A collective groan went up among us. “I’m not Rocky. I’m out of here,” Lynn Bandis said, getting to her feet and strutting away like she thought Bobby would beg her to stay. I was glad he didn’t. “You coming, Marie?” She turned around to look at her friend, and Marie gave Lynn a long look, as if by not bailing on tryouts, too, she’d be severing something. But then Marie shook her head, saying, “I think I want to stay.”
A flash of surprise crossed Lynn’s face, but she recovered quickly, tossing off a chipper “Okay, then,” before she sauntered off.
Though Marie stayed, a few other girls followed Lynn’s lead and left. Bobby did nothing to stop them, either. There were maybe thirty of us left now.
“Let’s see those laps,” Bobby said, and blew his whistle like nothing had happened.
I took an easy early lead, grateful that we didn’t have to do more push-ups. Running with the longest strides I could, I was the sleek-limbed creature in the Nova special and I wanted Bobby to watch me, like a hungry tiger—or at least nod to himself, like, “That’s who I’m looking for.” To do what, I didn’t care.
Behind me, some girls were chatting.
“Jesus, if he wasn’t so hot, I’d be out of here.”
“I know. I thought this was going to be kind of a joke.”
“How do you play soccer, anyway? Is there this much running?”
“Maybe he’ll stop us after one lap.”
But after the last person rounded the playground, Bobby yelled, “Nice! Nine more!” The chatter fell away and was replaced by a chorus of huffed breaths as we churned into the second lap. Several girls gave up and went to gather their stuff. I kept going. I was surprised that nothing so far had been too hard for me to do. As I ran, I focused on keeping my chest out and not looking too sweaty. I wasn’t even going as fast as I could, and I was at the front of the group.
Still, by the sixth lap, I felt a stitch in my side. I gritted my teeth and told myself I just had four more to go. Tina was a few paces behind me, and I could hear the footfalls of other girls farther back. Candace was so far behind that I was coming up on lapping her.
As I puffed by Bobby, he called out, “Looking good. Love the spirit!”
He loved my spirit. It gave me a fresh burst of energy, and I sprinted fast past him with my head thrown back.
The stitch went away, and Tina pulled up next to me. “Were you always this fast?” she said.
“I am now,” I huffed, wondering what would happen if I were the only one to finish. “You scared?”
“No, just thinking we could go faster.”
Playing anything with Tina was like a blood sport—we both liked to win. Still, I was surprised at how much I liked running out ahead of everyone like this. Each time I turned at the slides and saw Bobby waiting for us to make it back around, I liked it a little more.
Fifteen of us finished the laps without bailing. Well, Tina and I finished first, then a handful of other girls came in behind us, with Candace and Sharon Henderson at the end.
When they finally did, Bobby asked us all for our names, which he wrote down as we took turns waiting to take drinks from the park’s crusty-looking water fountain.
“Hmm, fifteen girls. Great,” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘great’?” Dana Miller asked, wiping a dribble of water from her mouth.
Bobby threw his hands out to gesture at all of us. “I mean, it looks like we have our team.”
Four
Practice wouldn’t start until next Monday, but the day after tryouts, Bobby made us each sign a contract for the season stating that we’d be on time and dressed to play, and we’d keep our grades up and take care of our bodies.
“I know you might have a beer at a party. I was your age once, too,” he said at the team meeting where he’d passed out the contracts. “But don’t overdo it. And no smoking or drugs.”
Normally, we’d have mocked a teacher for being so square. But it felt like Bobby really cared about us. Or maybe we just wanted to believe he did.
He also tacked up a sheet with all our names on the bulletin board in the lunchroom, and people actually looked at it. Paul Mahoney, who was the kind of guy who asked if you had your period for not saying hi to him, gathered a group of football players and lurched over to our lunch table. “Trillo, Klintock, Warner. You girls think you’re athletes now? Do you even know how to handle balls?” Some of the other guys laughed.
“It’s less about handling than kicking, which sounds okay to me,” I said.
“Nice, Suze,” Tina said. “What’s it to you, Paul?”
