Pretty Tough

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  Charlie interrupted. “You don’t know that.”

  “Charlie!” Carla nudged her in the side.

  “What?” Charlie knew she shouldn’t have spoken, but who was Krista to say what the girls could and couldn’t do? And why was Carla sticking up for her?

  “I’m just saying,” Charlie continued. “Who psyches up a team by telling them what they can’t do… ?”

  Krista took a deep breath.

  “What I think she meant,” Jamie, the team captain, explained, “is that we’d be better off as a team making clean, direct passes to each other. We don’t want the ball in the air. Keep it on the ground so we can rely on our strengths—our speed and skill. Okay?”

  “Okay,” the B-dub players chorused.

  The Rocky theme started pumping from the field’s speakers—the traditional signal that the game was about to begin.

  Jen put her hand in the center. “One more time, hands in.” The girls did their cheer again, and Martie pulled Charlie aside.

  “Charlie,” she said sternly. “I don’t ever want to hear you disrespect your sister like that again.”

  “What?” Charlie gasped. “But she’s—”

  “No buts,” Martie interrupted. “You’re not sitting around your kitchen table at home. When you’re in that huddle or on the field, she’s your teammate. If you don’t like the way she’s doing something, you save it for after the game or talk to me or Noah.”

  Charlie shrugged defensively. “Fine. I’m—I’m sorry.”

  Martie softened a little. “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t let it happen again. Now have a good game.”

  The whistle blew, signifying the end of warm-ups. Charlie jogged over to the bench with tears in her eyes. Any focus she had managed to attain was instantaneously gone. Now everything just looked blurry and confusing, except for her sister’s perfect image, which was as clear as day.

  From the moment the game started, Krista sensed trouble. It had begun back in the huddle when Charlie had the audacity to challenge her right there in front of everyone. She wished Charlie played for the other team so she could kick her right in the shin. At the very least, she hoped Charlie got turf toe.

  As the starting lineup jogged to their positions, Krista kept her gaze down at the grass. She knew she could do this. She knew she could help lead the team to their first win, but Charlie’s comment had hurt.

  Charlie had no idea how bad it felt that she wasn’t captain. She wanted to lead this team—and she had grown used to the spotlight. Not having it felt, well, awful.

  Brooks had said it a thousand times—you simply had to look the part and people would buy it. Krista had imagined that if she looked like a beautiful, confident, self-assured person, she would be one.

  What she didn’t count on was that as put-together as she looked on the outside, on the inside she sometimes felt like a mess. The field had been the only place where her insecurities couldn’t faze her. Now, thanks to Charlie, they had crept in here too.

  You can do this, Krista thought, trying to stay in the zone. “We got this, B-dub,” she shouted to her teammates. “Come on!”

  The whistle blew. The first game of the season had begun.

  For Charlie, the game was a combination of extremes. On the one hand, she produced—running tirelessly, trying to get open, trying to get a shot on goal. Her coaches were impressed by her energy and so, it seemed, was the crowd.

  On the other hand—she had produced nothing.

  Ruthless and aggressive, Charlie was actually more like the Curtis girls—less technically skilled and more apt to just plow someone down. So far, she’d been open enough to make three shots on goal.

  So far, all of them had been deflected by the Curtis keeper.

  Pickle, who was sitting with Benji and a few of the guys from the boys’ JV team, went crazy in the stands every time Charlie took a shot. In fact, she could hear their voices yelling, “Char-lie, Char-lie, Char-lie,” throughout the entire first half.

  Amazing, Charlie thought. Was that cheering actually for her?

  Noah encouraged from the sidelines. “Way to play, Charlie. Stay aggressive.”

  Charlie felt elated. Until she saw Krista get bodychecked and lose the ball… again. Krista’s chest hit the ground as the ball sailed down the field, heading dangerously toward the goalkeeper, Darcy.

  “Sweep back, sweep back!” Darcy yelled, barking orders from the goal box. Jamie moved between a Curtis forward and the goal box while in the midfield Krista stood up slowly. Too slowly.

  How dramatic, Charlie thought.

