“Can I talk to you?” Martie asked Lucy, as Lucy hurriedly gathered her books to move on to her next class. So far it had been a pretty crappy morning, and Lucy was willing to bet at least a month’s allowance that talking to Martie wasn’t going to make it any better. In fact, Martie was the last person Lucy wanted anything to do with.
Lucy had spent the better part of her fifty-minute English class with her arms folded across her chest, giving Martie the evil eye. Not even Ryan lending her a pen could cheer her up. As she listened to Martie drone on about the first few chapters of Madame Bovary, she still couldn’t believe that the teacher would recruit her and get her hopes up only to cut her.
“I really have to get to bio,” Lucy mumbled. She just wanted to disappear. Wasn’t there a locker she could hide in? Or a Dumpster?
Martie pressed her lips together. It was obvious she felt terrible. “Look, you’re a very talented kicker—we both know that. It’s just that some of your other skills could use a little more . . . development.”
Lucy had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.
Development? she wanted to scream at Martie. How am I going to develop if I’m not even playing? By magic? By osmosis, whatever that is?
Martie kept on. “Like your speed and handling of the ball—you could use a little more work on those.” Lucy nodded blankly. She didn’t want to hear about handling the ball. She could barely handle this conversation.
“We recruit girls from all over L.A. County. Making this team is extremely difficult. Even the girls who get cut are still head and shoulders above most other high school players.”
Lucy’s shoulders hunched forward as she stared at her slip-on Converse sneakers, the cool kind without laces. This wasn’t making her feel any better. She didn’t care about heads or shoulders or other high school players. She cared about her friends back in Toledo. She cared about her old bedroom. She cared about having her name on that list.
“Lucy. You were hands down the best kicker on that field—the best female kicker I’ve ever seen.” She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together. “That’s why I have an idea.”
The bell rang. It meant Lucy was officially late for bio. “I should go. . . .”
“Don’t worry,” Martie said quickly. “I’ll write you a pass. I wanted to talk to you about something else. It’s about the football team.”
Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed. She wrinkled her forehead.
What did football have to do with anything?
“The field goal kicker, Matt, went down with an injury—”
“I know,” Lucy interrupted. “I saw. He tore his ACL or something.” She had no idea where Martie was going with this. “What does that have to do with me?”
“They’re having a special tryout,” Martie explained. “And I think you should.”
“Should what?” asked Lucy.
“Try out,” Martie said simply.
Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Try out for the boys’ football team? Are you kidding me?”
“Think about it. You have a strong leg; your aim is perfect; you can kick the ball, what, thirty yards easy. That’s enough for most field goals.”
Field goal? Football? Lucy couldn’t believe what Martie was proposing.
“I’m a soccer player,” Lucy pointed out. “Not a football player.”
Martie gave her the facts. “Did you know that in the NFL, eight of the top ten kickers were soccer players before they became football players?”
“Uh-huh . . .” Lucy said, skeptically.
“And that coaches have actually adapted how they have their kickers kick the football, so that they kick with the instep, like soccer players, rather than with the toe of their shoe?”
“How many of the kickers in the NFL are girls?” Lucy asked.“I’m guessing none, because a girl can’t be on a boys’ football team. It doesn’t make any sense.” This was the craziest idea she’d heard since her dad said they were moving across the country.
Martie shrugged. “A lot of things don’t make sense the first time you hear them. You know, like twice-baked potatoes or jumbo shrimp.”
“Huh?” Lucy had no idea what Martie was talking about.
“Never mind,” Martie said quickly. “Just know that girls all over the country are doing this. Even in college.”
“They are?” Lucy considered, shocked that she was entertaining this thought for even a second.
“Think about it,” Martie urged. “Please. Tryouts are tomorrow after school. Promise me you’ll sleep on it.”
Lucy sighed. She wasn’t sure why Martie even cared. She’d left her off the soccer team, which seemed like such an easy, logical fit; now she was trying to force her onto the boys’ team?
“Look,” Lucy began, “you don’t have to feel guilty—”
Martie interrupted. “It’s not about guilt. It’s about putting you where you belong.”
Where I belong, Lucy thought. Try back home, in Toledo, with Annie and everyone else—certainly not on a boys’ football team! Lucy couldn’t think of anywhere she’d fit in less. Maybe a men’s prison? Or a convent. . . .
