The crowd rose to its feet.
“Yellow card?” I breathed. A yellow card is a dire warning that the referee could give to a player for any serious infraction of the rules. And most referees are very, very strict about roughing up the goalie in any way. Some of them not only give out yellow cards but take back goals scored when goalies get knocked down. Plus, two yellow cards is an automatic red card, which means you’re out of the game and your team can’t replace you. They have to play the rest of the game one player short.
It’s fair. Goalies can get hurt since they are basically defenseless. When she is diving or jumping for a ball, a goalie is not thinking about protecting herself — she’s thinking about stopping the goal.
But the goalie rolled over and got up laughing. The referee ran to her and said something. She shook her head and reached out to pat the opposing player on the shoulder.
The referee said something to Jojo, clearly warning her to be more careful. Then she blew her whistle and motioned for the ball to be returned to the midfield kickoff point to start the game again.
Behind me, the Booster Club began to chant, “ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, GET THAT GOAL, THEN GET SOME MORE.”
But SB United didn’t get another goal before halftime. In fact, the Stars goalie did a great job, even punching a shot she couldn’t quite reach up and over the top of the net.
That brought me to my feet. “Good goalie!” I shouted, even though she was the goalie for the other team. You’ve got to appreciate good soccer playing by whoever is playing it.
I looked down the bench and saw that Erin was also on her feet, and that she was staring at me. Why did she look so surprised? I said, defensively, “It was a good play.”
“I know,” said Erin.
Then I remembered that I wasn’t speaking to Erin and turned my head away. “Go team!” I shouted. “Keep up the good work!”
At halftime I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked back to see Kristy’s stepsister, Karen. She leaned over and whispered loudly in my ear, “Don’t worry. You’ll get to play some next inning.” She paused, then said, “No, I mean, second half.”
I made myself smile. “Thanks, Karen,” I said.
She said, still in an outdoor voice whisper, “Not all the Krushers play at once either. Sometimes I don’t play for part of the game. Even really good people like Linny don’t play all the time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“I’ll tell Erin, too,” said Karen, and moved away before I could stop her.
Great. Everyone, even the kids, had noticed that I was sitting on the bench. And they’d also noticed that Erin was the only other full-time benchwarmer.
Then I realized that if Karen spoke to Erin, she might find out the truth. I started to get up and stop her, then realized it was too late. Karen had put her hand up to her mouth and was staring at Erin, her eyes wide behind her glasses. She looked over at me, then back at Erin. “I’m sorry,” she said loudly to Erin.
I saw Erin blush and I felt my own cheeks redden. Worse, as Karen sped back toward the Booster Club and yanked on Kristy’s arm, I knew that she was telling Kristy the truth. I wasn’t sitting on the bench, waiting for the coach to put me in.
Thanks a lot, Erin, I thought.
The Booster Club still cheered, and they cheered United to victory, even without Erin and me on the field. We won 1–0. As the teams were shaking hands after the game, I thought, If I’d been in the game, it would have been a blowout. I’d have scored at least two or three more goals.
Duh, Abby. What difference did it make? We’d won. And maybe it was just as well we hadn’t trounced the other team. After all, as the goalie for the Stars had said cheerfully to Petra, who’d been playing goalie for us second half, “This is the least we’ve ever lost by. We’re getting better!”
As I walked off the field, I saw the Booster Club swarming around United. But no one talked to me. The word was out, and I couldn’t decide if the BSC was being tactful or just showing its anger because I had lied.
Kristy’s emotions were less of a mystery, however. She was watching me with her hands on her hips. When she caught my eye, she gave me a hard Look. Then she turned and left the field.
Stacey’s boom box was playing an old song about working in the car wash and having the blues. At the far end of the street, Linny Papadakis, Charlotte Johanssen, and Vanessa Pike were waving signs, doing impromptu cheers, and motioning for people to come to the car wash in the Thomas/Brewers’ driveway. Rows of buckets, heaps of old towels and torn-up sheets, sponges, and a very large supply of soap were lined up along one side of the driveway. The hose was in place.
