Playing With the Boys

by Liz Tigelaar

Charlie peeled out of the school driveway. “Oh, don’t worry. You will.”

  Thirty minutes later, Lucy was suffering from a full-out sugar coma.The girls had taken her to Ben & Jerry’s, where, between the five of them—Lucy, Pickle, Max, Charlie, and Carla—they had scarfed down an entire Vermonster.

  “A what?” Lucy had asked when Pickle ordered.

  “A Vermonster,” Pickle explained. It was a tub of thirty-two flavors of ice cream, bananas, hot fudge, caramel, whipped cream, nuts, and all the toppings. Lucy seriously doubted she’d be eating dinner tonight.

  Max collapsed back into her chair and rubbed her belly. “I look pregnant,” she lamented. “At least, like, six months.”

  Pickle stuck out her belly. “I look nine months pregnant!”

  “I just feel sick,” Charlie groaned. “I could seriously puke.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh God, really?” she gasped. Some people were scared of spiders or drowning—she was scared of throwing up. It didn’t matter whether she was the one doing it or whether someone else was the culprit; the whole idea of it terrified her.

  “Someone’s going to need to roll me out of here,” Carla said. “Thank God we don’t have practice tomorrow.”

  Pickle nudged Lucy in the side. “But you might.”

  Lucy smiled. She’d momentarily forgotten about football tryouts but suddenly, football was back at the forefront of her mind.

  If she did have practice tomorrow, she’d be ready for it.

  Yeah, she thought with a private smile. Bring it on.

  That night, as Lucy boiled the hot water for another dinner of mac and cheese, the phone rang. She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she couldn’t exactly tell her dad she’d pigged out on thirty-two scoops of ice cream before dinner.

  “Probably one of your friends,” her dad said, not looking up from the work he was doing at the dining room table.

  “My friends call my cell,” she reminded him as she hurriedly dumped the macaroni into the pot and grabbed the cordless off the wall. And by friends, she meant Annie. Although since the girls from the soccer team had cheered for her at tryouts and taken her out for ice cream, Lucy couldn’t help but think she might have a few more incoming calls than usual. All the girls had programmed her cell number into their phones at Ben & Jerry’s.

  “Hello?” she said into the phone, as she headed back over to the stove to stir the noodles and add a little salt, just the way her mom had taught her.

  Coach Offredi was on the other end of the line. “Ms. Malone?”

  Ms. Malone? That was her mom. Or, as her mom would say, that was her grandma.

  “This is Lucy,” she responded nervously. She wasn’t sure if Coach Offredi calling her at home was a good sign or bad one.

  “I just wanted to tell you …” He took a long pause, as if the words were hard to get out. “You … uh … yeah, you made the team.”

  “I did?” she gasped.

  “Mm-hmmm,” he responded, his voice tight. “You’ll be our first-string placekicker this year. Congratulations.”

  Lucy was so surprised she dropped the wooden spoon directly into the pot. Quickly, she grabbed tongs to fish it out.

  “I … really?” she stammered, in complete disbelief.

  Her dad looked up from his work. “Is that Coach Reese?” he asked. Since Hell Week, Martie’s name had become a fixture around the house.

  Lucy shook her head no and turned her back toward her dad for privacy. She listened as Coach Offredi told her to be there tomorrow before school for weights. Weights? Lucy had never lifted anything heavier than three-pounders.

  “Okay.” She gulped. “I will.” She paused, feeling obligated to say something nice. “Um … thanks.” Coach Offredi muttered something on the other end.

  Lucy cringed as she hung up the phone. It was obvious the guy hated her. She turned the water down to a low simmer and placed the metal lid on the pot.

  Her dad looked at her expectantly.

  “Well?” He waited.

  Lucy smiled and gave a cute shrug. “I, um … I made the team.”

  Her dad beamed. “Luce, that’s great! I knew Coach Reese would come to her senses.”

  “Not the soccer team, Dad,” she explained. “The football team. The boys’ football team. Can you believe it?”

  It took a minute for her father to process this information. “Wait—you tried out for football?” he asked, unable to wrap his head around the concept. “When?”

