Pretty Tough

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  Sure, Gwyneth Paltrow had named her baby “Apple,” but Pickle? That was like naming your kid “Asparagus” or “Cucumber.”

  It was more than not right. It was just… wrong.

  Noah put down his clipboard. “Okay, everyone.” He clapped and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We’ll do a ten-minute warm-up jog down the beach, then come back and stretch.” He clicked a button on his sports watch, setting the timer. “Ready?”

  The girls jumped up, anxious to begin and eager to please. They knew Martie was watching. Krista felt a wave of relief wash over her. A simple warm-up jog was a great way to build confidence. She was a fast runner.

  “Go!” Noah yelled. He clicked the watch again and took off down the beach, running on the wet sand right at the edge of the water. The girls followed, finagling for a prime spot. No one wanted to be last. Brooks and Krista ran easily at the front of the pack—Brooks determined to keep up with Noah, Krista determined to stay ahead of Charlie.

  As she ran, Krista felt untouchable. There was a lightness to her stride that made her feel almost like she was flying. Noah kept the pace steady, not too fast but certainly not slow. Except for the slightest limp, he didn’t look like he was recovering from an injury. Krista didn’t have to push herself much to keep at the head of the pack.

  After five minutes, Noah looped around and they headed south again. When Krista turned, she saw that Charlie wasn’t far behind her. A few strides later, she was right next to her! Before Krista had a chance to change her gait, Charlie had flown past her, positioning herself right behind Noah.

  Krista ran harder, pumping her arms, lengthening her strides. She pulled up even to Charlie and gave her a look of disgust.

  “News flash,” Krista said, annoyed. “This is a warm-up run, not a race.”

  Charlie ran harder, pulling even with Noah. Krista couldn’t believe her sister! Was Charlie so pathetic that she was actually trying to make a ten-minute warm-up into serious competition? She pushed even more, ignoring the cramp starting to form in her left side. She passed Charlie and Noah, sprinting into the lead. Her little sister had nothing on her.

  But suddenly, there was Charlie again. Right next to her. They were so close, their elbows were practically touching. Krista poured on the heat, and it became an all-out sprint to the finish, the two of them running as hard and fast as they possibly could, elbowing each other out of the way. Krista noticed Martie watching them curiously. She was determined that Martie would see her worth. And she wouldn’t seem worthy of anything if she let her non-soccer-playing sister beat her.

  Krista ran even harder, sweat dripping into her eyes. Her legs pumped so fast, her heels were practically hitting her butt. One more push to seal her win and—wait, something didn’t feel right. Krista glanced over her shoulder and saw that Charlie was walking. She’d bailed out. Not because she didn’t have it in her, Krista knew, but to make her look foolish. To be a total brat.

  Krista glared at her sister, who had stopped now and was laughing with Carla at her expense. Krista slowed to a walk and, drained of all energy, collapsed on the beach. Her mind was racing so fast that she couldn’t form a coherent thought other than: Must. Kill. Sister.

  Martie approached, kneeling down next to her. “You know this was a warm-up, not a race, right?” she asked, the admonishment evident in her voice.

  Krista’s heart, which was pumping so hard it felt like it was about to jump out of her chest, sank. Martie didn’t get it. Charlie was competing with her, not the other way around. Charlie was the one who’d made it a race, who’d made it personal, who’d intentionally made her look foolish. Krista turned her head sideways. Charlie was leaning over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. She gave Krista a big, fake smile.

  “Nice run,” she said smugly.

  Krista clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to wring her sister’s neck.

  “Okay, everyone,” Noah said as the last stragglers slowed to a walk. “Let’s stretch, then we’ll hit the dunes.” Krista looked over at the huge sand dunes on the other side of the Pacific Coast Highway. Please, God, no, she thought. She’d just spent every last ounce of energy beating Charlie in the warm-up run; now she was going to have to beat her on the sand dunes too?

