“I don’t know why they can’t make clothes for real people,” Shakina said. “I mean, who are these clothes made for anyway?”
Well, I reflected, not for the first time, they seemed to be made for Lena. But I didn’t want to say that.
“I don’t know. I mean, models are all tall, but pants don’t ever fit me.”
We were silent for a minute, and then Shakina asked, “So, you think we’re going to have to go to every state tournament game, even if it’s two hours away?”
“Is it even a question? You know what Beasley’s going to say.”
“Yeah, I do. I guess I just—this is wrong, but if I’m going to go halfway to Connecticut for a soccer game on a Tuesday night and fall behind in my homework, I’d rather be playing than watching.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
“Well, you actually could. I mean, you are better than their goalie. But, you know what?”
“What?”
“If you had made varsity we might not have gotten to know each other.”
“That’s true. And I would have had Geezer. And God knows what kind of trouble Lena would have gotten us into.”
“It’s weird. When we first moved here, I got like four e-mails a day from Emily—she was my best friend in Philadelphia—and then it went down to two, then one, and now I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. I don’t get how we could be such good friends for so long and now it’s like I don’t even exist anymore.”
“Yeah.” I was getting sad and wanted to change the subject, so I suggested, “You wanna go down to the basement and throw the circuit breaker so the power goes out right in the middle of the boys’ game?”
Shakina smiled. “That is evil! Of course I do!”
After the Williamses left, Conrad and Dominic went off to plot their revenge, and I was pretty sure I was going to regret my evil plan, even though it had been funny when we flicked the switch and the boys started screaming like somebody had killed them.
I found Dad in the kitchen washing dishes. “Hey, kid,” he said. “Thanks for introducing us to such cool people. Raymond and I are taking Dominic and Jerry to the comic book convention next weekend!”
I stared at Dad. He’d actually used the words “cool people” and “comic book convention” in the same sentence. Well, as long as everybody was happy, I was okay.
“Yeah, they’re nice.”
“Go see Mom. She’s got something for you.”
I went into the living room, where Mom was watching some detective show. “Hey,” I said. “Dad told me you had something for me.”
“I do,” she said, reaching into her purse. “Here.” She pulled out a box with a new phone in it. A phone that played music and took pictures and was not Dad’s five-year-old piece-of-junk hand-me-down phone that I’d been using.
“Oh my God! Really? I mean, is it really for me?”
She smiled. “Doing the right thing is never easy, but sometimes there are rewards.”
Postseason
1
Varsity finished the regular season at 14–2. We ended up at 10–6, which would have been an amazing record if we weren’t totally in the shadow of the magnificent varsity.
Our last game was at home, and Angus was there cheering for me again. It was weird, because when I saw him in English he didn’t make any special effort to talk to me or anything. I mean, we were on the same side of pretty much every argument that started in class, but we didn’t really talk directly to each other except to say hi in the halls.
Varsity was playing their first state tournament game at home. If they won that one, they’d play a regional game that would be within an hour’s drive, and if they won that one, they’d play for the state championship somewhere halfway between Charlesborough and wherever the other team came from.
Beasley trained us well, because the entire junior varsity showed up to the varsity’s first postseason game with notebooks and pens even though our season was over and we couldn’t earn starting positions for the next game. Maybe some girls were thinking about staying on Beasley’s good side for next season, but honestly I did it without thinking—I just brought a notebook to varsity games the way I brought a notebook to history class. It was automatic.
So was varsity’s victory. Lena didn’t start, and she sat on the bench the whole first half. The game was tied 1–1 at the end of the first half, and Beasley turned to me and asked, “What did you notice?”
“That Geez—uh, Coach Keezer has a lot of confidence in Lena.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I guess because she’s got this whole strategy of turning the offense up a notch in the second half when the other team is tired, and she trusts Lena to be able to do that. Like, she could start her and then try to get a lead and hold it, but she doesn’t. Even when they went down 1–0, Lena was still sitting there, but it’s like her sitting on the bench is Coach Keezer’s way of telling her that she knows she’s going to score in the second half. It almost makes me feel bad for the other team because they’ll be looking at a totally different offense in the second half.”
Beasley smiled. “You want to coach JV next year, Amanda?”
I panicked. “You’re not leaving, are you?” Somebody overheard this, and then the whole team peppered Beasley with questions.
Beasley motioned for us to lean in. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. It’s not public knowledge yet. Coach Keezer is retiring at the end of the year. So I’ll be coaching varsity next season.”
I suddenly got a lot more excited about next year. I could be playing for Beasley instead of having Geezer scream at me. I guess pretty much everybody thought the same thing because we all started saying, “Beasley, you have to pick me, you know I can play on varsity blah blah blah.”
Beasley motioned for us to be quiet, but nobody would. Finally she pulled out her whistle and said, “Don’t make me use this.
“Listen. Some of you will be playing on the varsity team next year and some of you won’t. But remember that there are considerations about seniority that have nothing to do with playing ability, and, most important, remember that none of this has anything to do with what kind of people you are. Because you’re all great people, and I’ve been really proud to be your coach.”
