by Liz Tigelaar
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
Acknowledgements
Playing with the Boys
RAZORBILL
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
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Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Copyright 2008 © PrettyTOUGH Sports, LLC
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tigelaar, Liz.
Playing with the boys : a pretty tough novel / by Liz Tigelaar.
p. cm.
Summary: When fifteen-year-old Lucy and her father move to Malibu, California, for a
fresh start, Lucy tries out for the varsity football team and feels strong and in control for the
first time since her mother’s death—as long as her overprotective father does not find out.
eISBN : 978-1-436-26868-4
[1. Football—Fiction. 2. Sex role—Fiction. 3. Fathers and daughters—Fiction. 4. Single—
parent families—Fiction. 5. Moving, Household—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7.
Schools—Fiction. 8. Malibu (Calif.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.T4525Pla 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2007024121
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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http://us.penguingroup.com
This book is dedicated to the Prettiest and Toughest woman I know - my mom, Mary.
one
Lucy Malone had always felt that she was just one letter short of “lucky,” and in her fifteen years on this planet, her theory had definitely been proven true. It wasn’t just that she often found herself inexplicably trapped in bathrooms, had broken both arms (the left one twice), or had more freckles than she knew what to do with. It was more than that.
Lucy vividly remembered sitting in the hard wooden pew at their church just over a year ago, listening to friends and family members recount funny stories about her mom while Lucy sat there, desperately wishing she’d just had that missing K. Then maybe things would have turned out differently. She really could have been Lucky instead of Lucy.
And now, a year later, she was on a plane next to her father, Greg, flying over the Rockies or the Grand Canyon or somewhere the pilot had mentioned, only she hadn’t heard, because Guster was blasting on her iPod, and once again, she felt totally unlucky.
Today was the day she’d been dreading for months; the day she was moving from Toledo, Ohio, to Los Angeles, California. Well, Malibu to be exact.
All she knew about Malibu was that it was on the Pacific Ocean and everyone who lived there had blond hair and blue eyes and a great tan. Lucy looked down at her own milky white skin. She was beyond pale; she was frighteningly pale. One look at her skin could seriously blind someone. Maybe if she had a few more freckles they would morph into one giant one, which could fool people into thinking she was tan. She stopped herself. Had it really come to this? Wishing for more freckles? Maybe the altitude had gone to her head. They were, after all, at thirty-five thousand feet.
She shook her long, strawberry-blond hair in front of her face, something she did when she felt nervous. Her choppy bangs covered her green eyes as she fiddled with the earbuds on her iPod.
She pressed the silver button to recline her seat and stared out the small window at the fluffy, white clouds. She sighed and couldn’t help but think of her friends back home. Most of them probably weren’t even awake yet, sleeping in after staying up practically all night at her going-away party. And that had been after a long, preseason practice session with her soccer team. They’d invited her to practice one last time before leaving.Then this morning, she’d gotten up super-early, to finish packing her whole life into suitcases.
She loved (and by “loved” she meant “hated”) how parents (in her case, “parent,” since now it was just her and her dad) used the phrase “family decision” when talking about things like whether to get a dog, whether to go on vacation, or … whether to move across the country. By the time her dad sat down to talk to her about it, the decision had clearly already been made. So much for the “family decision.”
She remembered the moment so clearly. It had been April 14th. She’d just walked in the door from her best friend Annie’s fifteenth birthday party, which had involved ditching their mini-golf plan to hang out with some cute sophomores, Tyler and Jason, at the pizza place across the street. She’d had two pieces of sausage-and-onion pizza, then instantly wished she hadn’t. Unless Annie had a pack of Listerine strips, Lucy’s chances of making out—which she’d only done two point five times (the point five was a loooong story)—had just plummeted from “potentially” to “no way in hell.” Luckily, Tyler hadn’t held it against her, texting her on the way home. She’d burst in the door, quickly hunting through her bag for the phone and pecking out a response. But before she could hit send on her reply, her dad had had her cornered.
“We need to talk,” he’d said, in a tone that let her know this wasn’t going to be a good conversation.
Panicked, Lucy had quickly scanned through the night’s events, confident she hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t had any alcohol, she hadn’t so much as come in the vicinity of a cigarette, and she’d even come home ten minutes before her curfew, thanks to Annie’s dad hitting all green lights … but her dad had looked as though he had something important on his mind.
“We’re moving to California,” he had stated quickly, as if saying the words faster would make them sting less.
“What?” she’d gasped, looking up from her text. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What’d you say?”