The Big Slosh Car Wash was in business.
Kristy’s grandmother Nannie was the first customer. She rolled her old pink car (affectionately known as the Pink Clinker in Kristy’s family) out of the garage and into the driveway.
A swarm of boosters surrounded it and the BSC members realized that it was going to have to channel all that car-wash enthusiasm into an organized car-washing scheme. Claudia said, “Hey, wait, you guys. Let’s have the Wet Crew and the Dry Crew.”
Becca Ramsey giggled. “It sounds like a diaper commercial.”
“Ick!” cried Jackie Rodowsky. Known among the members of the Baby-sitters Club (who all love him madly) as the Walking Disaster because of his ability to crash into, fall over, or otherwise collide with anything in his immediate vicinity, Jackie had somehow gotten hold of the hose and was waving it in an alarming way.
Jessi said, “Jackie, let me hold that,” and she managed to grab it before Jackie squirted everybody.
Mal said, “Okay, then, the Soap Squad and the Towel Squad.”
Everyone agreed that they could work with those names. After a few more alarms and diversions, the two squads had been established. Becca, Haley, David Michael, and Nicky and Claire Pike were on the Soap Squad, along with Kristy, Jessi, Shannon, and Logan, with Mal in charge of the hose. The Towel Squad, responsible for wiping the cars dry, were Hannie, Jackie, Karen, and Adam, Byron, and Jordan Pike, Mal’s triplet brothers, along with Jessi, Claudia, Mary Anne, and me.
Stacey was in charge of collecting the money, assisted by Andrew Brewer and Margo Pike.
Claudia noticed that when Kristy was put on the Soap Squad, I quickly volunteered to be on the Towel Squad. I was being unusually quiet, too, Claudia thought. But that wasn’t so mysterious. Everyone knew that I had been benched and felt bad for me (or so I later learned). When Claudia and the rest of the BSC members had talked about it on the way home from the game, everyone agreed that it was not good that I had not told the BSC members and the Booster Club what had happened.
“But you know she was embarrassed,” Mary Anne had argued. “I don’t think we should get on her case about it. I mean, it must be hard enough for her, sitting on the sidelines.”
Kristy had snorted but hadn’t said anything, and eventually everybody agreed not to bring it up with me.
“We’ll wait until she’s ready to talk about it,” Jessi had concluded.
Kristy had snorted again, but remained tightlipped.
Claudia wondered what was going on with Kristy and me.
But of course, the car wash was no place to ask.
When everyone had finished soaping, rinsing, and drying Nannie’s car, and Stacey had officially filed the first profits in the shoe box that she was using as a cash register, Karen said, “I have a great idea!”
Everyone stared at Karen, who had flung her arms out dramatically. Then Claudia burst out laughing. “You know, Kristy, I can tell she’s your sister. She has great ideas just like you do.”
Both Karen and Kristy looked pleased.
“What is the great idea?” prompted Logan.
“We could borrow Nannie’s car and put it on the corner with a sign on it that says, A SATISFIED CUSTOMER OF THE BIG SLOSH CAR WASH!”
“Excellent idea,” said Kristy. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
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sp; Karen said, “Of course, Nannie has to say it’s okay.”
Nannie laughed and shook her head. “How could I not? This is the Pink Clinker’s chance to be famous.”
“I think it already is famous,” Kristy teased her grandmother.
So while Nannie drove the car down to the corner and parked it next to Linny, Charlotte, and Vanessa, Claudia and Karen went in search of poster board and some sign-making supplies. They emerged from the house a short time later with a big sign in purple, pink, and black. Claudia had even drawn a picture of the Pink Clinker with a smile on the grill of the car and made the two headlights into eyes.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Karen cried.
Claudia laughed and shook her head. “Let’s go put it on the car,” she said.
