East Side Academy

by K. E. Woodward

  “You scared me!” I say and then we both laugh.

  “Come on! Grab your bag and let's go!” she says.

  “Okay, Okay!” I say. “Are you always this excited for tryouts?”

  “I’m just excited for Isabella to see that you are trying out,” Eleanor says. “She's going to flip.”

  “What? Why?” I say looking at Eleanor concerned.

  “Because you are going to be the best soccer player on the team and the light is finally not going to be shining on her,” Eleanor says.

  “You are a really good soccer player though,” I say. “Wouldn’t she be intimidated by you?”

  “Arya, while I love soccer, my sport is hockey, which they don’t offer at school,” Eleanor says. “And as much as I hate it, Isabella is a really good soccer player, she is better than me, but now that you are here, she is no longer the best on the team.” A part of me was debating even trying out for the soccer team, but I love soccer, and I wasn’t about to let my insecurities stop me. But now, knowing that I’m going to have a target on my back, I don’t know if I want to put myself through this. “Come on, Arya,” Eleanor says. “Show them why you are the best.”

  She’s right, I’m not about to let some girl, or the entire soccer team, intimidate me from being where I’m supposed to be. I grab my bag from my locker, shut it, lock it. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  As I walk into the locker room with Eleanor, I hear the girls already talking amongst each other as we head in.

  “Mr. Quirrel is by far the best-looking teacher in this school and he’s the boys’ soccer coach!”

  “I wish he was our soccer coach.”

  “Mr. Sprout is still a good coach.”

  “At least you’ll be able to focus on soccer.”

  “Please, with Mr. Quirrel I would be impressing him with all my skills.”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  As Eleanor and I turn the corner, all the girls stop their conversation to turn and look at me. It stops me for a second, but then Eleanor gives me a nudge and we put our bags down and begin to get undressed.

  “I can’t believe they let you try out for the team.” I hear and then look to find the culprit of the words, already knowing who said them. Isabella just stares at me, arms crossed, waiting for a reaction or response from me. I know her. I know that styled shoulder length brown wavy hair and hazel eyes and face perfected by makeup. While I have never had a conversation with her, I do remember playing against her. She is a good soccer player. I’ll give her that.

  “They made a special consideration for me,” I say. Normally when you switch schools, you have to wait a year to play any sport that you played at your previous school. It’s to stop people from switching schools just for sports. But I was able to get special permission because the reason I left was under extraordinary circumstances. I was able to get them to sympathize with me.

  “Because they took pity on you?” Isabella says.

  “Because they knew you couldn't lead the team to victory without me,” I say back with a smile. Not true, but she doesn't need to know that.

  “Oh yeah, I'm sure,” Isabella says sarcastically. “Good luck out there, you're going to need it.” And then she turns around to continue getting dressed.

  “Ignore her,” Eleanor says.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say. “She’s going to be sorry out on the field.” I wink at Eleanor and she smiles back at me.

  ***

  We take the closer field while the boys practice on the further one. We can't see each other as there are trees and a clubhouse in between, which is perfect. No distractions. As I walk out to the field, I see the guys jog out to the farther field, my eye landing on James immediately. His jog is effortless, his smile breathtaking and I can't stop looking at him.

  “Earth to Arya!” Eleanor slaps me on the head.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “He’s cute, don’t get me wrong,” Eleanor says. “But you already have made a lot of the girls in this school jealous already, you don’t need more enemies.”

  “Why would they be jealous of me?” I ask.

  “Because you're hot, athletic, and smart,” Eleanor says as if it's obvious. “And you’re from West Side, which just makes the guys more curious about you.”

  “Please, no guy has even talked to me,” I say.

  “Well, I think they are a little scared after that situation with Malcolm. And our friend group probably kept them away too,” Eleanor says. “But it hasn’t stopped them talking about you. So yeah, definitely making the girls jealous. Now let’s go.”

  We jog to the field and stand in a big group around Mr. Sprout while he gives us the normal beginning of season talk. “Please also welcome Arya. She’s a very good soccer player as most of you know from playing against her. We are happy to have you play with us this year,” Mr. Sprout says sincerely.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sprout,” I say.

  After running, warm-up stretches, and a bunch of drills where we can display our skills to have them be judged by Mr. Sprout and his assistant coach, Ms. McGonagall, we end the tryout with a scrimmage.

  Isabella and I are on opposing teams. We are both center midfielders and this is just how I want it. Unfortunately, Eleanor is on Isabella’s team, but I know I can beat her too if I focus and don’t make a mistake. The scrimmage starts and on my first touch of the ball, I deke out the entire team in the center, including Isabella, and set up a play where the striker easily scores. Isabella glares at me and I just smile back. But after that, things change. No one is passing me the ball. I’m in the center and I’m the playmaker and no one is giving me the ball. I scream and yell until my throat starts hurting but it doesn’t help. They are purposely not passing me the ball. The only way I get the ball is by stealing it, I always pass, but I never get it back. “Make sure everyone is included!” Mr. Sprout yells from the sidelines. “More passing!”

