Pretty Tough

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  Both Pickle and Charlie popped one into their mouths and chewed quickly.

  Noah blew the whistle, signifying the end of crunches. Martie called out that next they were going to work on ball juggling and would be divided into groups of four. The point of the game was to form a circle and keep the ball in the air for as long as possible, juggling it and passing it to your teammates.

  Martie read the groups aloud. “Jen, Ruthie, Erica, and Pickle. Heather, Buffi, Carla, and Fran. Brooks, Krista, Jamie, and Charlie. Casey, Zaida—”

  Charlie stopped listening. Out of all the groups, why did she have to be in one with Krista? The idea of struggling with the soccer ball in front of her created a Grand Canyon–sized pit in Charlie’s stomach. She wished she’d actually played with that Hacky Sack she’d found in her Christmas stocking last year instead of giving it to Marley, the golden retriever next door, as a chew toy. Maybe then she’d have a chance of surviving this drill with a shred of dignity.

  When it came to footwork, even she had to admit that Krista was great. Once, during the last thirty seconds of a game, she’d seen Krista dribble the ball around four defenders to score a goal.

  “We’ll go for fifteen minutes,” Martie instructed. “The group that juggles the longest gets to sit out the next drill—”

  “What’s next?” Brooks interrupted, wanting to know what she was playing for.

  “Suicide sprints,” Martie responded. Charlie groaned. Every group wanted to sit out that drill. Suicide sprints were the worst. Martie would make them start at the goal line, then run to the eighteen-yard box, then run back to the goal line, then run all the way to midfield, then all the way back to the start.

  Then, when you just wanted to collapse, you had to go all the way to the eighteen on the other side of the field and then back. For the grand finale, you had to run the whole field. And you were racing the entire time.

  Charlie was keeping score, and so far she had beaten Krista at every drill. She doubted she’d be as successful at ball juggling.

  “Okay,” Martie continued, “if the ball hits the ground, your group starts over from zero.”

  Charlie felt nervous; her palms were sweating along with every other part of her body. She was already exhausted from the long run and drills. When she was surfing and got tired, she could rest. When she was snowboarding on the half-pipe at Big Bear and her legs felt like they were about to give out, she could hit the lodge for hot chocolate. No such luck here.

  “I know you’re tired,” Martie said sympathetically. “Doing this at the end, when you’re tired, teaches you to execute even when your body wants to give up.”

  Charlie wasn’t about to give up. Not until her name was on that roster. Being part of a team wasn’t her thing. But she wanted to prove Krista wrong. And until that list went up and Charlie Brown was written on it, Charlie was going to ball juggle or do anything else it took to make it.

  Noah blew the whistle, and the drill began. Ten minutes into it, Charlie wanted to take a swan dive off the nearest cliff.

  “Charlie!” Krista yelled, totally exasperated. “Come on!”

  As much as Charlie hated it, this time she had to admit Krista was right. She couldn’t keep the ball in the air if her life depended on it. And they had to start over from scratch every time Charlie’s foot came anywhere near the ball.

  Krista’s frustration was quickly reaching a boiling point. “Okay,” she told the others, “let’s try not giving the ball to Charlie—”

  “Hey! You can’t just ignore me,” Charlie insisted. “It’s not fair!”

  Even if Krista was better at ball juggling, her self-righteous superiority was impossible to swallow. Didn’t the other girls notice what a witch she was?

  Brooks slapped her back. “Life’s not fair, kid. Get used to it.”

  Kid? Charlie felt like punching Brooks in the face. Maybe she’d be doing her a favor. Then she could get that second nose job she’d been telling Krista she wanted.

  Krista kicked the ball to Brooks, who managed to juggle it three times before passing it on to Jamie. Then back to Krista. Then back to Jamie. Fifteen seconds were down. Back to Brooks, then Krista. Then Brooks, then Jamie. Thirty seconds. Back to Krista again.

  “Charlie, get your foot on that ball,” Martie instructed. She’d obviously noticed that Charlie wasn’t participating.