  • • •

  Fifteen minutes later, Noah had divided the girls into two groups, Krista in one and Charlie in the other. Charlie was in the first group with one of the seniors, Julie; the track girls, Heather and Karen; Pickle; and Brooks, who appeared to be permanently affixed to Noah’s side. Noah pretended not to notice Brooks’s gawking while he explained the first drill. Each group had to go up and down the dunes ten times. The last person from each group had to run the dunes an additional two times as punishment. Charlie eyed the dunes fearlessly. No problem. She wasn’t about to be last.

  Charlie’s group lined up. Noah blew the whistle, and they were off. Charlie raced up the dunes to the blue-and-yellow flag on top. Running on the dry sand was difficult, her New Balances sinking into the ground. As she raced down, she had to slow herself or risk tumbling headfirst down the dune… which actually didn’t seem like a bad idea.

  At the bottom of the dune, one of the track girls, Heather, caught up with her and passed her on their second trip up. Karen, the other track star, was right on her heels—the three girls together were leading the pack as group two watched with dread, knowing they were up next. Charlie pushed up the second hill, getting to the flag second this time. By her fourth trip down, she could see Brooks and Pickle struggling in the back, battling it out for last place.

  “Come on, Pickle,” Charlie managed to exhale. Her chest was burning. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Pickle didn’t have enough energy to react but managed to pick up the pace a little, pushing her way to the flag.

  On trip five, Charlie lost her balance, tripped, and literally rolled all the way down the dune. She could hear Krista and the other girls laughing.

  “Oh my God.” Krista groaned. “How embarrassing.”

  “Are you sure you two are related?” Buffi asked.

  For being named Buffi, Charlie thought, Buffi was one of the least Buffi-ish girls ever. Instead of being a prissy party girl, she was a hard-core athlete. Buffi played soccer and softball and was in the top ten of her class. Even so, as she was one of Krista’s best friends, Charlie was predisposed to hate her.

  Krista rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  Charlie considered forgoing the other five trips up the dunes and using her remaining energy to pummel Krista. Luckily, rational thought took over. She brushed the sand from her eyes and mouth and sprinted back up for trip six.

  On her last trip up, Heather, Karen, and Julie were all ahead of her, sprinting down to the finish. Charlie knew she’d be fourth, which, considering her massive wipeout, wasn’t horrible. What she didn’t expect was that Brooks and Pickle would be dead even on their final trip up. Both girls were struggling.

  Krista started cheering loudly for Brooks. “Beat her, Missy! You can do it!”

  Other girls joined in, encouraging Brooks as if Pickle were invisible.

  Charlie shot Krista a death stare. Here was Pickle, a stranger in a strange land, a freshman and total newcomer with a weird name, probably feeling scared and alone… and Krista was cheering for Brooks—stupid, vapid Brooks who clearly was only there to get Noah to like her.

  “Let’s go, Pickle!” Charlie screamed encouragingly, even though she was gasping for air. “You’ve got this!”

  Carla, who was already lined up in group two, chimed in. “Yeah, Pickle!” she yelled. “You can do it!”

  By the time Brooks and Pickle were racing down the dune, everyone was screaming and cheering. And when Brooks edged out Pickle by a tiny margin, Charlie’s eyes filled with tears on Pickle’s behalf. In the skirmish between good and evil, evil had won. Charlie watched Krista celebrating with Brooks.

  “Oh my God,” Krista gushed, putting her arm about her friend. “I
knew you’d beat her.” Buffi and Julie crowded around, high fiving Brooks.

  “Who knew that girl would be so fast?” remarked Julie.

  Brooks rolled her eyes. “Seriously. Now maybe she’ll hurry back to wherever she came from.”

  Martie, who was standing near the second group, snapped up her head, reacting to Brooks’s comment.

  “Brooks,” she ordered. “Get into the second group.”

  “Excuse me?” Brooks said.

  “For a comment like that, you’re running again. Or you can go home.”

  “What?” Brooks’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “TNF!”

  Charlie had no idea what “TNF” stood for, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Maybe now Brooks would leave… but Charlie had no such luck.

  “Fine.” Brooks shrugged. She lined up in the second group, behind Carla.

