Ten Thousand Tries

by Amy Makechnie

  “Forget-me-nots,” Lucy says. “Don’t worry. You’re kind of unforgettable, Golden Macaroni.”

  I don’t know how I make it out to the field, watch practice, or go on living, since I’m a puddle on the middle school floor.

  Maybe I should have been more careful with the laundry, because I’m going to need Jaimes to keep giving me pointers. I gave Lucy flowers, but forgot to ask her about the dance.

  The Best Things Come in Threes

  What are the qualities of a hero? Loss. Defeat. A comeback.

  —COACH PATRICK MARONI

  A week later I’m cleared to do the warm-up and a few drills, but over the next two weeks Coach keeps me mostly sidelined with Shin-Splint Ziggy, who prefers to sit on the bench with candy Coach can’t see. He’s actually not so bad, and he’s totally generous with his stash of Jolly Ranchers.

  It’s growing colder as November nears, much chillier now that I’m not running down the field or making shots on goal. The whole soccer field is surrounded by trees of red, orange, and yellow, and the humidity has all but blown out.

  I can feel the muscles in my right arm shrinking to a tiny baby toothpick.

  I flex my fingers, just to make sure they’re still working.

  Squeeze my hands into balls.

  Twiddle my thumbs.

  Everything’s working.

  To be absolutely sure, I repeat the sequence many times.

  During practice I chase the balls that fly over the fence, put down and pick up cones, and am the most cheerful one-armed soccer player on the planet. I remember what Dad said: Lead from the bench. I can be cheerful on the bench instead of the field because we are getting to that championship game.

  And my cast will be off by then. The doctor has kind-of-almost guaranteed it. I have an appointment booked the day before the game.

  “If that isn’t a sign I don’t know what is!” Lucy says. Speaking of Lucy, I haven’t seen anyone tour her house recently, and Mom says winter can be a tough time to sell—so we’re almost there.

  “What are you so pleased about?” Jaimes said when she found me looking out the window last night.

  “Nothing. Just that I pretty much single-handedly kept my best friend from moving a couple of states away. You’re welcome.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head like she wasn’t super impressed, then went back to strategizing her team’s path to the championship with Dad.

  * * *

  With that off my mind, I refocus on our upcoming games. Lucy leads the warm-up of the last two games of the regular season like a pro. Benny pulls off a hat trick against Pittsfield, scoring three goals in a row, with Moses even getting an accidental assist.

  When I yell, “Way to go, Moses!” I hope not to sound pitiful and jealous. “Nice finish, Benny!”

  And when Dobbs makes a terrible pass during the Newport game, I swallow a groan and yell, “That’s okay, recover!”

  We manage to blow out Pittsfield and pull out the slimmest of wins against Newport, 1–0.

  YES!

  “We needed that,” Benny says, walking off the field after the game.

  “It’s got to be enough,” Lucy says.

  I cross all my fingers.

  * * *

  The only reason I can stand not playing in the last games of my middle school career is because of our one chance at that final championship game. We won’t find out who makes it until the end of the week, so we practice as if we’re already in. I do the warm-up and drills every day, but no scrimmaging, which is practically impossible—the Messi Magic Battle Packs are so ready!

  On Friday afternoon, Coach looks at her watch.

  “In one hour we should know.”

  “Know what?” Ziggy asks.

  “Ziggy!” I say. “Whether or not Mudbury Middle has qualified to play in the biggest matchup of the season: the championship game? What else is there?”

  “Oh yeah,” he says. “I knew that.”

  During the last scrimmage, a ball gets kicked over the fence.

  “I got it,” I say, making my way under a sticker bush just as Coach yells, “Grab another ball. It’s Golden Goal time! Next goal wins!” My team plays while I wrestle under the bush.

  The thorns snag my shirt and prick me all over until I can feel small drops of blood appear, dotted across my face and legs and arms. I can hear the team play, can hear the happy screams when the Golden Goal is scored. I missed it.

