by Alex Morgan
“You know I’m super-excited about your bat mitzvah, Zoe,” I told her. “I’ve never been to one before!”
When Zoe had invited me, she’d explained that a bat mitzvah was a Jewish religious ceremony. “When a girl turns thirteen, she is considered an adult under Jewish law,” Zoe had told me. “There’s a ceremony first, and then a huge party to celebrate!”
Zoe smiled now. “I’m glad you feel that way, Devin. Because I was looking at the play-off schedule, and if we keep winning, my bat mitzvah will be on the same day as a play-off game.”
“Oh, no!” I cried before I even had a chance to stop myself.
Zoe’s face fell. “There is no way I could have known the Kicks would even have a shot at play-offs when we set the date,” she mumbled.
“Of course,” Jessi said. “None of us did. But doesn’t your ceremony start at four? Our games are almost always in the mornings. Even if we have a play-off game, we should all be able to make it, no problem.”
Zoe looked sad. “Yeah, but then I’ll be in a big rush to get home from the game to get ready. It sounds really stressful to me. I’ve been looking forward to my bat mitzvah for years. I want to be able to focus on it completely, not have to worry about play-offs, too.”
“Come on.” Emma nudged her with her elbow. “We’re Super Girls! We can do it all! We can have it all!”
Zoe giggled. “I guess.”
“And we’ll have fun tomorrow dress shopping.” Emma was basically the cheerleader of our group. She always knew how to make people feel better.
Uh-oh. Something just occurred to me. If Emma was the cheerleader of our group, what did that make me? Because I was about to burst Zoe’s bubble.
“But there is a problem,” I said slowly. “We’ve got practice tomorrow. The practice schedule changed so we could get an extra one in before our play-off game against the Tigers this Saturday. Remember?”
Zoe’s face fell.
“Can’t we just go after practice is over?” Emma asked.
Zoe wrinkled her nose. “No way am I trying on dresses all sweaty and gross from practice.”
Jessi shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Or me,” Frida added.
“We’ll do whatever we can to make this work, Zoe,” Emma said, trying to be helpful.
“Then let’s all skip practice,” Zoe suggested. “We can go straight to Debi’s Discount Dresses after school.”
Jessi, Emma, and Frida looked as worried as I felt. With our first play-off game coming up in a few days, we needed all the practice we could get.
“Um, Zoe,” I began. “If practice gets canceled today because of the rain, and if we miss tomorrow’s practice, that gives us only Friday. We need to get as much practice time in as we can before our game on Saturday. It’s really important.”
“I don’t think you understand how important my bat mitzvah is to me,” Zoe shot back. Usually Zoe was pretty mellow, but right now she looked upset.
“I’m sorry, Zoe, but there is no way I’m missing practice,” I said firmly. “I’ll go afterward.”
“We all will,” Emma said.
“Fine,” Zoe said. “But I won’t be at practice. I’ll meet you at Debi’s.”
Zoe looked more hurt than angry. She stuffed her binder into her book bag before standing up and walking away.
We looked at one another in dismay. I groaned. First the newspaper article, and now this. What a horrible way to start the play-off season!
CHAPTER THREE
Thankfully, Wednesday wasn’t all bad. It started to get better during my seventh-period World Civ class. And it definitely wasn’t because I had to do four workbook pages on ancient India. It was because of Steven.
Steven was in my grade and was on the boys’ soccer team. He had spiky black hair that made him look really cute, and he was nice besides. We would hang out sometimes, and we had two classes together: World Civ and English.
Unfortunately, we sat on total opposite sides of the room in World Civ. He was in the back and I was in the front, so I didn’t even get to stare at his hair when I got bored. But lately he’d come up to me after class, and we’d walk to eighth-period English together.
That was what he did on Wednesday. He walked up to me and smiled. Did I mention he had an awesome smile?
“Hey,” he said. “I saw that picture of you guys in the paper.”
Oh, no, I thought. The article again!
“Yeah,” I said as we started walking down the hallway. “It was a nice article except for the part where they misquoted me.”
He looked sheepish. “I didn’t actually read the article.”
“Good,” I said. “I mean, it’s fine and everything, except the reporter wrote . . .”
I hesitated. Did I even want Steven to know the story? But then I realized it was easy to talk to him. He put out this super-sympathetic vibe.
“She wrote that I said that the team wouldn’t be anywhere without me, which is totally not what I said,” I blurted out. “And now some people think I was, like, bragging or whatever.”
Steven shrugged. “So what? You’re really good.”
He reminded me of Maisie, and I smiled. “Thanks. But I still wish the whole thing had never happened.”
“You’ve got a play-off game Saturday, don’t you?” he asked, and I nodded. “Well, so do we. I’m sure that’s all anybody really cares about, right?”
“Right,” I agreed, and then the bell rang. We walked into the classroom. Steven smiled at me again and took his seat next to his friend Cody, who was also on the soccer team. I felt like I was floating on a little cloud as I sat in the desk next to Jessi’s.
She looked at me when I sat down.
“I know that smile,” she whispered so Steven and Cody wouldn’t hear her. “That’s a Steven smile.”
