Abby the Bad Sport

by Ann M. Martin

  “Get that goal back, GETTHATGOALBACK!” Charlotte began to shout. The other cheerleaders took up the cheer and soon the fans were rocking the sidelines.

  Shannon barked and pulled on her leash and managed to move David Michael a few feet toward the field. Then Linny caught hold of the leash, too, and both boys held on and kept Shannon from racing out on the field to try and even the score.

  I had leaped to my feet, my fists clenched. I heard the fans, but barely. I turned blazing eyes toward Coach Wu, and as if she could feel the heat of my stare, Coach Wu looked over her shoulder and motioned me forward. She put her hand on my shoulder and spoke into my ear about what she wanted me to do when I went back into the game.

  Dancing up and down with impatience, I barely heard her. I tore out onto the field the moment the referee signaled it was okay for a substitution.

  For the next few minutes, it seemed as if I were everywhere. I played furiously, madly, and because I was so fast and so aggressive, the other team was momentarily disconcerted.

  “Will they do a shoot-out if they tie?” asked Mallory. “That’s what they do in the triplets’ league.”

  “I don’t know,” said Kristy.

  As it turned out, they weren’t going to find out.

  The game was almost over when I took the ball away from the Lawrenceville Kicker center forward in our defensive end. I dribbled it slowly forward, almost as if I were daring the other team to come and get me.

  “Shouldn’t she pass it?” Mary Anne asked Logan.

  “Score, score, score some more!” the cheerleaders chanted.

  “Kick it in, let’s win!” Vanessa added.

  “U-NI-TED, U-NI-TED!” Mallory and Jessi began to scream, jumping up and down.

  “Not necessarily. That’s a good strategy. She’s drawing the opposition’s players toward her. When they move toward her, they create open space for the United players to move into,” Logan answered Mary Anne.

  I kept going.

  “Now,” muttered Logan.

  “Pass it,” Kristy said through gritted teeth at the same moment.

  But I pulled the ball back with the sole of my foot, stepped over it, and rolled around the defender.

  “Wow!” shouted Linny. “Cool move.”

  From the side of the field, Erin raised her hand and waved it.

  “That means pass it to her, right?” asked Hannie. She and Karen had come to stand by Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, and Logan.

  “Isn’t she supposed to pass it now?” asked Karen. Even she could see that I wasn’t playing like a team member, that I was hogging the ball when I should be passing.

  Suddenly Erin darted across the front of the goal.

  “Kick it to Erin!” shouted Karen.

  Although I didn’t hear Karen, I looked up. Erin — if she had the ball — would have an excellent shot on the goal. She could score the winning goal and be a hero.

  I pulled my foot back — and took the shot myself.

  “Oh, no,” cried Karen, clutching Hannie’s arm with both hands.

  “Uh-oh,” said Hannie, softly. The ball hit one of the SB United midfielders and rebounded out. Erin darted forward and got it.

  The cheerleaders froze. Kristy saw that Charlotte had her hands over her ears, her eyes wide. Vanessa had her hands over her mouth. And Haley had her eyes shut tight.

  I ran toward an open spot. Now I had a clear shot at the goal. “Erin!” I screamed. “Over here!”

  Everyone on the sidelines, and on SB United, seemed to freeze as Erin did exactly what I had just done. She took the shot herself.

  It rebounded again and a Kicker midfielder swooped down on it and raced toward midfield.

  “NO, NO, NO!” screamed Karen.

  “GO, GO, GO,” screamed Vanessa. “Go get her!”

  It took only three neat passes and the Kicker forward ran right through the hole in the middle of the defense, where I should have been, and kicked the ball into the goal.

  The referee blew his whistle. The game was over.

  “The Kickers kicked us and licked us,” said Vanessa sadly.

  Haley opened her eyes. “Is it over?”

  “Yes,” said Charlotte. “We lost.”

  Shannon stopped barking, almost as if she understood, and sat down.

  As the Kickers players and fans swarmed the field cheering madly, I stalked toward Erin.

