Playing With the Boys

by Liz Tigelaar

  Lucy gulped. The truth was that she needed a ride, but she wouldn’t get in the car with a potential puker for all the money in the world. She wouldn’t, even if getting in meant she could move back to Ohio.

  Benji shook his head.“So you want me to bring Pickle and Max home … and you’re not even coming?”

  Lucy sighed. Well, when he put it that way, it sounded particularly bad. Max walked back toward the bathroom and instructed Benji:

  “You get the car; I’ll get Pickle.” But Benji didn’t budge. He stood staring at Lucy.

  “No, no,” Lucy relented. “I’m coming. I … I … really appreciate you, you know, driving us.”

  Max reappeared, using her body to prop up an unsteady Pickle, who looked like she’d been run over by a Mack truck.

  “You guys go on to the car,” Lucy said. “I’m going to thank Kendall for all of us.” Before anyone could protest or ask for help, Lucy ran off to find Kendall or anyone who wasn’t on the verge of explosive vomiting.

  “You’re leaving?” Regan gasped, spilling half of her rum and Coke on Lucy’s silver flip-flops. Lucy could feel the Coke fizzing on the tops of her toes.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said, disappointed. “Pickle—she’s in bad shape, so … I should help get her home—”

  Regan snorted. “Benji and that frosh can get her there. You’re staying.” Regan called out to Kendall. “Lucy’s staying, right?”

  “Whatever,” Kendall slurred back. Lucy nervously glanced over her shoulder in time to see Benji and Max drag Pickle out of Kendall’s front door.

  “I really can’t,” Lucy said. “I need a ride home anyway.”

  “One of us can give you one,” Regan assured her. “I’m barely even sipping this.”Then she leaned in, enticing Lucy. “Besides, I’m driving Ryan home, too.” Lucy’s heart fluttered. She could actually be squished in the backseat with Ryan. Maybe it’d be so crowded she’d have to sit on his lap. And she wouldn’t have to deal with Pickle.

  She felt guilty, like a bad friend, but she had gotten them into this party after all. And that had to at least count for something. Didn’t it?

  When Lucy woke up the next morning, she felt terrible. She guessed not as terrible as Pickle probably did—but she felt terrible just the same. The ride with Ryan had been anything but eventful. He’d sat in the front while Lucy was sandwiched between Tank and Kevin in the backseat.

  Sascha, Aidan, and Caleb were also crammed back there, so it was cozy, to say the least. She supposed she couldn’t complain that she hadn’t had any team bonding time.

  Regan had dropped Lucy off last, so she’d gotten home at twelve forty-five, which had led to a fight with her dad… .

  “But Dad! What was I supposed to do? Call you and wake you up?” she’d asked. He’d said she was supposed to do exactly that. A firm eleven o’clock curfew had instantaneously been put in place.

  She rolled over and turned on her phone. Her multiple late-night texts to Pickle, Max, and Benji had all gone unanswered. And they continued to be unanswered … Saturday afternoon, Saturday night, all day Sunday. By the time Sunday night rolled around and her IMs had been ignored, her e-mails received with no response, and her voice mail messages left unanswered, Lucy knew she was screwed. They were officially mad at her.

  “Mason, come on,” Coach Offredi bellowed at Benji, as the team lifted weights before school. “You really going to let a girl press more weight than you? I’ve already gotten an earful from your old man. What would he say about that?”

  Benji was struggling to complete his third set of ten leg presses. Discouraged, Benji let the weight collapse back down with a crashing thud. Lucy had just finished her leg extensions and glanced over from her drop-downs. She wasn’t sure that what she was doing was actually called a drop-down, but it was where she took weight and, with straight legs and a straight back, dropped it down to her toes and back up, so that’s what she called the exercise in her head. Drop-downs.

  Coach Offredi turned to Lucy. “Lucy, get over there and show him how it’s done.” A look of panic crossed Lucy’s face. She knew Coach Offredi wasn’t actually being nice to her. He was just using her to humiliate Benji. She reluctantly set her weight back on the rack. At least he was using her name rather than calling her “little girl,” like he had been. That was an improvement, wasn’t it?

