I lift my head a second but Martie’s fuzzy.
“Later that summer, I got really lucky. One girl from another club team dropped out, so I was offered a second tryout. This time I made a vow to remember that soccer is supposed to be fun. I decided to go out there and do my best, but not to think of that one game as the end-all, be-all. And sure enough, I made the team. It turned out to be the best thing that could have happened because I got to play with my sister for two seasons. As you know, five years later she was killed in an accident.” Martie’s voice cracks. “I wouldn’t give up that time with her for anything.”
A shiver runs up my spine. “Coach, I’m so—”
“No need to say anything.” Martie clears her throat. “I just want you to remember what’s important. That’s all.” She pauses, wiping away a tear that escaped. “Just promise me you’ll think about what I’m saying.”
I look Martie directly in the eyes. “Sure, Coach.”
“Thanks, Taylor. I know you’ll do the right thing.” Martie gives my shoulder a squeeze and walks away.
Martie is right. I think about confronting Kylie. But that wouldn’t be what’s best for the team.
A few minutes later, I take a deep breath and run up the bleachers to tell my dad that I need to talk to Tamika before I can meet him outside. Time to put my pay-it-forward plan back into effect.
“Congrats!” I exclaim upon reaching Tamika. “I know we didn’t win, but eighteen points, twelve assists, and ten rebounds—way to step it up!” I muster the strength for a huge smile.
She beams back at me. “A coach from USC said he’d be in touch!” She grabs my hands and jumps up and down. “Can you believe it? I thought for sure I had no shot since I’m a senior. But, he said I’ve been on USC’s radar since last year.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I can believe it. You’re amazing!” I give a little clap in her honor.
“Sorry about the Suns,” she says, tilting her head. “Between Rodriguez getting the center spot and our having to play Richland again for a do-or-die division playoff when we could have ended everything tonight . . . it’s all kind of bittersweet.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll kill Richland next time we face them.” I fake a smile. “And you better believe that I’m seriously going to bring my A-game.”
“Oh, I know you will! Because Coach just told me we’re playing Richland next Saturday. Our teams have matching records so we have to play a one-game playoff to settle the conference tie.” Tamika hugs me and dashes off to go share the good news with the other members of the team.
I’m about to run into the locker room for a quick shower when I hear “Hi, Taylor.” A woman about an inch taller than me extends her hand.
I shake it, and again take in the sun logo in the top right-hand corner of her purple jacket.
“I’m Coach Delamarte from the Southern California Suns.”
“Yes, of course. Nice to meet you.” I bravely smile.
“I just wanted to let you know that although we decided to go with Rodriguez this season, we would love for you to try out—”
Yay. Another shot! She knows I can do better than I did today. My pay it forward method never fails.
“For the B team.”
“The B team?” I ask, confused.
“Yup, the B team. You should be proud of yourself. This is a big accomplishment for a freshman. That said, there will be loads of competition for the center spot, so I can’t guarantee anything, but I think if you step up your game, you just might earn a spot to play behind another star freshman, Rodriguez.”
I nod my head. “Sounds great. Thanks,” I say through clenched teeth. I guess a B team offer is better than nothing, but still, I can’t help but wonder: Is B for bad?
thirty-one
I hole myself up all weekend after the Friday night debacle. The only time I leave my room is to work out with my dad, and even that becomes a struggle when he informs me that Coach Delamarte told him that she’d still love to have me play for the “real” Suns someday after my game matures. In light of that revelation, one that provokes a steady stream of tears, I refuse to speak to anyone outside of my family other than Hannah. On the bright side, by never leaving my house, I avoid any guy temptations. And as I never responded to Zach’s relationship request, I guess that means that technically I’m still a 3B member in good standing. When Monday rolls around, I put my best face forward. After school my efforts to remain upbeat are challenged when Coach Martie meets us in the gym and announces, “Follow me to the beach. Team building today!”
“Joy,” Kylie says.