“I’m sure nothing,” Paul said. “Your pretty-boy coach doesn’t have the stamina to keep this going.”
“Funny, Arlene said the same thing about you,” Candace shot back. Arlene Swann was Paul’s recent ex, and had also made the team.
“Paul, you gonna take that?” asked his zitty sidekick jock whose name I didn’t know.
“You let chicks think they can play sports and this is what happens,” Paul said, shaking his head.
From down the table, Franchesa Rotini, who’d also survived tryouts, muttered, “Maybe we should tell Coach McMann how you feel.”
“Like I care what some soccer coach thinks of me,” he said, but he did walk away. I didn’t care what Paul Mahoney thought about me, but I guess I was a bit surprised that our team and Coach McMann rankled him enough that he felt compelled to share his shitty opinions with us. It seemed like a waste of the energy he could have expended leering at freshmen girls.
As word got around that there now was a girls’ soccer team at Powell Park, the news was mostly met with a shrug, but a few girls—like Peggy Darnell—told us we were lucky to have an excuse to see Mr. McMann every day.
She also told us there was going to be a party at Dan O’Keefe’s house Saturday night. I felt conflicted, like I shouldn’t be breaking the terms of Bobby’s contract. I didn’t want to treat him like a joke the way other people were, but I also knew I wasn’t a jock like Cynthia Weaver. He’d said we could have a beer or two, after all.
“Hey, it’s the ball-kicking lesbos.”
Paul was the first person to see us, and he shouted over the noise when we walked into Dan’s house. I had actually been daydreaming about Bobby as Candace and Tina talked about . . . I actually don’t know what, when Paul’s voice rattled me back into the moment. The house was vibrating with music from Savage Hunger, a band headed up by Rick Spellman, a senior who should have graduated two years ago. If his grades matched his band’s abilities, it was no wonder he still hadn’t gotten his diploma.
“Go to hell, Paul,” I said.
“‘Go to hell, Paul,’” he mimicked in a singsong voice that sounded nothing like me. Candace gave him the finger.
We made our way to the keg in the corner of Dan’s basement, where Reggie Stanton was handing out red Solo cups. He was a second-string quarterback with a mustache that he was extremely proud of, and that currently had beer foam clinging to its dark hairs. Over the summer, Candace had decided he was cute, but I thought her interest was entirely based on the fact that he’d wolf-whistled and winked at her on his way out of Wojo’s.
“Oh look, our new lady athletes,” he sneered, making a show of handing us cups.
“Is McMann gonna teach you how to do headers? ’Cause if not, I can show you,” said Keith Barnes as he gyrated his hips while pretending to be holding the back of, I guess, a woman’s head.
“You wish, Keith,” Candace said. But then she put her hand over her mouth and laughed, and her boobs jiggled. Reggie watched. “It’s not like the team is this serious thing. It’s just fun.”
“I think it’s cool,” chimed in George Tomczak, who’d wandered over from a corner of the basement. “Soccer is a really athletic game. You must be in great shape to make the team.” He directed his praise at all of us, but he gave Candace a special look. She covertly turned toward me and Tina and pinched her nose. We called George “Garbage Breath” becaus
e his was always foul, like he’d gargled with sour milk and tuna water.
“Thanks, George,” Candace said, but she was looking at Reggie the whole time. Reggie sidled up to whisper something to her and she giggled again. I wanted to pull her away, but I knew Reggie was her bad decision to make.
At least George got the hint. He nodded to Tina and me and said, “Well, good luck, fellow Pirates,” and slipped away before Tina and I could even offer a half-hearted thanks. But it was better not to encourage him.
Tina sighed as we took our first sips of watery beer. “I miss Todd,” she said, and it took me a second to remember who Todd even was: her boyfriend, in Milwaukee. They met in seventh grade and still saw each other when Tina visited her dad. Tina says she loves him, but their relationship seems like so much work, not only with being long distance but also because it’s a secret. Tina’s afraid to tell her mom about Todd, because he’s kind of artsy and wants to skip college to go save the environment or something, and Tina’s mom had her fill of artistic do-gooders with Tina’s dad, her first husband. But Tina’s totally into Todd, and he does write her letters and gets her clothes from the store where he works. So that’s something.
