Ten Thousand Tries

by Amy Makechnie

  “Golden?” Mom opens the front door and smiles. It’s good timing.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Myra calls, walking over. “Did you meet your delightful new neighbors?”

  The couple slowly backs down our stairs.

  Mom waves, then pulls me inside and shuts the door. She looks at me suspiciously as she goes to sit by Dad on the couch.

  I hold up Kermit the Frog. “Look what the Dark Lord did!”

  “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you,” Mom says. “They asked, and I was going to discuss it with you. I didn’t think they’d take it down so soon.”

  “You said it was okay?” Unbelievable.

  “You don’t even use it,” Jaimes says.

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing, but I do have happy news,” Mom says.

  “Exc… ing news,” Dad says, opening his eyes.

  Mom’s eyes start shining. “You know how they’re upgrading the turf field at the high school with new bleachers and lights for night games?”

  Of course I do. Jaimes hasn’t shut up about it all season.

  “They’re also having a ribbon-cutting ceremony, and we’re all invited as the special guests of honor.”

  “Why?” Whitney asks.

  “Because of what they’re naming the field,” Jaimes says, smiling.

  “The Patrick Maroni Championship Field.” As soon as Mom says it, she bursts into tears.

  My sisters jump up and crowd around Mom and Dad. I feel hot and want to run away.

  “Mom, it’s okay!” the Squirrels say while Jaimes gives her a hug.

  Dad has a helpless look on his face, like he wants to sit up and put his arms around Mom—but can’t.

  Mom looks at me, smiles, and wipes her face.

  “Sorry, wow. I think I needed that.”

  She reaches over and squeezes Dad’s hand. He’s able to catch the ends of her fingers and squeeze back.

  “Why are they naming a field after Dad?” Roma asks.

  “Because he’s the greatest of all time, of course,” Mom says lightly.

  “The man, the myth, the LEGEND,” Jaimes says.

  You have to die to be a legend. Isn’t that what Moses said?

  I feel a tightening in my chest.

  “GOAT!” Roma and Whitney yell. “Daddy is the GOAT!”

  “There’s more,” Mom says. “After the dedication, guess whose league gets to play their championship game on the turf field.”

  “Turf. Bright lights,” Dad says. “Fancy… bleachers. Big score… board.”

  The ball in my throat begins to loosen and my mouth drops open.

  “Us? It’s us, isn’t it! This is HUGE, GINORMOUS! I have to tell Lucy and Benny right now!” Never in our lives have we played a game on turf before—let alone the championship.

  “Well, first you have to make it to the championship,” Jaimes says.

  I scoot my chair out. I’ve got to refocus. Train hard for the next eight games. “I’ll be in the garage working out. Dad? Coming?”

  “No. I’m… wiped.”

  “Dad, you’ve got to try even when you don’t want to try! You don’t have to lift weights if they’re too heavy—you can just practice walking!”

  “Golden…,” Mom and Jaimes say at the same time.

  “Tomorrow, then,” I tell Dad. “No excuses.”

  “No excuses,” he says. A shadow passes over his face.

  I ignore Jaimes, who is looking pointedly at Mom, and make for the front door.

  But I should have gone straight to the garage.

  I should have run out the back.

  I should have run away with Lucy and Benny.

  Because when I fling open the door, Myra the Realtor is standing on our front porch. Arms folded, foot tapping. Yikes.

  After an excruciating and totally one-sided conversation, I’m sent to my room for “telling expectant mothers tales about dead children crying in the woods. For heaven’s sake, Golden!”

  The Fight

  The best teams are made up of a bunch of nobodies who love everybody and serve anybody and don’t care about becoming a somebody.

  —PHIL DOOLEY

  A week after “the big fat lie,” I open my eyes to find Sugar Ray staring at me from under the covers.

  “Hello,” I whisper excitedly, so Jaimes won’t hear me. “Game day, little buddy. Are you ready?”

  I swear mini-Messi smiles back at me.

  I look out the window and see that Lucy’s blinds are open and baby Estelle is sitting on the windowsill. I place Sugar Ray there so they can smile at each other—just like Lucy and I always have and always will.

