by Belle Payton
But Alex remained undaunted. She was remembering what Emily had jokingly mentioned in homeroom this morning. Detention! Now there was an untapped source of new signatures! It was highly improbable that any kids in detention would be friends of Ella’s. All Ella’s friends were smart and motivated and would never be caught dead in detention. It was even unlikely that they’d be friends of Logan’s. He was a jock, and kids who were serious about sports generally kept themselves out of detention, as coaches were usually displeased if their players missed practice time. Detention would likely be full of what reporters on the news liked to call “undecided voters.” In seventh grade, that category would be kids who didn’t follow school government very closely, or who didn’t even know there was a campaign. The question was, how did one get a detention?
Alex stood outside Ms. Palmer’s English classroom and waited for the second bell to ring.
Jack Valdeavano, a friend of hers and Ava’s whom Ava played basketball with a lot (and whom Alex was pretty sure Ava had a crush on), paused as he was about to go inside. “Coming?” he asked her.
“Yup. Be right there,” said Alex. Her breathing was shallow, and she felt drops of perspiration on her upper lip. She was never late for class. Never. How late do I have to be to get a detention? she wondered.
Jack gave her a puzzled look and headed inside.
Thirty seconds later the bell rang. By now Alex was almost in panic mode. She leaned against the locker, breathing hard. A sixth grader sprinted past her at top speed, obviously late for class. She watched him skid to slow down and then disappear out of sight around the corner. Now she was the only one in the hall.
She counted to five, then walked into the classroom.
Ms. Palmer was passing out papers.
“S-s-sorry I’m late!” Alex said in a high, quivering voice, as she slipped into her empty desk next to Megan Schiller.
“Hello, Alex,” said Ms. Palmer, putting a paper on Alex’s desk. “Nice of you to join us.” She smiled and moved on. Alex sighed.
She picked up her paper and peeked at it. It was an essay about the poet Robert Herrick. She’d gotten a ninety-seven and a smiley face.
When she had finished passing out the papers, Ms. Palmer told the class to take out their books. They were reading Antigone.
“Um, excuse me, Ms. Palmer?” Alex waved her hand urgently to get Ms. Palmer’s attention.
She turned. “Yes, Alex?”
“My book. I forgot my book. I didn’t bring it to class.” Although her heart was pounding, Alex tried to put a defiant, who cares look on her face.
“Oh. Well, never mind. You can look on with Megan today.”
Alex glanced at Megan Schiller. Megan flashed her a friendly smile, revealing a mouthful of purple braces.
Alex tried again. “No, but see, I might even have lost it. My book. I might not bring it tomorrow, either. That’s really bad, isn’t it?”
Ms. Palmer looked at Alex, puzzled. “I’m sure it will turn up, Alex. In the meantime, I have a spare copy you can borrow. You can put your annotations on sticky notes until you find your book.”
Alex closed her eyes and blew out a breath. This was not working. What did it take to get a detention around here? Should she threaten to rob a bank or something? “Well, but see, I also might, um, might have to be late for class tomorrow, and I don’t think I’ll have a note with me.”
Her glance flickered over to Jack, who was sitting several seats away. He had an amused grin on his face. Ms. Palmer was staring at Alex over the tops of her glasses with a look of utter incomprehension. It was as though Alex had suddenly switched to speaking in Urdu.
“Alex,” she said. “You can look on with Megan. Can we get on with class, please?”
Alex slumped in her chair. “Yes, sorry,” she mumbled.
So much for that idea.
She managed to get several more signatures in the hallway between classes, but by the time the last bell had rung, she had just ninety-six—still four short.
Alex stood near the main entrance of the school, just outside the office. Kids were rushing by on their way to catch buses or get changed for sports tryouts, which all began today. She looked glumly down at the ninety-six signatures and felt a lump rise in her throat. Was this where it would end? Would it just be Logan and Ella in the campaign?
Right then Logan Medina emerged from the office and saluted Alex, an impish grin on his handsome face. “Just handed in my signatures,” he said to her. “Had them done last week.”
In spite of her misery, Alex was struck by his low, resonant voice. It was like melted honey. No wonder girls mooned over the guy.
“Great,” snapped Alex. “Good for you.”
“See ya around,” he said, and gave her a thumbs-up, then joined the throngs of kids heading outside.
“Must not cry,” Alex said to herself through gritted teeth. “Presidents don’t cry.” But she could feel tears of frustration spring to her eyes. Why was she putting herself through this? Logan was going to win, and if he didn’t, Ella certainly would. She, Alex, couldn’t even get a hundred lousy signatures just to get to the next phase of the campaign.
“Hey, Sackett,” said a voice to her right.
Alex quickly rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and turned. It was Jack.
“Hey, Jack,” she said, her voice a little too high and bright.
“You need a ride home or something? My mom’s outside, and we’re heading to soccer practice—we go right past your house.”
“Oh, no thanks, I’m good,” said Alex. “I—I’m waiting for someone.”
“Okay, sounds good.” He turned to leave.
“I thought soccer was a spring sport in Texas,” said Alex.
