Pretty Tough
Page 1
PRETTY TOUGH
An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PrettyTOUGH
RAZORBILL
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © 2007 PrettyTOUGH Sports, LLC
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shepherd, Nicole Leigh.
PrettyTough / by Nicole Leigh Shepherd.
p. cm.
Summary: Two feuding sisters from Malibu, California, take their rivalry to the soccer field when both girls make the high school team.
ISBN: 978-1-101-65122-3
[1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Sibling rivalry—Fiction. 3. Soccer—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Malibu (Calif.)—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Pretty tough.
PZ7.T4525Pr 2007
[Fic]—dc22
2007001973
Printed in the United States of America
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
Pretty Tough is dedicated
to every girl who has dared to dream—
especially the original Pretty Tough girls
Alex & Maddy.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
For nearly twenty seconds, Charlie was convinced she was dead. Strangely, the thought didn’t sound half bad. With her sophomore year of high school looming on the horizon, she’d already come to the conclusion that her first fifteen years on the planet were a bust….
And yes, a lot of that had to do with her name.
Charlie Brown.
Obviously, her family had some sort of vendetta against her from the start. Obsessed with a Peanuts video at age two, Charlie’s older sister, Krista, was the one who suggested the name.
In a fit of what must have been complete insanity, Charlie’s parents actually thought it was a good idea.
Charlie scowled. Who lets a two-year-old name a baby?
Krista loved to lord over her the fact that she had named her almost as much as she loved pointing out that when Charlie was born, their dad had been hoping for a boy.
In junior high, when Charlie failed to develop boobs, Krista concluded that their dad got his wish.
Charlie couldn’t decide what she hated most about her sister—her blond hair, her popular friends, her perfect boyfriend, or her distractingly loud phone voice. Luckily, Charlie didn’t have to decide. She was content to hate it all.
From the day she was born, it seemed, Charlie Brown had started off on the wrong foot with the universe. And at this moment, having nose-dived off her surfboard into the sand below, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was karmically jinxed. Unable to draw air into her lungs, she contemplated this thought as she lay facedown: Why not just surrender? If this was the end, then who was she to argue with destiny?
She felt the familiar tug of her leash on her ankle, her board being drawn toward the shore by the wave passing over her. Her fingers instinctively clawed the sand for support, for something.
Maybe this wasn’t the end, Charlie thought, kicking toward the surface. Maybe there were things to live for. Like Friday night TV. If Charlie was going to die, it might as well be on Saturday, when there was nothing to watch.
Charlie opened her eyes as she broke through the waterline, scanning the horizon for any remainder of the wave that had been her undoing. Too late. It had vanished.
Another wave crashed over her, pushing her forward, cementing the side of her face to the wet sand onshore. She hoped her bikini bottom was still intact and her butt wasn’t hanging out for all of the Pacific Coast Highway to see.
Charlie could feel sand moving beneath her, and the momentum helped unstick her from her sandy crash site. In a burst of energy, she leapt up and was standing again. The only evidence of her monumental wipeout was a little bit of blood trickling down one side of her head.
She touched the wound with her fingertips and winced. Just a scrape—nothing catastrophic. But wasn’t that usually the case? Wasn’t it the little wounds that always hurt so badly?
She scanned her body for any other obvious injuries. Her mother had described her as lithe and athletic, but Charlie hated pretty much every inch of herself. An avid surfer and swimmer, she’d developed a lean, muscular frame—instead of boobs, like most girls.
Charlie’s flatness made her feel freakish, especially when she compared herself to Krista—perfect Krista, who, naturally, had developed well and on schedule.
Charlie sighed at the undeniable truth—she didn’t even fit in at her own house. Her mother, father, and sister made the perfect blond, blue-eyed family. With her brown hair and wider-than-she-would-like nose, Charlie was, without a doubt, the Ugly Duckling in a family full of swans.
She looked down and saw that her black nail polish was chipped. She resisted the urge to pick it off completely. Whatever. No one ever noticed her as a person. She supposed her nails were even more insignificant. She wondered why she’d even bothered painting them in the first place.
Charlie ran her fingers through her chin-length brown hair, streaked amber from the summer sun, and scanned the horizon. The waves were awesome—between eight and ten feet—and she’d been stoked for the great conditions, but all morning she’d had nothing but wipeouts. That last wave had left her pummeled.
Looking around, she was glad to see that she was alone. It wasn’t surprising, really. These days she spent most of her time by herself. Krista was the social butterfly, always flitting off to parties, to the mall, to a date….