In no time at all, the car wash was doing a tidal wave of business. The sunny afternoon undoubtedly helped. But there was no question that the impromptu cheers and the Pink Clinker had made a big contribution. Almost everyone who drove into Kristy’s driveway for a car wash mentioned the big, old pink car.
“Can you make my car pink, too?” one woman asked, laughing, as she pulled her blue sedan into the driveway.
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Karen. “But we can make it clean!”
“It’s a good cause,” said a thin man driving an old truck, and he donated extra money.
All the while, Claudia noticed, Kristy and I kept washing and drying cars without looking at each other and without talking very much to anyone.
“Is Kristy okay?” Claud whispered to Mary Anne during a break from the stream of cars that had poured in. Mary Anne shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I called her last night, but she didn’t say much. I think it was because Abby was there.”
One more clue that the problem was between Kristy and me, thought Claudia.
By three o’clock, when the car wash was officially closing, Stacey looked very pleased as she counted the money in the box. And Claudia and the rest of the BSC members were congratulating themselves on washing so many cars and making so much money without any major disasters. But just then she heard Jackie shout, “Oh, no!”
Claudia turned as Jackie, whose foot had somehow gotten stuck in one of the buckets, stumbled backward. He crashed into Mal and grabbed her. They both fell and Mal let go of the hose as she went down.
Water sprayed everywhere, drenching Claudia and everyone else who was standing nearby.
“Water fight!” bellowed Adam. He seized his bucket of rinse water and hurled it at his brothers.
That was all it took. In no time flat, soapy water, soggy towels, and screaming kids had filled the driveway.
What did the BSC do? What any experienced baby-sitters would do. They got out of the way and stood dripping and laughing as the kids worked off energy. Then after about five minutes, they waded back in and called a halt to the water fight.
“Okay, guys,” said Kristy. “Come on inside and get dried off. Then we’ll make some lemonade.”
A cheer went up and the water fight was abandoned. A wet and happy group (with the exception of Kristy and me) trooped into Kristy’s house.
“How’d we do?” Claudia asked Stacey as she tucked the box under her arm.
Stacey looked up with a grin. She was as wet as Claudia and everybody else, but she had managed to keep the cash box dry. “Let’s just say,” said Stacey, “that our car wash was anything but a washout.”
My gear bag was on Kristy’s queen-sized bed, and I was folding my things into it when she walked into the room.
“Your mom and sister are home,” she announced. “I just saw them pull into your driveway.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to keep watch for them, though. I’m going.” I’d meant it to sound like a joke, but it didn’t. It sounded the way I felt: cranky, mean, and walking through my life with two left feet.
Kristy jumped right on it, not surprisingly. But to my amazement she opened with, “You know, I understand why you lied about being benched. It’s something I might do.”
“Really?” That stopped me in midpacking.
I should have known that Kristy wasn’t about to let me off that easily.
“Yes,” she said. “Really. Because being benched is something to be embarrassed about. You don’t get benched without good reason.”
“Duh,” I said as sarcastically as I could and concentrated on packing my bag again. Only this time I wasn’t folding my clothes. I was cramming them in by the handful. I was angry.
Kristy rolled right over it. “Yeah. And I hate to say this, but you deserved to be benched. You were hogging the ball, you weren’t listening to your coach, and you weren’t working with your team. The fight wasn’t even the worst part of it, in my opinion.”
“Don’t hold anything back, Kristy,” I said, even more sarcastically. “Tell me how you really feel.” I swung around to face her, my hands clenched.
“And you’re a bad sport,” added Kristy matter-of-factly. “Everything you did — that was being a bad sport. The fight only proved it.”
I’d heard enough. “Thanks for your expert opinion,” I snapped. I grabbed my bag and charged toward the door.
“You know it’s true,” said Kristy. “That’s what’s really making you angry. You know you were wrong and you won’t admit it.”
“Get out of my way.” I pushed past Kristy and out the door, then thundered down the stairs. At the bottom I turned and shouted up, “Thanks for your hospitality.”
