently. But truthfully, as potentially interesting (and terrifying) as getting to run the ball was, all she wanted to be prepared for was six o’clock, when she could meet Ryan. She glanced at her watch. Only two hours and seven minutes to go.

She’d told her dad that cheerleading practice would be running late again tonight because they were learning cupies and cradle catches (whatever that meant). Surprisingly, her dad had bought it. Lucy was almost sickened by the fact that she’d become such a good liar. Who knew that all it took was a poker face and access to Google to come up with excuse after excuse?

After practice, she confronted Benji.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Are you still mad at me? Is this about the party? Because I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care about the stupid party,” he interrupted.

“Then what is it? Because we’ve barely even talked—”

“You seem to have plenty of other people to talk to,” Benji said, nodding over to where Ryan, Cope, and Sascha were standing. “Must be a perk of being the
star
kicker.”

Lucy sighed. Obviously, his dad’s words had gotten to him. He was upset that Lucy had, according to Mr. Mason, “stolen his spot.”

“Benji,” she pleaded. “Please don’t be mad at me. It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he said. “Get used to it.” He grabbed his stuff and hit the showers. Lucy couldn’t believe he was acting this way. Where was the boy who’d thrown rocks at her window? But the truth was, she didn’t have time to worry about him right now. She ran to the locker room to shower and change.

She spent the next half hour doing homework on a bench in the main hallway. Finally, she glanced at her watch. It was five forty-five. She wasn’t sure if she should show up “fashionably late,” but after showering after football and slipping on her Gap boyfriend trousers and ribbed white tank top, she wasn’t sure how fashionable she was anyway.

She closed her book and spiral notepad and headed outside. The air was breezy and cool; her hair was still a little damp from showering after practice. Since she’d forgotten a hair dryer, she’d tried to use the electric hand dryers in the locker room, but instead of dry hair, all she’d gotten was a wrenched neck. Whatever. It was all worth it.

Rounding the corner of the school, she hurried down to the bleachers. Stuffing her hand into her book bag pocket, she grabbed the note and reread it just to clarify. It specifically said
under
the bleachers, not on top.