  * * *

  Hours later, Gag Me delivers us to Lakes Middle School by hitting their front curb, followed by slamming the brakes so hard that Sugar Ray and three other sugar babies fall off their seats and crash to the floor.

  I grab Sugar Ray. There is a tiny tear near his head. Poor thing. I’m soon holding four abandoned sugar babies on my lap. One doesn’t even have a diaper on.

  We unload off the bus, and since Ziggy’s not playing due to shin splints, I place all the sugar babies on his lap. “You’re on duty. Cool?”

  “Thanks, Golden!” Ziggy says, like I’m doing him a favor.

  I breathe in the crisp just-starting-to-be-fall air and reach down to secure the white athletic tape with “Messi” on it. I’m not going to let anything shake my focus today. I’ll make the man proud.

  Lucy and I run through the warm-up, and I try to give my best and most impassioned speech, but Brady and Slick aren’t paying attention.

  “Hey, your CAPTAIN is speaking!” I shout, but they just snicker.

  “Let’s go, team!” Lucy yells hastily, putting her arm in the center for a cheer.

  The first half goes even better than I hoped. We’re passing and scoring easily, like Barcelona. At halftime we’re up by two. I walk off the field to grab a drink but notice Slick touching Sugar Ray’s ripped head.

  “Goldie-Locks,” Slick says. “I can see his sugar brains.”

  He sticks his finger through the tear and then tastes our baby.

  “Slick!” I grab Sugar Ray back.

  “Were you, like, eating your baby?” Ava asks. “You are so warped.”

  The ref blows her whistle. “Five minutes!”

  “So what’s your halftime speech?” Sunny asks me.

  “How about this? Slick is a jerk and he’s eating my baby!”

  “Team!” Lucy interjects. “We’re up by two, but we can’t let up. Let’s keep passing and talking like we have been.”

  “That’s right,” Benny says. “Great saves, C.J. Their number five has a great shot. Defense, you got him covered?”

  Lucy and the defense nod.

  I nod too but look at Benny. Why is he chiming in? Does he think he could do better than me?

  As we head out to the field, I realize I took my mouth guard out for water and forgot to put it back in.

  “It was right here!” I say, rummaging around the bench.

  The ref blows her whistle again.

  “Golden—now!” Coach says.

  “Someone took my mouth guard!”

  Brady goes in for me as I search in vain, around all the strewn sweatshirts, socks, and gym shoes that should have been put away behind the bench.

  “Look at the bench!” Sissy says to Sunny. “This is practically a yard sale—our captains should totally be on this.” She starts chucking stuff behind the bench like I’m not standing right there.

  “Where’s my mouth guard!” I say, turning to Slick.

  He shrugs and starts whistling.

  “You’re lying! First you take my shirt, then my mouth guard.”

  “Dude, is that your dad?” Slick asks, pointing.

  “Don’t try to distract me.”

  “Dragon-Ball P!” Sunny shouts.

  I turn and see someone and something coming onto the sidelines.

  “Oh…,” Coach says
, her voice trailing off.

  It’s Jaimes and Dad.

  Except Dad’s not walking.

  He’s in the motorized wheelchair.

  Time slows down. The ball rolls back and forth on the field. I can’t move or talk—not until Slick flicks me in the back of my knee.

  “Goldie-Locks, can Dragon-Ball Pops not walk anymore?”

  “Wow, you’re so sensitive, Slick,” Sunny says. “Just shut up.”

  “I was just asking!”

  “Of course he can!” I say.

  My hands begin to shake.

  “Golden?” Coach asks. Her voice sounds far away, like the sound is coming out of a foghorn. “Dad’s okay,” she says very quietly. “Now he can be here with us—isn’t that great?”

  Great? Breathe in, breathe out. Shoulders back. Warrior pose.

  Sure. We talked about the wheelchair.

  But actually seeing him in it at a game feels… so wrong.

  Using a little joystick that he controls with his left hand, Dad parks himself next to the other parents who have traveled to the game.