  “Today, after school,” Lucy admitted. She hadn’t told him because she hadn’t definitely planned on trying out.

  But from the look of betrayal on his face, it was obvious this had been a mistake.

  “How could you have kept this from me?” he asked, clearly upset.

  Lucy recoiled, surprised at his reaction. “It’s just football, Dad. It’s not like I have a crystal meth addiction or an illegitimate child or something.”

  Her dad gave her a look that quickly shut her up. The timer on the oven went off. Lucy turned the burner off and searched in the drawers for pot holders. She was still learning where everything was.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, as she slipped the pot holder mittens over each hand and grabbed the handles on either side of the pot, dumping the water and noodles into a colander in the sink. She loved the feeling of the steam hitting her face. It was like getting a facial—not that she’d ever actually had one before.

  “We’ll eat after you call the coach back,” he responded firmly.

  Lucy gave him a funny look. “Call back? Why? I’m gonna see him tomorrow… .”

  Her dad folded his arms across his chest. “No, you’re not … because you’re not playing.”

  Lucy sighed. Not this again. What was with all this forbidding and arguing? Her dad had never been like this back home. First Ryan’s party, now this …

  “Don’t tell me,” Lucy replied, exasperated. She ripped open the packet of cheese powder and dumped it over the noodles. “I can’t play football until I’m sixteen, too?”

  “You can’t play football period,” he snapped.

  “But why?” Lucy cried. This morning, she hadn’t even wanted to play football, but now, after going through the tryouts and making the cut, she had something to prove—to the coach, to the other players, to Benji, to her dad … to herself. “Why can’t I play? I made the team, fair and square!”

  “Because I am your father, and I said so!”

  “Dad, come on,” she begged. “Remember how we used to play in the backyard at home?” When she was seven, her dad had given her a Nerf football for Christmas, and for three days straight they’d practiced different running patterns and passes. Of course, she’d quickly lost interest when a Barbie Dream House had shown up from Grandma. Hello, Ken and Barbie. Goodbye, Nerf.

  “I’ll drop you off early tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re going to tell Coach … Coach whoever … that you’re not playing.”

  “But Dad—” Lucy protested.

  “But nothing. I don’t want you playing. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Lucy couldn’t believe it. “Who died and made you boss?” she spat, then realized what she’d said. They both knew who’d died.

  “Go to your room,” her dad said sternly.

  “Dad … wait … I’m sorry—”

  “GO!” he ordered.

  Lucy tearfully thrust the bowl of macaroni and cheese at him. “Fine.”

  As she slammed her bedroom door and collapsed on her bed, she thought back to being in the hospital with her mom. She thought back to sitting by her mom’s bedside, talking to her, telling her about some stupid thing she and Annie had done in school, or how she’d done on some test that didn’t matter—not really—or what disgusting meal her dad had attempted to cook for dinner. And then she’d told her she couldn’t leave her, that she had to wake up, that she couldn’t be in this world without her… .

  And then her dad had come in and told her th
at he’d made a decision.

  Now, today, Lucy was certain of one thing. There would be no more letting her dad make the decisions. He’d controlled her fate for long enough. She was sick of it! She’d made this team, and no matter what anyone said, she was playing football.

  Period.

  eight

  The smell of stale sweat hit Lucy like a ton of bricks as she pushed the weight room doors open. It was six-thirty in the morning, and the players who didn’t have eighth period free to lift had to do their weight workouts twice a week before school. Lucy was definitely not a morning person, and the idea of getting up before the sun rose was not exactly her cup of tea. Of course, she didn’t drink tea, she drank coffee … so whatever. It wasn’t really her cup of anything.

  At least getting a ride hadn’t been a problem, since her dad had already offered to drop her off early so she could tell Coach Offredi that she was quitting the team. Which, for the record, she wasn’t. Although her dad didn’t know it.

