Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
chapter 21
Acknowledgements
PHILOMEL BOOKS
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Copyright © 2010 by Andrea Montalbano. All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Philomel Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. Philomel Books, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Montalbano, Andrea.
Breakaway / Andrea Montalbano. p. cm.
Summary: When seventh-grade soccer star LJ befriends Tabitha, who could not be more different from her, LJ learns to curb her competitive nature, which has been slowly alienating her friends. [1. Teamwork (Sports)—Fiction. 2. Soccer—Fiction.
3. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M76342Br2010 [Fic]—dc22
2009027035
eISBN : 978-1-101-18768-5
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my children, Lily and Willam, who color my world. And to my husband, Diron, for everything.
chapter 1
It’s not easy to find your place in the world, especially when you’re a kid.
Lily James knew that well: she was twelve now, and it had taken her a whole ten years to find her place. Ten years is a decade, one-tenth of a century, to be exact, and a century is, no doubt, a super-long time.
In case you’re wondering, her place in the world isn’t the sanctuary of her purple and red bedroom, or in Mrs. Krugman’s seventh-grade English class, or even in the secret nook of her excellent tree fort: it’s where she feels as comfortable as her old sneakers, as safe as under her comfy blanket and best of all, like a star.
Her place was on the soccer field. Any soccer field.
Lily James loved everything about it.
She lived to run, she ached to kick and she adored tackling, legally, of course, and never from behind. She thrilled at the pounding of her heart as she sprinted toward the goal, the black and white ball floating in front and the wind rushing past her ears, created solely by the movement of her own pumping arms and legs. She adored the smell of the grass and the fall colors in the trees all around, waving and falling like a million crazed fans. Soccer made her feel alive and important, because best of all, she could play.
In fact, if she were allowed to play soccer all day long, that’s all she would do. She couldn’t—school and sleeping and eating got in the way, and the winter made it tough. But other than that, the field was her place, the ball was her friend and soccer was her game.
It was hard to believe that she played her first real game for the Brookville Bombers Travel Team just two years ago. She could still remember the tingly feeling in her gut in the seconds before the referee, Mr. White, blew the whistle that very first game. A magical tension hung in the air—every girl had stood staring at the ball—just waiting. Waiting for the sound that would release them. At least that’s how it felt to Lily that very first time. She’d eyed the regulation size 4 ball and in that leather orb she’d found herself and her special place.
Two years later, Lily was more experienced, but the wondrous anticipation remained the same. So far, this year’s season had been incredible. Her team was 6—0, and on track to become league champions. Lily could still feel the bitter bite of last year’s defeat in the finals. This year, she would settle for nothing less than the sweet taste of victory.
But trouble was coming before the morning’s game even started: the referee was a father from the opposing team. That was never good news. Lily eyed him suspiciously but quickly put her gaze on the ball when she saw him draw a breath. She studied Maggie McNulty, the Riderdale Red Rockets’ striker, who was resting her foot in a haughty way, making Lily wonder what was going on in that ponytailed head of hers. Would she go forward and attack, or would she pass the ball back to the center midfielder to blast upfield?
Lily’s best friend, Vee Merino, was perched on the other side of the field’s center circle, ready to pounce. She moved her head imperceptibly, and Lily nodded back. Vee was fearless, and Lily loved that about her. Even though she was pretty small compared to the rest of the players, when it came to Vee, size didn’t matter. She was all courage. The ref finally exhaled and the whistle sounded in a sharp beep. The game was on.
Maggie tapped the ball to her teammate, who was immediately chased down by a dark-haired girl in a navy blue and yellow Bombers uniform. Vee the Bee. Buzzing in. The girl with the ball, a redhead with fair skin and a startled expression, looked around for a Rocket. No one was open. Flustered, she dribbled blindly for a moment as Vee pressed her attack. Then, turning around, she did the smart thing and passed the ball back to her own side of the field.
The center midfielder was a beefy girl, and Lily knew she had a wicked right foot. Beefy girl made contact, but Lily could tell by the slapping sound that she’d hit it all wrong. Instead of going downfield, the ball went almost straight up like a firework. Lily looked up and saw it wobbling above in a crooked spin, the black and white squares blurring into gray. A girl from the other team stood close, jumping uselessly while Lily waited patiently, sure the ball would come to her.