  As Pickle ran her last trip up to the top and back alone, Charlie couldn’t help but look at Martie and smile. Krista and Brooks might have won one battle, but with Martie’s help, Charlie and the other outcasts were going to win the war.

  After all, in the end, good always won out over evil, right?

  After a quick water break and, at Noah’s insistence, a banana to refuel, Martie took over the practice. The next hour was devoted to soccer drills and calisthenics. Krista liked this part because she was good at it and because she was determined to prove herself to Martie, who suddenly seemed to be watching everyone but her.

  The next hour consisted of various touches on the ball—they’d travel down the beach kicking it and catching it, kneeing it and catching it, heading it and catching it—and between each drill the hopefuls would do forty-five seconds of push-ups, tuck jumps, crunches, mountain climbers, and anything else Martie could come up with. They ran and dribbled between cones all while being timed. The day finished with a game of keep-away on the beach. After twenty straight minutes of running around and chasing and passing the ball, Martie blew her whistle.

  “Thank God.” Brooks groaned. Legitimately out of breath, she also exaggerated her chest rising and falling for Noah’s benefit. Krista stole a look the assistant coach’s way and realized he was watching them.

  Then suddenly, he winked. Krista glanced over her shoulder to see if Brooks caught it, but she had already turned away. Krista looked up quickly, but Noah was already conferring about something with Martie.

  Had Noah Riley really just winked? Who winked anymore? It seemed retro—like leg warmers and jelly bracelets. But more important, who was he winking at? Brooks? Or her?

  Before Krista could process a guess, Martie began another speech.

  “Okay, everyone. I have one last thing for you to do before we call it a day.” Groans rippled throughout the group.

  “I want everyone on their feet,” Martie said sternly. “Now!”

  Krista mustered her strength and pushed herself up. Her body was so exhausted she felt like she could fall asleep standing up. She noticed the sun sinking lower toward the ocean. It was already six o’clock.

  “On the count of three, everyone follow me,” Martie explained. “One… two… three!” She whipped off her Adidas shirt, Brandi Chastain–style, kicked off her flip-flops, and made a beeline straight for the water. The entire team followed and plunged into the ocean, laughing and splashing each other.

  Noah jumped up just as a wave was coming in and dove over it, landing right near Krista. He popped his head out.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey there,” Krista responded.

  “Nice work today,” Noah complimented her. “You have definite skills.”

  “Thanks.” Krista smiled. At least someone was watching.

  Noah grinned, and in that moment Krista could see why Brooks had a thing for him. It was, undeniably, a killer smile. His teeth were straight and white, and his eyes crinkled a little around the corners.

  “Brrr!” Noah shivered dramatically. “This water is colder than it looks!”

  Krista laughed. “Don’t be a baby. It’s warm in this spot.”

  “Oh.” Noah shrugged. “That’s because I peed there.”

  A look of absolute horror crossed Krista’s face. “What?”

  Noah shook out his wet hair, laughing. “Dude, if you wanna make this team, you’re going to have to learn how to take a joke.”

  Krista glared at him. That wasn’t funny. There were no ifs about it. She was making this team. She had to.

  Later that night, Krista sat at the kitchen table, listless, staring at her plate as if she was in a trance.

  “Are you going to eat or not?” her dad asked. With her mom at a late meeting, he did what he did best—ordered a large pizza and Caesar salad from Vinnie’s down the street. Half the pizza was already eaten, and Krista hadn’t had one bite. She was too tired to open her mouth. Or chew. Or swallow.

  “I’m sorry,” she responded to her dad. Her eyelids felt so heavy. She could barely keep them open. It was all she could do to resist the urge to lay her head down on the table.

  “So,” her dad said, wiping his mouth with a paper towel that served as a napkin. “Tell me about practice. How was it? First day back and all.”

  Charlie perked up instantly. “Practice was great,” she gushed, acting overly bubbly and strange. “But oh my God, this one girl today made the biggest fool out of herself.”

  “What happened?” Dad asked.

  “She tried to race me on the warm-up run.” Charlie laughed. “Can you believe that?”

  Even with half-closed eyes, Krista could still muster a hard stare. Charlie shook her head, overacting. “It was really pathetic.”