  Despite her efforts, I never let Isabella, or anyone else, get by me. But eventually, one of my defenders loses the ball, despite me yelling at her that I’m open, and Isabella scores. She smiles as she jogs by me and the anger grows inside me. Fine. If they won’t pass me the ball, I’ll do the same. In the next play, I take the ball off the striker easily, deke Isabella, and continue up to the net, knowing I won’t pass it and will take the shot for myself before I reach the defenders. As I continue, I feel myself being swept up from my feet and I fall hard. I look up and see Isabella get up from her vicious slide tackle on me from behind and take the ball and begin dribbling the other way.

  But then Mr. Sprout blows his whistle loudly and continuously, which stops everyone. I get up from the ground and turn my anger towards Isabella, walking towards her. “What the heck is wrong with you?!” I yell at her.

  “I was just getting the ball,” Isabella says. "Are you scared of a little competition?"

  “You slide tackled me from behind, took out both my legs, and got no ball!” I yell. “You could have broken my leg!”

  Mr. Sprout is on the field, standing beside us. “Arya, are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine no thanks to her!” I gesture towards Isabella.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” Isabella says.

  “She could have really hurt me!” I yell at Mr. Sprout.

  “Yes, I know,” Mr. Sprout says calmly. “Isabella, you know there is no place for that kind of play here.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sprout,” Isabella says. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good,” Mr. Sprout says. “Now I think we’ve had enough for today.” He then calls out to the girls, “Take two laps of the track before you leave!” All the girls, including Isabella, head towards the track but I stay back.

  “Are you serious?” I say to Mr. Sprout. “She could have broken my leg!”

  “Arya, I know you’re upset, but what do you want me to do?” Mr. Sprout says.

  “Take her off the team!” I yell. “This is a scrimmage, if she’s go
ing to try to break my leg during a scrimmage, I don’t want to play on the same team as her.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean to do you any harm,” Mr. Sprout says. “She’s one of our best players, I can’t just cut her. I hope you two can work out your differences and to see you at the next tryout.” And then he just walks off the field. It’s like he doesn’t even care.

  Ms. McGonagall comes up to me, seeing how frustrated I am. “Arya, don’t let these girls get to you. You are a great player. They are just jealous of your talent. Give it time, I promise it will work out.”

  “She slide tackled me from behind and all Mr. Sprout did was say 'there is no place for that kind of play here' and then just accepted her half-ass apology,” I say.

  “Don't worry, I'll talk to him,” Ms. McGonagall says. “But she's a good player, Arya, so she's not going to get cut. If you two could work together, this team would be unstoppable, I guarantee it.” And with that, Ms. McGonagall leaves the field as well.

  This is ridiculous, I think to myself. How can someone get away with trying to hurt another player, let alone their own teammate?

  “Better get your two laps in, I would hate to see you cut from the team because you can't follow directions,” Isabella says as she runs up behind me.

  “You may have Mr. Sprout fooled, but I know you meant to take me out on purpose,” I say.

  “Have fun proving that,” Isabella says. “Can’t wait to see you at the next tryout! You must enjoy playing on a team that doesn’t even want to pass you the ball.”

  “You told everyone not to pass me the ball,” I say.

  “Again, have fun trying to prove that,” Isabella says. “We were a team before you came here, we don’t need you. Do you really think Mr. Sprout is going to add one person to a team if they cause so much trouble and no one passes to them? Better to just get rid of the one person causing problems than ruin the entire team.”

  “If that's the logic, then he should cut you from the team,” I say.

  “He’s never going to do that,” Isabella says. “I’m the best player on this team, it would cause an uproar if he did. If he needs to cut you, all he has to say is that it’s because you were on West Side Academy’s soccer team last year and therefore are ineligible to try out for our team.” Isabella smiles at me, knowing that she’s got me in a corner. She’s right, technically I shouldn’t be even allowed to play with them. “See you at the next tryout!” And she heads off to the school along with all the other girls that have finished their laps.

  “You okay?” Eleanor asks as she comes up behind me.

  “She's trying to get me off the team,” I say.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Eleanor says. “Mr. Sprout won’t let that happen, he’d be crazy to leave you off the team.”

  “I’m a pretty useless player if no one passes to me!” I yell.

  “That won't last long,” Eleanor assures me.

  “How do you know?!” I yell at her.

  “Not everyone is Isabella’s minion, okay!” Eleanor yells back. “I’ll always support you and once the other girls see that, they’ll stop acting so ridiculous.”

  “I’m sorry, Eleanor,” I say. “I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.”

  “You’re forgiven,” Eleanor says. “Just don’t give up.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I guess I better get those laps out of the way.”

  “Have fun and I’ll see you later!” Eleanor says as she jogs up the hill to the school.

  With the anger and frustration still inside me, I begin the laps around the track. I run fast and I run hard because I am so upset and angry, but I don’t just do two laps, I keep going, even when my lungs start to hurt and breathing becomes difficult. I want to run until all my problems are gone. I begin to cry out of frustration, and I don’t even know why, but it makes it even harder to breathe, but I still keep running at the same hard and fast pace. Trying to see if it’s possible to outrun my problems if I just go fast enough.