That’s just how it was with Lily and soccer. She knew that ball would come to her, and she knew what to do with it when she got it. Off the field she was a regular kid with homework and hang-ups, but on the pitch, she was a soccer magician. Her parents told her she started to kick the very same day she started walking. Her mom liked to point to her belly and say it started even way before that. Any
chance she got, Lily had a ball. Some talents were from practicing all the time, but anyone who ever saw Lily play could tell it was the thing she was born to do.
The ball descended. The Red Rocket tried to shoulder Lily out of the way, but she stood her ground, protecting her position, and when the ball arrived, she lifted her foot ever so slightly. Catching it tenderly on her laces, she was off like a shot before it ever hit the ground. She moved right to avoid the midfielder and then heard a shout from the left.
“LJ! I’m open!”
Lily knew it was Vee calling. She lifted her head for a second and spied her friend making a run down the left. Using her right foot, Lily lifted a pass over another player. Vee trapped the ball and took off toward the goal.
“Get her!” Lily heard Maggie cry. “She’s almost in the box!”
Lily didn’t stop to watch but kept running full speed ahead, trying to find an open space to give Vee an option. Two other blue and yellow uniforms were speeding along the sides of the fields, and the red team was in shock. They weren’t ready for this quick attack.
“Cross, Vee!” Lily cried as she charged across the eighteen-yard line—the penalty box. Anyone tripped by the defense in the box got a penalty kick. Just you and the goalie—one whistle, one shot.
Lily called again and Vee delivered a beautiful waist-high pass. Lily trapped the ball with her thigh and turned to shoot, but something caught her foot, and instead of making contact she fell straight to the ground, getting a mouth full of dirt.
She waited for the whistle but instead heard the referee shout, “Play on!”
Play on? Lily couldn’t believe it. She had been tripped. She was about to score! Instead of getting a penalty kick, the game went on and she was left face-first on the ground tasting earthworm grit. She could hear her coach going ballistic.
“Hey!” Lily yelled, spitting out the mud. “Psssahk!! She tripped me!”
The red team goalie had the ball now and was about to launch it back upfield. Lily saw her smirk.
“Ref!” Lily yelled again. She deserved that penalty kick. She was the team expert and had already won two games on PKs this season. A fair call would basically guarantee her team a goal.
But the referee boomed, “Another word out of you and I’ll give you a yellow!” Lily bit her lip and brushed herself off. Arguing with the man in black was a serious no-no. Two yellow cards and you were out of the game for good. Vee trotted over and helped Lily up.
“You okay?” she asked. “Keep your cool, LJ.”
“I’m tryin’,” Lily said, taking a deep breath. She wiped her mouth on her undershirt. “We should have scored.”
“Don’t worry, LJ, we’ll get ’em.”
Lily heard her coach hollering from the sidelines, “Get back in the game, LJ!”
The goalie punted upfield. Lily was convinced a terrible injustice had occurred, but there was nothing she could do about it. She knew her coach, Chris, was right: she had to get back into the game. She couldn’t let her temper get the best of her again. Lifting her head, Lily jogged back toward her own goal, unable to shake off the feeling she’d just been robbed.
The rest of the first half was just as frustrating. Lily and Vee both had a few chances to score but missed by mere inches. One shot bounced off the crossbar and the Red Rockets’ tall goalie grabbed the rebound at the last possible second. The other team turned out to be better than Lily had first thought. They went after every equally contested “50-50” ball like it was already theirs. Then Maggie nearly scored on a corner kick and the big midfielder could shoot—boom—from about forty yards away.
At halftime, Lily and Vee sucked on oranges and drank cold Gatorade as their coach started his pep talk.
“You guys are playing well, but you’re getting beaten to the ball,” Chris said to the group of sweaty girls gathered around.
“That referee is a cheater!” Lily interrupted.
“LJ, you need to snap out of it,” Chris said immediately. “So you got tripped. Get used to it. They’re marking you tighter than ever. You have to be bigger than that.”
Lily studied her coach, weighing his words. Chris was pretty old—like thirty. He had long brown hair he wore tucked behind his ears and was cute in a droopy kind of way. He was really tall and skinny and tended to slouch over to make himself shorter. Lily respected her coach. He knew a lot about soccer and had even played in college. He’d dreamed of playing professionally but told Lily his limbs were just the wrong dimensions. He’d blown out his knee and now he couldn’t play soccer at all. Lily couldn’t imagine anything as terrible as that.
“Lily, listen,” he said, softer now. “We’re better than they are. Cheating is not going to change that. We can beat them even if they do cheat. But we can’t do that until you get your head back into the game. You missed some really good chances because you were too busy being mad at the referee. You’re the captain of this team—we take our cues from you.”
