“But you could use some weight gain,” Benny says loudly.
“Yep,” Dad says. “All good… Golden.”
“Take a drink of Dad’s first,” Mom says. “See if you like it.”
I take a sip, grimace at the taste.
“What’s in it?”
“Beets, hemp, whole yogurt, protein powder, chia seeds, avocado, blueberries… stop!” Mom suddenly shouts as I swallow another big gulp and nearly choke.
“Geez, Mom.”
“Laxative,” she says.
“Laxative?” I look into the smoothie.
Mom and Benny and Dad begin to laugh.
“I’m sorry, Golden, I forgot,” Mom says.
“What’s a laxative?” Roma asks, coming into the room.
“Golden’s going to be on the toilet tonight,” Benny says, keeling over in his seat.
Beyond uncool.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Don’t answer it!” I say quickly, thoughts of the Dark Lord returning.
“Of course answer it,” Mom says.
I sink down as low as possible in my seat.
“Hello!” I hear Lucy say. “Treats for our favorite neighbors! Mom just made them.”
“Is the Dark Lord with her?” I whisper to Benny.
Benny looks at me, his eyes wide, and nods.
“Hi, Lucy,” Benny says, standing. “Baby swap since I’m here?”
“Hi, Benny!” Lucy says. “Sure. Sweet Estelle is pretty cranky. Someone pulled up her favorite plant right outside her window.”
“Oh no!” Mom says.
I sink lower. Dad eyes me, confused.
“Please tell Golden hello from me,” I hear a deeper and darker voice say. “We had a bit of a tough day by the mailbox—nothing major,” he rushes on, sounding all friendly. “I just didn’t say the right thing and I wanted to apologize.” Puh-lease. Tell me she isn’t buying this nice-guy act.
“Golden?” Mom calls.
“Meow.” Curtis came too.
I telepathically command him: Curtis, attack!
I stay low, head under the table, waiting for Attack Cat to make his move. Believe me, I know he can. Instead I see the furball curling his way around the chair that an unattended Sugar Ray sits on.
“Curtis!” Lucy calls. Curtis meows noisily at me and jumps on my head, then onto the table before sprinting off. “Please tell Golden hi…,” Lucy says. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, sure!” Benny says, a little too cheerfully.
“I’ll tell him you said hello,” Mom says. “Thank you, sweetie.”
The door closes, and Mom walks over holding a plate of cookies.
“Don’t eat those,” I whisper. “They’re likely poisoned.”
“What happened at the mailbox, Golden?”
“Nothing.”
She takes a bite. “Yum.”
“If you value your life, you won’t eat another bite.”
“He’s perfectly nice.”
“Yeah, for a psychopath.”
“You are acting very strange,” Mom says.
I rise, stretch my neck, and pick up Sugar Ray. “If it wasn’t for him, Lucy wouldn’t be moving.”
“Honey,” Mom says, reaching out her hand to rest on my shoulder.
I shake her off. “I’m fine, Mom. And I have a plan. Right, Benny?”
Benny holds Estelle the Sugar Baby, looking skeptical.
Before I can execute, I dash to the bathroom. “LAXATIVES,” I yell. “Uncool!”
* * *
“It’s cool he didn’t snitch on you,” Benny says when I walk him home.
“It’s all part of his evil design,” I say. “To lure us over to the dark side.”
Benny sighs.
“Benny, don’t give in!”
“Look, I don’t want Lucy to move either, but what in the world can we do about it? You’re going to keep pulling up flowers, running over the mailbox, and what next—breaking windows? Knocking down the house? You’re going to be in jail before the house sells.”
“That’s an idea.”
Benny laughs like I’m joking.
“She’s not moving!”
“Golden—”
“Maybe I’m focusing on the wrong thing. Maybe they need to see that he’s the problem—not the house!”
“Oh wow. Golden, listen. You are definitely focusing on the wrong thing.”
“I am?”
