Abby the Bad Sport Page 2

  Dawn is, as you might have guessed, our honorary California member. Naturally she stays in touch with Mary Anne and her Connecticut family. And recently, Dawn joined the members of the BSC on a cross-country road trip to California.

  Another pair of best friends in the BSC are Stacey and Claudia. They are very interested in clothes and fashion. Stacey is always up to the second in her look, while Claudia really likes to push the fashion boundaries.

  That’s partly because Claudia is an artist. She doesn’t like school, but when it comes to being creative, Claudia is every bit as much a genius as her older sister, Janine (who is a real, live genius complete with the I.Q. score to prove it).

  Claudia often wears her art on her sleeve — almost literally. On this, my first Monday back at the BSC, for example, she was in a little crop-top muscle shirt that she had batikked green and blue. She’d sewed a bunch of buttons up the front as if it were a vest. She also had on skinny black shorts, one blue sock and one green sock, and black Doc Martens with one blue shoelace (on the foot with the green sock) and one green shoelace (on the foot with the blue sock). Her long black hair had been gathered into a single braid. A blue ribbon with more buttons attached to it was woven into the braid. Her earrings? Buttons, naturally. On anybody else, it might not have — no, it would not have — worked. But on Claudia, with her creamy skin, dark brown eyes, and artistic, easy grace, it looked terrific.

  Fashion and art aren’t the only things Claudia Kishi does well, though. She’s also a junk food gourmet, with enough candy, chips, etc. hidden around her room to fuel Halloween. And she loves Nancy Drew books, which she also keeps hidden since her parents, to her mystification, equate Nancy Drew with junk food.

  Junk food is not something you will ever see Stacey McGill eating, however, and not because she’s trying to be one of those skinny, icky supermodels. No, Stacey (who is slender, blonde, and much better looking than a starved supermodel, anyway, in my opinion) can’t eat sugar. That’s because she has diabetes, which means she has to watch what she eats very, very carefully and even give herself insulin injections to make sure that she doesn’t get sick.

  Stacey never talks about it, but she handles her diabetes with the same self-assurance and efficiency that she handles everything else (including schoolwork, especially math). Maybe that’s why she seems older than the other members of the BSC. That — and her New York City fashion sense, which she acquired when she lived in New York before moving to Stoneybrook. Like Dawn, Stacey’s parents are divorced. They split up after her father had to move back to New York. Stacey frequently visits him — and brushes up on the latest fashions.

  Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike are junior members of the BSC, because they are in sixth grade and can’t baby-sit at night during the week and only for their families at night on the weekends. They have a shared passion for horses and books about horses, especially the books by Marguerite Henry. But Mallory does not share Jessi’s passion for ballet and Jessi does not share Mallory’s love of writing stories.

  Jessi moved to Stoneybrook from New Jersey with her mother, father, her younger sister, and her baby brother. Her aunt also lives with her family now. Jessi is of medium height, and she’s dancer-strong and graceful. She has brown skin and dark brown eyes with dark hair she often wears in a ballet dancer’s twist at the nape of her neck. Her fashion taste also reflects her love of ballet. She likes to wear leotards (of which she has a large collection) under sweaters or jackets with jeans or pants.

  Jessi is also very disciplined. She gets up every morning at exactly 5:29 to practice ballet at the barre her family has set up for her in the basement, and she studies ballet with a special teacher.

  Mallory does not get up at 5:29 A.M. every day to write, but she gets up early because she is the oldest of a large family — eight siblings, including a set of triplets. Her vast experience with so many kids is why she was asked to join the BSC. Mallory has reddish hair, pale skin, freckles, and — to her eternal despair — glasses and braces. She can hardly wait to lose the braces and plans on getting contact lenses as soon as she can.

  I think she looks good in glasses and I’m trying to change her mind on that, especially since I wear glasses a lot myself. But so far, I haven’t persuaded her.

  Whew. Almost done. Our associate members are NOT best friends, but Logan Bruno (this cute guy who resembles the movie star Cam Geary, according to Mary Anne) is Mary Anne’s boyfriend. He is into sports in a major way, which I naturally consider a good quality in anybody. He is easygoing and nice and has a trace of a Southern accent, which is not surprising, since he is originally from Kentucky.

  Shannon Kilbourne is the only member of the BSC who doesn’t go to Stoneybrook Middle School. She goes to a private school, Stoneybrook Day School, along with her two sisters. When she is not in her school uniform, her style runs to casual. She lives across the street from Kristy (and just down from me, since I live two houses over from Kristy). Of all the BSC members, Shannon is probably the most school-achievement-oriented. Check this out. She’s a member of the French club, the astronomy club (of which she’s the youngest member and the vice-president), the Honor Society, and the debate team. And she participates in school plays.

  So it is a good thing that BSC associate members don’t have to attend meetings, right? Although as organized as Shannon is (she’s in Kristy’s league on that one), she’d probably manage it somehow.

  And that’s the BSC.

  Coach Wu blew her whistle. “Okay, everybody, two easy laps to warm up.”

  Although it was our first practice together, I took it as a good sign that our team did what every team does when it is told to do dull, boring laps. We all groaned.