“We’re moving,” he’d replied firmly. “To California.”
Lucy had felt her knees buckle under her. She’d lean
ed against the wall for support as her dad explained.
“The firm’s expanding, and they want someone to open a new West Coast office,” he told her. Her dad was an architect who designed large planned communities, which often meant that all the houses were big, expensive, and looked exactly the same. “And besides that, I just … with everything that’s happened … being here … it’s hard. Everywhere I look, it just …” He trailed off.
Lucy knew what he meant. Everything reminded him of her mom. From the markings on the wall behind the pantry, where Lucy’s mom measured Lucy’s height and wrote down the date, to the yellow paint in the kitchen that her mom had been so excited about, to the flowers that she and her mom had planted in the yard two summers ago that were starting to bloom again … you couldn’t be in their house without feeling that overwhelming sense that someone was missing. But was it really going to be better somewhere else? Lucy wondered. Somewhere they’d be even farther away from her mom’s memory?
“But Dad,” Lucy argued, “what about Aunt Kate and Aunt Mary?” Those were her mom’s sisters, who lived less than two hours away.
“They understand that this is something I need to do,” he answered simply. “It’s a great opportunity, Lucy. We’d be even closer to my parents.” Her dad’s family lived in Arizona. “We could spend more time with them.”
What? Lucy wanted to scream. Your mom is crazy and your dad is crazier! You moved to the Midwest to get away from them! But she knew better than to argue and didn’t want to make him feel worse. Instead she just stood in the doorway, floored. How could it be possible that the day before, the biggest stress in her life had been who to include in her Top 8 on her MySpace page, and now she had to give up her entire life and move across the country and start over? She already felt as though she’d had to do that once after losing her mom. She certainly didn’t want to do it again.
“Please bring your seat backs to their full upright position.” The stewardess’s chirpy voice resonated throughout the plane. Lucy was snapped out of her thoughts and back to reality.
Seat back? Upright? Landing?
This was it. This was really happening. She had a one-way ticket to California with no return in sight. Unless the pilot miraculously turned this plane around, there was no going back. Goodbye,Toledo. Nice knowing you. What did they say in L.A.? Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
Her dad turned to her. His hair looked grayer than she’d remembered it. The last year had aged him significantly.
“You ready, kid?” he asked, patting her gently on the arm. “Is your seat belt fastened?”
She loved when her dad called her “kid.” He wasn’t as amused when she called him Greg.
She simply nodded. “I think so.” She wanted to be brave. She wanted to make this easy for him. She looked out the window, took a deep breath, and braced herself for landing.
A bright red convertible raced down the Pacific Coast Highway with Lucy’s dad at the wheel. She knew he was trying to do something special by renting such a cool car, but as she desperately tried to keep her hair out of her face, it felt like more trouble than it was worth. Much like this whole moving-across-the-country thing.
She pushed the offending strands back again, convinced that by the time they reached the house, her hair would just be one giant snarl. She’d probably have to shave her head before the first day of school. That’d be a great way to make new friends—show up bald.
Her dad pointed to the left. “See? Over there? That’s the Santa Monica Pier.” Lucy looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the giant Ferris wheel spinning around and around. She swore she had seen it a million times in movies or on television.
“And look over there,” he added. “That apartment building is built right into the cliff.”
Lucy squinted her eyes and blocked the sun with her hand. Her dad was right. The apartments were built right into the rocks and hovered precariously over the highway.
“Wow,” she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could. Her dad was trying. “It’s amazing.” And to be honest, it was—the ocean, the palm trees, the rollerbladers and bikers … The beach was packed. She watched as a cute male volleyball player spiked the ball. The opposing player missed it and the cute one celebrated with his female teammate. She jumped on him, tackling him to the ground.
Strange that other people could be having so much fun while she was so miserable.
“Wait until you see our rental place,” her dad said, smiling. “You’re going to love your room.”
Lucy silently nodded and kept her thoughts to herself. It wouldn’t do any good to whine or complain—it would just make a difficult situation harder. She wished she could tell her dad that she didn’t want a new room, that her old one had been perfect. Her mom had let her splatter-paint the walls—a project that had ended in disaster for the carpet and resulted in brand new hardwood floors. After that, Lucy had been allowed to use paint and markers to graffiti her bedroom and make it personal. She’d painted the word imagine—her favorite word—on the wall above her bed, and her friends and a bunch of the girls from varsity had written notes and messages on the sliver of the wall next to her closet.
“What up, Slam?” Annie had scrawled on the wall only moments after Lucy had mistakenly run into the closed glass patio door.