  Her dad took a sip of his Coke. “Sounds like this girl was threatened by you.”

  “You think?” Charlie questioned, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

  Krista got up from the table. She was far too tired to deal with Charlie’s juvenile behavior. “I’m going to bed,” she mumbled sleepily.

  “Kris, I thought we were going to look at your college essays tonight—” her dad began. “You can’t get into Yale on soccer alone….”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” Krista groaned.

  Right now, she didn’t care about her college essays. The only thing she wanted to look at was the inside of her eyelids.

  The next day’s practice was on the campus of Pepperdine University, which sat on a huge hill overlooking all of Malibu and the Pacific Ocean. The team wasn’t required to ride from Beachwood to Pepperdine in the school van, but it was an option for girls who didn’t have cars of their own. Or for girls like Charlie, who wouldn’t even consider asking their self-involved older sisters for a ride.

  Crammed in a van with a bunch of strangers wasn’t Charlie’s definition of ideal, but with Carla and Pickle there, it made it the ride a little easier. Charlie felt less self-conscious, safer with her new friends around.

  “What do you think we’re going to have to do today?” Carla asked the group casually. When no one answered, Charlie felt embarrassed for Carla and was about to say something, but then a cute brunette sophomore, Erica, piped up from the back of the van.

  “Hide from Martie and Noah—and all those bananas?” she offered, quiet enough that Noah, who was driving, wouldn’t hear. All the girls giggled. A naturally happy person, Erica had a way of making everyone laugh.

  “Too bad we’re at Pepperdine,” her friend Fran added disappointedly. “Swimming was my favorite part of yesterday.”

  “So why not go out for the swim team?” Pickle offered.

  “No way.” Another girl, E-beth (short for Elizabeth) laughed, nudging Fran. “Then how would she get to be best friends with Brooks Sheridan?”

  Fran elbowed E-beth. “Shut up!”

  Erica and E-beth burst into a fit of laughter. Charlie simply couldn’t believe it. Would someone actually suffer through hell week just to be on the same team as Brooks Sheridan?

  “My sister goes to Pepperdine,” Jamie, a junior, offered. “And there’s a kille
r five-mile run there—off the campus and into the neighborhood, past some of the crazy mansions. I bet that’s what we’re doing today.”

  Sure enough, Jamie was right.

  The girls took off in a large pack with Noah in the lead, running a loop around the campus and then out the back entrance and into the neighborhood. Once again, the last girl to finish had to do an extra campus loop. This time, Charlie and Carla made sure Pickle kept up with them.

  Karen and Heather once again came in first and second, respectively. A strong runner, Krista finished in a pack right behind them. Jamie, Buffi, and Jen were next, followed by Carla and Charlie. Pickle finished just a few seconds behind them. Brooks crossed the line with E-beth, Erica, and a handful of other girls. Darcy, the pigtailed freshman, tied with a cute redhead, Ruthie. Poor Fran, who just wanted to meet Brooks, was dead last. When Martie told her to run another campus loop, she had tears in her eyes.

  Carla, Pickle, and Charlie were already heading to their bags for a water break when Carla turned around. “Can I run with Fran?” she asked Martie.

  Martie was surprised. “Do you want to?”

  Carla nodded. “Sure.”

  Martie smiled. “Be my guest.”

  Charlie watched as Carla took off, joining Fran. “That’s weird,” she commented.

  Pickle looked up from retying her shoelaces. “What’s weird?”

  “Why would Carla want to run another loop if she doesn’t have to?” she asked. It didn’t make sense. Was Carla a goody-goody like Krista?

  When Carla finally returned with Fran, she smiled at Charlie mischievously.

  “What?” Charlie asked. Why was Carla acting like such a weirdo?

  “Don’t tell anyone—we hit the vending machine in the quad,” she whispered.

  Pickle’s eyes widened, impressed. “You what?”

  Carla reached in her pocket and pulled out a piece of candy. “Sour Patch Kid?” Charlie eyed the sugar-coated candy, and her stomach began growling. One piece and the sugar rush could easily get her through the rest of practice.