  As soon as she’d hopped out of her dad’s car, she’d run into the girls’ bathroom and changed out of her white knee-length peasant skirt and ribbed orange tank top into her workout clothes. Wearing baggy shorts and a white sleeveless tee, with her hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, she’d hoped to blend in as much as possible. But as soon as she walked into the weight room— into a sea of biceps and testosterone—she knew she’d be out of place no matter what she wore.

  All heads swiveled toward her as the door opened. Chalk dust filled the air. The squeak of the machines came to a grinding halt as the guys gawked at their new female teammate. It was amazing, the difference boobs could make—even relatively little ones. It was like they were looking at an alien from Mars.

  Across the room, Benji stopped his leg presses. Ryan was mid-pull-up. He continued, unfazed by her entrance. Lucy was grateful. She stared at him, momentarily transfixed. Being that cute should have been illegal in all fifty states.

  Coach Offredi stepped in front of Lucy and turned to the guys. “What? You boys never seen a girl before? Let’s go!” Then he turned to Lucy. “You’re late.”

  Lucy inhaled quickly and then explained. “I know. I’m sorry. I had to change—”

  “I don’t want to hear excuses. I want you here on time. You want to be on this team? You show up with the team.” She felt as though she’d been slapped across the face. Public humiliation was never fun, but especially not before 8 A.M.

  “Go join Benji,” Coach Offredi said dismissively.“He’ll show you what to do.” Lucy rolled her eyes. What was with this guy? Music blared from a radio that looked so old, it might have been Coach Offredi’s when he was in high school. Obediently, she wove around the guys, making her way over to Benji. Ryan hopped off the pull-up bar, landing right in front of her. She stopped abruptly.

  “Oh, hi,” she said quickly. God, he could even make sweaty pit stains look hot.

  “Hey,” Ryan said as he moved around her, headed to the bench press. “So, you made it,” he said, hitting her on the arm.

  “Oh yeah,” she responded. “I just had to change—that’s why I was late.”

  Ryan laughed. “I meant the team. You made the team.” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, right,” she realized. “Right, right. Yeah. I made it. The team.” She shifted uncomfortably, staring down at her gray New Balances.

  “Lucy, you ready?” Benji asked, interrupting the moment. Lucy spun back around. Benji was standing at the leg press, smiling, waiting for her.

  “See ya,” she told Ryan. She hurried over and Benji engulfed her in a huge hug.

  “Congratulations,” he said proudly. “Obviously, you made the team.”

  “I know,” she admitted bashfully. “I hope—I know you wanted to be the placekicker—”

  “Hey, hey,” Benji reassured her. “I’m glad we’ll get more time together. I just can’t believe I was beat by a girl—”

  “Wait a minute,” Lucy said, punching him in the arm. “When you say it that way, it sounds like a bad thing—like a huge insult to girls.”

  “Insult?” Benji gasped. “It was a compliment. There’s no one I’d rather be beaten by.”

  Lucy smiled, then nodded toward the leg press. “So … what do I do?”

  “It’s called a leg press,” he teased. “What you do is you use your legs, put them right there, to press the weight.”

  “Oh, really?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “I couldn’t have figured that out.”

  “You two!” Coach Offredi snapped. “Enough talking.” He tossed a thick binder in Lucy’s general direction. It landed near the leg press machine with a thud. “Playbook,” he explained. “I suggest you learn what’s in there.”

  Lucy picked up the binder. Her arms sagged under the weight. She gulped and looked at Benji, holding up the book. “Well … maybe I could just leg-press this.”

  By the time Lucy had showered and made her way to first period, word about her making the team had already spread. As soon as Pickle saw Lucy, she bounded over.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” she said with a huge smile on her face. “You made the team? The boys’ football team? Martie just told me. She’s so excited!”

  Lucy giggled. “I know. It’s crazy.”

  “Everyone’s talking about it,” Pickle bragged.“We’re all so proud of you! We have to celebrate!”

  “Oh God,” Lucy groaned playfully.“I can’t take another Vermonster.”

  Pickle laughed. “When are you free? Today? Tonight?”

  Lucy considered. “Well, definitely not after school today.” She smiled, then told Pickle, “My first practice.”

  Pickle smiled. “Then tonight it is.”

