by Mike Lupica
ALSO BY #1 BESTSELLER MIKE LUPICA
Travel Team
Heat
Miracle on 49th Street
Summer Ball
The Big Field
Million-Dollar Throw
The Batboy
Hero
The Underdogs
True Legend
QB 1
Fantasy League
Fast Break
Shoot-Out
Last Man Out
Lone Stars
No Slam Dunk
Strike Zone
Triple Threat
PHILOMEL BOOKS
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
First published in the United States of America by Philomel Books,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Mike Lupica
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Ebook ISBN 9781984836946
Cover photography by Adam Brown
Cover design by Maria Fazio
Adapted for ebook by Michelle Quintero
Edited by Dana Leydig
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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This book is for two amazing women who understand Alex Carlisle completely, and have informed her strength and spirit and humor and intelligence:
My wife, Taylor.
And my daughter, Hannah Grace.
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by #1 Bestseller Mike Lupica
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
About the Author
PROLOGUE
It’s me again.
Seventh grader Alex Carlisle.
The girl who got to play quarterback last year on the Orville Middle School boys’ football team.
Except I never thought of it that way. As their team.
Just ours.
Bottom line? I learned so much last season. Not just about friendship or what it takes to be a good teammate. But about overcoming fears and chasing dreams. I’d started out thinking I wanted to prove a point to all the people who doubted me. Who doubted that a girl could play what had always been a “boys-only” sport.
It was way bigger than that, though. I proved a point to myself and learned a lesson I’ll never forget. That if you’ve got the talent and the belief in yourself, all you need to achieve great things—in sports or anything else—is this:
A chance.
But it turns out my story didn’t end with the football season.
No. In fact, that was only the beginning . . .
1
It was Christmas Eve, and Alex and her dad were sprawled out on the couch, watching the Steelers play their last game of the regular season.
They had to start their backup quarterback today, but if they won, they were back in the playoffs.
“I started out as a backup to Jeff Stiles,” Alex said to Jack Carlisle, “and look how well things worked out for me.”
Her dad smiled at her. That smile had always made her feel like being wrapped in a soft blanket.
“I never thought of you as second-string,” he said, “not from the moment you made that team.”
Alex rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re my dad,” she said. “It’s not like you were impartial or anything.”
“But you know better than anyone that I know my football,” he said. “And once I saw you on that field, throwing the ball the way you’d done in our backyard, I knew I was looking at the best QB your age in Orville.”
Alex smiled back at him. The day before Christmas was always a special day in the Carlisle household. And watching football with her dad was like an early holiday present. She just wished the Steelers were playing at home this week, so that instead of the couch, they could sit in their reserved seats at Heinz Field. Jack had bought season tickets the year Alex was born. It was like he predicted his daughter would one day grow up to be as big a Steelers fan as he was.
“You honestly thought that?” Alex asked. “Even though there’d never been a girl on the team before?”
“Of course,” he said, without a hint of hesitation. “I knew I was looking at a quarterback. And somebody who had a passion for football since you were old enough to attend your first game.”
“Like I had a choice,” she said.
“And what would you have chosen if I hadn’t given you a little nudge in the direction of Heinz Field?” he said.
“Little?” Alex said with a sideways glance.
“Answer the question.”
“I would have chosen Section 136, visitors’ side of the stadium.”
It was where their seats were located. And Alex knew that even with the snow coming down the way it was now, they would have braved the cold if in fact the Steelers were playing at home. But as far as Alex was concerned, the snow made today even more special. There’d be snow on the ground when she woke tomorrow morning, and Christmas would look exactly how she thought it should in their part of the world. Sometimes she couldn’t believe it was only a little over a month ago that she’d achieved her dream of playing starting quarterback for the Owls, making things just about perfect in her world.
Not totally perfect, of co
urse.
She always missed her mom during the holidays. Her parents had divorced a long time ago, but remained close friends, and Alex still talked to her mom regularly over the phone. But Dr. Liza Borelli now lived in San Francisco with her husband, Richard, and Alex’s five-year-old half brother, Connor. Alex’s mom had decided to pursue her own dream of becoming a doctor, and over time, Alex had come to understand that sacrifice. Especially during the last few months. Because now, more than ever, Alex understood how it felt to chase a dream.
