by Belle Payton
“Yeah, I guess it beats the meat loaf surprise they’re probably serving today,” said Alex with a laugh. “I didn’t even know the school made bagged lunches for kids going on field trips. I’ll remind my dad for the next time. He’ll be happy not to have to make my lunch.”
Lindsey muttered a quick “See you later” and hurried out of the bathroom.
Alex felt that familiar uneasy feeling up and down her spine. She had upset Lindsey. Again. Somehow. What was it about that girl, and why was it that practically every conversation they had, Alex felt like she’d offended her without having a clue how?
With a heavy sigh, Alex shouldered her own lunch bag and followed Lindsey to where everyone was gathering for the field trip.
Mr. Lehner was standing next to the bus, checking kids off his list as they boarded. They were supposed to sit with their designated partners. Alex and Madison found each other and got in line to board the bus.
Alex caught a glimpse of Emily and Lindsey—partners, of course—who weren’t in line yet. Both girls had similar lunch bags slung on their shoulders. Alex felt a pang of what wasn’t quite jealousy but rather was that familiar feeling of being left out, which she knew was dumb because Lindsey and Emily had been friends since preschool. As Madison was chattering away next to her, Alex realized she was standing behind the Fowler twins, Tim and Greg. Both boys were in the other science class, so she didn’t know them, but she knew of them. Alex had counted four sets of twins at Ashland Middle School, which was a lot, but then again it was a really big school. The Fowlers were identical, just as she and Ava were. She knew from Emily that the Fowler family had seven kids. Alex was pretty sure they weren’t very well off. Emily said their dad was in the military and had been on active duty for a while, and their mom worked part-time at the supermarket.
As she lined up behind the Fowlers, she noticed the two of them were carrying their lunches in white paper lunch bags. That was when it struck her like a thunderbolt.
The kids with white bags got reduced-price lunches from the school. Usually no one knew which kids got the reduced-price lunches, because everyone just handed their cards to the lunch lady to swipe. But on field trip days, it was painfully obvious, because the reduced-price lunch kids were supposed to pick up their lunches in the cafeteria first thing in the morning.
So Lindsey was receiving a reduced-price lunch. That was what she’d been doing in the bathroom: transferring her school-issued lunch into her own lunch bag, so people wouldn’t know.
Alex felt like kicking herself as she filed onto the bus. No wonder Lindsey had been so short with her. Why, why, she thought, am I always so clueless? Lindsey was embarrassed that I saw her with a reduced-price lunch. Alex racked her brain, trying to remember what she’d said. Something about how the bag lunch had to be an improvement over hot lunches. But now, as she thought about it, she realized Lindsey always got the school’s hot lunch. Should she apologize to Lindsey, or would that make an awkward situation even worse?
When she’d first moved to Ashland, Alex had been on Lindsey’s bad side because she’d quickly developed a crush on Corey . . . and it seemed like Corey liked her, too. But once Alex found out that Lindsey liked Corey, she began pretending she had a boyfriend back in Boston named Charlie—she had panicked and named Ava’s crush as her own boyfriend—and ever since then Lindsey had been much nicer to her. Except when Alex did things like this.
She wished Ava were here to help her negotiate all this. But Ava was mad at her too.
She groaned softly.
Madison had been chatting away about upcoming cheerleading tryouts, but she broke off midsentence and looked at Alex. “You okay?” she asked her.
Alex nodded. “Yes, fine,” she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “I just ate too much breakfast this morning, and I have a little stomachache. It’ll pass.”
Alex didn’t see much of Lindsey and Emily at the museum. Mr. Lehner’s two sections naturally formed separate groups, and Lindsey and Emily were in the other class. In the morning, both sections had a tour guide for the first hour, but then they had split up with their partners to complete a set of questions based on certain exhibits around the museum. They hadn’t even sat together at lunch—the classes had sat separately.
On the bus ride back to school, Alex got a text from her mom.