  She approached the leg press machine, wondering if it was called anything more technical than the leg press machine, where Benji was huffing and puffing. Lucy tried to act as though Coach Offredi hadn’t just ordered her over there.

  “Um … you done?” she asked brightly. The real question she wanted to ask was, Are you mad at me for ditching you on Friday night? Benji looked up at her without actually moving his head in her direction, just his eyes. He reluctantly swung his legs around the floor and hoisted himself up. Wordlessly, he brushed past her. Lucy had her answer. Yes.

  When Lucy entered the locker room for gym class, she found Pickle dressing out and tentatively walked over.

  “Hey,” Lucy said softly, unsure whether Pickle wanted anything to do with her.

  Pickle looked up. “Lucy, oh my God.” She hurriedly apologized. “I am so sorry about Friday night.”

  “Sorry?” Lucy gasped. Why was Pickle apologizing? If anyone needed to apologize, it was Lucy—for abandoning her.

  “I got so nervous,” Pickle explained. “And I don’t know… . I was still nauseous from the ride and then I just started drinking. I don’t really drink, obviously, except that one time with Benji, and before I knew what happened … I just hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  Lucy exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her.“Embarrass me? No! I mean, it happens to everyone.” Didn’t it? Lucy had no idea, but it sounded good and comforting.“So Max and Benji were okay?” she asked. “I was afraid maybe they were mad because I decided to stay… .”

  Pickle shrugged. “They didn’t say anything to me—but of course, even if they had, I wouldn’t have known it. I was out of it all weekend. I had to tell my mom I caught some forty-eight-hour bug.”

  “Did she buy it?” Lucy asked curiously.

  Pickle considered. “Hard to tell. Parents are smarter than we think, I think.”

  Lucy nodded, thinking of her dad. Hopefully, he wasn’t smart enough to figure out that she wasn’t on the cheerleading team. Because if he was, she could forget her curfew being eleven o’clock at night. It would be three in the afternoon! The bell rang. Lockers slammed as kids hurried to get onto the gym bleachers before Miss Sullivan marked them as late.

  “So I didn’t ruin my chances of getting invited to another party?” Pickle asked as she quickly tied her shoelaces. Lucy slipped her T-shirt over her head. “Because I didn’t even get to talk to Ryan for more than a second… .”

  Ryan? Lucy did a quick double take. “What?” Since when did Pickle want to talk to Ryan?

  “Ryan,” Pickle whispered. “That’s the guy I like. You know, the quarterback?”

  Lucy shook her head, caught off guard. “Since when do you like Ryan?”

  “Since last year,” she admitted. “When I didn’t make the soccer team. As soon as I saw the list, I had to hurry to get to class. But I just couldn’t do it. I was so upset. So I went out the back door, by the portables, ya know? And he was there, on the steps. And I couldn’t stop crying and I told him what happened. And … he hugged me. Ryan. The most popular guy in school hugged me. I don’t think he remembers it. He never recognizes me … but he told me that he didn’t make the football team his freshman year and to keep trying … and that’s what I did … and now …”

  Lucy nodded. Now she was on the soccer team.

  “You get to see him every day,” Pickle said enviously. “You’re so lucky.”

  Lucky, right. Lucy quickly slipped her sneakers on. She didn’t even bother to lace them up. She just wanted to end this conversation. Fast.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’re gonna be late.” She hurried across the locker room
, pushing the double doors open into the gym. Her shoes squeaked on the gym floor. Pickle hurried to keep up.

  “So, do you think you could help me?” Pickle asked, then grabbed her head. “Ooooh, head rush.” They sat down on the bleachers.

  “Help you what?” Lucy asked, dreading what Pickle was about to say.

  “Get to know Ryan,” Pickle insisted, smoothing down her hair with her hands and then tucking it behind her ears. Pickle was so adorable, but compared to Ryan, who was a senior, she seemed like such a little girl.

  “Um …” Lucy hesitated. “I don’t know… .” She trailed off. How could she tell Pickle she’d help her get to know the boy that she herself liked? But could she say she wouldn’t? Pickle had been great to her, and it was obvious she was really into Ryan. What kind of friend would she be if she said no? Miss Sullivan blew the whistle and began dividing them into teams for badminton.