  Chapter 8 – Save Me

  “This time won't you save me, this time won't you save me / Baby I can feel myself giving up, giving up” – Save Me, Nicki Minaj

  James

  “Who's that?” Samson says to me as we are walking towards the parking lot, pointing towards the soccer field. My eyes follow to where he is pointing, and I see a girl with a long brown blonde ponytail sprinting around the track. “I didn't know there was track practice tonight,” Samson says.

  I stare at her, already knowing in my head that it's her. I look and see that she is wearing soccer socks and cleats. Soccer tryouts are over, but she's still here. “I'll see you tomorrow, Samson,” I say and start heading down the hill to the soccer field.

  “What are you doing?” Samson asks.

  “Don’t worry about it!” I call to him without turning around.

  I make it down to the pitch and she’s still sprinting around the track like she’s running for her life. As she makes her way around the corner towards me, I drop my bag beside me and run up beside her.

  “Is there a reason that you're running around the track like a madman?” I say to her. She doesn't look at me or respond to me, she just continues running like she hasn't even heard me. I look at her as we continue running and I can see the frustration on her face, and I think she may have even been crying at some point. I can hear her struggling to breathe and I know she can't last much longer like this. “You need to stop running, you are going to wear yourself out,” I say seriously. She continues to ignore me like I'm not even there. Pushing herself beyond exhaustion. “Hey!” I yell at her loudly and it seems to have broken her trance because her face changes. “You have to stop before you seriously hurt yourself!” She starts slowing down as if I had finally given her the permission she needed to stop running. When she comes to a stop, she leans over, gasping for breath, with her hands on her knees. I stop with her and just stare at her, waiting for her to be the one to say something first. She eventually regains her breath and stands up straight to look at me, hands on her hips. She's beautiful. And with her hair tied up, sweating and breathing hard, I'm only more attracted to her.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asks me breathlessly.

  “Trying to keep you from killing yourself,” I say and she chokes out a laugh.

  “I wasn't trying to kill myself,” she says, as her breathing becomes normal.

  “Could have fooled me,” I say. “Soccer tryouts are done and almost everyone has left. Do you want to tell me why you were out here just sprinting laps like there’s no tomorrow?”

  She just looks at me. I can see that something, or someone, has hurt her and I just wish she would tell me so I could help her. “Running helps clear my head,” she says.

  “Well, you were running like a madman out there,” I say. “You must have had a lot of thoughts then.” I look at her, hoping that she can see that I am someone she can trust, that I am someone that fully understands what it's like to try and deal with problems on your own.

  “Have you ever tried to outrun your problems?” she asks.

  I laugh. “Many times,” I say.

  “Well, that's what I was trying to do," she says.

  “Unfortunately, no matter how fast you run, they always seem to catch up with you,” I say.

  “I know,” she says. “It felt good and I also didn’t want to face all those girls again.”

  “The soccer girls?” I ask and she just nods. “What happened?” She looks at me, debating with herself if she should tell me anything. “You don’t have to tell me, but it might help.”

  “They don't want me on the team,” she says.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “They purposely didn’t pass me the ball during the scrimmage and then when I did get it, Isabella slide tackled me from behind and almost broke my leg,” she says. “And the coach did pretty much nothing about it.”

  “Isabella is a good soccer player…” I start.


  “Look, I get it,” she says, starting to get annoyed. “I know she is a good soccer player, but it doesn’t change the fact that she almost seriously injured me!”

  “I know, I know,” I say, putting my hands up. “What I was going to say is that I know she is a good soccer player, so you must be an amazing player if you got under her skin like that.” She smiles at the compliment and it makes me smile as well.

  “Well, she’s trying to get me off the team and I wouldn’t be surprised if she succeeds,” she says. “Especially if she can get the whole team to turn against me.”

  “Isn’t your friend Eleanor on the team?” I ask.

  “Yes, but there's only so much one person can do,” she says.

  “You’d be surprised,” I say. “Just don’t give up. It’s exactly what Isabella wants you to do. If she wants to get you off the team, make it very hard for her to do so. Those other girls will come to your side when they realize how ridiculous Isabella is being.”

  “You think?” she asks.

  “I know,” I say. “My name is James by the way.”

  “Arya,” she says and puts out her hand and I shake it. Her hand is so small and the skin so soft in comparison to mine. “Thank you for coming down here. And for listening to my problems.”

  “Anytime,” I say. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “I have my bike but thank you for the offer,” Arya says.

  “Okay, I'm going to walk you up to the school to make sure you don't start trying to run away from your problems again,” I say.

  She laughs. “I think I've worn myself out for the next week and a half,” Arya says as she stretches her arms in the air. Her shirt rises a bit, and I can see a bit of her stomach and have to force myself to look away. “I will most definitely be feeling this tomorrow.”

  “Ever consider trying out for track?” I ask as we start to walk up back to the school together, picking up my bag along the way.

  “Not interested,” Arya says. “I hate the pressure of a race. Soccer you can always make up for a mistake, a game lasts 90 minutes, but you don’t get that kind of luxury with a race.”