As much as Kylie and I aren’t on good terms right now, I’m tempted to echo her sentiment.
We run, more like sprint, the three blocks to the beach. By the time we arrive, we’re huffing and puffing. With national team soccer alumna Martie leading the pack, we quickly discover that our regular cardio workouts just aren’t cutting it.
The waves spray white mist onto the sand and the sun warms our backs. I breathe in the pungent smell of salt, attempting to deflect hyperventilation. No wonder I tanked the tryout. I bet Rodriguez would nail this run in under five minutes.
Martie, not at all out of breath, unzips her backpack and pulls out eight bandanas.
“What kind of team building stuff are we doing?” Tamika asks, with one hand on her hip.
Like Tamika, the other upperclassmen are all a bit skeptical about team-building exercises. Apparently, their distaste for team building originated a year ago in gym class when Mr. Gibbs, one of our phys. ed. teachers, made them climb trees, and Eva fell off a branch after her partner miscalculated whether it would hold her weight. She ended up breaking two bones in her foot and spending the night in the ER. Plus, she missed the remainder of the basketball season. Naturally, this event didn’t exactly engender good will toward team building.
Coach Martie shouts over the sound of the crashing waves. “As you guys know, after the last two games, Coach Jackson and I expressed our concern about the team.” She holds up a royal blue bandana, and we all shift uncomfortably. What could she possibly have planned for us? “So, we decided to do a team-building activity I did with my soccer players a few years ago that really helped bring the team together.”
Martie continues. “After I assign partners, you’re going to tie a bandana around your partner’s eyes. You’ll notice that there are seashells hidden between the perimeter of the four red flags on the beach.” In unison we look around and spot the four red flags and the scattered seashells. “One seashell has your partner’s name on it. You must guide your blind partner to the seashell with her name on it and help her pick it up.”
We scan the area, attempting to find our seashells. Jessica inches toward one peeking out of the sand showing the letter J.
“But, here’s the catch. You cannot touch your partner. You can only guide her with words.”
“Sounds like a game show,” Tamika pipes up.
Martie nods. “Okay, here are the partners. The first person I call out is the guide. The second person is the blindfolded shell-seeker.” She looks down at a card. “Tamika and Jessica.” Jessica darts toward Tamika and they grab a bandana. “Zoe and Abby.” Zoe and Abby look at each other and smile. “Eva and Missy.” Missy claps, jogging over toward Eva. I survey the group and gulp.
“And Kylie and Taylor.”
thirty-two
Before I can grab the turquoise bandana, Kylie snatches it and rolls her eyes at me. She inches up behind me. Standing on her tippy-toes, she wraps the bandana around my eyes. I’m about to move away when she knots and yanks it behind my head. Then, she yanks it again and again.
“Stop. It’s tight enough!” I say, feeling the stiff fabric dig into the back of my scalp.
“Nope. I think you need one more pull.” She tugs and lets out a soft grunt.
I smack Kylie’s hands away.
“Okay!” Martie yells. “Begin on my whistle. The first partners who find their shell ar
e excused from the upcoming mile-and-a-half run.”
Martie whistles.
“Left!” Kylie shouts.
I take a step.
“No, right!” she screams.
As I begin to turn, I feel another arm brush by me. I wonder if Kylie would tell me if anyone was about to run into me. Probably not.
“Okay, straight,” she declares.
I stretch out my arms, trying to feel for someone or something just in case. Then I take a few uneasy steps before tripping ever so slightly.
“Come on, Taylor,” Kylie whines. “I know you’re super into inflicting pain and suffering, but I’m so not in the mood to do a beach run today.”
Again, I stumble a bit on a clump of sand. “Who is?”
“Pay attention. We don’t have time for falls,” she snaps.
“Kylie, I’m not planning on falling,” I reply. I’m trying to be as nice as possible to Kylie, but I can’t take much more of this.
“Whatever,” Kylie says.
Guess she’s out of comebacks.