  Erin met me halfway. From the sidelines, Coach Wu saw what was happening and started toward both of us.

  “This isn’t good,” said Kristy.

  Coach Wu didn’t reach Erin and me soon enough.

  “What were you doing?” I shouted. “I was open. I could have made the winning goal!”

  “I was open, too,” Erin shouted back. “You should have passed it to me!”

  “And watch you blow the shot? What are you, stupid?” I shouted back, loudly enough for the whole world to hear.

  On the sidelines, Karen frowned ferociously. “You’re not ever supposed to call anybody stupid,” she said.

  No one answered. No one spoke for what seemed an eternity.

  Then Erin leaped toward me with her fists clenched. I raised my own fists, ready to swing back.

  Coach Wu caught me by the arm and Erin by the wrist in an iron grip. Erin pulled in vain, as if more than anything in the world, she wanted to pound on me. I yanked in her direction, my other fist clenched, too.

  “They’re not going to fight, are they?” asked David Michael in shock.

  “No, of course not,” said Mary Anne with a conviction she didn’t feel.

  Erin stopped struggling. I lowered my clenched fist. We stared at each other wordlessly. Then Erin said in a low voice, “I’m not stupid. You’re stupid. A big stupid showoff. You’re the one who lost the game.”

  Coach Wu said, “That’s enough, both of you! Go to the bench and wait for me there!”

  Without looking at each other, Erin and I walked off the field and took seats at opposite ends of the bench from each other.

  We were still sitting there as the Booster Club, the rest of the fans, and the two teams left. Mary Anne looked back over her shoulder and saw Coach Wu motion to the two of us to sit together at the center of the bench. She saw the coach put her hands on her hips.

  “They’re in trouble, aren’t they?” asked Hannie.

  “Because they were bad sports, right?” added Linny.

  “Yes,” said Mary Anne, and this time the conviction in her voice was heartfelt. “They’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

  Karen said, “When I’m a famous soccer player, I’m never going to act like that and be a bad sport.”

  “Me either,” said Hannie.

  “Nope,” agreed Linny and David Michael, and the rest of the Booster Club took up the chorus.

  Mary Anne nodded. “I hope not,” she said and thought to herself that at least the Booster Club had learned something from the bad example Erin and I had set.

  She just hoped we would come to our senses, too, before it was too late.

  Benched. For two whole games. In my entire soccer life, nothing like this had ever happened to me.

  And all because of Erin.

  I was mortified. I sat there as Coach Wu’s words poured over me, my mind catching on the word “benched.”

  “Abby! Are you listening to me?” she asked. Her voice was soft but very serious.

  “You can’t bench me,” cried Erin. “It’s not fair.”

  For once we agreed on something. It wasn’t fair. I was even willing to admit that Erin didn’t deserve it either.

  But Erin’s next words put a lid on my empathy. “Abby started it.”

  It was such a little-kid thing to say that I looked over at Erin in surprise. She was sitting bolt upright on the bench, her hands clenched into two fists, her gaze fastened on Coach Wu’s face. She looked as if she were about to cry.

  Coach Wu said, “You are both responsible for your behavior today, which was one of the worst examples of
unsporting conduct I have ever seen, especially between two teammates.”

  “I would’ve scored,” I protested, “if Erin —”

  Holding up her hand, Coach Wu stopped me. “That’s not the point. And neither you, Abby, nor you, Erin, is getting the point. Your behavior is not in keeping with the spirit of the Special Olympics. It is not in keeping with the spirit of Unified Sports. It is not in keeping with the spirit of any athletic endeavor. Benching is a drastic measure and no coach, especially in Unified Sports, ever wants to do something like this. But I’m going to. What I saw today was players playing selfishly, behaving badly, and letting their team down.”

  That stopped me. Then I thought, It can’t be true.

  Coach Wu said, “I expect you to be at practice and at the next two games. I expect you to think about what you’ve done. And if I believe that you have made some changes in your attitudes, we’ll see if you can play like members of a team after that.”

  “But, Coach!” Erin said.

