After school, late that afternoon, there was another soccer practice.
The Green Goblins played their worst ever. Even Bree, Grace, and the twins goofed up big-time. Grace kept smacking her forehead whenever she made a mistake. Everyone looked relieved when it started to rain and practice was cut short.
Before going home, Nancy’s dad gathered the team in one of the Little League dugouts. “Okay, so you all have a case of the jitters. That’s perfectly normal before a game.”
“We stunk. We’re going to get clobbered tomorrow.”
“Grace, I don’t want to hear negative talk like that,” Nancy’s dad said. He waited until Grace nodded to show she understood. “The Goblins are going to do great. It’s like putting on a play. A bad dress rehearsal always means opening night will be wonderful.”
Nancy started to worry that her father might bring up what he called his “career in showbiz.” In college, he’d been a mime. That meant acting stuff out without talking. But all he said now was, “Get a good night’s rest. Win or lose, I’m proud to be your coach. So . . .”
Everybody knew what to do next. They did a palm pileup, then threw up their hands and yelled, “Go, Goblins!”
During the car ride home, Nancy and Bree were quiet. An old rock song came on the radio.
“Hey, listen to the lyrics. This is called ‘We Are the Champions.’ It’s by Queen. One of my all-time favorite groups.”
As the song played, Nancy’s dad sang along. He knew all the words.
At the traffic light, the car stopped. Nancy’s father turned to the backseat. “You two look really stressed.” When the light changed, he hung a left.
“Dad, this isn’t the way home.”
“So, does either of you know what ‘stressed’ spelled backward is?” he asked.
“No, Dad,” Nancy said.
“Well, figure it out.”
“D-E-S-S,” Nancy started spelling slowly.
“Oh, I know!” Bree suddenly shouted. “‘Stressed’ backward is ‘desserts’!”
Nancy’s father parked less than a block from Cohen’s Ice Cream Shoppe. He opened a big golf umbrella and held the car door open for Nancy and Bree. “Après vous!” That meant “After you!” in French.
Speaking French and treating them to ice cream. Double ooh la la! There couldn’t be a more superb soccer coach on the planet!
Email messages Friday night
between Nancy and Lionel
Lionel: What time is the game? What’s the name of the other team?
Nancy: It’s at eleven. I don’t know the team’s name. They go to school in Pelham.
Lionel: I made up a cheer. And it has a big word in it just for you.
Two, four, six, eight!
Who will we annihilate? Pelham,
Pelham, boo!
In case you don’t know, annihilate means kill.
Nancy: Merci! But my dad won’t like it. He’s our coach and he only lets us do cheers that say nice things. Sorry!
Lionel: Will JoJo be there?
Nancy: No. She’s going to Mrs. DeVine’s.
Lionel: Then I’ll look even scarier!
The next morning, Bree arrived at Nancy’s house at the crack of dawn. She was already in her Goblins uniform.
“How come you’re here so early?” Nancy asked. She was still in her nightie.
“My parents both have to go into work. They can’t come to the game.” Bree made a face. “So I’m going with you.” Then she held up a bottle of nail polish. “Look. My mom got me green nail polish.”
“Ooh la la!”
“Green nail polish with sparkles,” Bree added.
“Double ooh la la!”
“We have time for mani-pedis before the game,” Bree went on. “I’ll do you and you do me.”
Half an hour later they were finished. Nancy fanned out her fingers and blew on them. “I swear you could work in a beauty salon,” she told Bree. There were hardly any smears on Nancy’s fingernails.
Bree was flapping her hands so her nails would dry faster. They both carefully pulled out the wads of Kleenex stuck between their toes. Nancy wiggled hers. It was superb the way her toenails sparkled.
Then she got out her shorts, her cleats, and special socks. They had green shamrocks all over. Shamrocks were Irish clover leaves. They were supposed to bring good luck. The last thing she put on was her jersey and—voilà—she was a Green Goblin. Normally, Nancy didn’t like looking the same as everybody else. She liked to follow her own fashion sense. But wearing a team uniform—well, this was different.