  “And then we stretch,” added Coach Wu firmly.

  We groaned again, but the coach took no notice. She looked down at her clipboard and began making notes as the members of our team finished lacing up cleats, adjusting shin guards, and peeling off sweats.

  “We’ll do introductions while we stretch,” Coach Wu called as we straggled out onto the field and began to jog slowly around it.

  I smiled to myself. I was going to like Coach Wu’s style. She didn’t waste any time. Then I picked up my speed a little, pounding out my laps at something a little showier than a jog. I figured if the coach was watching, it might impress her. And it doesn’t hurt to impress a coach you’ve never played with before.

  Not that I was the only one who was going heads-up around the field. At least two other players were: Petra Kosinski, whom I knew from junior varsity at Stoneybrook Middle School, and another girl I didn’t recognize, taller than me and with a ground-eating stride that would strike fear into an unprotected goalie’s heart. Petra was a go-getter and I knew she’d be claiming a berth on the varsity team at Stoneybrook pretty soon. If the tall girl’s skills matched her stride, she already would have nailed a spot. I didn’t recognize her, though. But then, I was fairly new to Stoneybrook.

  Hmmm. I won’t say that I had a premonition, but …

  I picked up my pace.

  Petra, the tall girl, and I finished at the front of the pack. I peeled off before it could become too obvious that we were working on a race instead of a gentle warm-up jog.

  When we had formed a circle around the coach, she began taking us through the warm-up stretches. In between stretches, we introduced ourselves.

  Erin was the name of the tall girl with the awesome stride and speed. She had curly brown hair and she spoke deliberately and thoughtfully as she introduced herself. She said she was in the ninth grade at SHS (which was why I hadn’t seen her in any of my classes) and that she was an athlete player. She also had a part-time job at an ice-cream parlor. Pretty cool.

  Other players included Connie, who had a compact build and giggled a lot as she talked. She said she was fifteen, but she seemed younger, both in behavior and size. She went to Kelsey Middle School, also in Stoneybrook. Jojo was in my math class at SMS. I had never seen her play soccer, and I
realized that she usually wore glasses, at least to math class. Sandy was taller than most of us and more strongly built. She told us, almost defiantly, that she also was in special ed at Kelsey Middle School. She said this with an almost reproachful look at Connie.

  Annalise was a small, skinny, restless girl who spoke with a slight speech impediment. “I run fast,” she told us. I wondered if it was true, or if it was something someone had told her. Soccer teams can get killed by having a slow player, once the other team figures it out and decides to play down that side of the field.

  Not the best attitude, I know, but that’s how I thought — at the time.

  When we had finished introducing ourselves, the coach made random pairings of athletes and partners, and I was paired with Jeana, who was short and quick and a new convert to soccer. “My brother plays,” she explained. “In school. He’s at the university. I can’t play with him anymore, so I joined this team.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  Coach Wu announced, “Basic skills drills, everybody. Pass the ball back and forth between each other. Practice trapping it ten times with each foot. Then take turns throwing it and practicing thigh traps and chest traps. Then ten headers.”

  Jeana made a face. “I don’t like headers.”

  “The secret is not to let it hit the top of your head,” I said. “That’s what hurts.”

  We did the drills and I admit I watched Erin and her partner out of the corner of my eye. I realized that she was also working with a less-experienced player.

  But the team had plenty of talent, and I began to have high hopes for Stoneybrook United. Especially with me and Erin on the team. I figured we could pose a serious scoring threat.

  Coach Wu gradually increased the tempo and the skill levels of the drills until we were moving at top speed. She kept a sharp eye on us and didn’t cut anyone any slack. But she didn’t dog us, either. If we did something right, she let us know. If we didn’t, she demonstrated the correct way to do it or asked one of the athletes or partners to demonstrate, then told us to do it again.

  Annalise proved to be fast and quick, and I was ashamed of my earlier cynicism. I realized that I had been expecting less of the players with intellectual disabilities, something that we had talked about not doing at the training session, and something that Coach Wu clearly didn’t do.

  By the time we took our water break, I was sweating. As we stood around the fountain at one corner of the field, Coach Wu studied us and then said to Petra, “Have you ever played goalie?”

  Petra looked, well, petra-fied. “M-me?” she stammered.

  The coach nodded. “You’re quick and you attack the ball well. Those are two important qualities in a goalie.”

  “But I, well, I usually play on the field. In midfield,” Petra said.

  “We’ve got a lot of depth in midfield,” said the coach. “And since we don’t have anyone on the team with goalie experience, we can start fresh with beginners. You’ve played before so you know the rules. So has Sandy. Sandy, you’re tall. That’s useful in the goal, especially for the high shots. I’m going to ask you two to learn the position.”

  That caught Sandy by surprise. Her green eyes widened, and she pushed her sweaty bangs back with both hands so that her red-blonde hair was standing up like a dandelion. “I can do that,” said Sandy. But, like Petra, she didn’t look entirely pleased.

  “You’ll both get some field time, too,” said Coach Wu, and she made another note on her clipboard. “I believe that players should be able to understand and handle lots of different positions.”

