“Excuse me?” Charlie retorted. “A—I’m in the room, and B—the only reason I took that header is because everyone knows you’re scared of them!”
Krista stopped short. She felt tears brimming around the corners of her eyes.
Did everyone know? Really?
She sat in her chair sullenly. Martie softened a little.
“Look, you’re both amazing players,” she said. “This team needs both of you. The way I see it, I have three choices. One, I can alternate putting you on the field, which means neither of you will play as much as you want to. Two, one of you can quit the team. Or…” She paused.
Krista looked up. “Or what?”
“Or three, you can learn to get along.”
Krista looked at Charlie. It was doubtful.
“What you do off the field, that’s your business,” Martie continued. “If you guys want to make each other miserable, that’s your choice. But tell me this: as much as you hate each other—and I realize you really do hate each other—don’t you hate losing even more?”
Krista could see Charlie glance at her out of the corner of her eye.
“Yeah,” Krista answered. “I want to win. Especially after I’ve worked so hard.”
“We’ve all worked hard,” Charlie spat. Martie interrupted before another brawl could erupt. “Then here’s the deal. You both want to play on this team? You call a truce on the field.”
“And if we can’t?” Charlie mumbled.
“Try tennis.”
With that, Martie gathered her things and left the room.
Chapter Eight
As soon as Krista plunked down next to Brooks, she knew something was up. It was the Monday after the first game, and Brooks, Buffi, and Julie were on the lawn, huddled together reading something. As Krista took out her lunch, they quickly tried to put it away.
“What’s going on?” Krista asked suspiciously. “What were you reading?”
“Nothing.” Buffi shrugged.
“So… uh, you and Cam are going to homecoming together, right?” Julie jumped in.
“Yeah…” Krista said.
Homecoming, still three weeks away, wasn’t exactly on her mind. Julie’s attempt to change the subject was entirely too transparent.
“Seriously, what were you guys reading?” Krista asked.
The girls exchanged a look between them.
“Give it to her.” Brooks sighed.
Buffi handed it over—the latest edition of Beachwood’s newspaper, the Sand Dollar. Krista flipped Buffi’s copy to the back. She came face-to-face with a half-page picture of herself and Charlie in Friday’s game against Curtis.
In the picture, Charlie was getting slide tackled as Krista stood watching in the background. Krista scanned the article in disbelief:
B-DUB WOMEN PROVING THEY’RE PRETTY TOUGH
Thanks to the efforts of two sisters, Beachwood women’s soccer might have finally found its place on the SoCal athletic map. And despite their loss to perennial rival Curtis, this team, coached by alumna Martie Reese, has a bright future, and the Brown sisters are among the stars that shine brightest.
Although senior Krista Brown is strategic head of this team, it’s her younger sister, Charlie, who provides the emotion and heart. Krista plays communicatively but cautiously, whereas her younger sister takes every hit, bodycheck, and slide tackle. Their approach is best indicated in their appearance at the end of the game—for Krista, every hair is still in place, while Charlie would fit in better on the boys’ squad. Caked in mud and even bleeding, Charlie Brown looks like she’s been in battle.
“Krista is a smart, skilled, experienced athlete. Charlie is a fighter,” commented Coach Reese. “She’s the one out there who doesn’t care what people think—she just wants to get the job done.”
This was evident Friday when Charlie was red carded for a violent run-in with an opposing team’s player. Volunteer coach Noah Riley didn’t condone the sophomore’s actions but said, “She proved one thing. She’s fearless and won’t be beaten down. You can’t teach that. Charlie plays like she has nothing to lose.”
Other standouts include Jamie Bonter, the team captain, Carla Hernandez, and Julie Theiser, who together anchor the Wildcats’ solid defense, and junior forward Jen Schwartzott. See the Wildcats’ next home game next Tuesday.
“I can’t believe this,” Krista gasped, looking at her friends in shock.
“It’s not that bad,” Julie said comfortingly.
Krista stared at her. Had Julie sniffed too much rubber cement?
