“Look, I’m sorry,” he continued. “You got it much harder than anyone. And you didn’t deserve it. I don’t have a problem with you being on the team—”
“But the other guys do,” Lucy said dryly. She looked around. A few guys in the back were trying to give a sophomore an ultimate wedgie.
“They’re idiots,” Ryan insisted. “Listen, I think what you’re doing is cool. I have a little sister—she’s in seventh—and I was telling her that you were on the team. She thought it was the coolest thing. She’s always been into football because of me, and last night at dinner, she was saying maybe when she was in high school, she’d try out.”
Lucy smiled. That made her feel good.
“Besides,” Ryan admitted, leaning in, “I like to win. And you’re the best kicker we’ve got, so I don’t care if you’re a guy, a girl, a moose, whatever. . . .”
Lucy gave him a funny look. “A moose?”
“Okay.” He smiled. “I’d care if you were a moose. Look how close we’re sitting. People would talk. Mooses would talk. . . .”
“Is it mooses?” Lucy asked thoughtfully.
“Maybe it’s meese,” Ryan considered. “Like goose and geese?”
They both laughed as the bus turned into the Sizzler parking lot. Ryan gestured for her to lean in, as if he had a secret to tell her.
“A piece of advice: Eat the breadsticks,” he instructed. “That’s the key to winning the game. At least five breadsticks.”
Lucy smiled. “I’ll take your word for it.”The team piled off the bus and into the restaurant, taking over as if they owned the place. She tried to find Benji, but he’d already made his way to the opposite end of a long table. Some of the guys grabbed booths. Ryan sat down in a seat.
“Here,” he said, indicating a chair for her. It was sweet. He was suddenly looking out for her.
But just as she sat down, someone kicked the chair out from under her. She slammed down on the floor. Tank, Adam, and Nick nearly snarfed their Cokes laughing.
As Lucy pushed herself onto the chair, red-faced and humiliated, Ryan looked ready to pummel all three of them. He rammed the table so that it banged into them, spilling their Cokes.
“Hey!” Adam yelled. “Watch it!”
“Why don’t you guys pick on someone your own size?” Ryan seethed.
“Tank can’t,” Nick pointed out. “No one’s his size.” Everyone laughed, except Lucy, who stared at her water, mortified.
The waiter set down breadsticks, interrupting the awkward moment. Ryan slowly counted five out and placed them on her plate.
“For tonight,” he reminded her. “You’ll need it.”
eleven
There were forty-five minutes until game time when Lucy barreled into the girls’ locker room to get dressed. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint Ryan, but eating five breadsticks was completely out of the question. She’d placed three of them in her napkin and slid them into her purse. Now, she threw them into the trash as she rounded the corner to the last row of lockers. She stopped suddenly.
Her locker, the third one from the end, was covered with streamers and balloons and cutouts of little tiny footballs.
“Surprise!” a bunch of voices screamed in unison. The soccer girls poured out of the athletic office. Pickle was holding a big banner that read: IF SOMEONE TELLS YOU YOU KICK LIKE A GIRL, SAY, “THANKS!”
Lucy gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t believe it. Charlie, Carla, Jamie, Erica, Heather, Karen, Ruthie, Max—they were all here to cheer her on.
Max threw her arms around Lucy’s neck. “Go for it out there,” she said.
Pickle patted her on the back. “Just pretend the ball is CW’s face.” Pickle and Lucy had taken to referring to Coach Offredi and his handlebar mustache in code. CW stood for “Coach Walrus.”
The girls cheered as Lucy pulled on her knee-length white pants and secured her pads before pulling on her jersey. Charlie handed Lucy her helmet.
“Here,” Charlie said. “Do it up.” It was the same thing the soccer girls often said before practice.
“And afterwards, we’re taking you out to celebrate.” Pickle smiled.
Focused, Lucy grabbed her helmet and placed it on her head, snapping the straps together beneath her chin. She felt powerful and invincible, as if nothing could stop her, as if she was ready for battle! On her way out of the locker room, all the soccer girls hit her on the helmet, psyching her up.
“You got this, Luce!” they cheered. “Go show them what you can do!”
She crossed the hall and tentatively pushed her way into the boys’ locker room. Coach Walrus—er, Offredi—had instructed her to come in as soon as she was ready. He was already mid-speech. Lucy lingered in the doorway, but Benji sweetly grabbed her hand and pulled her in.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s okay.” Lucy stepped in and listened raptly to Coach Offredi.
“I want everyone to do their job out there tonight. Play as a team. Be the hitters, not the ones who get hit. You walk onto that field tonight, you represent Beachwood. And what happens on the field stays on the field. Now let’s do this!”Whoops and cheers went up from the group. The team roared and in a mass exodus trotted to the door, each hitting, tapping, or smacking the school crest for luck on his way out. Lucy had to jump to reach, but her fingertips managed to graze it. She was fired up and ready for this game.