  Charlie threw her hands in the air, frustrated. “I’m trying, but Krista won’t—”

  “Krista,” Noah called out, “you’ve got to pass.”

  She effortlessly and easily tapped the ball in Charlie’s direction. “Here. Crybaby.” Charlie made contact with the inside of her right foot, but before she could even blink, the ball was on the ground again.

  The whistle blew. The drill was up. And their team had lost.

  “Nice job,” Krista sneered at Charlie, aggravated.

  Noah slapped Charlie’s back, then pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry. It just takes practice. We’ll make sure you get it, okay?”

  Charlie smiled, touched by Noah’s attention. She turned away and noticed the winning team—Carla’s—hugging and high fiving each other.

  Charlie frowned. How was it that girls who were strangers two days ago could already seem like best friends, while she and Krista—who’d known each other for fifteen years—couldn’t get along if their lives depended on it?

  When Krista got out of bed on Saturday morning, she was psyched. Today was the final day of hell week and by Monday morning, a list would be posted with the names of the girls who’d made the cut. Every muscle in her body ached, but it would be worth it when she saw Krista Brown on the list. She knew it would be there. It had to be there. It was too late to get on a club team for the fall, and if she wasn’t playing, colleges might wonder what happened. She’d have to fake an injury. Maybe she could fall down the stairs….

  She and Charlie drove down to Zuma without a word exchanged between them. Krista thought of making small talk. She could have talked about how nice the other girls were or asked what Charlie thought their chances were of making it to states this year. She could have told Charlie that she played really aggressively as stopper in yesterday’s scrimmage or admitted she was impressed with how ferocious Charlie was with the ball. But she didn’t. What was the point? All her sister would do was throw some sarcastic remark her way. And Krista didn’t need the attitude.

  Instead, she just cranked up the new Killers album and sipped her nonfat, no-foam latte from Coffee Bean. She loved Coffee Bean. Did they have them on the East Coast? The Ivys weren’t quite as enticing without Coffee Bean. Then again, being with Cam would more than make up for it.

  Cam… he was the reason she needed a coffee fix this morning. She was exhausted from staying up much too late with him. They had been hanging out in his parents’ basement, which came complete with a pool table, PS2, and fifty-inch Panasonic flat screen mounted on the wall.

  They pretended to watch a movie. But even after two hours, Cam refused to let her go.

  “Not this time,” he said between kisses. “Hell week has taken up all your attention. Now it’s my turn.”

  Everything was all right—just blissful, in fact—until Cam decided he needed to talk. “Kris, have you thought about what I said in the closet the other day?”

  Krista gazed at him. “What did you say?”

  “You know, about owing me.” Cam smiled playfully.

  Krista giggled. “What, exactly, do you think I owe you?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Cam said, holding her, suddenly serious. “We’ve been going out for a long time. And you know how I feel about you.”

  “Sure…” Krista said, intrigued.

  “You’ve been so busy lately, and I was thinking. I missed you.” He paused. “I think maybe… maybe it’s time to take things to the next level.”

  Cam’s eyes searched hers, looking for an answer.

  Krista knew what he was talking about. “The next level” could mean only one t
hing—sex. She bit her lip.

  This wasn’t the first time it had come up. Cam told her that the guys on the team teased him about not “doing it.” But he had been patient and defended her, insisting that they’d get to it when the time was right.

  Krista knew she wasn’t a prude—and she wasn’t against the idea in general. She always told herself she would wait until she was in love and absolutely sure.

  Now here she was—in love with Cam and absolutely sure of it.

  “I’ll think about it,” she told him with a grin.

  At that moment, it seemed to be enough for Cam. They kissed some more. Then, at midnight, he let her go.

  Krista hardly slept that night, thinking about Cam’s question. But she couldn’t dwell on how tired she was now. This was her last day to prove herself. And even if she had to drink eight lattes and five Red Bulls, she was going to get herself amped up enough to do it.

  When she and Charlie arrived at the beach, Noah told the girls that he and Martie had a treat in store for them.