“Guys like this make me realize how good I have it,” she continued, ignoring how every boy at the party seemed to be staring at her.
“Totally,” I agreed, like I had a clue what having it good with a guy was like. We wove through the crush of people in the humid basement. A few of them were dancing, and on an armchair in the corner, most of Becky Logan’s underwear was visible where her skirt had ridden up as she made out with some guy I didn’t recognize. Two guys got up from a couch, and Tina and I plopped into their empty seats with our drinks.
Dan O’Keefe, our host, who was okay, came up to us. “Having fun, ladies?” He was already drunk, but in a Dan way, which just made him act like someone’s dad. “Help yourself to some chips. My mom went to the Jewel earlier.” He gestured to the table like a woman on The Price Is Right showing off a prize showcase, and I grabbed a handful of chips to show his generosity was appreciated. Dan pointed at me. “Oh, Susan, remember Michael from the summer? He asked about you. I told him he should say hi.”
“Michael?” Tina said, elbowing me. “You mean Michael Webster?”
I’d seen Michael at a few parties of Dan’s in the past. Over the summer, Michael had poured me a beer and we’d made some good eye contact, and I’d been interested enough to ask Dan if Michael had a girlfriend. Dan had told me he’d find out, but then Michael had left with his friends before we even got a chance to talk. I looked past Dan to see Michael standing by a bookcase filled with Dan’s dad’s bowling trophies. Michael Webster was no Bobby McMann, but he was still cute. Cuter than anyone at Powell Park High, at least. He went to St. Mark’s and had light, shaggy hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing his black-and-gold jacket covered in varsity patches and holding a beer.
He looked over and saw Dan, who nodded some kind of signal and walked away. Then Michael came over, all six-foot-two of him.
“Hey,” he said to me, sitting down on the arm of the couch so he kind of loomed over me and Tina. “Good party, right?”
“It’s okay,” Tina and I said at the same time.
“O’Keefe said another keg is coming. It’ll get better.” Michael moved to sit on the couch and I scooted over. His leg was touching mine.
“He’s kind of hot,” Tina whispered to me, pinching me lightly on the arm. I shot her a look.
“You two go to Powell Park?” he said.
“Yeah, we’re juniors.” As I said it, I realized his arm was already around me. It felt heavy, but kind of nice, and his fingertips touched lightly where my sleeve met my skin. I looked into his eyes and he smiled with one side of his mouth. If this had happened in the summer, I might have passed out, but now I could only think that he was Not Bobby. Michael was suddenly as exciting as the teddy bear I practiced kissing in my room, even if he had real boy parts.
“I’m at St. Mark’s,” he said. “I play football. Maybe you should come to a practice.”
I liked the idea of him asking, but I also liked the reality of not being able to say yes. “I just made the soccer team,” I said. “So I can’t.”
He settled his arm deeper into the nook between my shoulder and my neck and gently tugged me closer. “Soccer, huh?” he said, as he brushed his fingertips lightly over my collarbone. “That’s kinda cute. But they don’t make girls practice every day, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he leaned in toward me, his face hovering in front of mine. He had Bobby-ish lips, full and soft. He wanted to kiss me. A real guy, a good-looking one, who might have been a little drunk, was about to kiss me.
“Yup. Every afternoon after school,” I said, poking a small hole in the moment. I wasn’t 100 percent sure why, but it had something to do with him calling soccer cute. It was okay if Tina and Candace and I were still figuring how serious this whole soccer thing was, but I was getting ticked off by guys acting like us playing a sport was some adorable joke.
Michael pulled back ever so slightly, but he was still smiling as he pushed a lock of hair away from my face. Even though I was annoyed, I wanted him to think I was pretty.
“Hmm, you’d look awfully good in the cheering section.” He shrugged. “Maybe I can change your mind and make you wanna see the Webs in action. On the field.” He started to close in on me again.