  I roll out from under the sticker bush just as Coach says, “Mr. T!”

  He’s walking onto the field holding a piece of paper. I scramble up.

  We run to the middle of the field and surround him. I can hardly breathe. Benny bites his lip. Lucy squeezes her eyes and fists together.

  Mr. T shakes his head. “Sorry, guys,” he says.

  A collective shock ripples across the team. No.

  “Hold up,” he says. “I came out to tell you we don’t have the results yet and probably won’t have them until tonight. Hopefully we can announce it at the dance. Go home and shower. Y’all stink.”

  “So we still have a chance?” I say.

  “We still have a chance!” Benny pounds on my back.

  “But first the MVP Gum of the Day,” Coach says, raising it into the air.

  “Golden, obviously,” Archie says. “The man’s covered in blood and he found our Nike Pitch EPL soccer ball.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Slick says.

  When he smiles, he’s wearing my mouth guard.

  I decide to let it go.

  Coach hands over the cinnamon gum, my favorite.

  * * *

  We rush home from soccer practice so that we can go back to school in two hours for the Big Dance. Not only will I get to dance with Lucy, but it’s where our championship fate will be announced: so basically the most important night of my whole life.

  I take a hot shower, covering my wrist with a plastic grocery bag. Real classy. Afterward, I pat my face down with Dad’s smell-good aftershave.

  “OW!!!” I yell.

  I apply hair gel to what little hair I’m starting to get back, pushed up in front. Then I kiss my fingers and point them at the sky, just like my man Messi.

  Or bathroom ceiling. Whatever.

  I wear jeans, a white T-shirt, and a blue-and-white-checkered button-down shirt. It’s long-sleeved so I can slide my captain’s band onto my bicep without anyone noticing. It’s slightly sweaty and smelly, so I sprinkle it with more of Dad’s smell-good juice.

  I won’t take it off until after we win the championship with Dad front row.

  When Dad walks or rolls across the field and we hold up the trophy together.

  That will be a sign.

  A sign that Dad’s the exception.

  That I’ve worked hard enough.

  That I gave everything.

  That I loved him enough.

  Jaimes chatters on about my dance etiquette. “Don’t burp or do those other disgusting boy things.”

  “Like I was going to burp in Lucy’s face.”

  “Dance the waltz,” she says, gliding across the room with her arms outstretched. “One-two-three. She will love you for, like, ever.”

  “Yeah, no.”

  “There she goes.”

  I peek out the window to see George and Lucy’s mom getting in the car to take Lucy to the dance. Which means the house is empty. Between a cracked arm, Dad, championship dreams, and laundry, I realize I’m off my Operation Lucy game. Now’s my chance to regroup.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jaimes says.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you’re scheming.”

  I make a scoffing sound.

  “I thought you said you were almost sure it wasn’t going back on the market till spring, so why are you still doing this?” she challenges me.

  “Extra insurance!”

  “You know, Golden, maybe you’d be a better friend… if you let her go.”

  “You don’t even know w
hat I’m going to do!” I say, backing away.

  “Golden—”

  I slide down the banister before she can say anything else, slip on my shoes, and sprint across the driveway to Lucy’s house.

  The door is unlocked as always.

  I walk in and look around, adrenaline coursing through me. What can I do?

  Break a window?

  Clog a toilet?

  How do I prevent Lucy from moving without getting grounded for life or permanently infuriating her?

  There’s duct tape on the counter.

  I grin and remember one of Dad’s April Fools’ tricks. I place a little piece on the faucet so when it’s turned on it will spray the Dark Lord in the face. It won’t prevent a home sale, but it will really tick him off.

  I hear my front door open and close, the keys jangling as Jaimes walks to the van.

  I sprint to the front door, but that’s when I see something else on the counter—a phone.

  Don’t do it.

  But I do. I slip it into my pocket and race to the car.

  We pull out of the driveway… just as Lucy’s mom’s car is pulling back in.

  Jaimes slows and rolls down her window.