He turned back. “It is. But those of us who know that soccer is the world’s greatest game and a far superior sport to football play for the club team.”
Alex smiled. He was nice. No wonder Ava liked him. A thought dawned on Alex. “Hey, Jack? I’m guessing you already signed Logan’s petition, right?”
“Logan? That would be a no.”
“Oh!” she said, surprised. “I assumed because you were a—because you were athletic you would have signed his. I thought he had the athlete vote.”
“Nope,” said Jack simply. “I haven’t been following our class government all that closely, to be honest. But I’ll sign your petition if you want.” He grinned and held out his hand for her pen and clipboard, and scribbled down his name. Then he looked more closely. “You’ve got ninety-seven signatures. How many do you need?”
“Three more,” she said miserably. “But I have no one left to ask, and they have to be in by three thirty. I was planning to try the kids in detention, but it fell through.” She felt the tears well up in her eyes again.
Jack stared at her. A grin spread across his face, but he quickly suppressed it. “Is that why you came in late to English today? And why you didn’t bring your book? You were trying to get Palmer to give you a detention?”
Alex nodded sadly. “I couldn’t even get her to yell at me.”
Now Jack laughed heartily. “This is your lucky day,” he said, taking her by the elbow and propelling her toward the front door. “Because it’s only three seventeen, and I have three friends sitting in my mom’s car, and I bet they won’t mind signing your petition one bit. They probably don’t even know there is an election, they’re such lame citizens.”
Alex felt a strong urge to throw her arms around Jack’s neck. As it was probably not the best thing to do on several levels, she restrained herself. But she followed Jack out the door.
Two minutes later she was dashing back inside to file her signatures in the front office.
CHAPTER
THREE
Ava sat on a bench in the girls’ locker room, her heart thumping hard in her chest as she laced up her cleats. All around her, girls were changing into sports clothes, chattering cheerfully with one another. She was relieved not to see anyone she kn
ew, at least not well. There was a girl from her social studies class near her, and judging from her tennis shoes and knee pads, Ava guessed she was trying out for volleyball.
“Hi!” the girl said. “What sport are you trying out for?”
Ava mumbled, “Football” under her breath.
“Sorry, what? Did you say cross-country?”
“No, football,” Ava replied.
“Volleyball?”
“Football!” said Ava loudly.
The chattering in the locker room stopped. It was as though someone had flicked off a radio.
“Football?” the girl repeated. “Like, as in, the football team?”
Ava nodded, staring down at the floor. She could hear someone whispering, and then the chattering resumed. But she sensed a different energy in the air. Was it shock? Amazement? Disapproval? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t feel like finding out. She grabbed her water bottle, slammed her locker closed, and headed out toward the football field.
The notice on the school’s athletic page had said no pads or helmets for the first day, and Ava was glad. Today would be largely conditioning, she assumed, and she was good at that stuff. Ever since the day when she was about three and begged her dad to show her how to throw and catch a football, it was clear to her family that she had inherited the Sackett athletic gene.
When she got to the field, she saw a cluster of guys standing near the twenty yard line, and more emerging from the boys’ locker room and joining the growing throng. Mr. Kenerson was near the bleacher area, conferring with his four assistant coaches. Ava didn’t recognize the assistants, who wore similar white polo shirts, visors, and mirrored sunglasses. One of them was vigorously chewing gum. They were all staring down at Coach Kenerson’s clipboard and didn’t see her approach.
The boys did, though. Their loud chattering, laughing, friendly pushing, and general kidding around suddenly stopped as she approached the group.
Ava figured she might as well say something. “Hi,” she said, as brightly and cheerfully as she could.
A few guys murmured hello, and then silence ensued.
She scanned the group, looking for a friendly face. Where was her friend Corey? He didn’t seem to have come out of the locker room yet. She recognized Logan Medina, the kid running against Alex for president, and his friend Xander. Next to Xander was Andy Baker, a kid from her social studies class. She saw Xander whisper something to Andy. Andy looked at her and snickered. She tried to ignore them, and glanced around to see if the coaches had noticed her yet.
They had. All five of them stood motionless, as though they’d been frozen with a supervillain’s freeze-ray gun. The coach who’d been chewing gum seemed to have swallowed it.
Ava’s heart sank. Why was everyone acting so surprised to see her? She’d signed up for football at the Activities Fair. The boys were staring at her like she’d just sprouted a second head or something. Maybe they hadn’t thought she was serious.
“Are you looking for cross-country?” someone behind Ava asked. She turned.
It was Xander.
Ava’s anger flared, but she didn’t let him see. “No. Football,” she said.
“I hear she’s good,” said another voice. She turned. It was Corey.
He didn’t smile at her, but she detected a friendly twinkle in his eye. She told him thank you with her eyes. She knew better than to be too friendly to him—it could make it awkward for him if it turned out she stunk. She would have to prove herself by the way she played, rather than with words.
Coach Kenerson approached the group. Ava couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, but she could tell he was looking straight at her.
He stopped a few feet from them and pointed at her. “Sackett, isn’t it?”
Ava nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“Step over here a minute, will you?”