“Yes! Hello? Our soccer team. You’re not at all focused like you should be. You’re not thinking about our next game or talking about our next set plays. What’s wrong with you, man? That’s all you ever used to think about, talk about, dream about! Don’t lose it now. It’s only the middle of September and we’ve got nine games left before the championship, remember? We can’t get there if we don’t have our captain focused and helping us win games! We need you!”
“I think about soccer every waking moment!” I say.
Benny stops in front of his house. “You’re distracted.”
“Why aren’t you a little more distracted? This is Lucy!”
“Dude…”
“You’re jealous!”
“I’m not jealous! I’m trying to help you.…”
“You’re jealous because…”
“Because what? Because you always put her before me? Because if you had to choose between the two of us, I know it would always be her? Okay, you’re right. I am jealous! But that’s not why I’m saying this.” Benny blinks rapidly and kicks a rock.
“Benny, that’s not—”
He pokes me hard in the chest. “Focus! You wanted to be captain so bad, but why? To wear an armband? You don’t actually seem to want to BE captain. Captains can be replaced, you know.”
“Is that a threat? You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
“I am your best friend!” he roars. “That’s why I’m telling you!”
His front door opens, and Mrs. Ho steps out. “Benny?”
Benny and I look at each other and fume.
Then, slowly, and stiffly, we do our handshake. As he pulls away, he also wipes his eyes with his arm, which makes me feel bad and kind of surprises me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Benny Ho cry.
I walk home alone. Captains can be replaced? What’s he talking about? I’m trying to keep everything together when everyone else, including Mom and Benny and Lucy and Jaimes, seems fine to just let everything fall apart.
I get home just in time to see Lucy pulling the pulley, Kermit the Frog waiting at my window.
Inside is a pink piece of paper folded into a tiny square. I carefully unwrap it and read:
Maybe it’s not your job to make everything better.
I look outside my window. Lucy is staring at me from hers. I lean out so I can see her better. Fireflies light up in the small garden below her window.
“It is my job, Lucy.”
She tips her head to the side, hair falling across her shoulder.
Her hands reach out across the darkness, across the chasm that separates us. I reach my fingers out too, reaching as far as they will stretch, something we used to do when we were little and had to go to bed but wanted to keep playing. If we could only have reached a little farther, the tips of our fingers might have touched and we could have conquered the whole world.
“The only reason I’m forgiving you for what you did to the beautiful plant under my window is because I know why you did it,” Lucy says.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to help you! And I don’t know why you’re not trying a little harder to stay.”
“Goldie, I am trying. I’m scared and sad to move, but sometimes I’m also excited—I can’t help it.”
“Two opposite things.”
“And both are true.”
“Lucy… I need you to believe.”
She tips her head at me. “If there’s anyone I believe in, it’s you.”
I feel a lump in my throat as big as a size 5 soccer ball.
“G
ood night, Golden.”
She drops her hands, breaking the spell.
“Good night, Sugar Ray.”
I hold up Sugar Ray—and accidentally drop him two stories below.
Luckily, he lands in a hydrangea bush and has only minor scratches and is a very forgiving baby.
Work Harder
You have to fight to reach your dream… sacrifice. Work hard for it.
—LIONEL MESSI
Less than a week later it’s game day against Kearsarge, which means we need someone to watch our babies.
Whitney beams at the suggestion—and it gets her off YouTube.
She squeezes both Estelle and Sugar Ray. “I promise on my honor that baby Estelle and Sugar Ray will receive only the best care!”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Come on,” Lucy says. “I’ve got snacks.” Today her hair is in braids with small red scrunchies at the bottom. Her fingernails are painted a matching firecracker red.
As we run to the bleachers, I see Benny already on the field warming up. I wave, but he stays focused on dribbling. I swallow hard, still feeling bad about last night. Jealous of Lucy and me? I guess it’s true that we always say we’re the twins, that we found Benny later, but we’re still three musketeers, not two plus one.