  “Let me guess,” Erica offered. “Bananas for everyone?”

  Daily banana breaks were now a running joke on the team. Maybe the girls were so exhausted that anything would make them laugh. Still, just the word banana had taken on a special silliness.

  Martie laughed at Erica’s joke, then told them practice was going to be a little different today and much more fun.

  “Thank God.” Brooks sighed. She’d been complaining the whole week about how much “this soccer thing” sucked, especially since she’d made no progress with Noah.

  “He must be gay,” she’d determined at lunch yesterday afternoon. “That’s the only explanation.”

  Martie clapped and the girls started moving. First they stretched, took off their shoes, and went for a long run in the wet sand for resistance training. Next were calisthenics, where each girl got to choose one exercise.

  “Jumping jacks!” Buffi called out.

  “Push-ups,” Jen suggested.

  “Dead mans,” Erica offered.

  Martie looked confused. “Dead mans?”

  “Like, if conditioning’s not over soon, I’m going to be dead, man.” All the girls cracked up. Martie laughed and blew her whistle.

  After a water break, Martie announced they’d practice headers in the water.

  Internally, Krista winced. She’d torn her ligament going for a header. Since then, she avoided them whenever possible.

  Martie divided everyone into twos based on where they were standing. Krista, at the end, was the only one left partnerless.

  “I’ll pair up with her,” Noah offered.

  Great, Krista thought. She couldn’t have asked for a worse partner. If anyone could spot a player masking an injury, it would be Noah Riley.

  Still, she smiled appreciatively and avoided eye contact with Brooks. Without even looking, Krista could feel her jealous stare.

  “Ready?” Noah smiled at Krista.

  “Almost.” She took her hair out of her long blond ponytail and flipped her head over. She gathered her hair again and twisted it into a high bun on the top of her head.

  “Whoa,” Noah whispered, his eyes wide.

  “What?” Krista asked. She glanced around in the surf. Was there a jellyfish nearby?

  “No.” Noah shook his head. “It’s nothing, nothing. You ready now?”

  “S-sure.” Krista grinned through her fears.

  Noah threw the ball in her direction. She gritted her teeth and headed it back to him. He got under it and headed it to her right, making it tough to return. She ran into the surf but couldn’t quite get it. Maybe if she dove—

  Her brain flashed back to that day last season, the feel of her ligament snapping, the pain.

  No. She couldn’t chance it.

  She leaned forward. Her forehead barely made contact with the ball; she headed it down to Noah’s feet right before she belly flopped into the surf. A wave crashed over her. She surfaced with a mouthful of sand.

  A second later, Noah was at her side, pulling her up.

  “You okay?” he asked. He searched her arms and legs, then her face for signs of injury.

  Krista brushed her wet hair out of her eyes and looked right at him. She’d never noticed the little scar above Noah’s left eyebrow before. It was nice. It really gave his face character.

  “Yeah. Totally,” she told him.

  “Krista,” Martie shouted. “A little hustle. Get under it next time!”

  Krista frowned. Didn’t Martie notice her sand snack? Didn’t that count for anything?

  “Don’t worry about her,” Noah muttered. “She’s tough on everybody. Including herself.”

  Krista smiled, grateful for the encouragement.

  Practice ended with four-versus-four games in the wet sand and surf. Because there wasn’t an even number, Martie and Noah played against Jamie, Krista, Fran, and Casey, an incredible kicker who had just moved from the East Coast. The girls still managed to lose with twice as many players. Martie effortlessly trapped, dribbled, headed the ball. She seemed to pass to Noah more out of obligation than necessity. She could practically take on all four of them at once. After Martie shot the ball past Jamie, she blew the whistle. It was time for a swim in the ocean. Krista led as the girls sprinted for the water and dove in.

  After a few minutes, Krista made her way back to the beach. There, something amazing caught her eye. “You guys,” she yelled. “Look!”

  Buffi, Julie, and Brooks looked up. “The In-n-Out truck!” they screamed in unison.

