Playing With the Boys

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  “We haze everyone,” Devon remarked defensively. “What’s your problem? It’s initiation.”

  “What’s your problem?” Lucy demanded.“It’s not about initiation, or Benji wouldn’t have been up there too!”

  Benji stepped up and put his hand on her arm. “Don’t, Lucy. It’s okay—”

  “It’s not okay!” she protested. “There’s no reason to have anything against us! We haven’t done anything.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Cope nodded. “You joined our team.”

  She felt a lump forming in her throat. She swallowed it down, determined not to let her emotions get the best of her. At least not right here.

  “Well, news flash,” she said, her voice not even wavering. “It’s not your team anymore. It’s ours.”

  “What was that?” Coach Offredi asked as he burst in the door. “Is there some kind of problem here?”

  The room was silent as the rest of the team stared at Lucy, their eyes pleading with her, begging her not to tell Coach Offredi about the goalpost incident.

  “It’s—it’s nothing,” Lucy stammered. The boys let out a collective sigh of relief.

  “All right then,” he barked. “Let’s do this.”

  Lucy slid into the closest empty seat.The moment was over. But she had done it. She’d stood up for herself, and even though her heart was racing, a wave of calm started to wash over her. Her days of being intimidated were over.

  “Curtis,” Coach Offredi said loudly, referring to the school they were playing tonight. “They’ve got a strong offense and an even stronger defense. . . .”

  He rolled tape of the opposing team, going over their plays in order, so that Beachwood would know what to expect. “We need to secure the gaps, charge straight ahead, and get some penetration across that line of scrimmage. . . . We’re gonna need to knock ’em off their game.”

  As Lucy listened to Coach Offredi’s instruction, it suddenly hit her. She was actually going to be playing in a real football game tonight! Forget touch football with her cousins on Thanksgiving. Tonight she was going to be on the field, under the light—with all eyes on her.

  Coach Offredi snapped her out of her thoughts. “Malone! You part of this team or not?” he asked bluntly.

  “Yes, I am,” she said proudly, without an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

  “Then get your jersey on,” he responded. “This team wears their jerseys to school on game day.”

  Lucy glanced down at her tank top and jeans. No one had mentioned the jersey rule. Must have slipped their minds while they were covering her with duct tape.

  When Coach Offredi dismissed the team, Lucy darted out of the room to do what he asked. If she wanted to fit in, she was going to have to look the part.

  Moments later, Pickle and Charlie found her in the girls’ locker room. Lucy had just changed into her football jersey, which was definitely a huge fashion “don’t.” Yes, she wanted to be part of the team, but she didn’t want to wear a circus tent!

  “I don’t know,” Pickle considered as she tilted her head and looked at Lucy. “It’s so baggy.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Normally it has shoulder pads and stuff under it,” she explained, tugging self-consciously at the billowing material.

  Charlie cringed. “Yeah, that’s not good.” Max burst in, armed with, as usual, Pixy Stix.

  “What’s everyone doing?” she asked. She took in Lucy’s reflection in the mirror. “It never occurred to me—skinny jeans and a football jersey. It’s . . . a look, I guess. . . .”

  Suddenly, Pickle had an idea. “Take off your pants!”

  “What?” Lucy laughed.

  “Wow,” Charlie said dryly. “You’re forward.”

  “Actually, I’m a defender,” corrected Pickle, referring to her own position on the soccer field. “You’re a forward.”

  “Ha, ha,” Charlie said, semi-amused by Pickle’s lame soccer joke.

  “Now seriously ...” Pickle turned back to Lucy.“Drop ’em. I’ll put on your jeans and you wear my skirt.” Pickle was wearing a cute faded denim skirt that was worn out perfectly, with cute gold leggings underneath.

  Quickly, the girls traded. Luckily, they were close to the same size. Lucy was just a little taller, so the miniskirt hit her a little higher on the thigh; Pickle, who was a little curvier than Lucy, sucked in her stomach to button Lucy’s jeans.

  “Okay,” Pickle instructed, wiggling around inside the jeans a little, as they conformed to her body and actually fit. “Let’s fix this.” She spun Lucy around, grabbing the back of her jersey, gathering all the excess material and tying it into a big knot in the center of Lucy’s back. Lucy’s white tank top poked out underneath, keeping her belly covered. The gold in the jersey was complimented by the gold in the leggings. The outfit was . . .

  “Perfect!” Pickle exclaimed.

  Lucy admired her reflection in the mirror. “It’s totally cute,” she said, a hint of hesitation in her voice,“but I don’t know. . . . I look so—”

  “So what?” Max asked. “You look like the cutest football player Beachwood’s ever had.”