In fact, Alex’s football playing had only served to strengthen their relationship, which was ironic since Jack often joked that his ex-wife knew less about football than he knew about pediatric surgery. But through their shared experiences of defying the odds and overcoming unfair obstacles, Alex and her mom began to see each other a little more clearly.
Even with this newfound mother-daughter bond, Alex knew the hurt from her parents’ divorce would never fully disappear. But having experienced the struggles she did just to play football, and knowing what it had cost her, she’d learned a lot about choices. Especially for women.
Around halftime, Alex and her dad headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Today, her job was to chop vegetables for the pasta primavera, while her dad boiled a pot of water and started heating up the sauce. The kitchen may not have been Alex’s favorite place in the world, but being close to her dad certainly was.
While he kept an eye on the pasta he’d just thrown into the pot on the stove, he started assembling the salad. Alex knew he was a bear for making salads and tossing in as much fresh produce as possible. Jack belonged to the local CSA, or community-supported agriculture, and got a weekly delivery of fresh fruits and vegetables to use in their daily meals. Alex had to hand it to him—he’d become an ace at cooking for two. No thanks to Alex, of course, but she helped where she could.
Jack liked to sum up his philosophy in the kitchen this way:
“Go big or go home.”
Alex would usually respond by saying, “Dad? You are home.”
There was still some time before halftime was over. He had collected the veggies now and began cooking them up in a frying pan.
“So,” he said, “have you given any thought to what you want to do in the spring? Sports-wise, I mean.”
“Dad,” she said. “Football ended, like, yesterday.” She pointed out the kitchen window, where the snow was coming down even harder now, already covering the backyard in a sheet of white. “And you may have noticed that winter just officially started.”
“And you, young lady, may have noticed that I like to plan ahead,” Jack replied.
“Huh,” Alex said. “Never picked up on that.”
Because she knew him as well as she did, she’d been expecting the question.
“All I know is that I’m not going to play a winter sport,” Alex said. “Football was pretty intense, all the way to the last minute of the last game. Think I could use a break.”
“The reason I bring it up,” her dad said, “is because I was thinking of maybe hiring a coach to give you some private quarterbacking lessons. That’s if you still want to play football next year.”
“Totally going out for football next year,” Alex said without missing a beat.
“So how would you feel about a private coach?”
“I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “I mean, aren’t you my private coach?”
Her dad had once been a star quarterback at Orville High.
“I’m talking about a trained professional,” Jack said. “Someone who can really coach you up, work with you one on one, perfect your form.”
Alex thought for a moment. It would be nice to get the help. Then she could come back next season and surprise everyone with her improvement.
But when she really considered it, she knew it wasn’t what she really wanted. There was something else she craved. Something she’d been missing.
“If I am going to do something in the spring, I want to be on a team,” she said. “I realized that during football. Even when most of the other players didn’t want me there.”
“Problem is,” he said, “football is a fall sport.”
Now was as good a time as any to tell him, she thought.
“Well, not all kinds of football,” she said, a little coy.
Jack looked up from stirring the pot of pasta. “Not sure I’m following,” he said. “But you know I’m a little slow out of the chutes sometimes.”
“Well, you know how they call soccer ‘football’ pretty much everywhere else in the world,” Alex said. “And the school offers spring soccer, so . . .”
From the living room they heard the announcers come on again, signaling the beginning of the second half.
“Wait,” he said, “am I hearing you right? You want to go back to your old team?”
They left the sauce to simmer and drained the pasta before making their way back to the living room, planting themselves in their usual spots on the couch.
“Umm,” Alex said. “Maybe?”
“As I recall,” Jack said, “you were about as popular with your former teammates as you were with the guys on the football team at the start of the season. And well into the season, I might add. You sure you wanna do this? I mean, I’d support you either way, but—”
“Not saying I’m going to do it for sure,” she said. “Just something I’ve been thinking about.”