Just got out of a meeting. I’m at your school right now. Happy to take you with me that thrift store.
Alex texted her back and told her sure.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
On Tuesday after school, Ava stared at herself in the grimy locker-room mirror. She barely recognized the person in the Tiger Cubs practice uniform peering out with anxious eyes from the shiny blue Cubs helmet. It had been awhile since she’d worn a helmet, and she’d forgotten how heavy they were, and how hot her head felt with one on. She was already sweating! But having the uniform and helmet on also felt great. This helmet was fancier than the battered old thing she’d worn last year, back in Massachusetts—it had some sort of gel padding that was supposed to mold to your head.
Coach Kenerson had sought her out at lunch and told her it was okay to suit up—for today, anyway. The athletic director had told him to tell her this, but said he might have to take it up with the school board. Great.
Her pads were a little too big for her shoulders and shifted a bit. She’d signed up for the right pads for her height and weight, she was sure, but her shoulders were probably narrower than an average boy of her size. Whatever. They’d have to do.
It wasn’t like she was the smallest kid trying out by any means. There were at least half a dozen sixth graders who were smaller than she was. And they’ll probably get cut, a little voice told her. Or if they do make the squad, they’ll never play in a game. She ignored the little voice and headed outside to the field.
The two captains were already assembling the team for the warm-up laps. She joined the clump of kids toward the back, resolving to keep a wary eye on Andy and Xander. It was a lot different from the day before, running with a helmet and pads. But she knew she’d get used to it, the way she had last year on her Massachusetts team.
No one tried to trip her, which was good. But she observed Xander and Andy running ahead, side by side, talking nonstop to each other. About her, she was pretty sure.
Then came warm-ups and dynamic stretching. Ava took her place in the back line with the sixth graders. There was no point in making a big deal about the injustice of where to stretch out. She’d need to prove herself to the coaches, not worry about team politics.
Warm-ups went fine, although Ava was keenly aware of the strange energy of the team. There wasn’t the typical joking around, chatting, laughing you might ordinarily expect. She was sure it was because of her presence. Why was this such a big deal? It was just football. She remembered something Coach had once said to her several years back, after she’d missed the front end of a one-and-one free throw that could have tied the basketball game. “Ave,” he’d said, “sports matter a lot in life, but they also don’t matter at all.” She hadn’t understood what he meant at the time, but now she was beginning to.
After warm-ups, Coach K and the assistants told them to break down into groups according to positions. “Linemen with Coach MacDonald!” he bellowed. “Running backs with Coach D’Annolfo! Quarterbacks and receivers with me!”
Ava gulped. Where should she go if she was just a kicker? Everyone else seemed to know where to go. Even Xander, whom she’d assumed was also “just” a kicker, had joined the group of linemen. Well, that made sense. He was big, and he looked like he liked to knock people down. Soon she was the only one who hadn’t moved toward one of the coaches.
“Sackett!” Coach K growled. “You’ll be with us.”
Without a word, Ava trotted over to the quarterbacks and receivers. Corey gave her a little twitch of a smile. She recognized Owen Rooney, a kid from her math class, and was troubled to see that Andy Baker had also joined the group. A
t least Owen seemed nicer than Andy—Ava suspected that her friend Kylie had a crush on him.
They spent the next hour practicing footwork, pass routes, and downfield blocking. It was a lot to absorb, but Ava knew she was pretty good at remembering stuff as long as she could physically practice it. That was why she remembered sports plays more easily than science facts.
At last, toward the final half hour of practice, Coach K announced that anyone interested in kicking should report to Coach MacDonald over at the other end of the field. Ava trotted toward him, and soon there was a small group of kickers. Besides her and Xander, there were three other kids. Ava guessed they were all either sixth or seventh graders.
“We’re going to practice kicking from a tee today,” said Coach MacDonald, eyeing the five kids in front of him. “That’s how a kickoff kicker does it. I realize some of you may turn out to be punters or field goal kickers, but for now, I’m looking for accuracy and consistency, and I don’t want to introduce a snap at this point.”