Buffi tried to change the subject. “So, Brooks—are you taking Noah to homecoming?”
Brooks threw a grape at Buffi. It bounced off her forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you? My crush on Noah Riley is as over as purple UGG boots.” She pointed toward Buffi’s feet.
Buffi looked down. “These? But… I love my UGGs.”
Krista crumpled up the article, not wanting to deal. “Missy, you can do about a thousand times better than Noah anyway. That guy sucks.”
She didn’t add that if Noah wasn’t giving her the time of day—as her coach—then Brooks had about as much of a chance snagging him as she had snagging a role in an Oscar-worthy movie.
Brooks challenged her. “Really? Well, if Noah sucks so much, why do you get mad when he pays more attention to Charlie than you?”
Krista’s jaw dropped at Brooks’s not-so-veiled accusation. “What?”
“It’s true,” Buffi put in. “Every time Noah takes Charlie off to the side, it’s like the air around you bursts into flames.”
“I don’t know what’re you talking about!” Krista exclaimed. “I don’t get mad. I—”
“Whatever.” Brooks shrugged. “You think he’s cute. I get it. Believe me. You don’t have to be so defensive about it.”
The bell rang. Lunch was over.
“I’m not defensive,” Krista pressed. “And may I remind you that I have a boyfriend? A boyfriend I love? I do not think Noah is cute.”
She stared at her best friend, worried. Did Brooks really think she had a thing for Noah?
Brooks gathered her stuff to go to fifth period. “It’s fine. Maybe you have a crush on him, maybe you don’t. I mean, what do I care?”
“I don’t know—you’re the one who brought it up.”
“Yeah,” Brooks muttered. “Yeah, sorry I did that.”
She took off, leaving Krista standing there, staring at the crumpled newspaper.
As the people around her droned on about the disgusting cafeteria food and the homecoming dance, Charlie chucked the school paper in the trash can and headed to geometry.
Caked in mud? Bleeding? One of the boys?
She wondered if Regan Holder had secretly penned the article. Last year, Regan had basically called her a lesbian in front of the entire cafeteria. Now she was being called a boy, in writing, for the entire school to witness. What guy was going to ask her out now?
“Charlie!” Carla called from down the hall. Charlie spun around as Carla and Pickle caught up with her.
“Guess what?” Pickle gushed. “Carla’s got big news. Huge!”
Charlie looked at Carla expectantly. Maybe Krista had a zit the size of Texas on the tip of her nose. Or the article had just been a horrible dream.
“Nate—the goalie from JV—just asked me to homecoming!” Carla said breathlessly. “Can you believe it? Me!”
“And I’m going with Benji,” Pickle said happily.
Benji? Nate? Charlie felt her heart sink down into her Skechers. First the article… now this. Was there a label lower than “loser”? Oh yeah: boy.
“That’s great,” Charlie remarked dryly.
“And guess who wants to ask you?” Pickle said excitedly, grabbing Charlie’s arm. “Harvey!”
Charlie felt like she was going to be sick. “Harvey Harvey?” she asked in complete disbelief… and not the good kind. “Like, the roof jumper?”
“Yeah.” Carla and Pickle n
odded simultaneously.
Charlie couldn’t even muster a response. Was that supposed to make her feel better? Instead, she turned the corner into the math wing, where she saw Regan and her friends huddled around the paper, laughing.
She ducked quickly into her geometry classroom, wondering how much more of this she could take. Would she spend her entire high school career being ugly and dateless and “violent”?
She hadn’t been foolish enough to think she’d have a date, but when she daydreamed in class, she could imagine going to homecoming with Carla and Pickle. The three of them would stand against the wooden wall where the bleachers were housed and make fun of all the lame girls like Regan singing “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” at the top of their lungs.
Carla, Pickle, and Charlie would laugh, not caring that no one had bothered to ask them to dance when the slow songs were played back to back to back—relentless, like death.