“Oh wait, Taylor, there’s your name on the shell, there.” Her voice moves in front of me. “Carefully, move toward the sound of my voice. Walk a little to the right.”
I take a step toward the right.
“Too much. Just a little bit. Not that much.”
I stop.
“No keep moving.”
No wonder Zach breaks up with her so much. She’s beyond annoying.
“Okay, just three more tiny steps.”
I take one, two, three steps, then stop.
“Bend down, gently.”
I kneel down on my knees and start feeling for the shell.
“That’s it. A little to the right.”
I feel around in the sand until I touch something hard and smooth. Carefully, I pick it up.
“Coach, we got it!” Kylie shouts.
I tug at my bandana. It won’t budge. I tug on it again. Nothing. Then I feel someone loosening it for me. When the bandana falls away from my eyes, I see Martie standing there, grinning at me. She takes the shell from my hands, and sure enough, my name is written out in uppercase letters.
Martie turns toward the group. “Kylie and Taylor were the first to retrieve their seashell. They win,” she announces.
“I knew you were quite the feeler.” Kylie elbows me.
“And you’re quite the b—uh, br . . . illiant guide,” I force myself to cough out the words and elbow her back harder.
“Everybody else, please help your partners take off their bandanas and form a circle,” Martie instructs us.
“Aren’t we done yet?” Missy groans.
“You can always join the JV squad.” Coach Martie raises her eyebrows at Missy. “Remember, there are plenty of younger girls ready and willing to take a senior’s spot for next year. And who would be more than happy to join our team-building activities.”
“Team building rocks!” Missy grins and pumps her fist.
“Yeah, I kind of like it too,” I add.
All at once, my teammates look at me, their mouths open in surprise. It’s rare that I contribute to group discussions.
“Okay, so on to the next activity.” Martie hands each of us a card and pen. “This time, you’re going to write two truths and a lie. For example, if I were writing a card, I might write, I played for the U.S. National soccer team, my middle name is Jane, and I hold the Beachwood Academy record for most goals scored in women’s soccer.” She looks around. “Does anyone know the lie?”
“Your middle name is Joan.” Tamika waves her hand. “Not Jane.”
“Exactly. See, this shows that Tamika really knows me.” Coach Martie smiles. “So, everybody get to work. And when you’re done, hand your cards back to me. I’m going to read them aloud and your teammates will have to guess who wrote each card and which line is the lie.”
I stare at the blank card in my hand. What the heck am I going to write? That I’m a closet cyber stalker/addict? That my mom is a former TV actress? That I blew the SoCal Suns tryout because of boys and Kylie? Or that I’m scared to death to walk the catwalk on Friday night?
I notice that most of the girls start scribbling right away, though a few randomly look around, clearly confused about what to write.
Finally, with a shaky hand I write my first truth.
1. Basketball is my life.
thirty-three
Ten minutes later, the team re-groups and Martie collects the cards.
“First one.” As she pulls out a card, I sift my hands through the sand, watching the tiny, tan particles fall. Although I didn’t write anything incriminating, this whole thing makes me feel weird.
Martie begins reading aloud. “I love Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. My uncle’s name is George Clooney, but he’s not the famous one. Last year, during a Hawaiian vacation, I hula danced in front of a huge crowd.”
“Missy,” Kylie declares, rolling her eyes. “This so lame. The lie is the chocolate chip cookie dough.”
“Seriously? George Clooney?” Tamika asks.
“Yup.” Missy grins. “Kylie is right. All true, except I love brownie batter.”
“Next one.” Coach Martie smiles. “This one says: My favorite sport is basketball. I once met Fergie. I’m the lead singer of a band.”
My teammates look around.
“Has to be Eva.” Missy says.
“Yup.” She smiles proudly.
“Is the band the lie?” Kylie asks.
“Nope. Just started one with a couple of friends.” Eva laughs. “Never met Fergie.”
Martie continues. “This one says: Basketball is my life. My dad played for the NBA. And my favorite color is blue.”