“Let’s go!” Coach Offredi yelled. “Tonight, we’re one unit, one team!”
“One unit!” the guys chanted back. “One team!” Then, running as a pack toward the field together, they burst through a huge WILDCATS paper banner the cheerleaders were holding.
Lucy kept her head down, staying tight on Benji’s heels as she jogged onto the field. She’d be too overwhelmed if she looked up. She just hoped one thing: that tonight, for once, she had luck on her side.
“Ryan Conner,” the announcer said over the sound system. Ryan jogged out from the sidelines and took his place on the field. The cheerleaders went wild. The Beachwood part of the crowd erupted. As the senior star quarterback, he was clearly a sentimental fan favorite.
“Benji Mason,” the announcer blared. Benji jogged out.
The announcer continued all the way down the Beachwood roster until . . .
“And making her football debut . . . newcomer Lucy Malone!” he yelled. The crowd clapped politely, but in the stands, people whispered, “Did he say Lucy? A girl? On the boys’ team?”
Lucy jogged out confidently. That’s right! A girl on the boys’ team! The soccer girls and Martie cheered wildly.
“Go Lucy!” Pickle screamed.
“Girls rule!” Max yelled.
“Let’s go, chickie,” Carla called out.
“Do it up, Luce,” Martie shouted, clapping her hands.
From the sidelines, Regan excitedly waved her pom-poms. “Yay, Lucy!” she screamed.
Lucy kept her gaze forward, slowly jogging to the end of the growing line of Beachwood players. As she ran past them, she felt as if everything was in slow motion, as if she were in a dream. Ryan reached out and, in a gesture of camaraderie, grabbed her face mask and butted helmets with her in front of everyone. Lucy felt as though she were soaring; she was floating on cloud nine . . . and ten . . . and eleven!
“Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light . . .”
“The Star-Spangled Banner” was warbled out by an a cappella quartet. Standing on the field with her right hand over her heart, Lucy could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“O’er the land of the free . . . and the home of the brave.”
That’s what she was tonight. Free and brave. Tonight for the first time, a girl was going to play football under these lights. She might have looked slight and slender, like she was a fragile doll that could easily break, but she wasn’t. If this week hadn’t broken her, nothing would. She was fired up. She was ready.
“Bring it in tight,” Coach Offredi called out. “All right. You’ve worked hard.You
’ve practiced.You’ve conditioned. You’re ready. Fly around out there. Hit people and have fun.” The guys slapped each other’s shoulder pads and helmets, their adrenaline pumping. No one except Benji tapped Lucy to psych her up. She appreciated it.
“You and I,” Benji reminded her. “We’re a team tonight. It’s us against everyone, okay?”
Lucy nodded fiercely. “Yeah. Us against everyone,” she agreed.
“Hands in,” Ryan ordered the team. Everyone put a hand in the center. Lucy was last to reach in. Ryan put a hand on top of hers. She felt tingles through her entire body. “Together on three,” he instructed. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
“TOGETHER!” the team yelled.
Ryan and Tank, the team captains, took the field for the coin toss. Tank called heads. It was tails. Curtis decided to take the ball first, which meant Lucy would kick off. She tried not to panic, but she just wanted to scream, “Oh my God, am I really supposed to be doing this?” What if she blew it? What if she topped it? Or squibbed it off the side of her foot? Or worse? What was worse? She didn’t even know yet, but she was sure the possibilities were endless.
She looked up into the stands where the soccer girls were jumping up and down so excitedly that the bleachers seemed to be shaking in anticipation of what she was going to do. Lucy wished circumstances were different and that her dad was here to see her.
At least she knew her mom was with her—in her heart.
Coach Offredi grabbed her shoulders. “Now listen to me, kid,” he said. Lucy inhaled quickly. That was what her dad called her. “This is what you wanted, your chance to prove something. So you go out there and get it done. I wanna see that ball land on their twenty—or better yet, their fifteen.You put ’em as far back as they can be. Go, kid, go!” He hit Lucy on the back too hard. The momentum practically catapulted her onto the field.
She jogged out with the kickoff coverage unit—the craziest guys on Special Teams. She hadn’t known it before but Special Teams incorporated all the different kicking teams: the kickoff unit, the kick receiver unit, the punting unit, the PAT unit—basically, there were a lot of units. And these were the guys with the least field time but the most to prove. It was all or nothing for them, and they were prepared to go all out. The rule was that no one could run past the thirty-yard line until the ball was kicked, but the Beachwood team didn’t like to start running from a dead stop as soon as the kicker hit the ball . . . which was why they lined up on their own fifteen-yard line. This was the play Coach Offredi called Rolling Thunder.
“I wanna hear a storm coming!” he yelled from the sidelines. “A storm!”
Lucy wondered if he’d settle for a drizzle. She set the ball on the tee at the thirty-yard line and backed up five yards to get a running start as well. If a person didn’t know better, they’d think she looked like any other player out there—like she belonged.