  “I’m supposed to be trying to fit in, you guys. Do you really think dressing like this will help?”

  Pickle grabbed Lucy by the shoulders. “That’s what your problem is, Luce,” she admonished. “Stop trying. You’re not one of the guys.”

  “Obviously,” Max concurred. “You have boobs.”

  Lucy looked down at her less-than-impressive chest. “With these? I practically could be one of the guys.”

  Charlie stepped in. “Lucy, listen to me,” she advised. “I’m going to make your life a whole lot better. Don’t be afraid to be a girl. You’re good at it.You’ll get further just being who you are than worrying about who you think they want you to be. It took me about sixteen years to figure that out for myself.”

  Lucy nodded, grateful for Charlie’s advice. She glanced at her own reflection and reminded herself of her decision last night. She wasn’t one of the guys.They’d made that perfectly clear. She was a girl; she might as well look and act like one.

  “Okay,” Lucy agreed, wanting to please her friends. “I’ll wear it.”

  “Good.” Pickle gave Lucy’s shirt a final tug.

  But suddenly Lucy remembered something she had to do.

  “I’ll meet you in the gym,” she told Pickle. “I’ve gotta find Regan before class.”

  “Regan?” Charlie asked. Pickle shot a nervous glance at her.

  “Yeah,” Lucy quickly explained. “We accidentally switched bags last night, when she gave me a ride home.”

  Charlie looked horrified. “She drove you home?”

  Lucy looked at Pickle. Had she said something wrong? Pickle was no help. Lucy tried to play it off.

  “Yeah, I mean, it was that or walk.” She shrugged.

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’d have picked walking. Stay away from her, Lucy. Trust me. She is bad news.”

  “Uh, okay.” Lucy forced a smile and grabbed Regan’s backpack, in a hurry to get out of there. She didn’t want to admit to Charlie that Regan had been totally sweet to her last night. And she definitely didn’t want to mention that she was kind of looking forward to thanking Regan for the lift.

  She darted out of the locker room and found Regan getting a latte at the campus mini-Starbucks.

  “I said no sugar, no foam,” Regan sighed as she handed the defective latte back to the frustrated barista.

  “Regan,” Lucy said, as she approached, “I think I accidentally took your backpack—”

  Regan grabbed it back. “Oh, thank God! I left my favorite thong in there.”

  Lucy cringed. Thong? Ew.

  Regan quickly reassured her. “Don’t worry. It was clean.” Then she apologized. “Sorry. TMI.”

  “TMI?” Lucy asked blankly.

  Regan spelled it out. “Too. Much. Information. You’ll get a lot of that around here.” She handed Lucy her own backpack.

  “Thanks,”
Lucy said, taking it.

  Charlie walked by, heading to class. Lucy spotted her first and quickly dropped down on the ground to hide behind a trash can.

  Regan peered down at her. “What’re you doing?”

  Lucy thought quickly. She shut one eye. “Oh, my contact—it’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She didn’t actually wear contacts, but Annie did. Lucy had spent a couple of hours on her living room carpet one afternoon in search of her best friend’s tiny transparent lens. It seemed like as good an excuse as any to be on the floor.

  When she was sure the coast was clear, Lucy popped back up.

  “Did you find it?” Regan asked.

  Lucy blinked her eye a couple of times. “Oh, I guess it’s still in there after all.” Regan looked at her as if she were crazy. Lucy smiled nervously. Regan nodded at Lucy’s outfit.

  “So I guess you didn’t quit? You know, the team? The jersey kind of gave it away.”

  Lucy looked down. “Oh, right.” It was her turn to explain. “I told my dad I’d joined cheerleading. . . .”

  “Oh? So my pom-poms came in handy?” Regan asked, grabbing her new no-sugar, no-foam latte.

  “Yeah, totally.” Lucy smiled.

  Regan lifted her coffee in a “cheers” gesture. “Glad I could help, then.”

  The second bell rang. Lucy turned. “I’d better get to gym.”

  Regan grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Hey, what’re you doing after the game? Do you have, like, plans?”

  Lucy shrugged. She’d been so focused on the game, it hadn’t even occurred to her that life continued after it.

  Pickle and Charlie might want to do something, she thought. But they hadn’t mentioned anything yet.

  “I don’t really have any, like, plans . . .” she said, trailing off.

  “Because I think Kendall’s having a party. You know Kendall, right?”

  Lucy didn’t. And Regan was shocked. “Hello? Senior captain? Cheerleading?”

  “Oh, right.” Lucy nodded.

