Playing With the Boys (27 page)

 
The bell rang. Second period was over. Lucy had received an A- on her
latest
test and was pleased. As everyone hurried out, Martie called her over.

“Can you stay a minute?” Martie asked. Before Lucy could protest, she added, “And I’ll write you a pass.”

Lucy walked over and half-leaned on Martie’s desk. “Yeah?”

“How’s your ankle?” Martie asked casually.

Lucy looked down self-consciously. Under her jeans, her ankle was still pretty heavily wrapped. “Um . . .” she said. “I’ve got the Ace bandage on it still, so—”

“So it doesn’t hurt when you nail the ball halfway across the soccer field?” Martie asked with more than a hint of accusation in her voice.

“What?” Lucy recoiled, unsure what Martie was implying.

Martie crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I have it on good authority that your ankle’s okay.”

“Who told you that?” Lucy pressed.

Martie locked eyes with her. “Does it matter?”

“If people are spreading rumors about me, yeah, it matters.”

“Pickle saw you kick the ball today. She said it was like you were never hurt.”

Lucy glanced down guiltily. She had fired the ball pretty hard. And it had stung a little. “It wasn’t like it didn’t hurt,” she explained. “I just . . . I wanted to kick anyway.”

Martie nodded. “Oh, right. Like . . . work through the pain?”

Lucy shrugged. “I guess. Something like that.”

“Then why aren’t you playing on Friday?” Martie asked. “In the homecoming game. It’s the biggest game of the season.You can’t work through it then?”

“I just ... I don’t know,” Lucy stammered. “Because my dad won’t let me.”

Martie wasn’t buying it. “He didn’t let you the first time and you did it anyway,” she pressed. “Why’s it different now?”

“It just is, okay?” Lucy insisted, her voice rising a little. “It’s different.”

“Look, I’m not saying you should sneak around behind your dad’s back. I would never advocate that. But if you’re
not
playing because of someone—maybe someone
besides
just your dad—you’re making a big mistake.”

Lucy threw her hands into the air. “Who else would I not be playing for?” she asked, exasperated.

Martie raised her eyebrows. “I think we both know.”

Lucy stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets and hunched her shoulders up toward her ears. She waited for Martie to say something, but she didn’t. Finally, Lucy had no choice but to admit the truth.

“He’s my only friend here,” Lucy said softly. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Martie leaned in close and looked into Lucy’s eyes. Her voice was stern.“If you have to be less of a player, less of an athlete, less of a person to have Benji as a friend,” she said, “then his friendship isn’t worth much, Lucy. It’s not worth anything at all.”

 
That night Lucy picked wordlessly at her dinner. It was a strange feeling
not
being drained and exhausted at seven o’clock. Usually she was too tired after practice to lift her fork. Now she was just depressed. She kept thinking of Martie’s words.

If you have to be less of a player . . .

“So, how was your day?” her dad asked, trying desperately to make conversation. They’d been sitting in total silence for about ten minutes.

Lucy mumbled a slight response and continued pushing rice around on her plate.

Less of an athlete . . .

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” he finally asked. Lucy wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t stop hearing Martie’s words in her head. She didn’t know what to do. Play and lose Benji? Or keep Benji and not play?

Less of a person to have Benji as a friend, then his friendship isn’t worth much.

She so wanted to ask her dad what to do. She wanted his guidance, his advice, his life experience—but she knew that all she’d get was his wrath if she so much as mentioned what she was thinking about doing. So she said nothing.

“Lucy?” he asked again. “Are we ever going to talk about this?”

Lucy shrugged. She was through being accommodating and not standing up for herself.

Her dad sighed and turned his focus back to his breaded chicken.

Lucy set her fork down, determined. “I want to talk about mom,” she said matter-of-factly. “I miss her.”

Her dad nodded. “Of course, you do.”

“But do you know why?” Lucy asked. “Because there are a million reasons. You know, I miss how she used to scratch my back at night, to get me to go to sleep. I miss how I used to hear her whistling in the kitchen in the morning, just when I was waking up. I miss the way a hug from her made everything better....” Tears were forming in Lucy’s eyes as she spoke. “But the thing I miss the most,” she said, her voice wavering, “was that she wasn’t afraid to just . . .you know, let me grow up and make my own decisions and be my own person.” Lucy mustered the courage to say what was on her mind. “She didn’t treat me like this fragile little girl that needed protecting. Mom saw how strong I was. And I wish you’d see it too.”

She got up from the table and headed toward her room. She quickly shut her door behind her. She noticed the school directory on her bookshelf. She ran to grab it, then locked the door behind her. Quickly, she flipped to
O
.

 
It was fourth period. The bleachers were filled with every student at Beachwood. Paper banners were taped to the wall, reading everything from GO BEACHWOOD and WIN FIGHT WIN to OAKWOOD SUCKS and BEAT THOSE WEENIES. The cheerleaders were already leading the crowd in cheers where different sections were screaming, “Go!” “Fight!” “Win!” They were pitting different classes against each other, and so far the sophomores and juniors were definitely the loudest.The freshmen were too insecure and meek to yell, and the seniors were too over it to bother. Because of their different ages, Charlie, Pickle, and Max were each relegated to their own class and couldn’t sit with each other.

The entire football team sat together in the bleachers, as Principal Truex gave a speech about Beachwood integrity, good sportsmanship, and pride. The students cheered as the music was cranked up and the cheerleaders, led by Kendall and Regan, did round-off back-handsprings across the gymnasium floor. Then it was time for Coach Offredi to speak.