Nancy and Bree stared at each other and made jazz hands.
“We look awe—” Nancy caught herself before saying “awesome.” “We look outstanding!”
“Girls, are you ready to roll?” her father called upstairs.
“Oops! Almost forgot.” Bree took out her earrings and put them on Nancy’s dresser. No one could wear earrings—it was a rule. That was one more thing Nancy liked about soccer. She didn’t have to feel jealous that her ears weren’t pierced yet.
Nancy took a last look at herself in the mirror. Wearing the Goblins jersey actually made her feel more athletic. She was nervous, but excited too. In the kitchen, they put on their cleats. As they clickety-clacked across the deck—cleats made almost the same sound as real tap shoes!—Nancy imagined kicking the ball hard. Up, up it would soar. The other team’s goalie would jump for it but miss. It’d be a goal for the Green Goblins! Nancy realized that the chances of that happening were slim, which meant hardly at all. Still, you never knew.
“They’re who we have to play?” Nancy said, shocked. “Dad—I mean, Coach, those girls are giants!”
All twelve Goblins were huddled around Nancy’s father. Everyone, even Grace, looked worried.
The other team was on the field practicing. They wore black shorts and yellow jerseys. One girl was juggling a soccer ball with her feet. Another bounced a soccer ball from one knee to the other.
“They look like they’re in middle school!” said Bree.
“They’re not. The Hornets are in our league,” Nancy dad said. “They’re the same age you girls are.”
“Did you say Hornets?” Nancy gulped. Hornets were like bees. She pictured a swarm of them attacking her.
“Just because the Hornets are big doesn’t mean they’re fast. You girls are swift.” Her dad looked over at Bree, Tamar, and the twins. “Defenders, you have to stop the Hornets and pass the ball to midfielders. Midfielders, you have to move the ball to the attackers so they can score. Understand?”
Then her father went over what they’d been doing at practices. He stopped when the Hornets’ coach came over and motioned to him.
A moment later Nancy’s dad returned. “Okay. Here’s the situation. The Hornets are short a player. Only eight girls showed up.”
“Doesn’t that mean they give up the game and we win?” Nola asked, excited.
Ooh la la! Nancy fist-bumped with Bree. Talk about an easy victory!
“Hold on, ladies. Think about it. How would you feel if it was the other way around and we were down a player? So here’s what we’re going to do.” Nancy’s dad explained that during each quarter, someone from their team would play for the Hornets.
“Play against the Goblins! That’s like fighting for the enemy!” Wanda exclaimed.
“Wait. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” Grace said to Wanda. “We can let them have Clara or Nancy.”
Nancy’s dad didn’t hear, because he was already halfway to the cooler. When he came back he said, “I’ve got twelve straws. One is short. Whoever picks it will start out a Hornet.”
It turned out to be Nancy.
Grace did a small fist pump.
“Thanks, girls. We really appreciate it,” the other coach said, and handed Nancy a yellow jersey. She pulled it on over her green one.
“I don’t like you being the enemy,” Clara said.
“Me too,” said Bree.
“Me th
ree.” Wearing a yellow jersey felt all wrong to Nancy. Wrong and hot. The game hadn’t even started and already Nancy was perspiring.
“Au revoir!” she said sadly to the Goblins, and joined the other team.
The Hornets’ coach was named Mrs. Fonda. She told Nancy that she’d be playing defense, when a car pulled to a stop. The back door opened.
Lionel had arrived.
When he found out why Nancy was wearing a yellow jersey, his fangs fell out of his mouth. “What?! You mean I’m here and I can’t cheer for you?”
“It’s only for ten minutes.”
Nancy’s dad was sadly mistaken about the Hornets. Not only were they big, they were speedy. The Goblins won the coin toss and chose to take the ball. But Yoko’s first kick went straight to a Hornet.