He turned before she could respond. She trotted after him, trying to catch up to his long strides. He stopped when they were out of earshot of the rest of the group.
“I saw that you were on the sign-up sheet. I have to say I was pretty surprised. Are you here to try out?” he asked her. His tone wasn’t mean, exactly. More . . . skeptical, Ava thought.
“Um, yes,” she said.
“You know this is tackle football, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you familiar with how the game is played?”
“Yes, of course.”
He pulled off his sunglasses and squinted down at her. “From what I’ve observed, Sackett, you don’t strike me as much of a football fan, let alone a player. No offense.”
Ava blinked up at him. “Sorry? I’m not sure—”
“Why, just yesterday morning, I was talking about pass protection, and you thought I was talking about ways students could protect their hall passes.”
“I—I did?”
“And this morning, when someone brought up what a great rusher Tyler Whitley is, you asked why it would be beneficial to rush through an assessment.”
That was when she realized what was going on. “Oh, no, that wasn’t me,” she said. “I think maybe you mean my sister, Alex. She’s in your homeroom. We’re identical twins. And she—ah—she doesn’t really follow the game very closely.”
He took a step backward, as though the news had struck him in the chest.
“Identical twins,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He considered this. “Well, be that as it may, I have to tell you something, Sackett,” he said. “I’m really not sure whether our district rules allow this.”
Ava’s anger flared again, which made her bolder. “Allow what, Coach?” She was going to make him say it.
He put his sunglasses back on, and then took them off again and cleaned them on his pant leg. He seemed flustered. “Well, uh, allow people—uh, people like you, to play.”
“You mean girls?” She crossed her arms.
Now he looked really uncomfortable. He looked from side to side as though hoping someone might suddenly appear and help him out with this conversation. When no one did, he said, “Well, yes. That’s it. Allow girls. I’ve been coaching eighteen years and have never had to deal with this.”
“Well, Coach K, with all due respect,” said Ava, choosing her words carefully, “I checked the rules on the district’s website. I didn’t see anything that said girls aren’t allowed to play.”
He grumbled. “That doesn’t mean much, Sackett. The website can’t cover every contingency. I imagine it doesn’t say, ‘Texas longhorn cattle are also prohibited from playing,’ but that doesn’t mean we would let one play if it were to show up.” He chuckled at his own joke and then went back to looking stern.
“I used to play on the local Pee Wee team in my old town in Massachusetts, and being a girl was never an issue there,” Ava said. She was starting to get tired of arguing with Coach K—she wasn’t used to having to defend herself so strenuously.
Luckily, Coach Kenerson gave a little grunt and said, “All right, we’ll proceed for now. It’s all drills and conditioning, no contact. You can join us today, and tonight I’ll make some calls to the athletic director and the district and get this all sorted out.”
“Okay. Thanks, Coach,” said Ava.
“But Sackett, don’t expect any special treatment just because of your last name, or because you’re a—a girl. You got that?”
She grinned at that. “I got it, Coach. I plan to earn my spot on this team same as everyone else.”
He nodded, and she caught a hint of an approving look on his gruff face.
He blew his whistle. “Captains!” he bellowed. “Two laps around, and then line ’em up for team calisthenics!”
The two captains, eighth graders whom Ava didn’t know, led the fifty or so kids toward the fence that surrounded the area around the football field and began jogging. Ava was happy to do something she felt confident about. She was in pretty good shape, thanks to all the working out she’d done with Tommy a
nd the pickup basketball she’d been playing at the park near her house.
They were rounding the far corner of the field when Ava felt someone kick the sole of her right cleat. The ground rushed toward her and she came very close to landing on her nose. But somehow, her right foot managed to find the ground in front of her, and she maintained her footing, waving her arms awkwardly.
“Oh, sorry about that, Sackett,” said Andy Baker. “My bad.”
He pulled ahead of her and kept running.
Ava wanted to believe he hadn’t meant to do it, but she wasn’t totally sure. She came in last.
When Ava finally joined the team, the captains ordered everyone to form three lines. As Ava chose the middle line, she heard someone say, “Hey, Sackett.”
She looked. It was Xander.
“Back line for rookies,” he said. “It’s a thing.”
She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. Without a word, she moved back to the third line, between two skinny sixth graders. But her temper was simmering.
After the team warm-ups, Coach Kenerson called them in to take a knee. He introduced the assistant coaches. Ava knew she wouldn’t remember their names and hoped there’d be a handout. But she tried to study their faces so she’d remember who was offensive coordinator, defensive coordinator, lineman coach, receivers and quarterback coach, and running backs coach. Where would a kicker go? she wondered.
“After practice, there will be a sign-up in the”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“outside the locker room.”
Ava knew it was because of her. Well, so what? she thought fiercely.
“I’d like you to sign your name next to the position or positions you’re trying out for,” he continued. “Think outside the box, please. I realize most of you want to be either quarterback or wide receiver, but remember, it takes all positions to make a great team.”
The boys murmured to one another and then quieted back down.
“We’re not going to break down into positions just yet,” said Coach K. “Today is going to be drills, testing, and conditioning. Be ready to run some more, fellas.”