  Krista continued to shout instructions to the team, as if she had any right after losing the ball.

  “You definitely deserve an Emmy,” Charlie called out as she ran by. Then her voice filled with faux concern. “Or did you actually break a nail?”

  “Get lost, Charlie,” Krista spat back.

  Charlie shook her head. Krista tried to talk tough, but in the end, she was about as hard as a bowl of Jell-O.

  One minute before the first half ended, Curtis was up one–zero. Martie shouted calmly but directly from the sidelines.

  “One minute, B-dub,” she yelled. “Be aggressive. You want this.”

  She stared hard at Charlie. “Listen to Krista!”

  Charlie was taken aback but managed a nod. So far, she’d blocked out Krista’s voice the same way she blocked out Regan’s—ignoring her like an undeserved slight in the hallway or the garbage truck on Tuesday mornings.

  Stopping a shot after a corner kick, Darcy threw the ball to Carla, who made a run out of backfield up the right side, shouting to Krista to switch with her. As Krista moved back onto defense, Carla passed the ball to Charlie, who knocked into one defender, turning to prevent her from getting her foot on the ball. The defender tugged at Charlie’s jersey as Charlie struggled to control and hold on to the ball. With Krista moving back to defense, it was Carla barking instructions at her, trying to let her know what was happening on the field.

  Charlie could feel her heart pounding out of her chest. She swore she could hear it, too. Everything around her was a blur; all she was focused on was the goal box. She knew in this moment all eyes were on her. This was her chance. It was as if she were moving in slow motion. Time seemed to slow down.

  Charlie’s foot connected with the ball as she kicked it hard and low to the ground. It shot past the Curtis keeper’s outstretched right foot and hit the back of the net.

  “Goooooooooal!” Noah yelled from the sidelines.

  Charlie thrust her hands in the air, then spun around to face her teammates, who engulfed her in a huge hug. She saw Carla sprinting down the field toward her. She threw her arms around her.

  “You did it!” Carla yelled. “You did it!”

  “We did it,” Charlie corrected, screaming over the roar of the home crowd.

  In the stands, Charlie could see her parents cheering.

  “Great job, Charlie,” her dad yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard. Charlie gave a small wave and raced to join her team in the huddle.

  Martie patted Charlie and Carla on their backs. “Way to communicate, you two.”

  Krista nodded and muttered, “Nice shot.”

  Charlie pretended she couldn’t hear. It was too little, too late.

  Krista took a swig from her Gatorade bottle as Martie psyched them up for the second half. “It’s tied up, one–one…. It’s still anybody’s game.”

  Charlie was fired up. Beachwood definitely had a chance to win.

  “Let’s focus now for the second half,” Martie said. “Carla and Jamie—nice communication between you two. Strong on defense. Julie, keep your head in the game. No shots, no goals, right?”

  Carla and the other defenders nodded.

  But seven minutes later, there had been both a shot and a goal. Charlie watched the ball hit the back of Beachwood’s net, Darcy’s fingertips just skimming it, as the spinning ball flew past her.

  “Shoot,”
Charlie muttered, kicking the ground. Curtis had scored on the rebound.

  On the sidelines, Martie pulled Zaida off the bench. Zaida ran onto the field toward the Beachwood goal.

  Darcy knew what that meant. She was out.

  Darcy’s shoulders sagged even as she tried to leave the field with her head held high. There was light applause from the stands. Darcy’s dad could be heard above the others, booing the replacement of his daughter.

  “It’s not Darcy’s fault,” Charlie complained to Ruthie. “It’s Curtis. The only reason they score is because they play dirty.”

  “It’s true,” Ruthie agreed. “Three of their players have been yellow carded already.”

  When Zaida was in place, Charlie took her spot in the middle of the field, waiting for the ref to blow the whistle. If these Curtis girls were going to try to lawn mow over everyone, she wasn’t going to sit back and be the grass.

  THUNK! Charlie started with the ball.

  “Back to me,” Krista yelled. “Back to me.”