The Steelers and Bengals were lining up now for the second-half kickoff.
Her dad pulled her close to him and kissed the top of her head.
“Apparently I’m not the only one who plans ahead,” he said.
2
They were back in the kitchen now. Alex rinsed off their dinner plates before placing them in the dishwasher, while Jack wiped off the counter.
The Steelers won on a field goal with three seconds left in the game. It was a close finish, but any time the Steelers eked out a win, it was cause for celebration.
Dessert tonight was Alex’s favorite: brownie, vanilla ice cream on top, fudge sauce on top of that, and a sprinkling of mini M&M’s.
“Can we talk a little more about soccer?” Jack said as they sat down at the kitchen table. “Just in light of how mean some of those girls were to my kid?”
“Not all of them,” Alex said. “Annie Burgess was pretty cool.”
“Okay, so most of them,” Jack said. “If you do decide to go back—”
“Haven’t decided that,” Alex reminded him.
“But if you do,” he said, “how do you think they’ll react?”
It was something Alex had considered. The main thing, really.
“Trust me, Dad,” Alex said, “I’ve been asking myself the same question.”
There was a brief pause while Alex took a bite of brownie. She swallowed, wiped her face, then continued. “Remember what you said about the guys coming around because I gave them a better chance to win?”
Jack only nodded, urging her to continue.
“I don’t want to sound cocky . . . but I was a pretty good center middie.”
“Better than pretty good,” her dad said.
“On the other hand,” Alex said, “the fall team did make it to the championship game without me . . .”
Alex’s dad’s eyes were on the TV, but he nodded pensively. “They’re a strong team,” he agreed. “No doubt about that. But you’re a strong player. They’d be foolish not to accept you back.”
“If I decide to go back,” Alex added.
“Right,” he said. “Big if.”
There was plenty to consider. First, whether she’d be allowed back onto the team. And second, whether she was ready to face her peers again. Or at least one in particular.
“Yeah, I’m sure Lindsey Stiles will welcome me back with open arms,” Alex said with an extremely heavy
dose of sarcasm.
They both knew that Lindsey, whose cousin, Jeff, Alex had beaten out for the quarterback position, had been the one leading the charge against Alex for quitting soccer last season.
“But Annie will be there too,” Alex reasoned. “She stuck up for me, big-time. And got elected captain of that team despite Lindsey practically campaigning for the job.”
Her dad grinned.
“You’re pretty popular with the Stiles family,” he said. “We should have them over for dinner sometime.”
Alex’s eyes strayed from the TV over to her dad, and they shared a good laugh at her dad’s heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Listen,” he said, “the good thing is that you don’t have to decide any of this on Christmas Eve.”
“I know,” she said. “I just think it would be cool to be back running around with my old teammates when Orville finally thaws out.”
“And who knows,” her dad said, “by then, maybe those teammates will have thawed out too.”
They cleaned the kitchen and then went back into the living room to watch the Chiefs and the Ravens play. No better quarterbacking show on Earth, as far as Alex was concerned. Patrick Mahomes against Lamar Jackson. Both of them could run up and down the field and complete crazy passes like they were making everything up on the fly. She settled in at her end of the couch, totally content to watch another game. Her football season might be over, but the NFL’s sure wasn’t. For this one night, soccer could wait.
At the end of the second quarter, the score was tied at 24-all, so Jack got up from his end of the couch and walked over to the Christmas tree the two of them had picked out together. Then he knelt down and shifted a few boxes around before returning with one he’d wrapped—badly, as usual—plus a plain white envelope that had Alex written on the outside in his messy scrawl.
“Couple of early presents,” he said, handing them to Alex.
“No way!” Alex yelled, sitting up straighter in her seat. “You always make me wait until Christmas morning.”
He shrugged. “You think you’re the only one who can call an audible?”
Alex set the box on her lap and began tearing open the wrapping paper. She opened the top, and inside was a regulation NFL football, with two autographs written on it in black permanent marker.