All five of them nodded. Ava’s heart was pounding. This was just what Coach had said too. That it’s fine if you can kick a ball forty yards once, but coaches are looking for players who can kick twenty-five yards consistently.
Coach MacDonald demonstrated the kicking technique. He showed them how to run in on the ball from an angle—from the left side for right-footed kickers, and from the right side for left-footed kickers. Then he asked them to line up according to which foot they kicked with.
Ava remained in the center, uncertain what to do.
“What’s the matter, Sackett?” barked Coach MacDonald.
Ava hesitated. “I—I kick from both sides,” she said. She saw Xander roll his eyes.
“Choose a side,” Coach said gruffly.
Ava got behind a sixth grader, the only other kid who was kicking with his left foot.
Coach MacDonald showed them how to approach the ball, to swing the kicking foot back, to keep the toe down, and to kick it “on the hammer of your metatarsals.”
They lined up. Xander went first.
It was a nice kick. Probably about twenty-two yards, Ava estimated.
Then the three younger boys went, one at a time. Two kicked it out of bounds. The lefty ahead of Ava sent the ball skittering and bouncing along the ground, where it came to rest about fifteen yards in front of him.
“I can see we have some technique to learn,” said Coach MacDonald. “Sackett. You’re next.”
It had not escaped Ava’s notice that hers was the one name all the coaches seemed to know among the new players.
Probably not a coincidence, she thought.
Ava lined up behind the ball. Was she imagining it, or had all the other players stopped to watch her? The linemen at the other end of the field had been ramming into the sled they used to practice blocking, but from what she could see out of the corner of her eye, they’d paused. Were they pausing to watch her kick? She tried her best to ignore everyone around her, took several steps, and sent the ball flying.
It was a pretty good kick, but it was hard to see where it was going with the sun shining in her eyes. It seemed to be soaring straight, traveling end over end and rotating backward the way it should, but then, as though it were a kite being tugged on a string, it began to curve left. It hit the ground just out of bounds. Great. She heard Coach MacDonald grunt. Was it a disappointed grunt? What other kind would it be? She felt her ears burn and her face get hot, and was glad it was all hidden beneath her helmet. She’d let the pressure get to her. She needed to concentrate and forget about all the eyes on her. What would she do in a game situation if she let this affect her?
They each had two more chances, and this time they each kicked twice in a row. Xander sent both of his kicks flying, and both landed more or less in the exact same spot, about twenty-two yards away.
Coach MacDonald grunted again, and Ava decided this was a grunt of approval. Consistency. That was what the coaches wanted. She watched him make a note on his clipboard.
The other three kids managed to kick the ball in the air without it going out of bounds at least once each, although nowhere near as far as Xander had.
For Ava’s second kick, she gained some lift but didn’t feel she’d hit it in the “sweet spot.” Sure enough, the ball went about twenty yards. Okay, but not great. She knew she could kick it farther than that. She’d done so a zillion times with Tommy snapping the ball for her.
For her last kick, Ava closed her eyes and heaved a calming breath. She needed to do some brief mental preparation. This time she wouldn’t be nervous. What good was a kicker who got nervous? By definition, a kicker was supposed to thrive on pressure, to want to perform under the most stressful possible conditions, to ignore the shouts and jeers of the opposing fans. She imagined this was the final minute of a tied game. Everything depended on her.
She opened her eyes, took a running step, and launched the ball.
She knew it was a good kick the second it left her shoe. She’d hit it from just the right part of her foot, like a soccer ball. It sailed high, traveling end over end through the air, silhouetted against the sky. The other kickers and Coach MacDonald all shielded their eyes against the bright sun to see where it landed.