“I know it’s hard,” Martie continued. “New friends, a new school . . . but sometimes where you think you’ll fit in the least is where you may fit in the most. Really, Lucy, you never know what you can do until you do it.” Lucy gave her a look, not believing her.
“Trust me.” Martie smiled. “You can make it.” She handed Lucy a late pass.
Lucy grabbed the slip of paper and headed for the door. Martie was making it impossible for her to say no.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Lucy’s dad said as he engulfed her in a hug. “I know how much you wanted this.”
Lucy nodded as she leaned against his chest, taking a deep breath. She inhaled the familiar combination of men’s Speed Stick,Tide, and cologne, and blinked back tears, trying not to think about everything she was going to miss. The practices, the games, the team dinners, the bus rides, the locker room jokes—she’d be missing out on all of it.
“I have a lot of homework to do,” Lucy said softly and headed for her room.
An hour later, after she had waded through most of her geometry proofs and conjugated at least twenty Spanish verbs, she heard the doorbell ring. Lucy looked up, surprised. The sound of girls’ voices echoed in the foyer. Considering her dad barely knew his coworkers yet, Lucy couldn’t imagine who would be visiting them—at dinnertime, no less. Girl Scouts selling cookies? Teen Jehovah’s
Witnesses? She tentatively opened her bedroom door and peered out. Down the long hallway, she saw her dad taking coats and welcoming Pickle, Charlie, and Max into the house.
Lucy rushed out. “What’s going on?” she asked, concerned.
Pickle handed Lucy’s dad her green army jacket and turned to Lucy. “Your dad invited us for dinner!”
Lucy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “He did?” She looked at her dad, panicked. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’m not cooking.” He looked to the girls. “Everyone like pepperoni?” Charlie, Max, and Pickle nodded as Lucy’s dad grabbed his keys. “Great,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll be back in twenty.” He shut the door behind him, leaving a stunned Lucy in his wake.
“What—what’re you guys, like . . . you know, doing here?” she stammered.
“I called to see how you were doing,” Pickle explained, “and your dad said you could use some cheering up.”
Lucy tried to hide her look of horror. She knew her dad’s heart was in the right place, but these girls barely knew her. They’d only hung out outside soccer once, and that had ended in disaster when Lucy’s party plans fell through. Now they were in her house. And it wasn’t even her house!
“This place is sweet,” Max said admiringly as she walked into the living room.
“It’s just a rental,” Lucy explained sheepishly. “It’s not really ours.”
“We sold our house and rent too no
w,” Max said. “My dad says it makes more sense in this market, whatever that means.”
“Fascinating,” Charlie said dryly. “So, should we tell her why we’re really here?”
Lucy stared at the girls, confused. Max turned to Charlie. “Operation Cheer Up. We just told her.”
“We’re not just here to cheer Lucy up,” Charlie responded, nudging Pickle.
“Okay,” Pickle admitted. “There’s another reason we came over.”
Max seemed totally in the dark. “Free pizza?”
Charlie shook her head and laughed slightly. “Uh . . . no.” Then she considered. “Is he getting thin crust?”
Pickle looked at Charlie and Max, exasperated. “You guys! We’re not here to talk about pizza.”
“Can we talk about chips?” Max asked. “Because I’m starving.” She headed to the kitchen in search of a snack.
Pickle turned to Lucy. “We’re here to talk about football.”
Lucy exhaled loudly. Suddenly, it all made sense. She understood exactly what was going on. “Martie put you up to this.”
“She didn’t put us up to anything,” Pickle quickly interjected. “She just told us about football tryouts. And we think you should do it.”
“Do what?” Max said as she came back into the living room holding a bag of tortilla chips.
“Lucy’s going to try out to be Beachwood’s new placekicker,” Charlie said as she collapsed onto the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table.
“Really?” Max asked.
“No,” Lucy argued. “I only told Martie I’d think about it. And I have.”
The girls waited for Lucy’s answer. Finally, Pickle broke the silence. “Well, don’t keep us hanging—what’re you gonna do?”
“Nothing,” Lucy said. “I’m not trying out. I can’t be a girl on a boys’ team. It’s just . . . crazy.”
“She’s right,” Max agreed. “It’s crazy. And I bet smelly, too. Boys stink.”
“But some of those football boys are ridiculously cute,” Pickle pointed out.
“It’s not about cute boys,” Charlie said adamantly, then nodded to Max. “Hey, you wanna share those chips?” Mouth full, Max reluctantly passed the bag over. Charlie turned back to Lucy, continuing. “It’s about showing what you can do.”