  At the end of the school day, Lucy stood in the girls’ locker room, completely alone. Coach Offredi had reluctantly given her pads and a helmet to change into. Getting dressed for football practice was more work than getting ready for prom—not that Lucy had ever been to one, but she could imagine.

  There was the helmet with a face mask—because she was a kicker, Lucy’s face mask had just a single bar across it, while linemen wore something that looked more like a cage.

  There were two jerseys—a blue and gold away one and a white home one, each with the number 2 on the back and front. Apparently in the pros, quarterbacks and kickers had to be numbers between 1 and 19; Coach Offredi had implemented the same policy on their team.

  There were football cleats that fit Lucy’s feet like a glove …although she had been told by Coach that kickers often used a football cleat on their plant foot and a soccer cleat on their kicking foot. Most comfortable in soccer cleats, Lucy planned to do the same.

  Then there were the pads: shoulder pads, thigh pads, elbow pads, hip pads, and knee pads—there was even a butt pad! And although Lucy had eventually sorted it all out, it hadn’t been easy to tell which pad was supposed to cover which body part.

  But when she slipped on her jersey, she noticed it didn’t quite cover all body parts. Lucy gasped. Two giant holes had been cut out of the chest, where her boobs were supposed to be. She stared at her reflection, horrified. She couldn’t go out onto the field like this, with her sports bra showing through … or could she?

  Lucy shook her head defiantly. Someone had obviously sabotaged her uniform. Someone who wanted to keep her down in the locker room, too embarrassed to show her face. Well, she’d show ’em her sports bra instead.

  She put on her helmet and tucked up her hair.

  She couldn’t go as far as to say she looked like one of the guys. In fact, with her bra showing through, she looked more like a girl than ever.

  She sighed. It was now or never. She figured she had come this far. It might as well be now.

  She told herself to be tough, to be strong. She couldn’t let them get to her. That was what they wanted—to drive her away. Besides, what would Pickle and Charlie and all the girls think of her if she let some stupid holes in her jersey force her to quit? Not much, probably.


  She looked at her reflection again, steeling herself for what she was about to go do. It was time to start playing football.

  If Lucy had thought soccer Hell Week was torture, it was nothing compared to her first official football practice with the team.

  “What happened?” Coach Offredi barked as he took one look at Lucy’s cut-up jersey.

  “Oh,” Lucy said, acting surprised. “It wasn’t supposed to come like this?”

  A few of the guys stifled a snicker or two. Coach Offredi folded his arms across his chest.

  “Run a lap,” he said. And before Lucy could protest, he added, “NOW!” As Lucy took off running, she heard him ask an assistant coach to get her another jersey.

  By the time she returned, she was out of breath and a new jersey was waiting for her on the bench. She quickly pulled off her old jersey and changed. Who cares, she thought. Why be modest? They’ve already seen my bra… .

  And once she was fully dressed and covered, things went from bad to worse.

  It wasn’t just the fact that Coach Offredi treated her as though she had the plague, or that a few of the guys kept knocking her thigh pads intentionally—it was that she simply had no idea what she was doing. And she hadn’t exactly had time to read the playbook between geometry and U.S. history. Luckily, she was paired up with Benji.

  After warm-ups, when the rest of the team moved onto sled drills or pass plays, depending on their position, Lucy and Benji walked over to the sideline to warm up their legs and alternate taking kicks. The truth was, since you never knew what could happen on the field, Lucy and Benji had to be prepared to take over for each other at a moment’s notice. Just as Benji had to be ready to kick point after touchdowns, field goals, or kickoffs, Lucy had to be ready to punt on the fourth down.

  “Deep punts first,” Coach Offredi instructed as he walked off to work with the rushers, the group of guys who would try to block the opponent’s kicks. “Then take some shorter, low ones.”

  “Low ones?” Lucy asked, confused.

  Benji explained. “It’s basically a low line drive, closer to the ground. It’ll bounce around when it lands, be hard to settle.You can punt a squib or kickoff that way.” Lucy squinted, staring at Benji. Uh, translation please?