Charlie gave a bitter chuckle. There was a time, she had to admit, when she actually admired her older sister—when she wanted to be just like her. But that was before last year. Before Krista let her down….
After twenty minutes of contemplation and recovery, Charlie was ready to ride the surf again. Quitting on a humiliating low note was hardly an option, so she reached for the leash, velcroed it around her left ankle, and yanked the board back in a quick, familiar motion.
She grabbed the rails and ran out in the foamy surf. She had to catch a good wave before calling it a day. A little blood wasn’t going to stop her.
She skidded belly-first onto her board. Her arms burned as she paddled out, the shores of Malibu growing distant behind her. She often wondered what would happen if she simply kept going, how long she could last out in the Pacific with nothing but her board.
Surely it would be easier than surviving one hour in school—in the presence of Regan Holder and her minions. Ugh. Regan.
A few smaller waves headed toward her. She stopped paddling and duck dived underneath them, passing smoothly and effortlessly through each one.
Sitting up on her board to get a better look, Charlie noticed a big swell on the horizon. A set was coming in. A class-A set. Her heart raced with anticipation. She saw the first wave. That was it. Her wave.
Quickly navigating her board around so that its nose was facing the beach, she felt the rumble of the wave bearing down.
Charlie reached her arms into the water. She dug deep, paddling furiously.
Faster, faster, she commanded herself.
There! She could feel the wave beneath her, lifting her up. This was the one!
Aggressive but smooth, fueled by adrenaline, Charlie popped up, grabbing the board as she dropped into the wave. She pulled into the barrel, ducking low to make it through. The wave wrapped around her, enclosing her in the wall of water.
She shot through the tube—yes! Unable to conceal a smile, she rode the wave all the way into the beach and hopped off the board when she finally felt the sand beneath it.
She gave a little fist pump. She had just had the ride of her life. Or at least the day. Now, she thought, she could go home.
She jogged over to her bike, popped her head through her red Billabong hoodie, and gathered her stuff to leave. For a fleeting moment, she couldn’t help but wish someone had been there to see her….
“Excuse me? Are you Charlie?”
Charlie turned, surprised to find a young African American woman standing beside her. “Yeah?” Charlie asked cautiously.
“Charlie Brown,” the woman stated. “That’s you, right?”
Charlie bristled. “Yeah. And if you’re going to ask ‘Where’s Linus?’ or something, don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before.”
The woman smiled politely. “You looked great out there. Nice carve out of the barrel.”
Charlie stopped short. This woman seemed to know what she was talking about. Who was she?
Charlie took in her outfit. Black-and-lime Puma chevron jacket over a faded Ramones shirt. Cargo shorts. Probably Abercrombie. Vans with no socks. She was maybe thirty years old. Charlie liked her style.
The woman extended her right hand. “I’m Martie.”
“Uh-huh,” Charlie answered hesitantly. Where was this going?
“You go to Beachwood, right? I subbed a couple of your classes last year.”
Charlie didn’t respond. She hated Beachwood with every fiber of her being. She hated going there, and she hated thinking about going there even more.
“I just got hired there permanently,” Martie continued. “To coach.”
“Good for you.” Charlie shrugged.
“Oooh-kay.” Martie gave a slight smirk. “Not the friendly type. Well, you might not know a lot about me, but I know a lot about you.”
Charlie stared at her blankly.
“You were the star of your AYSO soccer league but quit a year and a half ago. You got first in girls’ long board in the Sunshine Classic last year and third in short board. You’ve been featured as a ‘teen to watch’ in Carve. Your sister, Krista, is going to be a senior at Beachwood and—”
“Wait,” Charlie interrupted. “Are you… stalking me?”
Martie laughed. “You call it stalking, I call it scouting. For Beachwood soccer.”
Charlie scoffed. “My sister plays for Beachwood. This year? They’re totally going to—” She caught herself, not wanting to be ruder than she already had a tendency to be.
“Suck?” Martie filled in. “I know. That’s where I come in. And you, I hope.”
Charlie slipped her shorts over her bikini bottoms. “I don’t play soccer.”
“But you did,” Martie offered. “According to my research, for six years.”
“Soccer is Krista’s thing,” Charlie said, struggling to put her surfboard on her bike’s surf rack. “Well, that and admiring her own reflection.”