Now, instead, Carla would be dancing with Nate and Pickle would be dancing with Benji while Charlie sat at home alone, watching reruns on Nick at Nite. That pathetic thought made Charlie want to cry. She wiped tears away with the back of her hand. Good thing that stupid reporter couldn’t see her now. He’d probably write a follow-up article. Breaking news! the headline would read. Tough sister caught crying actual tears.
Whatever. She didn’t need to put on a fancy dress in order to feel popular—she wasn’t popular anyway… and a dress wasn’t going to change that.
Charlie decided to think about one thing and one thing only: soccer. She’d made a promise to Martie to form an on-field truce with Krista, and Charlie had to admit, it was even harder than she thought it would be.
Getting along with Krista was pure torture. The results, however, were undeniable. In the sixteen days since their nightmare game against Curtis, Beachwood had won every game but one, which they’d lost in overtime.
On the field, if not off it, Krista and Charlie made a pretty good team.
• • •
A week before homecoming, Charlie jogged down to the locker room to grab her uniform. Then she headed toward the bus to their away game at Lincoln. She passed Krista and Julie on the stairs.
“Hustle up, Charlie,” Krista instructed. “You’re going to miss the bus.”
Charlie glared at her sister. She wanted to share some choice words with her. She wanted to tell her to stuff it. But there was that pesky truce. “Coming. I’m coming,” Charlie muttered.
Two hours later and halfway through the game, Charlie was red-faced and dripping with sweat. She could pretty much guarantee that her hair was a wreck, not salon perfect like Krista’s, but she was doing what she’d promised Martie: listening and responding.
If Krista said, “Move right,” then Charlie went right.
If Krista said, “Cut back,” then Charlie cut back.
Krista could have said, “Jump,” and Charlie would have asked how high. And every time she heard her sister’s annoying voice—how was it that even her voice sounded blond?—she wanted to scream, “SHUT UP!”
Still, as Charlie’s foot connected with the ball, she had to admit it was going well. The ball sailed into the top-right corner of the goal for Charlie’s third score of the day. B-dub was winning. Again!
For the third time, the Beachwood section of the crowd went wild. Charlie’s teammates tackled her happily, knocking her onto the ground.
Carla couldn’t believe it. “This is incredible!” she cheered. “Three goals in the first half!”
Carla and her defenders hadn’t let a single goal in either. Julie and Erica could have been doing cartwheels or picking dandelions for all it mattered—neither one had put her foot on the ball the entire game.
Krista made her way over and extended a hand to help Charlie up. She smiled. “Great job,” she gasped, out of breath.
Charlie looked at her sister and in that moment knew she had a choice. She could make an effort—or she could be her usual self.
Charlie smiled and took Krista’s hand. “Thanks,” she said, hopping up. “We did it together.” Then she squinted, tilted her head, and made a face. “You have something right here,” she said, indicating the base of her right nostril.
Krista gasped and touched her nose, horrified.
“I think it’s been there a while,” Charlie continued.
Krista shot a glance at Noah, then ran for a tissue.
Charlie chuckled. Things between her and Krista were going okay, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun. She gave a wave to Pickle and Benji—two fans in the stands who were cheering like crazy.
“Go, Charlie,” Pickle yelled.
“Good grief, Charlie Brown! Who wants some PEANUTS?” Benji asked. He held up a stereo “say anything” style and blasted the Charlie Brown theme song.
The fans in the stands went wild.
Charlie stopped, stunned. People cheering, music blasting—it was incredible. Was all this really for her?
Noah grabbed Charlie and put an arm around her. “That was awesome… but you should have gotten it in on the first shot, not the rebound.”
Charlie gave him a look. “You’re very demanding for someone who just stands on the sidelines screaming at people.”
He squirted her with water from his water bottle, and she pushed him playfully. He stumbled back into Krista, accidentally stepping on her toes.
“Oh, sorry,” Noah said. “I didn’t see you there.”
Krista looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Charlie stifled a laugh.
All of her goals, her friendship with Noah, the crowd going crazy—it had to be eating Krista up.
Finally, Charlie thought. This is all mine, and Krista can’t touch it.