“She’s right,” Pickle agreed. “No one has a leg like you, Luce. And forget soccer! If you make this team, you have a chance to do what no one else has ever done at Beachwood. There’re only a handful of girls who’ve done it anywhere.You have a chance to really stand out and be a star!”
Lucy sighed. She never wanted to stand out. She wanted to fit in. “I don’t know . . .” she said hesitantly.
“Seriously,” Pickle prodded, “if you did this, it’d be incredible. Legendary. You’d go down in the annals of history.”
“Ew.” Max cringed. “Don’t say anal.”
Pickle threw a pillow at her. “I didn’t!”
As Max and Pickle began to argue about the difference, Charlie looked Lucy in the eyes.
“Lucy,” she said, her voice serious and slow, “if you do this, you’ll be like, the toughest, most hard-core athlete in the school.”
Pickle nodded. “You’ll be our hero.”
Lucy’s stomach filled with butterflies. This was a big decision. Huge, in fact. She didn’t want to disappoint the girls. They seemed so excited about the idea. Would it kill her just to try? But before she could answer, the front door burst open. Her dad was holding two large pizzas.
“Who’s hungry?” he asked.
“Me!” Max jumped up happily. “I’m starving!”
Lucy’s dad took a few slices for himself and let the girls go eat in Lucy’s bedroom. As they headed in with napkins, soda, and pizza, Lucy made sure they weren’t looking and ran back to give her dad a hug.
“Thanks,” she said,“for doing this for me.”And then she hurried to snag some pizza before Max inhaled all of it.
The next day, school felt endless. Lucy spent every period staring at the clock above each classroom door, torn. She hadn’t said anything about football tryouts to anyone besides the girls—not her dad; not Annie, when they talked for two hours on the phone last night; not even Benji, who’d stuffed a note in her locker saying that he was sorry she hadn’t made the team and asking if she wanted to go see the new Will Ferrell movie this weekend. She hadn’t yet run into him to tell him that she’d already seen it with her dad, although she’d considered not telling him and just seeing it again. But the truth was, she was too preoccupied with her immediate future to worry about her weekend plans. And even though Martie had delicately asked if she’d made a decision, she’d avoided answering. She just didn’t know what to say or do. She knew she didn’t belong on a boys’ team. But the workout clothes stuffed in her locker said something different. She’d grabbed them at the last minute, right before she’d left the house this morning.
Sometimes where you think you’ll fit in the least is where you’ll fit in the most. Martie’s words had played in her head like a broken record all night. And she couldn’t shake the enthusiasm of Charlie and the girls.
Lucy tapped her foot on the floor beneath her desk, full of nervous energy. It was a crazy idea. Beyond crazy.
She’d be certifiable to even think she’d have a chance to make it against the other boys trying out for the position. Her friends back home would think she’d lost her mind, that the constant California sun had gone to her head.
But then there was Martie’s voice again: You never know what you can do until you do it.
The bell rang. School was over. Lucy stared out the window at the athletic fields, where she could see guys already gathering for practice, Benji among them.
She knew there was a 99 percent chance she would regret it. It would be the craziest thing she’d ever done . . . but she couldn’t help but want to try.
As Lucy approached the football field, a few players were warming up their legs to kick. The rest of the team was stretching as a group on the grass, wearing their full football pads, their helmets strewn on the ground beside them, looking as intimidating as ever. Near the bench, she saw Benji pull a football out of the mesh bag and jog onto the field. He stopped abruptly when she caught his eye.
“Lucy.” He smiled, running over. “What’re you doing here?”
Lucy looked around nervously. The other players noticed that a girl had set foot on their field.
“Cheerleaders are over there,” a red-faced, overweight junior nicknamed Tank yelled out. Lucy looked over her shoulder, where she could see Regan leading a group of girls in some “how-funky-is-your-chicken” cheer.
“Uh . . . thanks,” she said quickly to Tank. It was easier than stammering out an explanation.
She turned back to Benji. “Uh, Martie—you know, Miss Reese—she thought it’d be a good idea . . . since I didn’t make the soccer team and all.”
Benji looked at her, confused.“She thought what would be a good idea?”
“You know, me trying out. She said you guys need a field goal kicker or whatever it’s called. Since that guy went down.”
Playing With the Boys Page 7