  Martie smiled. “Congratulations, everyone. This is my treat for surviving hell week. Whether your name is on the list or not Monday, you all are amazing athletes and young women. Now get your In-n-Out before it gets cold.” The girls rushed the truck, ecstatic.

  In-n-Out Burger was a California delicacy. They made the best fast-food burgers in the whole world and had a secret menu that only “In-n-Outsiders” knew about. For instance, even though it wasn’t on the menu, you could order triple-triples after ten o’clock at night, or you could ask for your burgers “animal style” and get grilled onions, pickles, extra sauce, and special mustard flavoring for the meat patty. Krista’s mouth was watering at the thought. She wondered how many burgers she could cram into her belly before—

  “Don’t even think about it,” Brooks reprimanded. “Do you know how many calories are in those things?” Krista hung back in the line but watched as Noah ordered a double-double dripping in all kinds of high-calorie goodness. He took a huge bite and looked at Krista, who was clearly hesitating.

  “You’re missing out,” he said, his mouth full. Krista debated. How many crunches would it take before bedtime to work off a double-double? One thousand? Ten thousand? There was an I Love the 90s marathon on VH1 tonight. She could watch while she crunched, although it would probably take from 1990 to 1993 to burn off a double-double.

  “Does anyone want to split a burger?” Krista asked aloud. Buffi, Zaida, and Heather looked at her like she was an insane person as they ordered burgers, fries, and milk shakes. No one wanted to share.

  “Here,” Noah offered. “I will.” He walked over and offered his burger. “Wanna bite?”

  Krista’s stomach fluttered at the invitation. He was just offering a bit of his burger. So why did it seem like… more?

  Brooks glared at Krista. “It’s going to go straight to your soccer thighs,” she remarked, hitting Krista where she was most insecure.

  Krista bit her lip. She shook her head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “You sure?” Noah said, waving the burger under her nose. His eyes sparkled mischievously.

  Krista recoiled under Brooks’s watchful glare. “Yeah, I’m… um… not interested,” she answered sharply. “Really.”

  Noah frowned. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  As he walked back toward the truck, Krista turned around, staring out at the water.

  Why did she suddenly feel guilty? She had a boyfriend she w
as crazy about. But the way Brooks was staring at her… it was as if she’d done something wrong. She suddenly felt like the world’s biggest jerk.

  She felt like an even bigger one when she heard Brooks run after Noah, saying that she’d have a bite of his double-double instead.

  “Did we make it?” Pickle asked as she and Carla scanned the list posted on Martie’s door for their names. Charlie watched from a bench across the hall. She’d look when there were less people. Everyone was crowded around, elbowing each other, straining to see the list. Brooks had already digested the news that she’d suffered through hell week for nothing. No Noah and no place on the team.

  “Whatever,” Charlie heard Brooks say. “Even if he wasn’t gay, Noah Riley is so two years ago.” She walked off, acting like she didn’t care.

  Charlie wished she could be so casual. But her name had to be on the list. She wanted it so much.

  Charlie watched as other freshmen and sophomores stared at the list, wide-eyed. Darcy and Ruthie found their names, but Casey and Fran had failed to make the team. E-beth threw an arm around Fran, comforting her, despite her own disappointment in not making the team. Darcy and Ruthie waited to celebrate until the other girls had gone—either to their next class or into the girls’ bathroom to cry in private.

  Charlie watched Pickle and Carla anxiously. Without hearing what they were saying, she could instantly tell what had happened: Pickle’s shoulders rounded and her head hung low. Carla gave her a hug, which only made it worse. Unable to hold her emotions back, Pickle began to cry.

  Carla had made the team; Pickle hadn’t.

  Charlie didn’t know what to do. Pickle was her friend and a great goalie. She was also an awesome outside back. But the team already had more than enough defenders. Darcy was a better goalie, and Zaida was both an incredible goalie and a strong forward.

  Had Pickle tried out any other year, she would have made the team easily. This year, one goalie had to be cut. Pickle was the obvious choice.

  Charlie knew she had to say something. She moved toward Pickle and Carla—and bumped shoulders with someone.