Tuesday afternoon, we have a home game against Coffee County, an excellent team.
Last year, St. Andrew’s lost 3–2 against them in the division finals. It totally sucked to lose, but it was a great game. My heart had never pounded so hard as Steph and I worked tirelessly to take shots on goal. We both scored once, but it wasn’t enough.
I think some of Coffee County’s best players graduated last year. Still, they had some great juniors and sophomores, so today will be no cakewalk.
As usual, I’m the first player warming up on the field. It surprises me when Sydney, the freshman who’s pretty good, joins me in front of the goal.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” Her voice is meek, which makes no sense given how good she is on the field. I was pretty impressed by her on Saturday, and she was playing a position she typically doesn’t play. She should have more confidence.
“You played well the other day.” I pass her the ball I was playing with.
She stops it with her cleat. She looks toward the locker room, almost as if she’s embarrassed to be seen talking to me. Or maybe not embarrassed, per se, but scared.
“Pass it back,” I call.
With a deep breath, she plants her left foot and kicks the ball with her right laces.
I run to meet the ball, snapping it back to her. I grin, excited to have someone to play with, but Sydney doesn’t look like she’s having all that much fun.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nicole doesn’t want any of us talking to you because you teased our team last year.”
“Nicole doesn’t even know me, Syd. I just want to play soccer, okay?”
“That’s all I want too.”
“I’m going to talk to her privately,” I announce. “I don’t care what she says about me, but she has to start passing the ball.”
“I don’t think you should confront her,” Sydney replies, biting her lip. It doesn’t surprise me. As a freshman, I never would’ve had the balls to confront the St. Andrew’s captain. On the other hand, I very much respected her. Who knows what I would’ve done if the captain had been a bully.
“If Nicole’s not a team player, she needs to be called out for that,” I say. “It’s not like she can play a game without the rest of you. She can’t be everywhere at once, even if she thinks she can.”
Sydney dribbles the ball, does a fake, then passes it back to me. “I made all-district on the middle school team last year.”
“That’s awesome,” I say with a smile. Only ten girls make it each year. I never did.
“I was really excited I made the Hundred Oaks team as a freshman,” she says softly. “I usually play forward, but Nicole won’t let me anywhere near the front line.”
“Because she knows you’re good. I bet she doesn’t want to share the spotlight.”
Sydney nods slowly. “My mom says it’s only one year. Nicole will graduate, and then I can go back to my regular position.”
“That’s bullshit. What does Coach Walker say?”
“He doesn’t care. He’s the freshman guys’ gym teacher. Coaching soccer is just an extra paycheck to him.”
I hate the bitterness I hear in her voice.
“I want a scholarship,” Sydney goes on. “I don’t want scouts seeing me play D. It’s not what I love. I don’t want to end up playing that position all through high school.”
“I totally get what you’re saying.”
That makes her smile, but it fades when the locker room door opens and the other girls begin to trickle out. When I see how terrified Sydney is of Nicole, an idea comes to mind. Dad always says, “If you want someone to do something, trick them into thinking it was their own idea.”
I smile mischievously to myself, then kick the soccer ball way out in front of me. I dribble toward Nicole, doing a few fancy tricks along the way to show off. As I get closer to her, I pretend to trip over the ball and let it roll out of bounds.
Nicole enjoys this, of course. I hustle to retrieve the ball. Once I have it, I move close to her again. I point over at Sydney.
“Sydney’s really good,” I tell Nicole. “Thanks for putting her on defense with me. I couldn’t do it without her.”
Nicole looks from me to her. “Sydney! You’re playing left forward today.”
The look of pure excitement on Sydney’s face makes me so happy. I’ll play D for the rest of my life just to keep her smiling like that.
I fake anger toward Nicole. “No, you can’t do this! I need her on D.”
With a smirk on her face, Nicole tosses a ball in the air and catches it. “You’ll just have to hustle more, I guess.”
That was ridiculously easy.
As soon as Nicole is off torturing someone else, I watch Sydney and the other freshman do their drills, which I’ve been encouraging players to do before scrimmage starts. Julia isn’t bad. She has control of the ball and clearly knows how to move. I gaze around at the other girls. Chloe has excellent footwork. A couple others have great mechanics too. Alyson is awesome in goal. And of course there’s Nicole. But about half of the team seems to be here simply to have something to do. They don’t appear to be all that interested in playing; instead, they gossip and watch the boys playing pickup basketball.
But having seven girls with skills is good. Really good.
Maybe we could make a real showing this year.
? ? ?
I decide to buy Ezra’s coffee today.
After all, he’s agreed to talk with me, which should ultimately get me out of meeting with Miss Brady once a week. I like the woman, but spending five hours a week with her is just too much.
When Ezra arrives at Donut Palace, he opens the door, looks around, and spots me sitting in the corner booth away from the noise of the cash register. I wave him over, and as he’s making his way to me, I check out his Braves ball cap, long-sleeved black shirt, ripped jeans, and work boots splotched with dirt. His biceps and forearms seem to be getting bigger each day. Demolition is physically demanding work.
“Morning, Tease,” he says, stifling a yawn.
I slide him his coffee. He lifts the lid and peeks inside. “How’d you know?”
“You order the same thing every day.”
“So do you.”
“I know what I like.”
His mouth lifts into a mischievous smile. “I know what I like too.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and sets the cup down on the table. Together we gaze out the window at the farmland to the east, where the sun rose about half an hour ago. That’s one of my favorite things about this café—it’s on the outskirts of Franklin, and all the green reminds me of St. Andrew’s. And with Ezra sitting across from me, it’s almost as if I’m back there.
As much as I didn’t want to be around him, because I’m afraid my crush will come back, I feel very relaxed sitting here. I sip my latte and sigh.
Then Ezra’s cell phone makes a noise like someone bowling a strike. He digs in his pocket and pulls it out. I’ve never seen him look at his phone before. It’s totally un-Ezra.
He stares at the screen for several seconds and laughs. He types back.