Beasley’s eyes were filling up as she said this, and Shakina yelled out, “Aw, Beez, we love you too!” I guess we probably would have had one big corny girly group hug if we could have done that in the bleachers.
The whole thing made me feel really good. Good enough that I felt like I could finally cheer for Lena. I remembered walking in on Dad and Conrad watching a baseball game once, and Dad was cheering for somebody on the Red Sox, and Conrad was like, “Dan, I thought you hated that guy!”
“That was when he played for the Yankees,” Dad said. “He might be an asshole, but he’s our asshole now.”
I wasn’t sure what word to apply to Lena, but whatever the right word was for her, she was ours.
Lena came streaking down the wing almost as soon as the half started, and she passed to Courtney while the stunned defenders were running at her. It was 2–1 before a minute had gone by in the second half. And I meant to cheer. I really did. Everybody else was cheering. It’s just that when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I ended up doing a lip-sync cheer while everybody else was yelling. The cheering turned to groans ten minutes later when the other team tied it up. (And just to prove that I’m a terrible person, not only was I not cheering for Lena in the biggest game of her life, but when Shakina leaned over to me after Stephanie let the goal in and said, “You totally would have had that,” I whispered back, “Thanks!” because I knew it was true.)
When Lena scored the third goal, I was so caught up in the excitement of the game that I found myself cheering before I realized I was cheering for Lena for the first time in weeks. Varsity won, 3–2. Only two games from state champions.
&nb
sp; “Okay,” Beasley said after the game. “Next Tuesday in Worcester.” Everybody groaned. Worcester was an hour away, which meant two hours of traveling on a Tuesday night. Our homework was going to be screwed up for the whole week. “The game starts at three, so you will be dismissed from school early to get on the bus.” Everybody cheered. We turned to leave, and Beasley called out, “And, girls?” We stopped in our tracks and looked at her. “Leave the notebooks at home next time. We’re just going to be cheering for our team.”
2
The bus ride to Worcester turned out to be a ton of fun—we were laughing and singing the whole way. I would rather have been playing in the state tournament, but there was always next year with Beasley coaching. I could just imagine there wasn’t a whole lot of laughing and singing on the varsity bus as they rode toward their game. They were probably sitting in stony silence while Geezer reminded them of every mistake they’d made in the last game.
The game was much closer than any of the other ones had been. Finally there was a team with an answer for Lena, which was their two huge defenders who probably could have started on our football team. They were slow, but the sight of those gigantic girls lumbering toward her definitely threw Lena off her game. When Charlesborough fell behind, everybody was probably thinking, Well, this was the same game they lost at the end of last season; at least the score was close this time. It’s a season anybody could be proud of.
But Lena wasn’t so off her game that she’d let the team down. I guess they got tired of chasing her or something, but Charlesborough was down 1–0 for most of the game, and then Lena and Courtney both scored within a minute of each other to put it away.
We were all hoarse from screaming, so the ride back home on the bus was a lot quieter. It was just starting to get dark, so nobody could really do homework, and everybody who cared knew they’d be up late trying to get everything done, so a lot of girls were napping.
Shakina and I sat in the back talking, mostly about how she thought this Rodney kid liked her because she was the only other black face he saw at school, but she kind of liked Jimmy Park, who was Korean and played basketball and was way too popular to notice her anyway.
When I lay in bed later that night, I told myself that I was not going to try to be Lena’s friend or anything, but I would congratulate her if I saw her, the same way I would congratulate anybody on varsity. Maybe we’d never be best friends anymore, but we could at least be civil to each other.
The next morning, I saw Lena at her locker. I couldn’t believe how horrible she looked. She was wearing pajamas, which a lot of teams did for spirit purposes, but usually when girls came to school in pajamas, they didn’t look all crinkly and slept-in. Those girls did their hair and put makeup on and looked like they had slept. I know it’s going to sound bitchy, but Lena looked like she’d slept in her locker and just crawled out. And that’s saying something because she normally looks so good.
“Great game yesterday!” I said, as brightly as I could.
Lena raised her head, looked at me through bloodshot eyes, and said, “Thank you.” I practically got drunk off her breath. I couldn’t believe it! Lena was in school hungover, or possibly still drunk, looking like hell and reeking of booze. I mean, it was one thing to go to a party on Saturday night, but it was a totally different thing to show up at school on a Wednesday morning smelling like Saturday night.
I was so stunned that it took me a minute to realize that Lena had actually spoken two words to me for the first time in weeks. I wanted to ask her what the hell she was thinking, to tell her she needed to run home and get some mouthwash and probably fresh clothes or she’d get suspended from the team. But that was the kind of thing that a friend would tell you. And even though we’d just had a civil exchange of pleasantries, that didn’t exactly make us friends again. I watched her shuffle down the hall and hoped for the best.
