“Izzy, over here,” she tried to yell. But her scarf muffled her words.
Izzy poked the ball back toward Brandt and they moved up the field. Sarimah turned to run into the space. But by the time she found any grip, the defence had won the ball. Sarimah was sweating under her scarf.
It went on like that for another five minutes. The ball would go over her, around her and through her. It went over her a lot. Sarimah felt like they were playing tennis, and she was the net. She was the shortest player on the field and she couldn’t jump very high wearing boots.
Sarimah had barely touched the ball when the bell sounded. She thought the other kids looked like pro snow soccer players compared to her. She was exhausted and — worst of all — Tamsen’s team had won 3-2.
“Looks like Canada won that one,” Tamsen said.
Kaelynn snickered, but Sarimah wasn’t laughing.
“Yes, it is hard to play in these,” Sarimah said, lifting up her right boot. “I’m used to playing with no shoes at all.” But she thought, I will be better in summer. They will see.
6
Up Early
Sarimah spent the whole night thinking about how hard it had been to play soccer in the snow. Even with all her schoolwork, the cold weather and making new friends, soccer was all she could think about. Before her alarm even went off, she awoke from a soccer dream.
She had already changed for school and was eating her breakfast by the time her father appeared in the kitchen. He poured water into the kettle and found the tea in a cupboard.
“Why are you awake this early?” he asked her, in Arabic.
“Papa, we should be practising our English,” she said, in English.
He grinned and paused. She could tell he was searching for the right words.
“Okay,” he answered her. “You are too good. I need time.”
“Five more years, maybe,” she said with a big smile.
He laughed.
“Yes, maybe,” he said. “But why are you here so early?”
“I’m just excited.”
He pulled a mug from the cabinet and sat down at the table. “Well, I am very glad you are starting to enjoy it here, despite the weather.” This time he spoke in Arabic. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He looked out the kitchen window. It was dark, and he shivered.
“It is okay, if you dress for it,” Sarimah said. “We even play soccer in the snow.”
He looked up at her and smiled. “The snow? Soccer?” he said, back in English.
Sarimah poured more cereal into her bowl and topped it with milk. She dug her spoon into the bowl and brought it to her mouth.
“It is fun,” she said before chewing. “It was hard the first time, and a girl at school says I am not very good. But, now that I think about it, it’s kind of like playing on the sand.”
Her father laughed. “Snow is nothing like sand. There is no sunshine, no heat. Just cold.”
Sarimah’s dropped her shoulders a little. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, the ball does the same things. Sometimes it skips, and sometimes it plunks in the snow and doesn’t move. And you have to run really hard to get anywhere in the snow, just like in the sand.”
He stood and moved to her. He kissed her on the forehead. “You are right. I am teasing. And it takes more energy to run around in those boots,” he said, again switching back to Arabic. “Playing in the snow will make you even better after it melts — if it ever melts.”
She had never thought about that. Maybe that’s why she felt so good, lately. After a week of walking around in snow boots, of kicking the soccer ball in the snow, perhaps she was getting stronger. Then she started to remember all that she’d learned playing in the sand: how to run on her toes and how to use the soft ground to cushion long, loopy passes. Most important, she remembered the ball had to find the right spot. If the ball was in a hole, she had to nudge it out before trying to kick it.
Suddenly, she really wanted to get to the soccer field. She pushed away from the table and rushed to pack her bag. As she turned to get her scarf, she glanced at the clock. It was only 7:30 — too early to be leaving. She was getting dressed for the cold when her father appeared beside her. He put on this coat, hat and mitts.
“Papa, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to school, too,” he said. “For my English lesson. I will walk you to school and wait until my lesson starts.”
When they arrived at the schoolyard, it was still a bit dark.
“You will play in this? It is like the North Pole,” her father said as he looked around.
Sarimah reached into her backpack and pulled out the old black and white soccer ball Brandt had given her. She plunked it on the frozen field near the goalposts. In the frigid cold, it didn’t bounce much. But Sarimah didn’t care. Playing soccer any time felt amazing, even on a snowy, icy field in the early morning.
Sarimah turned and flicked the ball with the toe of her boot. She watched as it skidded from one hole in the snow to another. It sat low, making it hard to kick. Instead, she scuffed it forward and started to run with it. She tried to run as fast as she could while looking straight ahead. The ball bounced and wobbled, forcing her to change direction often.
When she got close enough to the goal, she tried a shot. The ball didn’t go very far, and it moved slowly. She ran after it and turned to run the other way, to the opposite goal. She was nearly tired out by the time she reached midfield.
Instead of just kicking the ball from anywhere, she waited for the ball to settle on a flat space in the snow. She had to put all her strength behind the shot for it to get anywhere.
The more Sarimah tried, the better she got. Soon, she was puffing out huge clouds of frozen breath above her. She was sweating a little, and her cheeks were red and numb. She kept thinking how much easier it would be in the summer sun.