  I saw Petra make a face at Sandy and Sandy make one back. Then they both exchanged rueful grins. I knew how they felt. Playing goalie is the hardest position on a soccer team, in my opinion. The goalie, as you probably know, is the only player on the team who can use her hands to catch the ball. That’s because she’s standing in front of the goal, in a marked area called the goal box, and she is the last person on the defense. She has to stop the ball because if she doesn’t catch it, it will go into the goal and the other team will score and win.

  If the goalie is really good and does her job, no goals go in. Then if her team scores, her team wins. But who gets the credit for a win? Usually the forward — the player on the front line — who scores against the other team. The goalie hardly ever gets credit for great saves.

  But if you lose, what do people remember? All those goals that went right past the goalie.

  Plus, goalies have to be fearless and fast. They have to be able to jump high and dive headlong to catch shots on the ground, like a baseball player sliding into home plate.

  Ugh.

  Erin said, “The goalie for the Mexican national team also plays on the field sometimes. He’s good.”

  Coach Wu said, “That’s right.” She checked her watch and said, “Okay, everybody hustle. We haven’t got all day and I want to set up a scrimmage. We’ll do some offense against defense.”

  I was immediately ready. The scrimmage at the end of practice is the best part of the session. After all, it’s a practice game. As the coach explained to Petra and Sandy how she wanted them to stand in the goals and practice positioning themselves, but not to try to make any spectacular saves, I reknotted my shoelaces and jogged in place a little, just to show that I was ready to go.

  Coach Wu surveyed the team, ran her finger down the list of players on her clipboard, then divided the team into offense (the front line, also known as forwards or strikers, and the offensive midfielders) versus the defense (the defensive midfielders and the back line, also called fullbacks or defensive backs).

  The offensive positions, in case my description of how hard it is to play goalie didn’t tip you off, are the plum positions on the team. You score the goals and if you make mistakes in the other team’s defensive zone, it isn’t usually so terrible. No one is going to steal the ball from you and shoot it into your own goal from there.

  But the defensive jobs — help! One goof and the other team could easily convert your mistake into their goal. Serious pressure and not my idea of fun. And yet, there are people who like the job.

  Amazing.

  But not as amazing as the words that came out of the coach’s mouth.

  “Abby,” she said.

  I jumped to attention. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “We’re going to play a three-person defense, and I want you to play center fullback.”

  I froze. “Fullback?” I croaked.

  “Yes. You’re familiar with the position?”

  “Sure, but I’ve never played it before.” Clearly the coach had made a mistake. I hastened to set her right. “I’m a forward. A striker. In fact, on Long Island, where I’m from, I was the leading scorer on my team.”

  Coach Wu was unmoved. “I’ve often found that a good striker can be made, with hard work, into a good defender. After all, you have an instinct for what the offense is going to do. With your offensive experience, you can anticipate and block the play.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The coach isn’t always right. But she is always the coach. I couldn’t argue with her. At least not now.

  But what I could do was show her what a good player I was, and what a waste of scoring opportunities it would be to keep me back on defense. I set my jaw and forced myself not to speak as the coach set up the scrimmage teams.

  I also vowed, as we trotted out onto the field into our positions, to stop one player FIRST.

  Erin.

  Because Coach Wu had given Erin my job. My position. Erin was the center forward.

  But not for long, I vowed. Not if I had anything to do with it.

  Grand Central Station in New York City is big, beautiful, and FULL of people, all of them moving at top speed. Actually, all of New York City is like that, although not everyone would agree that it’s beautiful.

  But I like the feeling of swift, constant motion. I move at a pretty fast clip myself, and the New York pace makes me feel r
ight at home.

  “Abby!” cried Anna as we came up from the train platform and I paused to stare. “Don’t stop now!”

  “Right,” I said. I took a deep breath and caught hold of the sleeve of Anna’s jacket so we wouldn’t be separated.

  At that moment I heard a voice calling, “Anna, Abby, over here!”

  “James!” Anna said and waved.

  James is Mom’s assistant (Mom is an executive editor at this big publishing house).

  “I cut a deal with your mom — I meet your train, put you into a cab to her office, and I leave early.” James grinned and I couldn’t help but grin back. He’s got that kind of a smile. He’s been Mom’s assistant for a few years now. He’s a tall, skinny guy with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.

  “This way,” said James, and he led us through the station toward the cab stand. Since James was in charge, I figured I could stare at the surroundings as much as I wanted to. I did just that, letting my mouth hang open as I peered up at the golden constellations set into the sky blue ceiling of the main part of the station and read the train schedules above the ticket booths.

  I kept staring as the cab zipped through the streets, fitting itself into spaces I wouldn’t have attempted to shoot a soccer ball through (or, at least, that’s the way it seemed). It was almost as much fun as a ride at a carnival, and I was a little sorry when it was over. I don’t think Anna was, though. She sighed as she paid the driver. I think it was a sigh of relief.

  “Ready?” Mom hung up the phone as we walked into her office, shoveled a stack of manuscripts into her already overstuffed briefcase, and swept us out the door of her office. She closed it behind her and said, “Italian? Is that okay?”