My stomach twists.
“Abby?” Tamika suggests.
Abby shakes her head no.
“Taylor?” Missy asks.
My teammates look at me, and I nod.
“Oh, duh, I remember you telling me that your dad never actually played for the NBA,” Kylie says, rolling her eyes and silently stage laughing at me when Martie isn’t looking.
Of course, it had to be Kylie who figured out the lie. And to be so mean about it. When is she going to let the Zach thing go? I mean, the two of them broke up.
Martie resumes reading. “My first kiss was behind a cliff when I was eleven. In-N-Out Burger is my fave. I love basketball, but softball is my number one passion.”
“Kylie,” Missy and Tamika say at the same time.
“And In-N-Out Burger is Zach’s fave, not hers.” Missy adds.
Kylie sits up straighter.
That’s right. Zach and I both love In-N-Out Burger, unlike Kylie. We’re totally meant to be soul mates. As soon as the season wraps up and 3B disbands, I will find a way to win a spot on the Suns, and Zach and I will live happily ever after, eating In-N-Out Burger together for all eternity.
thirty-four
We end with musical hacky sack. Five minutes into the game, and only Martie and Eva remain. Seven taps back and forth later, Eva loses, after getting distracted by the sudden silence of Martie’s ancient boom box.
Martie raises her hands in victory. “And I was looking forward to running today!” She beams. “Guess it’s up to you girls.”
“What’s up with the retro eighties boom box?” Kylie makes a dig at Martie.
“Wouldn’t you like to know. . . . Only so many of us can have such sophisticated taste.” Martie pulls a stopwatch out of her bag. “Anyway, girls, it’s time for beach runs.” She hands Kylie her stopwatch. “As promised, you and Taylor will time them.” Turning to the team, she says. “The rest of you, run down to Malibu Colony, then back. Run it in less than twelve minutes or repeat the run. And if you have to repeat, Taylor and Kylie will have to join you.” Martie picks up the boom box. Jessica and I help Martie gather her bag of bandanas and cards.
Kylie glares at our teammates. “Keep it under twelve.”
“And when you’re done, you have one las
t activity to finish before you can call it a day.” Martie stops at the dunes and grabs her bag from Jessica and me. “During the walk back to Beachwood, I want you each to use one word to describe each other. The rules are to keep it positive and mention at least one new trait per teammate.”
We all look around, thinking the same thing: That’s a lot of traits to come up with.
“Got it?” Martie smiles.
“Got it,” Tamika says.
“After that, you guys are free to shoot around or do whatever it is you have to do. We’ll have a regular practice tomorrow after school to prepare for Saturday’s game against Richland. And let’s make this game one they’ll never forget.”
We nod in unison and someone shouts, “Yeah, Wildcats!”
“That’s the spirit! Okay, so to recap—first you run, then you describe your teammates, and then you’re free to shoot around. Don’t let me find out that any of those steps went overlooked. Remember, we really need to come at Richland with everything we’ve got, and to do that, we have to work together. Sound good?” Martie gives us all a once over, and then yells, “See you later!” as she takes off running back toward school.
With Martie out of earshot, Jessica turns to me. “You know, she’s really sweet.”
I nod back at her. “Yeah, I agree. I really like having her around.”
Abby hears us and joins in. “Oh, me too. I didn’t think I was going to, but her optimism is contagious.”
“Def,” says Zoe, doing some lunges in preparation for the run.
Kylie holds up the stopwatch. “Okay, girls, let’s get a move on it. I don’t have all day!”
My teammates begin sprinting down the beach toward Malibu Colony, leaving Kylie and me behind. Kylie falls into a seated position, looking kind of sad, and starts drawing her name in the wet sand with her finger.
I shut my eyes, practice my footwork, and begin to move my feet as if I’m Candace Parker inside the paint.
I’m so going to dunk by junior year.
“Hey,” a voice bellows as I’m about to pretend dunk. I jump.
Head Games Page 11