  Lucy and Pickle were placed on competing teams.

  “So,” Pickle insisted, “will you help me?”

  Lucy grabbed a racket out of the pile and took a long look at Pickle.

  “Of course I will,” Lucy finally answered. And then she headed toward her side of the court. If she’d thought she was screwed this weekend, it was nothing compared to how she felt right now. If Pickle wanted help with Ryan, what did that mean for her?

  thirteen

  Benji was still on Lucy’s mind as she distractedly flipped through the pages of Madame Bovary before English class started. She suddenly realized she had forgotten to finish her assignment. Martie usually assigned three chapters over the weekend, but since they were so close to the end of the book, this time Martie had assigned four in order to finish. Lucy hadn’t read the last chapter and knew she would be screwed if Martie called on her.

  “Wanna know what happens?” Ryan asked, sliding into the desk next to her.

  Lucy looked up at the sound of his voice and smiled. “I do,” she said wistfully, then quickly reminded herself he was just offering to synopsize the chapter, not asking her to be his lawfully wedded wife.

  Ryan shrugged playfully. “Well, ya shoulda read the book then.” He laughed. Lucy gave him a look.

  “Thanks for nothing then,” she said, mock hurt in her voice. She shut her book, giving up. People were coming in and taking their seats. She wasn’t going to get any reading done anyway. Charlie entered and headed toward the back of the class.

  “Hey,” Lucy said quietly, more to Charlie’s back than to her front. Charlie didn’t give her so much as a smile.

  This is not going well, Lucy thought to herself. She looked down at Madame Bovary and sighed. She knew Charlie was upset about the party, about the other night with Regan. Benji was upset about her enlisting him to deal with Pickle and Max, then abandoning him. She hadn’t had time to make things right with Benji during weights or in gym class, and now, with Charlie across the room, she couldn’t talk to her before English started … but she could at least keep her promise to Pickle.

  She turned to Ryan. “So that party was pretty fun, huh? On Friday?”

  “I guess.” Ryan shrugged. “It’s kinda always the same old thing though, ya know? We’ve been throwing ’em since sophomore year.”

  “So it must make it more fun when there are new people,” she offered. “You know, people you don’t know that well … but, you know, might want to get to know better.”

  Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, unsure at what she was getting at. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly. She hurried to make her point.

  “What … I guess what I mean is …” she stammered, “it’s nice to get to know new people … people who are excited to get to know you …”

  He looked at her blankly. Up in front of the class, Martie pulled out the attendance roster. Lucy acted fast, before her window was gone.

  “Like my friend Pickle,” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I know she was excited to get to know you—and I thought maybe you might be, you know … I don’t know … interested in her. Maybe.”

  Ryan paused for a moment. It felt like an eternity. Finally, he spoke. “Is that the vegetable girl?” he asked, then quickly remembered “Wait—the puker?” Lucy’s heart sank on behalf of her friend. No girl would want the boy she had a major crush on to refer to her as “the puker.”

  “Well, she does a lot more than puke,” Lucy quickly interjected. “She plays soccer and sings and—well, there’s lots of stuff you’d find out if you were interested in getting to know her.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said, confused. “I’ll … um … keep that in mind.” Lucy stared at her own knuckles. Were they inflamed because she’d been popping them? She really had to break that habit. She wondered why she was suddenly thinking about her knuckles when this whole Pickle thing really wasn’t going well.

  “Not that you have to get to know her,” Lucy said hurriedly. “I mean, just if you wanted to … I think she likes you. That’s all.” Okay, there. She’d said it. Somewhat clearly and coherently. Finally. She’d always known she was awful at public speaking, but now she made a mental note that maybe private speaking wasn’t her strong suit either.

  Ryan leaned in close to her. His breath smelled minty, like toothpaste. It always did. God, he was probably the kind of guy who brushed twice a day and remembered to floss.

  “I’m actually kind of interested in someone else,” Ryan responded simply. “Not that your friend’s not great, I’m sure.” He gave a small smile. “There’s just someone else I’m into… .”