Coach Offredi called to her, “Let’s do it now. Go deep with this!” Lucy stood in the center of the field with five guys lined up to her right and five guys lined up to her left.They spread out behind her, spanning the width of the field. Lucy raised her arm. She was ready . . . or as ready as she was ever going to be.
The whistle blew. Lucy dropped her arm to signal the guys. They started running, gaining speed and momentum. Lucy popped forward, joining them, and BAM! She kicked the ball deep into Curtis’s territory. Curtis’s wide receiver gathered in the high, end-over-end kick on his own ten-yard line—even further than Coach Offredi had hoped. Lucy trailed the play, praying the Curtis return man didn’t make it through the wedge of Beachwood defenders. Tank, leading the charge, brought the ball carrier down, hard, at the Curtis twenty-two-yard line.
On the sidelines, Beachwood cheered. Lucy jogged to the bench.
“Nice kick,” Coach Offredi yelled from the sidelines. “Now let’s keep it going, let’s keep it going! We’re in this now. Defense, make sure we play hard and fast. Smash ’em to bits! Tank, I wanna see a sack! Gimme a sack!”
On the initial series of plays, Beachwood’s defense was strong. Tank applied pressure on Curtis’s quarterback, who was young and skittish. After two hurried incomplete passes and being forced out of bounds after a gain of only five yards on the third down, Curtis was forced to punt to Beachwood.
On the sidelines, Lucy cheered as Sascha, Beachwood’s punt retriever, took the kick on the Beachwood thirty and sidestepped an onrushing Curtis defender to find an open hole. He juked, darting one way and then quickly back the other way, and broke away down the right sideline, advancing an impressive thirty yards to the Curtis forty, before being knocked out of bounds. The Beachwood bench erupted in cheers, while on the field, the guys pounded Sascha’s helmet excitedly. The band played and the cheerleaders bounced up and down as if their lives depended on it.
With every pass and every gained yard for Beachwood, Lucy’s nervous energy increased as a potential field goal or PAT attempt loomed even larger. Her casual foot tap had morphed into her entire leg shaking uncontrollably.
She kept telling herself, I can do this. I can do this. But could she? Now? When it counted most?
Ryan threw a perfect spiral pass to Kevin on a down-and-out pattern. Kevin caught it almost effortlessly in the corner of Curtis’s end zone.TOUCHDOWN! Lucy knew what that meant. She gulped. Her turn.
“PAT unit,” Coach Offredi ordered. “We’re goin’ for one.” He grabbed Lucy by the shoulders. “This is all you, kid. Let’s go.”
Thanks, CW, Lucy thought. Way to take off the pressure. But the truth was, no one could take off the pressure. This was all her. She glanced down the field at the goalpost. The space between the uprights looked so much narrower than it had seemed in practice. She was so nervous that not even looking at Benji helped.
The PAT unit ran onto the field, settling at the three-yard line. Lucy ran out behind Benji, knowing they each had a job to do. Caleb would snap the ball back seven yards, where Benji was waiting at the ten. Then all she’d have to do was kick.
Lucy stepped off her paces. So much adrenaline was pumping through her, she felt as though she could explode. Caleb and the line moved into position, looking for the signal from Benji. The crowd quieted down. Lucy waited, holding her breath. Benji put his hands out in front of his body, in a position to catch the ball. The flash of Benji’s hands signaled Caleb to snap the ball back, straight into Benji’s grasp. This time, Benji caught it perfectly, and in one smooth motion he brought the tip of the football to the ground. He deftly spun the laces away from Lucy’s foot, a split second before Lucy nailed it. BAM!
It sailed up, up, and directly between the goalposts. They’d done it! Hell, she’d done it! She’d actually kicked a PAT! The score was 7-0! The Beachwood section of the bleachers roared.
As Lucy jogged back over onto the sidelines, she could feel the hands of a few of her teammates patting her on the back and hitting her helmet.
In the bleachers, the soccer girls chanted, “Lu-cy! Lu-cy! Lu-cy!”
Regan cheered from the sidelines. “Nice, Luce!”
Lucy smiled broadly. She felt as if her body could barely contain her happiness.
Taking a seat on the bench, she took off her helmet and shook out her hair. Inside, her helmet was damp with sweat. This would definitely qualify as a bad hair day, but she didn’t care, because she had done it. She had scored! A hand gripped her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. She looked up to see Coach Offredi. He wasn’t even looking at her, just giving that small gesture of wordless praise. Happily, she exhaled. Had she proven herself? Was he actually proud of her?
The rest of the game felt like a giant blur, like a dream she didn’t want to end. Leading 7-0 at the half, Beachwood ran for two more touchdowns in the third quarter. Lucy nailed both PAT attempts, and Beachwood held off a strong fourth-quarter rally by Curtis to win 21-13.
Playing With the Boys Page 14