“Is not!” I lied, but Jessi just shook her head.
It was still raining when the last bell rang, and practice was definitely canceled. When I got home, I decided to get my homework done early, so I went up to my room and turned on my laptop. I was in the middle of my math homework when my inbox popped up on my screen. There was an e-mail from Cassidy Vale.
Hi, Devin,
I understand that your friends might be upset with the quote you gave me. I checked my notes, and verified that you did indeed say what I printed. So I’m afraid I can’t run a correction for you.
Sincerely,
Cassidy Vale
“What?” I shrieked.
I stomped downstairs, carrying my laptop. Dad was home from work early, and I found him in the kitchen kneading some pizza dough.
“Dad, you know how I e-mailed that reporter?” I asked. We had all discussed it at dinner the night before.
“Yeah. Did you get a response?” he asked.
“Look at this,” I said, thrusting the screen in front of his face. Dad read it, frowning.
“She doesn’t seem very professional to me,” he said. “I could try calling her during the day tomorrow if you want. Or maybe I’ll speak to the editor in chief.”
“Forget it.” I sighed, thinking of what Steven had said. “I don’t want to make a big deal about it. We’ve got a play-off game to worry about.”
Dad nodded thoughtfully. “Let me know if you change your mind, though, okay?”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”
Dad nodded to a bowl of broccoli on the counter. “Feel like chopping?”
“In a little bit,” I said, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to chat with Kara.”
“The broccoli will be waiting,” Dad said, and I headed back upstairs.
I set up the laptop on my desk and connected to Kara on my webcam. She was my best friend from Connecticut, where I used to live before we moved to California. We video chatted with each other almost every day.
“How did the play thing go?” I asked her.
“It was pretty good,” Kara replied. “Sorry I missed you yesterday. We spent, like, two hour
s in the art room painting the scenery for the play, and when I got home I had a ton of homework. Mom wouldn’t let me go online.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“So, how’s Steven?” Kara asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes. Kara loved to tease me. “He’s fine. I told you we met up at the carnival, right?”
Kara nodded. “And you went on the Ferris wheel together. Too bad you didn’t get stuck at the top.”
I laughed. “You watch too many TV movies!”
“Stuck on top of a Ferris wheel . . . with no choice but to fall in love,” Kara said in a dramatic voice.
“You definitely need to meet my friend Frida the next time you come here,” I said. “You would love her.”
Kara made a silly sad face. “I wish you could come visit here! You could come see the Cosmos in the play-offs.”
“It would be hard to just sit in the stands and not jump in and play with you guys,” I said. “Anyway, we have our first play-off game on Saturday.”
“Yay!” Kara cheered. “The Cosmos and the Kicks in the play-offs at the same time. That is so cool.”
I smiled. “It’s almost like we’re in the play-offs together.”
“Almost,” Kara said. “I have a good feeling. We’re both going to win!”
“I hope so,” I replied.
“I know so,” Kara said, and I realized for the millionth time how lucky I was to have her as a friend.
I didn’t even tell Kara about the newspaper article thing. I was tired of talking about it. It was time to focus on Saturday’s game.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was kind of nervous about practice the next day. Would Grace and the other eighth graders still be mad at me? I hoped that they had forgotten about it.
At first everything seemed to be normal. We all got changed in the locker room in a big hurry after school. Grace and her friends were talking and laughing with one another like they always did, and I did the same with my friends.
Then we all headed over to our practice field. The boys got to use the school field, and we had to cross the street to the community field. Instead of grass it was mostly dirt and weeds, and today it was really muddy from the rain the day before.
“Oh, boy. This is going to get messy,” I said as my cleats squished in the mud.
Emma stopped suddenly. “Oh my gosh. Nets!”
I couldn’t believe it. For weeks we had been practicing without any nets at the goals. We’d just had some dented garbage cans where either side of the goal would be.
We ran up to Coach Flores, who had a big smile on her face.
“Coach! Where did these come from?” Jessi asked.
“Isn’t this great?” she said. “They were donated by Sally Lane, who owns the sporting goods shop in town. She read the article in the paper and wanted to do something to help the team.”
“Oh my gosh! They’re amazing!” Emma clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait to tell Zoe!”
All the girls started talking excitedly about the nets. I was pretty psyched. They would definitely make our practices better, and that was a good thing, especially since we were in the play-offs.
“I have a thank-you card for Ms. Lane,” Coach Flores said. “I’d like everyone to sign it, and then we’ll warm up.”
We all gathered around to sign the card—it was one of those really big ones that are bigger than my head—and then Coach led us in warm-ups. We were all pretty pumped up about the nets, and we ran out onto the field as Coach set up our first drill.
“I want us to work on finishing skills today,” she said. Then she counted us off into two groups and had us line up in front of the goal, right outside the penalty box.
She placed three balls between the two lines of players. “Grace, get in the middle,” she instructed, and Grace jogged over to the balls. Then Coach pointed to the line of girls on the left of the goal, which I was part of.