Lucy opens her lunch box and hands me a granola bar. She looks at me and sighs heavily.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you later. We have a game to play.”
“Tell me now so I can focus on the game—please?”
“Fine. Please don’t be mad. Today George is taking down Kermit.”
“Our Kermit?”
“Until like a couple of weeks ago we hardly ever used it anymore,” Lucy reminds me.
“It doesn’t matter. He can’t do that! My dad put it up.”
“We can still—”
“I notice you aren’t calling him the Dark Lord anymore,” I say. “So much for believing in me.”
I turn my back and walk away from her.
I can’t think about this right now. Benny was right. I have to focus.
When the refs blow the whistle, I look around for Dad. Jaimes was going to drive him over after a short practice session, but they’re late, as usual.
I want to come out strong in the first five minutes, so I call for the ball.
“Pass!”
Mario passes me the ball, and without hesitating, I shoot.
It goes into the net!
Except it’s the wrong net.
With horror I realize I’ve accidentally scored on C.J.
“Oh no!” I say, dropping to my knees.
“For real?” Slick says. “So lame. What kind of captain does that?”
Coach pulls me out, subbing Archie in for me. Even more embarrassing.
“Buddy,” Coach says. “What’s going on? You upset?”
“I’m not Buddy,” I say. “It sounds like a baby.”
“You want to cool off and come back to talk to me?”
I walk to our bench and sit down.
By halftime we’ve recovered and are tied 1–1—which Slick says is mostly because I’ve been on the bench.
“Good half, team,” Coach says. “Now get some water and then go out there and finish it.”
I look down at my magic Messi cleats, pound on his name taped around my calf.
“Captains?” Coach asks.
“Team of my heart,” Lucy says, clutching her hands to her chest. “What a spectacular first half.”
“Except for—” Slick starts.
“Never mind!” Lucy says. “Defenders, keep up the good work pushing the ball upfield. Midfielders—”
“If we want to win we’ve got to get some shots in,” I interrupt. “We want to win, right?”
Lucy frowns.
“Defense, you have to step up and stop giving up when you get beat. Middies, run faster and shoot the ball! Forwards…”
“Don’t shoot on our own net?” C.J. asks.
“Golden, Archie,” Coach says. “You’ll start our second half as forwards. Call for the ball, take the shots. Benny, Sunny, and Brady as middies. Remember…”
Remember, remember.
You can overcome anything, if and only if you love something enough.
I want this win and I want it bad.
But…
“Where’s Dad?” I ask Coach.
She checks her watch and scans the crowd. “Let’s just get through this game.”
The Magpies thunder back onto the field. I find Benny and lightly punch him on the shoulder. “We’re good, right?”
“We’re good,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s just saying that, though, so I won’t keep messing up.
The whistle blows and the game resumes, but my head doesn’t quiet like it usually does when I play. Benny passes to me and I try to hesitate and wait for a half second, just like Coach always tells us, for the opposing team to make the first move. When Kearsarge attacks my left side, I lunge right so that I’m one-on-one with the goalie. Her hands are out, fluorescent orange gloves on them and a too-big yellow goalie jersey.
“Go, Golden!” I hear Lucy scream.
Her voice emboldens me, and I know it’s my chance to impress everyone. Show them why they chose the right captain.
I Maradona, going over the ball with one foot, turning, and pulling the ball with my opposite foot, just as the goalie comes out. Unfortunately, I underestimate her speed and we run into each other before I can take the shot. I fall to the ground and—No!—the ball is loose, slowly rolling out of the box.
“See the field!” Coach calls as I get up. My face burns. She’s right. I had a wide-open shot. Why did I have to show off with a Maradona?
Lucy sprints forward and intercepts the ball. “Archie!” she yells, looking for a striker, then passes the ball to him.
“Golden!” Archie yells.
I scramble up, realizing I was just watching everything happen.
Stumbling, I try to get back into the game, but the defender steals it from me after one touch and boots it toward C.J. in the goal.