It looked like about a forty-two-yard kick. Ava resisted a strong urge to pump the air with her fist. Instead she looked calmly at Coach MacDonald. He grunted and made a note on his clipboard.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“So what meeting did you have around here?” Alex asked her mom as she buckled her seat belt.
Her mom pulled away from the front of the school and didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “I had a meeting about Ava.”
Alex turned to look at her in surprise. “About her ADHD? I thought she was doing okay with that.”
“She is. Or anyway, we’re working on getting her a tutor. It wasn’t about that. It was about football.”
“Oh,” said Alex. “What’s going on with that? I didn’t see her at lunch today because of our field trip.”
“To be honest, Alex, Ava doesn’t know that I met with Coach Kenerson. And neither does your father, for that matter. But Mr. Kenerson was very nice about agreeing to it. I just wanted to find out where he stands on the tryout issue. I wanted to know what he personally thinks. It turns out that he’s fine with Ava playing, but it seems there are others who are objecting. Other parents.”
“Let me guess. The Kellys?”
Mrs. Sackett didn’t say yes or no, but Alex could tell by the look on her face that she’d guessed correctly. The Kellys were the parents of a player on the high school team, the star quarterback, PJ. And they’d been giving her dad a hard time from day one of his taking over as coach of the team.
Alex sighed. This day was not the best kickoff to her presidential campaign. First there was the whole scene with Lindsey in the girls’ bathroom this morning. Lindsey had barely spoken to her after that, even during the rare moments of the field trip where the classes had mixed and Alex and Emily had been chatting away. And now Ava playing football was starting to look like a real issue. “So what’s going to happen now?”
Mrs. Sackett slowed to a stop to allow a crossing guard to help a group of elementary school kids. The guard waved the okay, and they started up again. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But it may go to the school board. This may become a much bigger issue than just a discussion between Ava and her coach.”
“Terrific,” said Alex. “Why couldn’t I have been born with a twin sister who does normal sports, like soccer or cheerleading?”
“I don’t want to hear that, Alexandra,” said Mrs. Sackett sternly. “Your job is to support your sister, not criticize her.”
“I meant the question rhetorically,” said Alex. “Of course I support her.”
“Good,” Mrs. Sackett said as she slowed the car down. “I think this is the place. And that car just pulled out. We can park right in front!”
Alex scrutinized the storefro
nt as her mom pulled up alongside a parked car and then carefully backed into the empty space behind it.
“Carolee’s Consignment, huh? This doesn’t look like the thrift stores we used to go to in Boston,” she said dubiously.
“Keep an open mind,” said her mother, turning off the engine. “That’s the fun of these places. You never know what you might come across. Maybe you’ll find that snappy red blazer you want.”
“Maybe,” said Alex. “It’s worth a look.”
A little bell dinged as Alex pushed open the heavy door, holding it for her mom. She was met with the familiar thrift-store smell: a combination of old leather, old-fashioned cologne, and dust. She loved that smell.
Still, at first glance, this was not the same kind of store they had gone to back in Boston. Whereas those had been frequented by hipster twentysomethings and fashion-forward girls like her on the prowl for retro cool, this store seemed more like a store for people who were really in search of a bargain.
Along one wall were three racks of clothes labeled $5/$10/TWO ITEMS FOR $15. There were lots of children’s clothes in one area, and a section of hunting wear in another. That you didn’t see in Boston. But Alex loved to shop no matter what, so she looked around and decided to start in the jewelry section.
“Oh, good, I see some old glassware,” said her mom, moving toward the back of the store.
Alex checked out a case full of old necklaces. It was mildly disappointing; mostly old-lady-looking stuff.
A girl emerged from one of the dressing rooms at the rear of the store. Her back was to Alex, but Alex thought she recognized the girl’s long, shiny ponytail.
“Mom, this dress smells funny,” the girl said to her mother, who was sitting in an old, threadbare armchair, thumbing through a magazine. “Plus, it’s way too long on me.”
“We can hem it,” said her mom. “Turn around and let me see the back.”