After that, for almost the entire quarter, the soccer ball stayed within striking distance of the Goblins’ goal. Only once did a Hornet kick it out of bounds. However, when Tamar took a throw-in and tossed the ball back toward Wanda, a Hornet jumped in for the ball, dribbled around Bree, and scored. Nancy kept running around after the ball, but it was like she was invisible to the Hornets. They never passed to her.
By the time the whistle blew and the quarter ended, the score was still 1–0.
Nancy was dripping wet. “Sorry!” she said, handing over the soggy yellow jersey to Nola, who was playing next for the Hornets.
Nancy sat out for most of the second quarter. That was fine with her. She and Lionel did some cheers. “When you’re out, you’re out! When you’re in, you’re in!” they shouted to the crowd of parents sitting on the sidelines. “And when you’re a Green Goblin, you win, win, win!”
Cheering didn’t help. Almost right away a Hornet midfielder captured the ball from Grace and passed to an open striker, who took aim and scored. The score was now 2–0. Grace blinked and looked bewildered.
For the rest of the quarter, Grace’s mother kept yelling, “Grace, hustle more! And watch out for number eight. You’ve got eyes. Use them!” One time when Grace ran past, she said, “Mom, stop. I’m trying my best.”
At the half, Nancy’s dad passed out water bottles and towelettes. Everyone sat on the grass in the shade around him. “The Hornets are tough competitors. Really tough. I’m very proud of how you’re staying scrappy and fighting for the ball. That’s not easy on a hot day like this.”
Her dad made the team rest during halftime. Everyone lay on their backs. Lionel too. He pretended to be dead. His tongue hung out and his eyes were rolled back so only the whites showed.
Right before the third quarter, Grace’s mom pulled Grace off to the side. Nancy couldn’t help overhearing.
“No, Grace. They are not all great players. Number three kicks wildly,” Grace’s mother was saying. “Do you realize you missed a chance to score? You had the ball. Why on earth did you pass to Clara? She’s the worst on the team!”
“Lookit. Our coach wants us to pass if somebody is wide open.”
“Oh, really? Well, I bet he also wants you to win. And that’s not going to happen. Not the way you’re playing.”
Grace nodded and kept her eyes on the ground.
During the second half, Nancy started out as a defender. But she was switched to midfield after the same Hornet striker got by her a few times. Nancy hated midfield. It meant running back and forth without stopping. She was always behind the pack of players. If only she wasn’t cursed with slow legs!
At the end of the third quarter, Bree sneaked past the Hornets’ defense. She dribbled down the field. Nobody was covering Rhonda, and Bree kicked a soft one to her. It looked as if Rhonda’s kick was going left. So that’s where the Hornets’ goalie went. But the ball skidded to the right and hit the net before the goalie could grab it.
A goal for the Goblins! Now the score was 2–1.
Her dad was screaming “Woo-hoo!” at the top of his lungs and high-fived Lionel.
During the fourth quarter, twice Grace jumped in front of Nancy and took control of the ball. Grace was being a ball hog. But maybe she’d get another goal and tie the score.
Nancy watched Grace dribble the ball in the direction of the Goblins’ goal. The field was pretty clear.
Grace kept the ball under control and headed nearer the goal.
“You can nail it, Gracie!” her mother yelled.
All the Goblin parents were up on their feet now and cheering. Lionel too.
Grace kept dribbling toward the goal. Hornets defenders were gaining on her. She was still much too far away to score. She looked around. Bree was just in front and open. Grace passed to her.
That was a mistake. A huge, gigantic, enormous mistake.
Bree was a Hornet for the fourth quarter.
A second too late, Grace realized what she’d done.
Bree had no choice but to dribble the other way down the field. She passed to an open Hornet, who slammed the ball to another girl in yellow.
Whoosh! The kick was high and hard. Nancy watched the soccer ball fly past Yoko, the Goblins’ goalie. It was a dream kick. Exactly the kind Nancy had imagined doing.
The score was now 3–1 and stayed that way until the ref blew the final whistle. Game over.
It was hard to tell who felt worse, Grace or Bree.
“I forgot Bree was a Hornet. Even with a yellow shirt on, I forgot!”