I went to the bathroom after second period, and someone also dressed in rumpled pajamas was puking. When Courtney emerged from the stall, she gave off the pleasant odor of booze mixed with puke. She looked, if it was possible, even worse than Lena had.
When I saw Stephanie in the hall, she had at least put makeup on and looked like she hadn’t actually slept in the pajamas she was wearing, but she also smelled like she’d bathed in alcohol.
Right before lunch, the PA crackled and Ms. Allen, the principal, started talking. “Will the following students please report to the office.” Ms. Allen proceeded to read the name of every single girl on varsity.
Everybody looked around. This was obviously bad, and it was huge. Entire sports teams did not get called out of class.
At lunch, JV sat together, buzzing and trading the parts of the story we knew. What we pieced together by the end of lunch was this: the entire varsity had spent the night at Kaitlyn’s house to celebrate making the state championship game. One of the seniors had brought liquor, and they had basically been up all night drinking. Courtney was lucky to have puked in the bathroom, because Allison apparently puked right in the middle of her AP Bio class.
They were definitely getting suspended, but pretty much everybody thought Ms. Allen would let them back in school on Friday so they would be eligible to play in the championship game on Saturday.
“But they won’t be able to play even if they do come to school on Friday,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” Marcia asked.
“The alcohol pledge,” I said. “It says you get a two-game suspension for your first violation.”
“They’ll make them sit out the first two games next season or something,” Shakina said. “There is no way they won’t let them play in the state championship game. There’s just no way.”
There was a way. By the end of the day, even though nobody had seen any of the varsity players since they were called to the office, the whole school knew: varsity had gotten a three-day suspension, and Ms. Allen was holding them to their alcohol pledge and suspending them from the next two games. They had drunk away their chance at the state championship.
I took a detour at the end of the day to check for Lena in the office. All I could see was an office full of parents, most of whom looked really angry. Lena’s dad was right up in Ms. Allen’s face yelling, “I’ll have your job for this! I’m calling my lawyer!”
As I walked downstairs, I felt bad for Lena. Her dad had not been at a single one of her games, but if there was an opportunity to come in and scream at the principal, he was all over that.
At least Lena would get the chance to play for the state championship next year, with a coach who didn’t yell and a goalie who could play. At least I hoped so. What about the senior girls? This was their last chance, and to know they’d come so close and ended their high school sports career by forfeiting the state championship game—well, I was glad it wasn’t happening to me. I was annoyed with them for doing something so stupid, but mostly I felt bad for them. They had to be heartbroken and humiliated.
I couldn’t wait to tell Dad because I knew he was going to go through the roof. He had been so outraged by the alcohol pledge, and even though we weren’t friends anymore, my parents both liked Lena, and I just knew he’d be really mad.
But when I told him at dinner, he surprised me by saying, “Well, I guess that’s what they get.”
“But, Dad, it’s totally unfair! Lena’s dad is going to sue the school.”
“Oh, Avi cares about his family all of a sudden?” Dad said, and we looked at him like you do when somebody says something that everybody’s been thinking but nobody has had the guts to say.
“Dan,” Mom scolded, but you could tell from her tone of voice that her heart wasn’t in it.
“Dad, you were the one who said the pledge was a sham document and . . . something else bad, I don’t remember.”
“I was objecting to it at the proper time,” Dad said. “If people had refused to sign and were suing the school so they would be allowed to play anyway, I would be in total support of tha
t. But they did sign it, Amanda. So they agreed that what they do outside of school is the school’s business. They had no problem with the rule until it was enforced on them. Suddenly they think it’s not fair. Where were they two months ago? It was fair enough before.”
“But Lena’s not going to get to play!”
“Well, I hate to say this, but she should have thought of that before she showed up drunk at school. She signed the document, Amanda. She knew what the consequences were. What baffles me is that they didn’t even try to hide it. I mean, my God, in my day—”
“Dan, is this really a story you want your high-school-age children hearing?” Mom interrupted.
Dad thought for a minute, then spoke. “Maybe not. But the point is, when you don’t even try to disguise your bad behavior, you’re practically daring the authorities to punish you. Did the girls think they were so special that they wouldn’t get in trouble for something anybody else would have gotten in trouble for?”
“But nobody else does get in trouble,” I said. “It’s like you said. Everybody knows the hockey and football players are out getting hammered every weekend.”
“But do they come to school and flaunt the fact that they’ve flouted the rules?”
“Did you really just say ‘flaunt the fact that they’ve flouted’?” Conrad asked.
“Yeah,” Dad said. “It’s perfectly good English. What’s the problem?”
“I guess, no, you don’t see the hockey team puking in their bio classes,” I said, ignoring their linguistic debate.
“There you go. There’s an unspoken agreement, which I think is incredibly dumb by the way. The school makes you sign this unconscionable invasive pledge, but they don’t have the resources to police every house in town, so they ignore it until somebody makes it impossible for them to ignore it.”
“But isn’t that kind of—” I started.
“Corrupt? Dishonest?”
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