  The ref blows her whistle when Mario accidentally trips another player and they go down hard. Mom runs out to the field.

  I barely notice. I keep looking at Dad.

  “That’s sad,” Slick says. “He was, like, the greatest of all time.”

  “No,” I say, my voice rising. “He’s still the GOAT. We’re going to work out tonight.…” This time when I say it I know how… desperate and stupid I sound. “Where’s my mouth guard!”

  My hands clench.

  “This is so stupid!” I yell. “Mouth guards are stupid! The pros don’t even wear them!”

  I look at Slick at the same time he lets my mouth guard fall on the ground—out of his mouth.

  “Goldie-Locks, I found your mouth guard!” He picks it up and throws it at me. It hits my chest, spit bubbles flying onto my chin, onto my cheeks, and into my eyes before it drops to the ground.

  “YOU!”

  Slick’s eyes go wide at the look in my eyes.

  I take a step toward him.

  “Take a joke, Goldfish!”

  I take another step. “That’s NOT MY NAME.”

  He holds up his hands.

  “You don’t deserve to be on this team,” I say. “You don’t deserve to wear that jersey. You’re a terrible person and you… SUCK at soccer!”

  The rest of our bench is up like dogs, ears perked for a fight.

  “Golden!” Benny yells from the field, followed by Lucy. “Golden, don’t!”

  “Well, guess what?” Slick says. “You suck at soccer and YOU SUCK AT BEING CAPTAIN!” The insult was bad enough, but then Slick does something that flips a switch in my brain. A switch I cannot ignore—he spits on my Battle Packs. The Battle Packs my dad gave me. My lucky rabbit’s foot, my everything.

  I react with the speed of a rattlesnake, kicking my left leg up to fling the spit onto Slick’s shorts.

  Slick grabs my leg and we both go down on the ground.

  I feel his hands grasping at my shirt. Fists fly, feet kick, my nose starts to bleed. Benny comes off the field to pull us apart. Coach is suddenly in the middle of us, yelling, and grabs me by the jersey, her eyes wide with shock.

  My teammates are staring at me like I’m an alien.

  Lucy looks like I’ve punched her, not Slick.

  “Coach?” the ref asks, hustling over.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice shaky. “Could you please escort these players off the field and to the bus?”

  “Do you need to forfeit?”

  “No,” Coach says. “They just need a long time-out.”

  * * *

  Gag Me opens the doors of the yellow school bus before we’re even halfway across the field.

  I can’t bear to look at Dad—or Jaimes—as we go by.

  I hold my bloody nose and march past Gag Me without looking at her fangs. My cleats click on the bus floor, grass and dirt dropping behind me. I punch every seat I pass and slide into a middle seat, where someone has left a Ritz cracker wrapper.

  “Sit,” Gag Me orders Slick. He plops down in the first row of the bus, far away from me.

  I slump against the window just in time to see Sam score a goal, with an assist from Brady. The team yells and high-fives Sam. I steal a peek at Dad. He’s still on the sidelines, watching the game. No longer smiling. Jaimes stands with her arms crossed, chewing on her lip. She looks back at the bus a few times until she spots me through the window. She offers me a tiny smile and a wave. I shrink down below the window, listening to the sounds of the second half, trying not to think. When the final whistle sounds, I hear my team cheering without me.

  It’s only then that I remember Sugar Ray. I peek out the window and spy him sitting forlorn with all the backpacks and other sugar babies. Will someone think to grab him?

  Lucy remembers. She picks him up after the handshakes, cradling him next to Estelle. What is she whispering?

  “Where did Golden go?” I hear Mario ask through the open window as he makes his way to the bus.

  I freeze.

  “Do you think he ran away?”

  “I’d run away before Mr. T found him,” Ziggy says.

  “Totally,” Brady agrees.

  “He shouldn’t even be captain anymore,” Dobbs says. “I say we impeach him.”

  “Come on, you guys,” Sam says. “Slick stole his mouth guard and spit on Golden’s cleats—you know how much Golden worships his cleats.”