Martie chuckled. “Maybe, but here’s where I’m coming from….” She grabbed Charlie’s handlebars, holding the bike steady while Charlie secured the rack. “The school was recently given an endowment. A chunk of money to be used exclusively for girls’ sports. To put Beachwood on the athletic map again. The first team we’re revamping is the girls’ soccer team because, well, soccer’s kind of my thing, too. I’m looking for girls from all over LA, from South Central to the Valley to the Coast—not just soccer players necessarily, but tough athletes who are hungry to win. From the way you attacked that last wave, I’d say that’s you.”
“I’m not really a team player,” Charlie said. She rolled her bike forward, hoping to end the conversation.
Martie put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Wait. Just think about it, okay?” She smiled. “Maybe you’ve just never been on the right team.”
Charlie looked at Martie through squinted eyes. Was this lady for real?
“You know, once upon a time? I went to Beachwood too. It’s not an easy place to be.” Martie gave Charlie’s arm a squeeze. “But maybe this year, high school doesn’t have to be as bad as you think.”
At dinner that night, Charlie ate quietly as she always did, only half listening to Krista, who was, as usual, the center of her parents’ attention. Outgoing, blond, and bursting with enthusiasm, Krista was always blabbering about something. More often than not, her dialogue centered around one topic: Brooks Sheridan.
“And then,” Krista said to her parents, “Brooks told everyone she was going to Zuma. A second later, Buffi and Julie decided they wanted to go too. Can you believe it?”
Her voice was a little too loud, considering only three other people were at the table. Krista took a sip of her Diet Coke, straight out of the can. She drank only diet because she and Brooks were chronically watching their weight.
To the two of them, appearance was everything. One extra pound, one poor fashion choice meant the difference between acceptance—and being branded a loser.
Charlie scowled. She couldn’t believe she had ever wanted to be like Krista.
Charlie glared as Krista droned on and on about her best friend. Not only were Krista and Brooks the most popular girls at Beachwood High, Brooks had actual fans. She’d been an actress since the age of five. Only three weeks ago, Brooks had finished shooting a movie that Charlie overheard her say was the next Bend It Like Beckham. Before that, she’d been in a martial arts movie where she had to train every day for five hours.
Brooks Sheridan—the perfect best friend for Charlie’s perfect sister. It made Charlie want to vomit.
“What’s so great about Brooks anyway?” she mumbled, moving her peas around on her plate to give the illusion that she had eaten most of them.
“What do you mean?” Krista asked, a frown twisting her glossy lips.
Charlie shrugged. “What’s so great about her? I mean, you’re just this lemming following her around, doing whatever she does. You don’t even have your own identity—”
“I do plenty of things without Brooks,” Krista said defensively.
“Yeah…” Charlie agreed. “But that�
�s only because there isn’t room in your Jetta for Brooks to make out with Cam too.”
Cam and Krista had been dating for a little over a year. Tall, blond, and the captain of the football team, Cam simply had no earthly equal in Krista’s mind. He was the cherry on top of her fairy-tale existence.
“Excuse me?” their mom asked, her perfectly arched eyebrows raised.
Emily Brown, a stay-at-home mom (who ironically was rarely home), was in her mid-forties. Although she was naturally beautiful, her looks had been enhanced by Charlie’s dad, Bennett Brown, the renowned plastic surgeon. At least, “enhanced” was what Charlie’s mom called it. Charlie called it straight-up fake.
“You heard me,” Charlie said. “Krista shares everything with Brooks, right? Do you share Cam too?”
Krista’s expression was a mix of confusion and disgust. “God. Why are you such a freak?”
“Girls,” their dad ordered sternly. “Let’s not do this at the dinner table.”
Their mom stood up. “Who wants more mashed potatoes?” Their father rose from his seat and followed her into the kitchen.
Now that they were alone, Krista glared at Charlie. “What is wrong with you? Why do you always have to be such a beast?”
“Oh, I’m the beast?” Charlie snapped. “Why don’t you take a look in the mirror?”
Krista sighed and cleared her place. “I don’t know what your problem is, but in the future? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
Charlie looked down at her plate. She had been planning on it… until a single perfect idea came to her.
“That might be kind of difficult.” Charlie shrugged nonchalantly. “Considering we’re going to be teammates.”
“What are you talking about?” Krista scoffed.
“Oh! You didn’t hear?” Charlie asked, feigning ignorance. “I guess they just fired Coach Harrington and are recruiting some real athletes.”
“I think I’d know if my own soccer coach got fired,” Krista snapped, annoyed.
“It’s true.” Charlie smirked.
“And you know this how?”
Charlie relished the moment. “Because I was recruited.”