“You guys are the attackers,” she said, and then she pointed to the right. “And you are the defenders. Grace, I want you to kick a ball to one of the attackers. When Grace kicks the ball to you, attackers, you need to take it to the goal. Defenders, one of you needs to stop the attacker. I’ll take goal. Got it?”
We nodded, and Coach ran over to the goal. Then she blew her whistle.
Grace kicked the ball to Giselle, one of her eighth-grade friends. Giselle took off for the goal, and Brianna darted out from the defensive line and tried to get the ball from her, but Giselle got off a shot before Brianna could stop her.
Coach caught the shot with both hands, and then tossed it back to Grace. “Good! Keep going, Grace!”
We got the hang of the drill pretty quickly. Grace kept kicking balls to the girls on the attackers line, and each attacker tried to make it to the goal while the defender tried to block her. I noticed, though, that Grace was kicking the ball to every attacker except me. When she finally did, the ball sailed over my head.
“Sorry, Devin,” she said in a flat voice, and I could tell she didn’t mean it. I knew she was still mad.
“All right, lines. Switch sides. Devin, you take the middle this time!” Coach called out.
I switched places with Grace. As soon as the lines were set up, I made a point to shoot the first ball to Grace—properly. I wanted to show her I wasn’t going to get into some kind of silly fight with her. If Grace noticed, she didn’t show it.
After the drill we had a scrimmage. Even though it was nice to have goals with nets, the field was a total mess, and we kicked up mud and dirt as we ran. By the time practice ended, our legs and uniforms were caked with it.
“We can’t go to Debi’s Dresses looking like this!” Frida wailed as we walked off the field.
“It’s just a little dirt,” Emma said.
“Are you serious? We’re mud monsters,” Frida said.
“Maybe we can shower and change before we go,” Jessi suggested.
I pointed to the parking lot, where Jessi’s mom’s minivan had just pulled up. “It’s four-thirty. Zoe’s there already. She’ll kill us if we’re really late.”
Emma nodded. “That’s true. We’d better go.”
We grabbed our bags and jogged up to Mrs. Dukes’s car. She popped the hatch for us so we could stow everything in the back. Then we piled in.
“My goodness, you girls are a mess!” she exclaimed.
“The field was supermuddy,” Jessi reported, sliding into the front passenger seat. “But we’re kind of late as it is. We should get to Debi’s.”
Mrs. Dukes nodded. “It’s not that far.”
Debi’s Discount Dresses was in a strip mall in Kentville, sandwiched between an Italian restaurant and a store that sold video games. Mrs. Dukes dropped us off in front and went to look for a parking spot, and Emma, Jessi, Frida, and I went inside.
The shop was small with a big 360-degree mirror in the middle and a couple of old-looking couches pushed against the wall. There were racks and racks jammed full of all different kinds of dresses.
Zoe had her back to us because she was looking in a mirror. She had on a hot-pink strapless dress with a short but kind of puffy skirt.
“Oh my gosh! You look gorgeous!” Emma cried.
Zoe spun around. “You’re finally here! I just—” She stopped, and her face fell. “You guys are so dirty!”
“We came right from practice,” Jessi said quickly. “So come on, let’s try on some dresses.”
Just then Zoe’s mom came out of the back room with another woman, who had short black hair with bangs. She had on a navy-blue dress, black heels, and a silver necklace. She looked like one of those people who was always perfectly neat from head to toe.
Zoe’s mom looked surprised. “Girls! I didn’t realize you had practice today.”
“Well, with the play-offs and all . . . ,” I said. “We got here as soon as we could.”
“Hello, I’m Debi,” the dark-haired woman said, pronouncing it “de-BEE.” She actually toss
ed her head as she said the “BEE” part, and really elongated the vowels, making it sound like a fancy European name or something. I felt Emma shake next to me. I looked at her. She grinned as she tried to hold back a laugh.
Debi stared at us in horror for a second before plastering a smile on her face that didn’t look exactly real.
“How nice of you to come for your friend,” she said, but the way she said it as she took in our mud-splattered clothes made us know she thought it was anything but nice. “However, perhaps we should arrange for another time for you to try on your dresses.”
Zoe frowned. “But everyone’s here!”
“Zoe, we can always come back,” her mother said.
“Can’t they just watch and I’ll show them the dresses I picked out?” Zoe asked.
Debi nervously eyed her couches. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.”
Jessi looked at me and rolled her eyes. Those couches had clearly seen better days. I’m not sure what Debi was so worried about, but if she didn’t want us in her discount dress shop, what could we do?
“We can come back soon, Zoe, I promise,” I said.
Zoe looked like she was going to cry, and then Jessi’s eyes lit up.
“Everybody, wait! I’ve got an idea,” she said, and then she ran out of the store.
Emma, Frida, and I looked at each other, too afraid to move and not sure what to do. Finally Emma shrugged and pulled a bag of bright orange cheese puffs out of her backpack and ripped open the top.
Frida frantically shook her head and put her hand to her throat, making a cutting motion. “Don’t!” she whispered loudly.
“But I’m always starving after practice,” Emma whispered back. She took a cheese puff out of the bag and popped it into her mouth, as a horrified gasp filled the room.