  Regan gushed, “Her parents are in Cabo, and someone from football or cheerleading always throws something after the home games. It’s just for us. You know, invite only. We try to keep it small, to keep the field hockey sluts away.”

  Lucy chuckled. Field hockey sluts?

  “Anyway, if you want to meet up in the locker room after, we could go together,” Regan offered.

  “Really?” Lucy asked, beaming. This was incredible. Regan was one of the most popular girls in school! She knew Charlie hated Regan for whatever had happened between them last year, but maybe it had been a giant misunderstanding—because as far as she could tell, Regan was sweet and friendly. Not to mention beyond cool. And now she was inviting her to a football party? At a senior cheerleader’s house?

  “That sounds amazing,” Lucy said. “I’ll definitely be there.”

  By midday, as Lucy walked down the hall in her jersey, she couldn’t believe how many people had stopped to talk to her.

  “Good luck,” some guy called out as he walked past her.

  “Kick butt out there,” a girl cheered as she was leaving the bathroom. It was as if having this jersey on made her part of something and made her belong. She imagined how it would be on Monday if she played well. Instead of walking tentatively through the corridors of Beachwood, she’d be strutting confidently with her head held high. She’d walk by Ryan and Devon and Cope, and they’d swarm her as if they’d been waiting for her, rushing to tell her how awesome she was Friday night.

  Senior girls would walk by, noticing that she was surrounded by every hot football player in school. They’d come over to see what the commotion was, and when they realized Lucy was at the center of it, they’d invite her to the next big party they were having.

  Ryan would say, “Not so fast,” implying that she might not be free next Friday. Then he’d ask her out. In front of everyone. And she’d say yes, of course. Then he’d swoop her up into his arms and spin her around, like Benji had done on the football field, and she’d be so close to him that she’d be able to smell his cologne or deodorant or whatever it was about him that smelled so good.

  Or . . . she would blow it. Blow the kickoff, blow the field goal, blow the game. And everything would stay pretty much like it was. No one except Benji would talk to her. Maybe Ryan would give her the time of day—like if she actually asked what time it was. Or maybe not. Maybe after tonight, no one would want to have anything to do with her.

  As the day continued, the pressure mounted. Kids kept wishing Lucy well. Even Morbid resisted growling at her in gym class. And Martie made a special announcement in English, reminding everyone to come to the game tonight. In a rare move, she was even letting the soccer team finish practice half an hour early so they’d have time to shower, eat dinner, and get to the game.

  Late, Lucy flung open the school doors, heading toward the parking lot. Coach Offredi had told them to meet there at three o’clock sharp. It was five minutes after.

  Suddenly, Tank yelled, from a bus window,“On the bus, people! Let’s go to the Sizzler!” But “Sizzler” came out more like “Sizzle-HER.” Lucy reasoned that Tank must have been dropped on his head as a baby even more than she had.

  Within minutes, the entire team was piled onto two different school buses to make their way to West L.A. to hit Sizzler for their pregame meal. Lucy looked around for a seat on the bus. Benji was sitting by himself. He was about to wave Lucy over when Ryan looked up and noticed her.

  “Here, Malone. I have room,” he offered. Lucy slid onto the bench next to Ryan. She was still mad at him for being part of the prank on her, but she couldn’t help but notice as she sat that their legs were only inches apart. She thought she could smell Orbitz gum on his breath. Her heart raced despite her effort to control it. The loud bus engine roared as it started up, and with a lurch they headed out of the parking lot.

  “So, this is a tradition,” Ryan explained. “Pregame meal. It’s basic carbo-loading at its worst.” Lucy gave a polite, obligatory smile. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

  “Come on, Lucy,” Ryan cajoled. When she didn’t respond, he leaned in. “Look, you were right. We’re total jerks,” he admitted. “I was there last night. I was part of that stuff. I mean, there’s all the locker room teasing we always do—you know, guy stuff. . . .”

  “Guy stuff?” Lucy asked skeptically.

  Ryan tried to explain.“You know, we stick athletic tape to the really hairy guys. . . .Tank pees in peoples’ shampoo bottles. . . . People turn off the lights while everyone’s in the shower and you’re grappling around and inevitably someone ends up in the middle of the room, covered in baby powder, usually Cope—”

  Lucy interrupted him. “Just ’cause you do something all the time doesn’t make it right, ya know?”

  Ryan did. “No, I know. Think of it like we were treating you like one of the guys.”

  “Funny,” she commented, amazed at how bold she was being. “You treat me like one of the guys when you’re taping me to the goalpost, but not during actual practice.”