Sarimah noticed that her father was still there, watching her. She dropped the ball and kicked it to him. He tried to knock it back, but it squibbed on a chunk of ice. They laughed together. By the time the sun was finally up, a few more kids had trickled into the schoolyard. Sarimah and her father had been practising for nearly fifteen minutes.
7
Morning Lessons
“What, you have a coach now?” Sarimah heard a voice say. “Well, you need it.”
Sarimah didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Tamsen didn’t wait for a response, either. She kept walking. Tamsen’s anger hurt Sarimah even more than her words. Sarimah had cried many times since she had left Syria, but she wasn’t going to do it this time.
“Who is that?” her father asked.
“Nobody,” Sarimah said.
She clenched her teeth. She tensed her back and shoulders. She spotted the soccer ball and took two big strides toward it. Her right boot connected flush and sent the ball rocketing forward. It hit the crossbar and bounced straight down before rolling across the goal line.
Maybe I should play angry more often, she thought.
“Great shot, Sarimah. You should play angry more often,” her father said.
“How do you know I am angry?”
“I heard you growling. Grrr! I figured you were angry, or hungry. And I saw you eat breakfast, so I know you are not hungry.”
Sarimah felt better, even though a couple of tears had rolled down her cheek.
“If you cry, your tears will freeze. How can you see the ball with frozen eyes?” her father said gently.
Sarimah shuffled from one foot to the next, not making eye contact with her father.
“What did that girl say to upset you? She talks too fast.”
“She thinks I need help to play soccer well.”
“Everyone needs help to get better.”
“I just want to play. I want to be better at snow soccer.”
Her father let out a sigh. Sa
rimah watched as his breath froze in the air above his head.
“I think that girl is not happy,” he said. “But that does not mean you should let her make you not happy.”
Sarimah’s expression softened. She looked at her father and smiled.
“Thank you. You are right.”
He picked up Sarimah’s backpack for her. They walked toward the school, arm in arm.
“I have to go,” he said. “It is freezing. Do not worry about soccer, on snow or not. Soccer is just fun.”
She kissed him goodbye. Their morning together reminded her how thankful she was for having a father like hers. Who else would leave home early just to kick a ball in the snow? She promised herself she would remember what he said. Soccer is supposed to be fun, not make you cry.
Soon after, Brandt and Izzy showed up for school. All three kicked the ball back and forth a little before the bell rang. They promised to play on the same team at lunchtime.
When they came outside after morning classes, the wind howled and they all braced themselves. Brandt shivered and pulled up the zipper on his jacket. Sarimah thought she had never been colder in her life.
“We need to run,” she said.
“It’s pretty cold out today,” Brandt said. “I don’t think anyone is going to join us.”
Sarimah chased after the ball. She pushed it to where it could rest on a flat space.
“How about penalty shots? We all take turns?”
Brandt backed into the goal area between the posts.
“Okay, but let’s hurry,” he said.
Sarimah marched off the twelve yards and dug her heel into the snow.
“This is the place.”
She fiddled with the ball a little. It kept slipping on the ice. Finally, it came to a rest just behind the penalty spot. She backed up her usual two paces and began her run.
When she got to the ball, Sarimah swung her leg. She tried to make good contact without slipping. Her boot connected flush, but there wasn’t much power behind her shot. The ball curled to Brandt’s left. He was able to shuffle just a few steps and block it with his right foot.
“Next!”
He tossed the ball back to the girls at the penalty spot. Izzy placed it to the left of the mark. She backed up five or six yards and started a slow run. She booted it high into the air. It looped to Brandt’s left side this time. He moved under it and caught it as it came down.
“Yes, I’m perfect in goal!” he shouted.
He switched places with Izzy and placed the ball in front of the penalty mark.
“Hey, that is cheating! Mine was from way back here,” Sarimah said with a grin.
She walked toward Brandt and showed him where she had placed the ball.
“That’s all icy,” he said. “No one can score from there.”
He moved left to where the snow was stickier. As he approached the ball, he planted his left foot in some crunchy, hard snow. He slammed the ball hard. It looped perfectly and scored inside the right post.
“Wow! I am so amazing! I totally knew it was going to do that,” he said.
“Sure you did! Remember, you were so much closer to goal,” Izzy shouted. She kicked the ball to Sarimah and took her place in goal.
Sarimah tried to do just what Brandt had done. She approached the ball in the same way and scored the same way.
“Hey, this isn’t fair! You are ganging up on me,” Izzy said.
Sarimah and Brandt started laughing.
“Okay, Sarimah, your turn to go in goal.” Izzy traded places with Sarimah.
“I am not tall,” Sarimah said with a smile. “So do not kick it so high.”
“Don’t try to trick me,” Brandt said. “I know what you’re trying to do. You want me to take it easy on you. But if I score here, I win.”
Sarimah jumped up and down, trying to distract Brandt. He put the ball in the same place he had scored from before. He moved to the side and started his run. Sarimah kept jumping. She jumped to her right. She dove, knowing the soft snow would protect her fall.
The ball curled just beyond Sarimah’s reach.