  Charlie ignored her. She wasn’t passing just so Krista could lose the ball for the zillionth time. Charlie passed to Jen and ran around the Curtis striker. Jen danced around the ball, using her patented fancy footwork to avoid losing it.

  Clearly, before becoming a track star, Jen had played soccer. She had finesse. The Curtis brutes were no match for her speed and agility.

  Krista barked instructions to Jen. “Send it to Charlie,” she yelled as she ran upfield. “Charlie, turn, turn.”

  Charlie ignored Krista. She ran straight toward the goal but was heavily marked by an opposing defender.

  “Charlie, turn!” Krista insisted. She paused for a second, then changed her tune. “Me, me, me,” she yelled. “Got me back.”

  Jen knocked the ball back to Krista, but Curtis intercepted, kicking the ball high.

  The ball hovered right above Krista. It was the perfect time for a header.

  “Mine!” Krista yelled. “Mine!” But Charlie could see her already backing away. She ran to get under it herself.

  Charlie jumped to head the ball.

  BAM! Charlie’s skull collided first with the ball, then Krista’s face. The ball flew out-of-bounds.

  “Ow!” Krista yelled, grabbing her nose and doubling over. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You were in the way!” Charlie shrugged.

  “What about the letters M-I-N-E don’t you understand?” Krista screeched. She removed her hand to be heard.

  It was then that Charlie saw it—a tiny trickle of blood running from her sister’s nose.

  “Oh,” Charlie said lamely. “That sucks.”

  Martie called Krista off the field. Karen ran on to take her place. Charlie watched as Noah jogged up to Krista and handed her a towel.

  “Hey. You okay, Kris?” he asked, concerned.

  Krista wiped away tears with the back of her hand and knelt on the ground.

  “Coach!” Charlie yelled.

  But Noah didn’t respond. He knelt beside Krista, putting a hand on her shoulder. Charlie couldn’t take her eyes off them.

  So, is that it? she wondered. A few tears from Krista and I’m invisible again?

  A Curtis player threw the ball in and Charlie snapped back into the action of the game. She jumped in front of the ball, intercepting it and trapping it between her feet. Turning her back to the Curtis player, she managed to pass the ball upfield to Ruthie, who was open. Charlie sprinted toward the eighteen box.

  “Got your square,” she yelled when she was parallel to Ruthie. Ruthie passed to Charlie.

  Karen shouted instructions from behind. “Help back, help back,” she said, indicating that she was right behind her. Charlie knocked the ball back to Karen and suddenly, BAM! Charlie was facedown on the ground.

  “What the hell?” Charlie groaned and looked up to see number eleven. She had flat-out pushed her!

  Noah shouted from the sidelines in her defense. “Do you have eyes?” he screamed at the ref. “That was a foul!”

  Charlie didn’t like being pushed, but she was pleased Noah was back to paying attention to soccer.

  “Shake it off, Charlie,” Martie called to her. “Keep your head in it.”

  Charlie watched the B-dub defenders successfully navigate the ball out of their eighteen. Karen had the ball and was looking for someone to pass it to.

  “Got me,” Charlie yelled. “Turn right, got me!” Just as Charlie’s foot connected with the ball, SLAM! She was bodychecked again. She hit the ground with a thud.

  Number eleven tried to conceal a laugh as the whistle blew for a time-out.

  Charlie popped up quickly, as if she were on her surfboard, and ran to the sidelines. “What is she doing?” she yelled to Noah before she reached him.

  “They’re just playing dirty,” he said. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Don’t let ’em get away with it. Okay?”

  Charlie felt her chin. It was bleeding. She wiped the blood away with the back of her hand.

  Krista’s eyes narrowed nearby. “Yeah, Charlie,” she called softly. “Don’t let them get away with playing dirty.”

  Charlie’s blood boiled at Krista’s accusation. But just because her sister was too much of a pretty girl to dig in, Charlie didn’t have to play that way too.

  The whistle blew again, and Charlie took the ball near Curtis’s goal box. Karen was right next to her, and Charlie tried to pass, but number eleven blocked her, slamming into her, tugging at her jersey, causing her to lose the ball as it got booted upfield by another Curtis defender.