Her old room was perfect, so unless this room had Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp in it, she didn’t see how it was going to beat what she’d had back in Toledo.
But shortly after they turned left across PCH and pulled into the driveway of their new house, Lucy was prepared to reconsider. Their place was right on the beach! She stared in awe as her dad parked in front of the garage; then she hurriedly grabbed her suitcases.
“Forget your bags.” Her dad smiled. “I got ’em. Go check out your room, kid.”
Lucy jumped out of the passenger seat, leaving the door open as she bolted for the house. The front door was ajar, as if the house was expecting them (or the realtor was that good). She ran through the house, barely noticing that it was already fully furnished. Whatever. She didn’t care about stainless-steel kitchen appliances or a window the size of the entire living room wall that overlooked the surf. All she cared about was her bedroom.
As soon as she walked in, her jaw dropped. It was hands down the coolest room she’d ever seen. The walls were painted a light yellow, making the room warm and inviting. Straight in front of her, under a huge window, was a queen-size bed that rested on a large wooden platform. It appeared as if the bed were suspended in midair. Covering it was a fluffy red comforter; orange and yellow pillows with tiny circular mirrors were scattered all over it. Momentarily forgetting that she was in a state of mourning, Lucy ran to it and jumped on it. Her body bounced as she landed. She snuggled into the softness of the mattress and burrowed into the pillows. This bed would be perfect for sleeping until noon—something her dad rarely let her do, even in the summertime.
Then, suddenly, she noticed something above her. A loft.
Sitting up to get a better view, she saw that a narrow spiral staircase led up to another level. She jumped off the bed and tore up the staircase to a loft with a huge wooden desk, a giant wooden bookshelf that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, giant red beanbag chairs, and a brand-new white twenty-four-inch iMac on her desk. “So you like it?” her dad asked, walking into the room. He made his way up the spiral staircase into the loft and could tell by her expression that she was surprised. “I thought you would.” He smiled.
She sank back into a beanbag chair as he took a seat at her desk and leaned forward, his brow furrowed. Lucy knew this meant he was going to say something serious.
“I know it’s tough, Luce,” he began. “Moving to a new place, having to make new friends—but we need this, kid. I need this. A fresh start, you know?”
Lucy nodded, knowing that as hard as the last few years had been on her, they’d been even more brutal on her dad, who’d had to take care of both Lucy and her mom. Seeing h
im now, so vulnerable, with tears in his eyes, just broke her heart. She’d only ever seen her dad cry once—in the hospital, when they’d shut down the life support.
She stood up and rushed over, throwing her arms around his neck. She didn’t really care about iMacs or mirrored colored pillows or houses right on the beach. She cared about him. Her dad. And she was determined to do everything she could to help him start over. Besides, if her room was any indication of what lay ahead for her, maybe California wouldn’t be so bad. She just wished her mom were here to see it.
Lucy left her room and stepped out onto the deck off of the living room as the sun was beginning to set. She walked down a long set of wooden stairs that wound down to the beach below. It was weird to think that now she was living on the ocean. The vast, endless ocean. Her days of being a big fish in small pond were definitely over.
She glanced down at her watch and saw it was almost six-thirty. She did the math. That meant nine-thirty in Ohio. She supposed Annie would go to bed early since school started tomorrow, so she figured she better call now or risk not getting to talk tonight. Good thing she had unlimited nights and weekends. Thank you, AT&T!
Lucy kicked off her flip-flops, and her feet sank into the sand. About twenty feet out from the deck, she saw a fire pit with a few logs around it. The sight of something this cool should have made her happy, but instead, her heart sank. Annie would have loved this place. She could just hear her voice now.
“No freaking way!” she’d have squealed. “You actually live here?” Lucy couldn’t really believe it herself. She grabbed her Razr phone out of her pocket and opened it. She’d begged for a Razr last Christmas, after she’d “accidentally” dropped her old phone—which, FYI, didn’t text—in the toilet.
She was about to hit 2 on her speed dial—Annie’s cell number—when something caught her eye. Something bobbing up and down in the water.
Lucy squinted and looked out to the horizon. She made out a surfer, paddling strongly as a huge wave approached. Right as the water swelled underneath, the surfer popped up perfectly, dropping down the face of the wave, then cutting back and forth inside of it. Lucy watched, awed. Growing up in Ohio, the closest she’d ever been to actual surfing was the third row at the local AMC, watching Blue Crush. As the surfer cut toward the beach, Lucy realized that she wasn’t just watching a surfer—she was watching a girl.