  Coach Wu shook her head, turned, and walked away.

  Erin jumped up and picked up her gear bag. She turned to me with blazing eyes. “You are a big jerk, Abby,” she said, and, still wearing her cleats, she turned and left me sitting there, speechless.

  I didn’t tell anybody I’d been benched. It was too humiliating. I figured I’d just go to the games and sit on the bench and people would think the coach wasn’t playing me. Maybe I’d mention that she didn’t like me. Or refer casually to the slightly sprained ankle I’d gotten in practice.

  It was a lie about the ankle, but it was better than the truth.

  Fortunately, I didn’t mention a bogus bad ankle to Anna or Mom when I told them I’d lost the game.

  Anna took the news lightly. “Hey,” she said, “how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice!”

  It’s a dumb old joke, but one that we usually laugh at. I didn’t laugh. I said, “Carnegie Hall doesn’t rank with me, Anna, thanks all the same.”

  Anna’s brows drew together in a frown. “You know what, Abby? You’re turning into a real crank. Maybe this Unified Team soccer isn’t right for you.”

  “Why don’t you just go to … to … to Carnegie Hall,” I retorted and left her standing in the kitchen, looking bewildered and angry.

  After that I kind of shut down. I stopped listening whenever Mom and Anna discussed the plans for the trip to Long Island to visit our grandparents. It was only when my mother said at the dinner table on Thursday night that she was leaving work early on Friday so that we could get a head start on our trip to Long Island that I roused myself from my soccer stupor.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m going to pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” Mom repeated. “So pack your suitcases and be ready by tomorrow afternoon when I get home from the office.”

  “Is Grandmother making Shabbat dinner on Friday night?” asked Anna.

  Mom nodded. “And we’re going to synagogue. We’ll go to visit your father’s grave early on Sunday morning before we head back to Stoneybrook.

  “I can’t go,” I blurted out.

  “What?” Mom looked shocked. “What did you say?”

  “I can’t go.”

  “Abby, what are you talking about? I know you’ve been reluctant to do this, but believe me …”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “I do want to see Grandmother Ruth and Grandfather David. But we’ve got a very important game on Saturday and I can’t miss it.”

  “You can’t miss one game, Abby?” Anna asked.

  “It’s not just any game,” I said. “If we lose this one, we’re out of the running for the tournament.”

  “The team doesn’t depend on you, you know,” argued Anna.

  “I made a commitment,” I said. “If I don’t show up, I’m letting the team down. And it’s just as important for me to show up for this game as it is for you to show up for a recital. I’m part of the team the same way you’re part of the orchestra.” (Coach Wu would have been surprised to hear that.)

  Mom was looking thoughtful — and a little sad. “You’re right, Abby, you did make a commitment, and it is an important one.” She sighed.

  Guilt washed over me, but I pushed it away.

  Mom sighed again and got up. “Let me call Kristy’s mom. You can stay at Kristy’s.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  And that is how on Friday, I went to Kristy’s house after the BSC meeting while my mother and my sister left for Long Island.

  “You need a ride to your game this morning?” Mr. Brewer asked me at breakfast.

  Breakfast at Kristy’s house is very different from breakfast at my house. In my family, whoever gets up first makes coffee. Then each of us fixes whatever she wants. Anna and I usually get up long before our mother does, and I suspect it is the smell of the coffee that eventually drags Mom out of sleep and into the day.

  At Kristy’s house, it was as if several meals were being prepared and cooked at once. Nannie was making oatmeal for herself, Emily Michelle, and David Michael. Kristy was putting peanut butter on a toasted bagel for herself. I had opted for a plain bagel, which was also toasting. Meanwhile, Mrs. Brewer was drinking hot tea and eating a piece of toast. Mr. Brewer had made himself an egg sandwich out of Eggbeaters (which are sort of fake eggs that don’t have any cholesterol in them — he has to be careful about that because he had a mild heart attack not too long ago) and drinking decaffeinated coffee. Charlie was drinking coffee loaded with sugar and cream and dunking his bagel into it. He’d already polished off some oatmeal. Sam was poking sleepily at a waffle topped with syrup and butter and drinking chocolate milk.