  “Okay,” Martie called out loudly from the front of the room. “So, let’s jump in. What role does fate play in Emma’s downfall? Does she have power over her own destiny?”

  Lucy sat back in her chair, thinking of herself. Did she have power over her own destiny? Was she fated to be with Ryan? She knew she should have been feeling bad for Pickle, but Ryan’s words played over and over in her head.

  I’m actually interested in someone else.

  It was the way he said it. The way he leaned in close that made Lucy wonder if that “someone else” was her.

  “So? What happened?” Pickle asked, startling Lucy at her locker.

  “What happened with what?” Lucy asked back innocently. Pickle grabbed her arm. Beside her, Max held out a Pixy Stick.

  “Anyone want?” she offered, her mouth full of orange powder.

  “Sure,” Lucy said, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll take a purple.” Anything to keep from having to answer Pickle’s question.

  “What happened with Ryan?” Pickle pressed adamantly. “Charlie said you were talking to him in English. Did you ask him? About liking me?”

  Lucy fidgeted and focused on opening her Pixy Stick. “God, it’s just paper, but is this, like, impossible or what?” she asked Max.

  Max gave her a funny look and grabbed it back. “You just rip the top off, genius,” she said dryly. “Here.” She ripped off the top and handed it back. Lucy tipped back the Pixy Stick and took a swig.

  “So?” Pickle said, her eyes wide with anticipation.

  Lucy gulped down the sugar and grabbed her backpack. “We were talking about Madame Bovary,” she partially lied. It was only a partial lie because technically they had been. It just wasn’t all they had spoken about.

  “So you didn’t say anything about me?” Pickle asked.

  “Well, we talked for, like, two seconds about the party,” Lucy offered. “And he remembered you were sick… .”

  “Oh, great,” Pickle sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure I made a fantastic impression.” She let her head fall into her locker with a loud bang. “I’m such an idiot. Damn you, rum and Coke!”

  “I think it was Diet,” Max corrected.

  Lucy placed a comforting hand on her back. “No, no, I don’t think he thought that.” Pickle banged her head lightly again.

  “Idiot, idiot,” she muttered.

  “You’re going to get permanent brain damage,” Max warned, opening another Pixy Stick.

&n
bsp; The bell rang. Pickle didn’t budge.

  “Why did I drink?” she groaned. “Why?”

  “Look,” Lucy said, trying to give her hope. “He said he was interested in someone. He just didn’t tell me who.” Lucy didn’t know if she was making this better or worse.

  Pickle suddenly looked up. “Wait—he did?”

  Lucy smiled. “Yeah. So, you know … who knows? Maybe it’s you!”

  Pickle’s face brightened. “You think?”

  Lucy shrugged. “I think anything’s possible.” But even as Lucy said the words, she knew she was talking more about herself than about Pickle. She was certain of only two things: Ryan wasn’t interested in Pickle, and Lucy wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that.

  A whistle blew.

  “This is for school pride,” barked Coach Offredi, who stood on the side of the field in the sweltering heat. It was already October but still as hot as August. In full pads, Lucy was boiling. The inside of her helmet was wet with sweat, and her hair felt, as usual, matted and gross.

  The entire team stood at one end of the field. Someone’s dad stood watching from the bleachers. By the way he shouted—at one player in particular—Lucy quickly realized it was Benji’s father.

  “You’ll go on my whistle,” Coach Offredi ordered the team. They were doing something called “pride sprints,” which were new to Lucy, and from the groans throughout the team when Coach Offredi suggested them, she guessed the drill wasn’t a popular one.

  The whistle blew.

  The team lurched out of the end zone and sprinted toward the twenty-yard line as fast as they could.As soon as they reached it, they ran back into the end zone. Lucy was in the middle of the pack. That wasn’t that bad, she thought to herself. But then they didn’t stop. She suddenly had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that pride drills were similar to suicide sprints in soccer—but involved way more clothes and equipment.

  With Kevin and the other running backs and receivers in the lead, they quickly turned and headed back out to the thirty-yard line. Lucy struggled to keep up, her feet slipping as she tried to make the turn. She put one hand down to catch herself. She’d never been the fastest runner, but she wasn’t used to being this slow. Her pads were really weighing her down!