I close my eyes and try to channel Messi.
But what comes to mind first is Dad. Here with you.
And suddenly everything finally focuses.
C.J. blocks the goal, and our defense has officially recovered from my show-off move. They pass the ball up, finding our middies. I grab a pass and send it perfectly to Benny.
With a minute left, a quick dribble, and a small flick, Benny puts it in the back of the net for a 2–1 lead.
A few seconds later the refs blow their whistles.
Game over.
It’s a win! My stupid wrong goal and Maradona will be forgiven because we won.
Dad would be cheering and jumping up and down like crazy, if he could.
I notice the Dark Lord is doing just that. I hate him even more.
I Tell a Lie for the Good of All
How do you mark Cristiano Ronaldo? You try not to leave him alone, don’t let him shoot on his right foot. And Lionel Messi? Just make the sign of the cross.
—GIORGIO CHIELLINI
I’m ecstatic all the way home. Off the field, in the van, out of the van. Can’t wait to tell Dad and Jaimes and everyone that we’re that much closer to the championship.
When we get home, Lucy’s mom is outside sweeping the porch, arranging the wreath on their front door.
“Another showing!” she calls.
I bounce a little less into the house and shower but try to rebound while putting bread in the toaster. I even decide to be happy that we’re having avocado toast for dinner again. Jaimes chops avocado into slices, salts and peppers it, and we sit and chatter about the game. Dad is resting on the couch, eyes closed, a smile on his face as we talk about soccer.
“What helpful children,” Mom says. She’s happy too, for once. That’s what a soccer win can do.
In the window behind her, I see a familiar car pull up outside. Anoth
er showing. A chance to spy on the enemy.
“Back in a minute!” I call, and I step onto the porch to find Myra the Realtor—and she’s got a family with her. While Myra goes inside Lucy’s, the couple stays outside. The woman is pregnant. I squeeze Sugar Ray even closer to me.
“Hello,” they say when they see me looking.
“Hi.”
It’s then that I see it—Kermit the Frog is staring at me from the lunch box sitting on my porch. I look up. The Dark Lord really has cut down Dad’s pulley. Never again can I send Lucy a note in Kermit. The tears I feel coming down my face are unexpected and shocking. The couple looks alarmed.
I pick up Kermit and furiously wipe tears, trying to gain control of myself.
“Honey,” the woman says, coming up the stairs. “Whatever is the matter?”
I gulp, swallow, try to talk.
“Is that… your lunch box?” she asks.
“There were these little kids who shared Kermit to pass notes back and forth in,” I say.
The woman pats her heart. “How sweet.”
“It was,” I say bitterly.
“Was? What happened?”
I do something very bad, but very necessary. I tell a big fat preposterous lie.
“And—they died!”
She gasps, puts her hand on her heart.
“That man in that house over there?” I nod to Lucy’s. “He killed them.”
“What?”
I nod.
“Should we be… calling the police or something?” The woman looks at her husband, who looks equally alarmed.
“No, no, no,” I whisper. “I’ve tried everything. No one listens. We’ll just have to wait until he makes his next… mistake.”
“Mistake?” She puts her hand protectively on her stomach as Myra’s voice carries through the front door. “Can we help? What were their names?”
“Who?”
“The kids!”
“Uh. Sugar Ray… because he was so sweet. And Estelle.” I pat my baby.
“Is that him?” she asks. I nod and show her Messi’s face, praying she doesn’t recognize the greatest soccer player in the world. She shakes her head sympathetically. Her husband tilts his head, studying Messi’s face.
I turn the sugar baby back around. “I keep his picture here so I can remember. It’s been a terrible time. We’d welcome you to the neighborhood, of course, but… I don’t know that you want to live here. Some say they can hear the voices of the children crying during the night.” I might be carrying this a bit far. Then again, the woman’s eyes bug out in sympathy for my pathetic tale.
Ten Thousand Tries Page 14