Krista and Cam were eating nachos… well, Cam was eating nachos. Krista munched a few chips and secretly longed to stuff her mouth full of gooey cheese and guacamole. In between nibbles, she filled Cam in on her last game.
“So… he squirts water on her, then she pushes him…” Krista ranted. “I mean, what is that? Are they, like, BFFs now?”
Cam dipped his nachos in guacamole, then crammed the chip into his mouth. “I ’on’ oh,” he said, mouth full.
“And it’s not just that. It’s like I don’t even exist on the field. You’d think the center mid would get a little attention, right? But no! Everyone’s going crazy for Charlie! It’s like people only care about the person who scores—as if the ball just magically gets to their feet inside the eighteen.”
Cam wiped his face with a paper napkin. “Well, Krista, maybe it’s just—”
“Oh, and this is great,” she continued. “That guy who writes the stupid sports articles in the Sand Dollar? He interviewed Charlie after the game. Like, he wanted a quote or something. From Charlie!”
Cam looked confused. “Didn’t she score like four or five goals by the end?”
“She scored four goals and assisted on one,” she corrected him.
“Same difference.” Cam shrugged.
“No, it is not!” Krista exploded. “I’m the only one at Beachwood who’s scored five goals during a game….”
“Okay, okay,” Cam said, holding his hands up in surrender. “But Kris, what do you care if Charlie gets some play? She’s the hot new thing, and you have to admit, she’s good.”
Krista stopped. Did Cam just say that her little sister was hot? Charlie, with her chipped black nail polish and clothes that would look better on a boy? The world really was coming to an end.
“Fine. She’s good,” Krista admitted. “I’m just better. I don’t know why Noah’s all wrapped up in—”
Cam frowned. “You know, Brooks told me you were bent out of shape about Noah not giving you the time of day.”
Krista stared at her boyfriend, her mouth open in surprise. “What?”
Cam looked down at his plate and played with a slice of jalapeño. “Brooks says you’re tweaking about the fact that Noah doesn’t pay any attention to you. I don’t need to, uh, worry about him.
Do I?”
“Worry? No!” Krista yelped. “And that’s—that’s just not fair. I want Noah and Martie to notice me as a player. I can’t believe Brooks would say that.”
Cam said nothing for a few minutes. Then he tried changing the subject. “So I—I booked a hotel room for homecoming.”
Krista almost choked on a chip. “What?”
They were over halfway through the season, and homecoming was now only a few days away.
“Game’s on Friday.” Cam shrugged. “Dance is on Saturday, and some of the guys on the team, the seniors—they all got rooms at the Vista on PCH.”
“The Vista?” Krista asked.
Sometimes, when she wasn’t sure how to respond, she simply repeated what other people said to her. It was a trait Charlie found incredibly annoying and pointed out often.
“It’s cool there,” Cam said, trying to sound casual. “They have big king beds and hot tubs in the room that are heart-shaped.”
“Heart-shaped?”
Cam seemed a little nervous. “Well, more triangle-shaped, but you know… kind of like a heart—with pointy edges.”
Krista thought about repeating “pointy edges,” but common sense stopped her. She was beginning to sound ridiculous.
Krista gulped. A room? In a hotel by the highway? “I’ll have to check with my parents, I guess.”
Cam laughed. “Your parents? You think they’re going to let you stay in a hotel room with me… alone?”
Krista bit her lip nervously. Of course they wouldn’t. That was the point.
“Tell your parents you’re staying at Brooks’s,” Cam instructed. He put his hand over hers. “Come on. We’ve been waiting for this night forever. I told all the guys we’d be going. Don’t you—don’t you want to?”
Krista shook off her insecurities and plastered on a smile. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”
She said it so firmly, she almost convinced herself.
Chapter Nine
Charlie couldn’t believe she was actually at the homecoming game, like every other normal kid, cheering for Beachwood.
Carla and Pickle had called to invite her, and since it sounded marginally better than sitting at home, searching Google for links between random words like death and mouse pads or bras and egg rolls, she decided to join in.
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