Lily nodded. He was right. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good girl. Now let’s go!”
The referee called the teams back to the field and the Bombers formed a huddle with all their hands piled high in the middle. Vee’s was right on top of Lily’s.
“On three,” Chris said. “One, two, three!”
The girls all put their heads together and started a deep hum, excitement growing every second. The buzzing was low at first, like a faraway engine, but quickly grew louder and stronger, like a swarm invading the field. Lily nodded and suddenly all sixteen girls exploded, “Bombers Bombers Bombers ... let’s do it!”
They broke huddle and jogged back onto the field, Lily stepping gingerly over the white sideline, her most serious superstition. She was convinced touching the chalk coming on or off the field was terrible bad luck. She and Vee took their spots at center field, and since the Rockets got to kick off in the first half, it was the Bombers who got the ball this time.
“You ready?” Vee asked.
“Oh yeah,” Lily said. “Chris wants us to drop it back to Avery and make a run down the right.”
“Got it,” Vee said as Lily gave a nod to Avery, the right halfback. Lily and Vee were the center forwards, and it was their job to play mostly offense. Avery was a halfback, and she played in the middle of the field on the right side—both offense and defense.
Lily adjusted her shin guards and retied her shoes. The referee checked to make sure both the goalies were ready and blew the whistle. Lily tapped the ball to Vee, who passed it back to Avery, and they both took off down the right-field line.
“Send me, Avery!” Lily cried. Right on cue a long pass zoomed down the line and Lily carried the ball at a sprint to the corner, moving past two red defenders in a blur. Vee dropped in right behind her.
“LJ!” she said in a tight bark.
Without even looking, Lily passed the ball back and made a run toward the near goalpost. Sara was the Bombers’ left wing, who played offense on the other side, and she was yelling her head off.
“I’m open! I’m open!”
Suddenly a Rockets defender shoved Vee from behind, knocking her flat and stealing the ball.
Lily heard Vee hit the ground. Again she waited for the whistle, and again all the referee said was, “Play on!”
Lily wanted to yell, she wanted to argue, but she remembered Chris’s words: “We’re better than they are. We can beat them even if they cheat.” Lily could see tough little Vee getting right up, so she charged to challenge the cheater with the ball. The red team player sneered at her and sprinted upfield.
Lily’s anger was growing by the second. She was not going to let them get away with this.
Yet her chance to get even would have to wait.
During the rest of the second half, the teams went back and forth. Parents and fans heaved with every shot, but still no one scored until the Rockets were awarded a questionable free kick outside the box and found the back of the net.
Lily was deflated. The Bombers were facing
their first loss of the season. Then with only five minutes left to play, little Vee led the charge. She raced downfield with the ball and connected with Amelia for a two-on-one and there was nothing the referee, or any of the Rockets, could do to prevent it. Amelia beat the tall goalie and scored. Now the game was tied.
Lily saw the referee looking at his watch. She knew they were running out of time. After a quick restart, the Bombers stole the ball back and there was a scramble at the top of the eighteen-yard box.
Lily felt a change: her anger was replaced with calm confidence. She could do this. Soccer justice would prevail.
Just then Maggie McNulty tripped over the ball as she was trying to kick it upfield. Avery, playing halfback, pounced on the loose ball and two Rocket defenders knocked into each other, falling to the ground and leaving the ball unmanned in the box. Both teams started screaming, “Loose ball! Loose ball in the box!!”
Lily was only steps away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the goalie leave her line and heard her call, “Keeper’s ball!”
Not if Lily could help it. She pushed her legs hard, keeping her eyes on nothing but the ball. She barreled ahead and beat the goalie by less than a second, taking control of the ball. The goal was open. She had the shot. As she wound up to take it, she felt someone grabbing her shirt.
She was getting pulled down from behind again! This time she wasn’t going to wait for any whistle because she knew it wasn’t coming. Instead, Lily focused on the ball, rolling slowly across the face of the goal. She pulled herself forward with all her strength but couldn’t hold herself up any longer. As she fell to the ground, she threw her legs forward and managed to slide along the grass as the goalie dove for the ball. She braced herself for the collision but kept reaching with her foot. Stretching as far as she could, she pointed like a ballerina, tapping the ball ever so slightly with the tip of her toe. Her touch was just enough to change its direction, and Lily watched as the ball slipped slowly under the looming goalie’s black jersey.
Breakaway Page 1