He took the microphone, which blared feedback as soon as he held it. Some of the more obnoxious sophomores groaned in horror.

“Hello, students,” Coach Offredi said, sounding more stilted and formal than he did on the football field, as if he were trying to sound like a calm, rational individual instead of the crazy, victory-obsessed maniac that he really was. “Thank you all for coming here today—”

One of the obnoxious sophomores screamed, “We had no choice.” A bunch of the sophomores around him laughed.

“We—myself, the fine coaching staff, and most of all, these dedicated players—appreciate all the support. We hope you’ll come out for the game tonight. And I’d like to introduce Ryan Conner, for those of you who don’t know him. He’s our quarterback and team captain—he’d like to say a few words.”

Ryan jumped out of the bleachers to great applause and cheers. Coach Offredi passed off the mic, looking relieved to be finished speaking in public.

“What’s up, Beachwood?” Ryan yelled. “You ready to watch us kick Oakwood’s butts?” Even the seniors erupted in cheers.

“Tonight’s game is gonna be crazy. We’re gonna go all out, hold nothing back—and it’s going to be especially good because we’ve got someone back with us. . . .” He looked into the bleachers and smiled. There was Lucy, sitting right above the team. “She missed a couple of weeks of games after making a great tackle, but she’s back tonight and we can’t do it without her. Malone, come down here!”

Lucy looked around nervously, then stood up tentatively.
Had Coach Offredi already told everyone?
All eyes were on her as she snaked her way through the team, past Benji. From the look on his face, no one had told him. But Lucy couldn’t worry about disappointing Benji anymore. And she couldn’t worry about defying her dad. She had to do this—for herself.

“You’re gonna need this,” Ryan said, tossing her her home jersey. Lucy took it and slipped it on over her head.

No surprise. It was a perfect fit.

After the pep rally, she approached Benji at his locker.

“Hey,” she said softly, afraid he was mad.

“Hey,” he replied glumly.

She nervously fiddled with her hair, wrapping a strand around her finger. “I guess I owe you an explanation—”

He cut her off. “You know what, Lucy? You don’t owe me anything.”

Lucy shifted uncomfortably. “I just . . .I, um . .. I talked to Martie. . . .” Lucy trailed off. It was so hard to just be honest. But she had to be. “And she kind of . . . she helped me see . . . that the only reason I wasn’t playing, wasn’t pushing through my injury, was because of you.”

“Me?” he asked, not getting where she was going with this.

“Yeah. I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn’t be friends with me anymore.”

Benji stopped rummaging through his locker and looked at her as if she had just said something so out there that it was beyond comprehension. Like that the sky was green, or that orange juice was made from bowling balls. “Why would I not be friends with you?”

Lucy shrugged. “It seems like you’re only friends with me again now that you have my spot. And I know that sounds really horrible. I mean, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, ’cause you’ve been such a good friend to me.”

Her words seemed to hit Benji like a slap across the face. “Right. Good friend,” he said in a hostile tone.

Lucy was taken back. “What? What’d I say? What’s wrong?”

Benji slammed his locker shut. “Just forget it.”

As Benji stormed off, Lucy watched him go. And suddenly something caught her eye. Coach Offredi. He’d been watching.

“Lucy?” he said sternly. “A word?”

“Um, I have to get to . . . um . . . bio,” Lucy stammered.

Coach Offredi folded his arms across his chest. “Now.”

 
Lucy sat on a hard wooden chair in Coach Offredi’s office, unsure of why she was there. She had called him last night and told him she was cleared by Dr. Cane to play. And surprisingly, he had seemed happy—relieved, even.

“I want to talk to you,” Coach Offredi said, his mustache twitching a little. “About Benji. I want to talk about why he’s upset.”

“Because I’m kicking tonight,” Lucy explained. “And he really wanted this position. Badly.”

“That’s not the problem.” Coach Offredi sat down and picked up a pencil. He tapped the eraser against the desk. “The problem is that he likes you.”

Lucy almost did a double take. “Huh?”

“He likes you,” Coach Offredi said, a little louder. “Listen, I know from experience. I was a teenage boy once.” Lucy almost giggled. It was hard to think of Coach Offredi as a boy. “This isn’t about you kicking farther than him, and it’s not about beating him in a drill. It’s about liking a girl who’s probably way out of his league and is all drooly and moony-eyed for the quarterback.”

“I’m not drooly and moon-whatever over Ryan!” Lucy exclaimed defensively.

Coach Offredi raised his eyebrows.

Lucy sat back in her chair. “Well, maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Give the kid a break, Malone. He likes you. We all lose our heads a little when we like someone. Now get to class.”

Lucy stood up. “Yes, Coach,” she said obediently. As she opened the door, he called after her.

“Oh, Malone?” He looked up from his desk and smiled. “Welcome back.”

nineteen

Beachwood exploded through the paper banner as they barreled onto the field, ready for a fight. Speeches had been given, ankles had been tightly taped (Lucy’s especially), and prayers had been said—now all that was left to do was play ball. Beachwood won the coin toss and opted to start on defense, wanting to send a message to Oakwood’s offensive line right away: “We’re shutting you down.”

BAM! Lucy kicked the ball off solidly to Oakwood. It bounced at the twenty and was quickly picked up by their kick returner, who angled down the right sideline behind a vanguard of Oakwood blockers. Tank literally ran over one of the smaller blockers and brought down the ball carrier with a jarring tackle at the Oakwood thirty-two. The Beachwood section of the crowd roared, as Coach Offredi sent the defensive team onto the field.