I involuntarily rolled my eyes and saw that a few feet away, leaning against Dan’s fireplace, a guy was watching us. He had pale skin and short dark hair that stood up in little points, and he was looking over the top of his red cup at me. He smirked when I caught his eye.
I looked back at Michael, who was waiting expectantly.
“Wait, are you ‘the Webs’?”
He nodded, like this should be obvious, as he edged even closer, angling for the kiss. His arrogant expression was the look of a guy who’d say, “Well, I didn’t really study,” if I beat him on a test. It was like a switch had flipped. He repelled me.
I put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently away. “Honestly, I don’t think I want to make out with a guy who refers to himself by his own nickname,” I said. Sometimes I couldn’t think of comebacks until way after the moment for them had passed, but this one came out so fast, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to say it.
On the other side of the couch, Tina was covering her mouth as she laughed. And Pointy Hair was observing our exchange like he wasn’t even remotely embarrassed for eavesdropping. I glared at him, and he tipped his cup to me. Was I a joke to every guy at this party?
Michael retracted his arm and slid away from me fast, like I’d begun oozing pus. He scanned the party, looking for somewhere new to go. “Just because girls can play sports doesn’t mean they should. It’s not good for anyone.”
What he said got to me, because it reminded me of something my dad had said to my mom when she was filing for divorce: “Dierdre, you could be happy if you’d accept how things are supposed to be. You can’t have two suns shining or no one would get any sleep.” She’d told him it was the most poetic he’d ever been.
“What does that even mean?” I asked as Michael stood up. I didn’t like him and yet I hated that his arm wasn’t around me anymore because I played soccer.
“It wouldn’t make sense to a chick like you,” he said, one foot already stepping toward a group of girls at the far end of the basement. “Don’t mess up your face on the field. It’s half decent.”
“Fuck you,” I said, but I don’t know if he heard me. I looked toward the fireplace to see if the skinny guy was still watching, or laughing at me, but he was gone.
I grabbed another fistful of chips as Michael made his way toward a girl who beamed like he was handing her an oversize Publishers Clearing House check. Tina waited while I ate each chip methodically, then said, “You okay?”
“I’m guy-repellent, but I’ll live,” I said.
“He was so full of himself, he’s pr
obably a shitty kisser,” Tina said. “Let’s get Candace and go. This party’s lame.”
We never left Candace at a party, even if she tended to always leave us. We were used to her habits by now, and always ready for the fallout if and when a guy she disappeared with disappeared on her the next week. Unlike me, who could find something wrong with anyone, Candace could find something right about them.
“Do you know where Reggie and Candace went?” I asked when we found Dan. He had a freshman on his lap and looked like he was half asleep.
“Did you blow off Michael?” he asked. “What’s your problem? I told him to talk to you.”
I couldn’t believe I’d appreciated his chips, the way he was talking. “Just tell us where Candace is,” I said. “We have to go.”
He rolled his eyes. “Probably the guest room. Upstairs, down the hall next to the kitchen,” he said, and got back to kissing the freshman’s neck.
“Thanks,” I said, and flipped him off.
Tina and I went upstairs and banged on a closed door near the kitchen. Reggie opened it, zipping his pants right in front of us, and I already knew what had been going on; Candace was a champion at hand jobs. If she gave them because she found it fun, that’d be fine, but she clearly thought it would get her a boyfriend, and had cried many times because it wasn’t working. She was sitting on the daybed and, when she saw us, fixed her shirt.
“Come on, we’re going,” I said.
“Already?” She smoothed her hair and looked at Reggie, as if she was hoping he’d ask her to stay. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you,” he said, like he wouldn’t.
“Bye, Reggie,” she said, and leaned toward him for a kiss. He barely brushed her lips with his gross mustache.
“See ya,” he said, dazedly walking back into the party.
As we maneuvered our way out onto Dan’s front porch, where a few people were sitting around smoking a joint, I said, “Seriously, Candace, you could do so much better.”
Gimme Everything You Got Page 4