After that, I went home to my family.
Did they welcome me with open arms? They did, in spite of the fact that I probably had steam coming out of my ears. “Abby, darling,” my mother said and gave me a big hug. We’re not big on hugs and kisses, but at the moment, I welcomed it. I hugged her back, hard, and then I hugged Anna for good measure.
Anna smiled. “I guess you missed us, huh?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“How did your game go?” Mom asked.
“Fine,” I said. I tried to think of some way to tell the truth without lying about my role in the situation. “We won. But you were right. They could have won the game without me.”
“You did what you had to do,” said Mom (which made me feel worse).
I gulped. Then I said quickly, “Let me go put my stuff in my room.”
“Hurry back and we’ll tell you all about our visit,” said Mom. “Grandmother and Grandfather send their love.”
“Right,” I muttered.
When I got to my room, I took my time unpacking. I smoothed out the wadded clothes that were clean. I took the dirty clothes to the laundry room. I wiped off my cleats (even though I hadn’t used them) and put them in their place in the closet. I hung up my uniform on the back of my closet door to air out. (I didn’t need to wash it because I hadn’t played, so it wasn’t dirty.)
I even started a load of laundry. Mom’s head appeared around the edge of the laundry room door. “Oh, Abby. That’s nice of you,” she said. “But don’t do that now. Come join us.”
“On my way,” I said. I dawdled for a few minutes longer, but it was no use. Sooner or later, I had to hear about the weekend my family had spent together on Long Island.
Without me.
Whoa. What was this? I’d chosen not to go. I gritted my teeth into a smile and went into the kitchen to join Anna and Mom over iced tea.
They’d had a good time. Our grandparents had prepared a Shabbat feast on Friday night. Everyone had gone to synagogue the next morning, and to visit Dad’s grave on Sunday morning.
“We put flowers on it,” said Anna. “The tree near him has gotten much bigger.”
Mom said, “It’s a very peaceful place. I’d never thought of it that way before. When it first happened …” Her voice trailed off, then she cleared her throat. “At first, after your father was killed, I hated the cemetery. I only took you girls there because I was supposed to. Everyone kept saying it would help you accept that your father was … gone.”
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“Well, it didn’t,” I said harshly. I knew well enough what my father’s gravesite looked like. From my memories of those visits there, the cemetery was gray and full of shadows. The wind made a mournful sound. Everything tasted like salt from the tears that I couldn’t cry.
Both Mom and Anna looked at me with so much sympathy that I wanted to cry then. But, of course, I didn’t.
“Oh, Abby,” said Mom, and she reached out as if she might hold my hand, just as she’d reached out in the restaurant. But this time I was ready. I pulled my hand back.
Anna, who as my twin probably knows more about how I am feeling than anyone else in the world, was less sympathetic. “You should have come,” she said. “You know you should have.”
It was too much. For the second time that afternoon, someone was telling me that I’d done something wrong, and that I knew it, and that I should have done things differently. When Kristy had done it, I had been angry.
But when Anna did it, it hurt.
I set my glass down gently. “Yes,” I said. “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
“We’ll go back sometime soon,” Mom said. I could tell she was trying to intervene, trying to protect both Anna and me.
“Whatever,” I said, with deliberate flippancy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have homework to do.”
I picked up the glass again and took it to the sink to rinse it out. Then I put it in the dishwasher. I could feel Anna and Mom watching me. They were still watching me when I walked out of the kitchen and closed the door softly behind me.
The Greenvale Lions were not as inexperienced as the Sheridan Stars had been. I could tell they were trouble from the moment they went into their warm-up routine on the other side of the field. They were totally engrossed in it, unrolling each drill as if it were a precision dance number, weaving in and out and playing as though the entire team were being controlled from some kind of central command.
I’m exaggerating, of course, but if their drills were any indication, they were a team that played well together “like a well-oiled machine,” as the phrase goes.
Abby the Bad Sport Page 6