  That was it. Charlie was not going to be pushed down. Not on her field.

  Between Regan and Krista, she’d had enough of that for one lifetime.

  Charlie tipped her head down like a bull racing toward a bright red piece of fabric and plowed straight into number eleven’s stomach. She tackled her to the ground, practically inside Curtis’s goal box.

  The crowd went wild.

  The ref ran over, pulling Charlie off number eleven.

  “What’re you doing, you freak?” number eleven yelled.

  Charlie wriggled away from the ref’s grasp. “Let go of me. She started it.”

  The ref blew the whistle. Krista looked on in disbelief from the sidelines. Even Carla stared, horrified. The ref held up a red card and handed it to Charlie. She was thrown out of the game.

  “No way! She pushed me first,” Charlie protested. The ref blew his whistle again, and she had no choice but to take a place beside Krista on the bench.

  The home crowd booed Charlie’s benching, but to no avail.

  As Charlie watched from the sidelines, Curtis went on to win the game, four–two.

  Krista slammed her locker door shut and spun around, ready to wring her sister’s neck. Some of the girls had played amazingly well. But in spite of that, they lost. And Krista blamed one person: Charlie.

  When Charlie finally slunk into the locker room, Krista made a beeline for her, confronting her at the door.

  “Nice game, Cujo,” she snapped, referring to the old movie about a killer dog. “You’re lucky my nose isn’t broken.”

  “A movie reference—how clever,” Charlie shot back. “Did Brooks help you come up with that when you were taken out of the game for being such a crybaby?”

  “At least I wasn’t kicked out for being a psychopath!” Krista countered.

  Charlie pushed by her, heading toward her locker. Krista followed. “We lost that game because of you!”

  Charlie spun around. “You’re even more delusional than you look! You’re the one who’s supposed to know what you’re doing out there. But you were getting creamed. Your strategy didn’t make any sense!”

  “What doesn’t make sense about ‘that ball’s mine’?” Krista asked. Her voice was loud and shrill—and starting to quiver.

  The room grew quiet. The other girls started to stare.

  “Well, God forbid you don’t get everything you wa
nt,” Charlie spat. “God forbid you let me have the spotlight for once.”

  “News flash,” replied Krista angrily. “This is about soccer, not whatever stupid thing you’re teen angsting about this week. When we’re on that field, your job is to listen.”

  “Listen? To someone too scared to go for the ball?” Charlie laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  Krista’s entire body shook. Then SLAP! Her hand made contact with Charlie’s cheek.

  Charlie’s face burned red. Krista wasn’t sure if it was from the force of the blow or from embarrassment. Charlie lunged for her, pushing her into a row of lockers, just as Martie burst in the door.

  Martie grabbed Charlie and pulled her off Krista. “Stop it! Stop it right now,” she shouted. “Or you’re both off the team.”

  Charlie and Krista reluctantly stepped apart.

  “Both of you—in my office.” Martie seethed. “Now.”

  Thirty seconds later, Charlie and Krista sat in Martie’s office, listening as she ranted about their horrible behavior on the field.

  “What was that?” Martie asked Charlie. “Plowing into another player? She didn’t even have the ball!”

  Charlie tried to defend herself. “You saw all those times she knocked me down! Someone needed to show her that she couldn’t get away with it.”

  “No.” Martie shook her head. “If you get pulled out for sinking to her level—or in this case, lower—what good does it do us? You didn’t use your judgment. You let the whole team down.”

  Charlie hung her head. Then Martie turned to Krista.

  “And you—when is it okay to scream at another player, let alone your own sister? She’s your teammate, Krista. You’re supposed to be working with her, not in spite of her.”

  Krista’s mouth dropped open. “How can you expect me to be a teammate to someone who doesn’t even care?” she asked. “She didn’t want to play soccer. She only joined this team to make my life miserable.”

  “Do you honestly think your sister doesn’t care?” Martie asked in disbelief.

  Krista folded her arms. “Charlie cares about one thing. Herself.”