  “Forgot my phone,” Lucy’s mom says. “Expecting an important house call.”

  I keep a perfectly bored look on my face, but my heart is hammering inside my chest. House call? Does that mean the house didn’t go off the market?

  “Can we take Lucy?” Jaimes asks. “It’s kind of tradition anyway.”

  “And you can just pick me up, Mom?” Lucy asks.

  “All right—thank you. Have a great time!”

  The Dark Lord smiles at me. I play along and raise my hand in a wave.

  A few minutes later, when Lucy runs up the Hos’ driveway to get Benny, the phone in my pocket starts ringing. I immediately silence it.

  “What was that?” Jaimes says.

  “Nothing.”

  “Golden… you didn’t.”

  I can’t help myself. “I also put duct tape on the faucet.”

  Lucy and Benny get into the car.

  Jaimes rolls her eyes at me. “Buckle up.”

  We hold our breath when we round Cemetery Corner. Everyone, that is, except Jaimes.

  “Now you’re going to be haunted,” I tell her.

  “Uh-huh,” Jaimes says.

  “Because the ghost is jealous he doesn’t have a body,” Benny says.

  “It’s true,” Lucy says. “Once I didn’t hold my breath, and I heard the ghost of Raymond Von Mousetrap whisper, You lucky, lucky thing.”

  Jaimes slowly nods. “And I thought you three were weird before today.”

  * * *

  When we arrive, Mr. T stands out front, arms crossed.

  “Yo, Mr. T,” I say. “Any news yet?”

  “Patience! I’ll let you know when I know.”

  “Nice scarf.”

  “Thanks,” he says proudly. “Just finished it.”

  I try not to laugh.

  “Not cool enough for you, Goldie-Locks?”

  “Uh…” No?

  “Hand-eye coordination, calming effect, sense of accomplishment, not to mention a fashion statement. You should try it.”

  “Maybe I will,” I say. “If we make the championship!”

  When we walk through the doors, Ziggy and half the team are chugging Mountain Dews.

  “What are you doing!”

  They freeze.

  “Uh, championship game?”

  “Lighten up, Goldie-Locks,” Slick says, pounding me on the back. “You only live once.”

  “Exactly,” I say, walking into the gym.

  The lights are off except for the large disco ball on the ceiling that spins white light around the room. I’m feeling light-headed for three reasons: sometimes I hate my friends, there’s a stolen phone in my pocket, and I really, really want to ask Lucy to dance.

  The phone starts to buzz again in my pocket. I run to the bathroom and lock myself into the stall, panicky.

  The name on the screen says “George.” I stare at it until it stops ringing.

  I splash water on my face.

  The phone buzzes again.

  Back into the locked stall.

  On the screen is an unidentified number. Lucy’s mom did say she was expecting an important phone call about the house.

  Do I dare?

  I have to. Because I love Lucy that much.

  Taking a deep breath, I answer. “Hello?”

  The bathroom door opens. I peek through the crack and get a view of the gym.

  I spy Lucy across the dance floor. Her light blue dress is flecked with white disco light.

  “Golden?” Benny says, the door closing behind him.

  “Ms. Littlehouse?” the voice on the other end of the phone says.

  “No,” I say, making my voice as deep as I can.

  “George?” the voice asks.

  I hesitate one second. “Yes. The house isn’t for sale any longer. Sorry.” I hang up, my face burning, my hands shaking.

  I open the stall door.

  Benny’s standing with his mouth open.

  “Yo, let’s dance,” I say.

  “You’re so dead. You know that, right?” he says, following me out to the gym.

  “Yeah.” My hands are sweaty. I’m so scared, I might barf.

  The phone is burning a hole in my pocket, so I place it underneath a chair to forget about it, at least until the dance is over. Also so I won’t get caught.

  Lucy is with a group of girls when I attempt the worm. I make sure she can see me when I get down on the floor, but it turns out you can’t do the worm or break-dance with a cracked arm without looking totally pathetic. Uncool.