“I hated helping the Hornets win.” Bree had a hand over her eyes and shook her head. They both kept saying sorry to the other Goblins, even though Nancy’s father said there was no need to apologize. “Mistakes happen. That’s sports. You guys were cooking the last quarter. We’re talking one goal and some smart plays against a fierce team of high school girls.”
“Wait—you said they were our age.”
“My dad’s joking to make us feel better,” Nancy explained to Clara.
“And now, if my watch is correct”—Nancy’s father glanced at his wrist—“the King’s Crown should be open for business.”
Two medium pizzas later, everyone felt much better. Lionel came too. He claimed that his root beer was making him drunk. He kept burping and falling off his chair until Nancy’s dad told him to cool it. Nancy reeled in a long string of melted cheese with her tongue. There was nothing like pizza to make you forget about the agony of defeat.
Lionel’s first soccer game was tomorrow. Bree and Nancy decided to go root for him.
“What’s the name of his team?” Bree wanted to know.
“The Dolphins.”
“Hmm. That’s a problem.” Bree pooched out her lips. “How are we going to be team mascots?”
“We can’t. There’s no way we can make ourselves look like dolphins. Let’s go as cheerleaders!”
They high-fived each other.
Nancy emailed Lionel.
Nancy: What color are your team shirts?
Lionel: Blue. Why?
Nancy: Bree and I are coming to cheer for you.
Lionel: I stink. Don’t bother coming.
Lionel’s email wasn’t going to stop Bree or Nancy. Nancy was sure—almost 100 percent positive—that they would bring Lionel good luck.
They got busy figuring out what to wear:
Blue tank tops
Blue tutus
Blue hair ribbons
Blue sneakers
The sparkly green polish on their fingernails clashed with their outfits. So they gave themselves new manicures. “Singin’ the Blues” was the color they chose.
Then they went next door for Saturday tea with Mrs. DeVine. Their neighbor, they learned, had been a cheerleader herself in days of yore. “I bet my pom-poms are somewhere in the attic.”
Nancy and Bree helped search. Sure enough, in a dusty carton marked High School, Mrs. DeVine found what she was looking for. Underneath a white sweater with a big letter C on it and a short red skirt were pom-poms with gorgeous silver streamers.
“You may have them,” said Mrs. DeVine, handing one pair to Bree and another to Nancy.
“For real?
” Bree gasped.
“I can’t imagine I’ll be using them anytime soon.”
Nancy hugged Mrs. DeVine. “Merci! Merci mille fois.” That meant “A thousand thanks!”
“We’re going to cheer for our friend Lionel tomorrow. At his soccer game.”
“Oh, yes. Lionel.” Mrs. DeVine pursed her lips and sniffed. Lionel was not one of her favorite people. The one time Nancy had brought him over for tea, he kept speaking in a fake British accent. It had gotten on Mrs. DeVine’s nerves.
Later that afternoon Nancy and Bree practiced shaking the pom-poms in time to their leaps and scissor kicks. It got very chilly. Their teeth were chattering as they yelled out cheers.
Finally Bree’s mother insisted they put on jackets or come inside. Jackets spoiled the cheerleading look. So after Bree did one more split—another thing she had practiced to perfection—they said au revoir and hoped for warm weather tomorrow.
Ooh la la! It was a mild and sunny Sunday morning.
Bree and Nancy had no trouble spotting Lionel. He was the shortest on the team. His Dolphins shirt was way too big on him. His face was a pale, sickly green.
“Not all the face paint came off,” he explained. “I told the coach I was sick and might puke. But he didn’t fall for it. He’s making me play.”
“We’re going to bring you good luck!” Nancy said. “Just wait and see.”
“I don’t need luck. I need a miracle.”
Bree crossed her arms and looked stern. “Oh, no! That is exactly the wrong attitude.” Then she said, “To be a winner, think like a winner. That’s what our coach always tells us. Isn’t that right, Nancy?”
Nancy Clancy, Soccer Mania Page 2