  “We should give him a second chance,” Lucy says.

  “No,” Sunny says. “He’s done. The only reason we voted for him was because we felt sorry for him… and because Benny told us to.”

  Benny? He told the team to vote for me? He didn’t think I could do it? I don’t know what’s worse—everyone voting for me because they felt sorry for me, getting impeached because I really was that terrible, or my own best friend not even thinking I had a chance.

  “That’s not true,” Lucy says.

  “I like Golden,” Ziggy says. “He was nice to me at preseason. That’s why I voted for him.”

  “And he tried super hard,” Archie said. “He got me across the finish line, remember?”

  “But once he got elected, did he do one single thing to help you or anyone else?” Dobbs asks.

  “He’s trying,” Moses says.

  Even Ziggy goes silent, and I think of the Marvel movie I never really intended to see with him. All the terrible things I thought about Moses’s smell. If I could, I’d vaporize into thin air.

  I sniff back tears, but can feel waves of emotion coming up, up, and up. I sniff louder, trying to squash it down before it hits my nose and eyes, but it’s no use.

  I can’t even be quiet about it, even though Gag Me and Slick are on the bus somewhere.

  I hold my body so tightly I can barely breathe. I cry, realizing that all I want is a hug. From Mom and Dad. It’s been over six months since I’ve had a huge bear hug from him because guess what? His huge arm muscles can’t squeeze around me. Lucy and Benny and I haven’t had a squish hug since my birthday. I don’t even have Sugar Ray to hug at the moment.

  I lost my game.

  I’m losing Lucy. Then probably Benny.

  I’m losing the team.

  I’m losing my dad.

  My head hangs down between my knees so I’m eye to eye with the dirty bus floor. I rip the tape off my socks and crumple it into my fists.

  If I lose him, I lose everything.

  None of the rest of it will matter.

  Footsteps start walking down the aisle. The footsteps stop in the aisle next to me and walk away again.

  When I glance up, there is a tissue sitting on the seat next to me. Gag Me resumes her seat behind the steering wheel.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, my team gets on the bus.

  Benny sits down next to me, silent.

  I look out the window and follow his lead, staying silent even
when Lucy pauses at my seat. She places Sugar Ray in my lap before sitting in the row in front of me.

  Coach calls my name. I ignore her until Benny pokes me, and I drag myself all the way to the front row.

  Coach pats the seat next to her, but I don’t sit. Gag Me starts driving and it lurches me sideways onto the seat anyway. I stare down at my Battle Packs. They’re grass-stained, dirty brown, and slightly wet. They look as bruised and beat-up as I feel.

  “Goldie.”

  I can’t talk to her. If I talk, I’ll cry again. If I cry in front of my team, I’ll die.

  “Goldie.”

  I pull my jersey up so it’s covering my entire face except for my eyes.

  “Golden, will you look at me?”

  I turn slightly toward her.

  She puts a hand on my knee. “Did that just happen?”

  Shrug.

  “Honey,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry that life is so hard right now. I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I’m dropping a lot of details these days. I’m sorry for that, too.”

  She’s not forgiven.

  I start shaking my head. “But remember when you said it was tendonitis?”

  “It’s not tendonitis. Golden. I’m doing my best. I’m trying so hard to keep this team and our family together, but you have got to start understanding that things aren’t going to go back to normal with your dad. And you can’t keep digging in and lashing out when something doesn’t go right.”

  I don’t want to understand.

  “Your best is not working,” I spit out. “You’re not even trying. It’s like you want him to die.”

  She looks struck.

  I feel like a horrible troll. What I said isn’t true. As much as Mom loves being my mom and coach—she loves Dad even more than that.

  We ride in silence the rest of the way home. I don’t even go to the back of the bus when Sam calls, “Secret Circle!”

  I hear snippets of my teammates spilling their most intimate thoughts. They don’t ask me to join in. They don’t ask me anything. I don’t wait for my team’s inevitable impeachment. Instead, I slide my captain’s band off my arm and drop it in Coach’s bag. She doesn’t object. No one does.