  I wander around to walk it off, admiring blue-and-white homecoming balloons and WELCOME ALUMS banners. Some ninth graders are back visiting, but they only stay long enough to let us know how cool they are before exiting.

  The mood is light and loud, with baby sixth graders huddled in corners, seventh graders laughing, and eighth graders dominating the dance floor. Chaperones are chatting and gossiping. I’m supposed to call Mom and Dad as soon as the championship news is announced—if it’s announced. I look around the gym for Mr. T.

  As if on cue, I spy him walking to the middle of the gym, the disco lights bouncing off his head.

  The music stops.

  “I’d like to make an announcement.”

  Suddenly, both Benny and Lucy are by my side. We hold hands.

  Please please please.

  “For you soccer players, we’ve just received some news about the championship game.”

  He pauses for effect.

  We hold our breaths.

  I flex my bicep, feel the sweaty captain’s band.

  “The goals were tallied, the level of play was taken into consideration, and the league vote was unanimous… for the first time in history, Mudbury Middle School is going to the championship game!”

  The entire gym erupts. My knees go weak. Benny and Lucy hold me up.

  “Not only that,” Mr. T says above the noise, “but we’ll be making history by being the first team to play under the lights on the Patrick Maroni field!”

  Benny and Lucy pull me to the middle of the room, where the whole team jumps up and down as the DJ plays “Celebration.” It’s wicked fun.

  Two songs later, the tempo slows and the DJ says, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Here’s your last song of the night.”

  I look everywhere for Lucy.

  She’s not in the huddle of girls. Slick’s alone, so he hasn’t found her yet. She’s not in the hallway. I run back into the gym, sweating profusely, frantic, and almost call her name out loud.

  And suddenly she’s there.

  Right in front of me.

  Smiling her big smile.

  She bows with a flourish.

  I bow back.

  I put my casted hand in hers and my other on her waist. With my cast so close to
my face, I realize how dirty and smelly it is. I gulp, hoping she doesn’t notice.

  “Do you waltz?” I ask.

  “Waltz?”

  “I’ll show you.” I start counting, “One-two-three.” Soon we’re turning around in a squarish circle.

  “One-two-three,” she says. “Good things come in threes, right? Like you, me, and Benny.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “Your dad told me that once,” she says. “A long time ago, and I’ve been happy ever since.”

  I nod, even though I can’t help thinking, How can it be the best if you’re not here with me?

  Of course it’s Lucy and she can read my mind.

  She smiles, her eyes shiny. “And no matter what, we’ll always be together, Golden. No matter where I travel, no matter who buys our house, no matter where you go. We were born on the same day in the same hospital, remember? And then we found Benny…”

  “… in preschool,” I finish. “Of course I remember.”

  “Golden… are you wearing your captain’s band?”

  I nod.

  We stop dancing; there’s a mischievous look in her eye. She pulls up her sleeve to reveal her red-and-white captain’s band.

  Twins. For life. And I get it now.

  Maybe Lucy won’t move.

  Maybe she will.

  I kind of don’t think I can do anything more to stop what’s already begun.

  I just have to believe that no matter what, we’ll always be Lucy and Golden—and Benny, too.

  I don’t think about what it will be like to say good-bye. I don’t ask about her leaving. I don’t think about how sad I’ll be without her, or say I’ll miss her or how life will be a perfect graveyard without her living next door for the rest of our lives sending notes in Kermit the Frog. Lucy’s eyes, deep and blue and flecked with light from dancing disco stars hanging from the ceiling, remind me of the sky, but also of water. I’ve never been to Maine, but I imagine that the color of the ocean there looks something like Lucy’s blue eyes.

  We dance.

  One-two-three. One-two-three.

  The whole time, I don’t let my mind wander to what might happen next, not the soccer field, not the FOR SALE sign, not Dad’s clawlike left hand. I don’t think. I make myself stay right here, living in this one perfect happy moment under a disco ball with my forever best friend, Lucy Littlehouse.