Besides, as great as Ryan was—and he was great—as the quarterback of the team, wasn’t he practically genetically programmed to hook up with the head cheerleader?
Lucy kept her head down as she rushed to the exit. Suddenly, Ryan Conner was a lot less interesting. When she thought that by going to meet him under the bleachers, she’d given up her friendship with Pickle . . . it just killed her.
Suddenly, a voice interrupted her spinning thoughts.
“Lucy, wait!” a voice called. She turned around, and Pickle was standing there.
“I heard what you did,” Pickle admitted, her voice wavering a bit. “Charlie told me how you turned down going to homecoming with Ryan for me....”Tears sprang into Pickle’s eyes.
“You have to forgive me, Lucy,” Pickle pleaded. “For holding a grudge, for being jealous—for everything.”
Lucy shook her head. “No, I did everything wrong. I should have been honest. I just wanted you to like me—to be my friend—and I was afraid that if I told you I liked Ryan, it would be a huge mess . . . which it was anyway.”
“It was my fault. I never should have yelled at you like that. It’s just . . .” Pickle stopped for a moment, thinking. “It’s just . . . look at you! Why wouldn’t Ryan want to be with you? You’re such a great girl and he’s a great guy—”
Lucy interrupted. “A great guy who’s here with Kendall.”
Pickle did a one-eighty. “Ew!”
Lucy laughed. “Yeah!”
Pickle giggled. And Lucy smiled. It felt so good to be laughing with her again.
Pickle shrugged one shoulder and looked like a shy little girl. “Lucy . . . do you think we can we just start over and be friends again?”
Lucy nodded. “I think I’d love that.”
Pickle smiled broadly and engulfed Lucy in a hug.
“See, Charlie,” Pickle said, turning around. “I told you she was one of us.” But suddenly, Pickle realized Charlie wasn’t there.
They looked around and were stunned at what they saw. Regan and Charlie were actually talking!
Pickle and Lucy both gasped. From the looks of things, Regan was apologizing. Charlie looked down at her shoes uncomfortably and then back up at Regan. The girls watched as she gave Regan a slight smile. Which for Charlie meant a lot.
“Oh my God. Where’s Morbid?” Lucy asked. “This is definitely a Kodak moment.”
“I see another one.” Pickle smiled and nodded over to Benji, who was lingering by himself at the punch bowl. It was the first time Lucy had realized he was there. He looked adorable in jeans and retro-striped polo shirt under a suit jacket. His curls were out of control.
Lucy stared at him as if her eyes needed adjusting. There was something about him. Standing there, not caring what anyone else thought. It was as if she had just put huge, thick glasses on and everything had gone from being fuzzy and blurry to crystal clear. Benji.
Lucy smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”
“I won’t,” Pickle promised. “I wouldn’t even think of it.”
Lucy tentatively approached Benji. “You’re here,” she commented.
He nodded. “You too.”
They were both quiet for a moment.
“You look nice.”
He nodded again. “You too. Less footbally than usual.”
She smiled; then there was more awkward silence.
Lucy spoke first. “I looked for you after the game but—”
“My dad—I didn’t want to deal with him, so I hid out in the locker room till the excitement died down.”
“He was disappointed you weren’t kicking?”
Benji sighed. “Understatement of the year.” He shook his head. “Dads can be such . . .” He searched for the word.
“Dads,” Lucy stated.
Benji laughed. “Yeah. That.”
“Benji?” Lucy took a deep breath. “You want to dance?”
Benji looked around. “With who?”
Lucy hit him playfully in the arm. “With me, stupid!”
A broad smile spread across Benji’s face. His braces gleamed under the lights. Then he remembered. “What about Ryan? Isn’t he the guy you want to be dancing with?”
“Not really,” Lucy admitted. “He was . . . but now . . .”
“Now what?” Benji asked.
“There’s someone else. Someone else I’m interested in.”
Benji deflated. “Oh.”
Lucy held out her hand. “Someone who’s been great to me since the first day I set foot in this gym.”
It slowly dawned on Benji that she meant him. But still, he had to joke. “Morbid?”
Lucy laughed and shook her head. She reached out for Benji’s hand. He placed his hand in hers.
She led him onto the dance floor. A slow song played. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he gently let his hands rest on her hips. They swayed to the music. She glanced around at Pickle and the girls giggling in the corner, giving Lucy the thumbs-up.
“So . . . next week’s game against Branford,” Benji said. “Should be a good one. Hopefully you didn’t screw up your ankle too bad last night.”
Lucy looked Benji in the eye. “So do you think I still have a chance?” she asked.
“To play? Sure! If you wrap it tight, put some ice on it—”
Lucy interrupted. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, do you think I still have a chance with you?”
“With me?” Benji asked, surprised. “For what?”
Lucy smiled. “For this . . .”And slowly, in front of everyone, she leaned in and kissed him. And at that moment, under the shimmering light, surrounded by her friends, Lucy finally found that missing K. In the company of the right friends and with the right boy, knowing she had made the right decision, for the first time since as far back as she could remember, Lucy Malone felt truly lucky.
owle
Thank you to all the people who helped make this book a reality.
First to Jane Schonberger and George Morency, whose lives are committed to empowering young women through sports. Thanks to Carole Rosen, Andy Barzvi, and Jennifer Joel of ICM who have been supporters of this book and series from the beginning. Thanks to the amazing, talented, detail-oriented, most insightful storyteller and note-giver, Kristen Pettit, who this couldn’t have happened without.
A huge thank you to football players, experts, and friends Jason Wilborn, Nick Offredi, Mark, Sascha, and Caleb Tymchyshyn, who taught me everything I know about football. Thank you to Gretchen West, my laughing potato-in-crime, who kept me ‘sane‘ while writing. And most of all, a thank you to my family, Bob, Mary and Kate, who read every word, every chapter, and every draft and are always the inspiration for everything I write. I love you.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
Acknowledgements
Playing With the Boys Page 24