  Normally I would have been fascinated by this foray into a family’s morning culinary habits. But I was too glum to do more than nibble my bagel and mull over having to go to a soccer game in which I wasn’t going to be allowed to play.

  I’d kept a low profile at practice over the past week, hoping that might make Coach Wu relent. But the coach is the relentless type, and no matter how careful I was to stay in position and do just what she wanted, she showed no signs of calling off the two-game bench decree. Erin and I avoided each other. Most of the other kids on the team seemed to be avoiding us too. Or, at least, they didn’t seem very comfortable around us.

  “Abby?” Kristy waved her half-eaten bagel in front of my face. “You in there?”

  “Don’t play with your food, Kristy,” Charlie said, and laughed as if he’d said something funny.

  With a start, I came back to the present. “What? A ride? No,” I said. “No, thank you. I’m going to ride my bike. It helps me, uh, get warmed up,” I babbled. “In fact, I’d better get going.” Putting down my half-eaten bagel, I leaped to my feet to make my escape.

  “See you at the game,” Kristy said.

  That stopped me. “At the game?” Did my voice sound shrill and guilty to Kristy or did it seem that way only to my own ears? “Oh, you don’t need to do that. It’s not that big a deal. I mean, the Sheridan Stars are not that great a team. Save it for a really good game.” Like two games from now, I added silently.

  “You said that at our meeting yesterday,” Kristy reminded me. “And we told you that true fans go to every game.”

  “Yeah, well.” Actually, everyone at the BSC meetings had been amazingly tactful, not asking me one single question about the blowup they had witnessed at the game against the Kickers. They’d talked enthusiastically of what fun it was to be a booster and made plans for the car wash to be held on Sunday afternoon.

  And they hadn’t taken any of my hints to just forget about Stoneybrook United, at least for now.

  Kristy said in what was for her a comforting tone, “You know, losing isn’t that big a deal. We still like cheering the team on.”

  Losing was not the problem here. Just being on the team was. But it was too late to start telling the truth. I gave up, hoisted my pack over my shoulders, and said, “See ya.”

  It was not a great start to what became an incre
asingly rotten day. In fact, the day could have taken the title from one of the picture books that is a favorite among our charges: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Substitute Abby for Alexander and you get the picture.

  I warmed up with the team. Jeana, Jojo, Annalise, and most of the other kids were sympathetic (although Petra avoided Erin and me like the plague, almost as if she were afraid she might get benched by association). As I jogged and stretched and practiced passing drills and heading drills, I tried to ignore the sea of purple flooding the bleachers. But when the familiar “TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT” cheer began, I could ignore our fans no longer. I forced myself to turn and smile and wave.

  Half a dozen kids happily waved back and called my name. “Your friends are nice,” said Sandy. “It’s great that they come to the game and cheer for you.”

  “They’re cheering for us all,” I said. “The whole team. You can’t cheer for just one player.”

  Sandy nodded seriously. Then she grinned. “I hope they cheer for me, though. I hope I score a goal and they cheer for me!”

  “Yeah, I like that part, too,” I said.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t scored a goal. Not yet,” said Sandy. She sighed. “And now I play goalie.”

  “Not all the time. You’ll get a chance to score,” I predicted. “Just keep practicing. I practice soccer every single day, even when it isn’t soccer season.”

  “I know,” said Sandy. “I try to, too. Now I’ll be glad if I don’t let the other team score on me!” The referee called us together and went through the uniform and cleat check. I felt like asking why I even had to bother, but I knew better. Coach Wu might have benched me permanently.

  The game started and I joined Erin and some of the others who weren’t starting players on the bench. For practically the first time since I began playing soccer, I wasn’t a starting player.

  The Stars were a good team, but our front line was faster than their defense. It wasn’t long before Annalise sent a short chip forward over the fullback’s head. Jojo followed it and basically ran it into the goal, falling over the goalie in the process.