“Goooaaalll!” Brandt yelled. “Sarimah, you are a great player, but not such a good goalie.”
Sarimah picked herself up off the ground. She watched as Brandt did an elaborate goal celebration dance. He waved his arms from side to side like a hula dancer from Hawaii as he tiptoed through the snow.
“I am what?” she asked him.
He stopped.
“You’re not such a great goalie,” he said. “Not against me, anyway. Then again, who is? Ha-ha-ha!”
“No, the other thing.”
“Oh, you are a great player,” Brandt said. He and Izzy walked toward her.
“I am?”
“Yes, you are a great soccer player. Didn’t you know that?”
“No, I did not.” Sarimah brushed the snow from her knees.
“Well, somebody should have told you a long time ago,” Brandt said.
8
Something to Chew on
Every time Sarimah left the classroom, she felt like she was walking through a forest. She couldn’t see over anyone’s head. She was pretty sure that she was shorter than anyone else her age.
“Hey, Sarimah, let’s go play soccer,” Izzy shouted, in the crowded hallway.
Sarimah heard her voice, but had to stand on her tippy-toes to find her. Little kids spun around her. Older kids towered over her. She had to nudge her way through the crowd to their locker. She felt like was walking through tall grass that was in her way.
“You need to use your elbows a little more,” Izzy said, laughing. “I’m sure you don’t get pushed around like that on the soccer field.”
They walked to the lunchroom together, where they found Brandt and Seamus. They sat down at the table with the boys.
“How many bites do you think I can eat my sandwich in?” Brandt asked.
“Four,” Seamus said.
“No problem,” Brandt answered.
“Okay, but no milk or water or anything.”
“If I do it, I get your cookies.”
“Deal, but if I win, I get your cupcake.”
Sarimah watched as Brandt took two huge bites. He chewed slowly, with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. He swallowed hard.
“That’s two,” Brandt said. “Only two more allowed.”
He took another big bite, and suddenly stopped.
“Nobody give him anything to drink!” Seamus shouted excitedly. He stood up to watch Brandt closely. “I’m going to get his dessert, I know it.”
Sarimah started to laugh. The look on Brandt’s face was a mixture of panic and joy.
“Make him laugh, make him laugh!” Seamus shouted.
Brandt braced his hands against the table. He was laughing now and trying to keep the sandwich in his mouth. Finally, he grabbed his milk and took a huge swig.
“Yes! I win,” Seamus said. “Hand over your cookies, buddy.”
“I shouldn’t have brought tuna salad on brown bread today,” Brandt said.
“What were you thinking? You didn’t stand a chance.”
“Wait,” Sarimah said. “I can do three bites. Then I get the cookies.”
Sarimah wasn’t sure what she had gotten herself into. But it looked like fun.
“Okay,” Izzy said. “What do we get if you can’t?”
Sarimah thought for a second.
“I will bring you baklava,” she said. “It is from Syria. It has lots of honey and pastry.”
“I don’t know how to say that. But it sounds delicious,” Brandt said. “You have a deal.”
Sarimah picked up her sandwich. She took a huge bite.
“Whoa, awesome,” Izzy shouted.
Sarimah finished off the rest of the s
andwich in two more bites. Izzy, Brandt and Seamus all clapped.
“I was hungry. It helps with tomato and lettuce,” Sarimah said, taking the cookies. “Not so sticky.”
“Okay, let’s go outside or something,” Izzy said. She stood up to leave.
Sarimah jumped to her feet. She scooped up all her containers and tossed them into her lunch bag. Before she could get out of the lunchroom, she had to get around another group of kids. How had her friends already made it to the lunchroom door?
“You going to practise soccer? Don’t you need to call in your personal coach?”
Sarimah remained silent for a few seconds. She was alone in front of Tamsen again. She watched as her friends walked ahead of her into the hallway.
“We are all going to play,” she said. “Will you come?”
“I doubt it. It’s not real soccer. Not like with my indoor soccer team, the Blizzard. I don’t want to waste my time playing with just anyone in the snow.”
Sarimah’s stomach flipped. She tried her best to smile. They stood in silence for a few seconds. Then Izzy rushed back into the lunchroom.
“Hey, Sarimah, let’s go. What’s taking you so long? Lunch is going to be over soon,” Izzy said.
Sarimah let out a big breath.
“Tammy, we need another player,” Izzy said. “Come on.”
“Maybe,” Tamsen said. Sarimah saw that she didn’t want to let Izzy down. They were teammates on the Blizzard. “Okay, I’ll show you all how to really play.”
They met up outside. Tamsen was wearing her sleek winter boots and slim jacket. Sarimah was in her second-hand parka and oversized boots. She felt clumsy. But she didn’t want to let it stop her. She bent over and tied up her bootlaces as tight as possible. It made her feel much better about running in the snow. She took off her jacket.
“Why don’t you just unzip the liner and wear that?” Brandt said.
Sarimah looked at him, and then at her jacket.
He picked it up for her. “My brother has this same jacket,” he said.
Snow Soccer Page 3