Abby the Bad Sport Page 3

  “It fits into my training plans,” I said lightly. I’d decided not to think about the disastrous soccer practice the day before. I had plenty of time to change the coach’s mind and get back my position as center forward. Or I could play wing. A wing — an outside forward — was a position I could handle, too.

  Although most people stop working and leave their jobs at five o’clock or five-thirty, in Mom’s publishing house plenty of people were still hunched over desks or staring at computer screens or talking earnestly to other people as we left at six-thirty. We stopped to say hello to a couple of people, but fortunately not many. I was hungry.

  The Italian restaurant was very elegant, with acres of white tablecloths and heavy silverware and fresh flowers on every table and not a pizza in sight. “Everyone’s talking about this place,” Mom remarked after the host had seated us. “So I decided to bring you two to see if it passed the test before I bring any important authors.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Anna.

  After we’d ordered and the waiter had served us an appetizer of antipasto, Mom leaned across the table and said, “Actually, there is another reason we’re here tonight.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. No such thing as a free lunch. Or a free dinner.

  Anna put down her fork and eyed Mom. “Well, so far it passes the food test, in case you’re interested,” she said.

  Were we going to move again? Or maybe it was just simple good news, like Mom had gotten a promotion at work.

  But would she look so serious if it was good news?

  Mom took a sip of water. She put her glass down. She picked it up again and took another sip.

  A waiter appeared out of nowhere and filled her glass.

  “It passes the service test so far, too,” I said, trying to keep things light.

  But Mom didn’t smile. She said, “As you know, we haven’t been to the cemetery where your father is buried since we moved to Stoneybrook.”

  Anna and I didn’t look at each other and we didn’t speak.

  “Your father’s birthday is this month,” Mom went on after a few moments. “And it’s been four years since your father … died.”

  A shock went through me at the word. I stared down at my plate, my appetite deserting me.

  “Okay,” said Anna neutrally.

  Encouraged, Mom said, “What I was thinking is that we should go visit Grandfather David and Grandmother Ruth.”

  David and Ruth Stevenson are my father’s parents, our paternal grandparents. We’re not very close to them, even though they lived near us on Long Island. We’re closer to Gram Elsie and Grandpa Morris, Mom’s mother and father.

  “Have they invited us?” I asked, more to say something than because I really wanted to know.

  “Not exactly. But we’ve discussed it. I know they’d really like to see us, particularly you two.”

  This was not my idea of a good time. In fact, the conversation was making me very uncomfortable.

  To my relief, the waiter materialized. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “No,” I wanted to say. “NO!”

  But we all nodded.

  “The antipasto is …” He paused and gestured, and we looked at the mostly uneaten plate of food.

  “Very good,” Mom said. She picked up a fork and stabbed a stuffed clam and held it up. “We’re just taking our time enjoying it.”

  Satisfied, the waiter nodded and glided away. Mom ate the clam absently, then put the fork down.

  Anna said slowly, “When would we go?”

  Never, I thought.

  “The weekend of your father’s birthday,” Mom said. “We could spend the night, visit his grave as a family. I know it isn’t the easiest way to spend a weekend, but I think we need to do this. Family is important, and while you don’t know this now, it grows more important as you get older.”

  Anna nodded. “Okay,” she said.

  I didn’t say anything, which of course didn’t let me off the hook. “Abby?” Mom asked.

  I looked up from my intensive study of sautéed artichoke heart on my plate and said, “Well, I don’t know.”

  Mom reached over and patted my hand. “It won’t be so hard, trust me.”

  What could I say? I nodded, which didn’t mean I agreed to go. I only nodded to show that, yes, I trusted Mom.

  She didn’t recognize the fine distinction, though. She patted my hand once more, then withdrew it.

  Then she surveyed the antipasto as if it had just arrived at our table. “My,” she said brightly, as if nothing at all were wrong. “Doesn’t this look good?”

  I shoveled some more food onto my plate and moved it around, eating enough so that Anna and Mom wouldn’t notice or think I was sulking.

  But my appetite for dinner, New York, and just about everything else in the world was gone.

  Dad was dead. Gone. He would never come back. And although I could remember him now without crying, could laugh without feeling guilty, I didn’t want to go back to Long Island, didn’t want to visit Grandfather David and Grandmother Ruth, who always talked about him and then kept finding similarities between him and Anna and me.

  We had made a new life and we were doing fine.

  Why couldn’t Mom leave well enough alone?

  Kristy wasn’t coaching the Krushers when she had her Great Idea. She was washing a car while she was baby-sitting for several Krusher team members, along with Claudia.

  Car washing is not necessarily part of baby-sitting. But a good baby-sitter is prepared for anything. So when Kristy headed across the street with her stepsister, Karen (age seven); her stepbrother, Andrew (age four); and her younger brother, David Michael (age seven); she didn’t freak out when she was met at the door by Linny and Hannie Papadakis (ages nine and seven), wearing raincoats, rain hats, and carrying buckets. (Her baby sister Emily Michelle was with Kristy’s grandmother.)

  Claudia, holding Sari Papadakis, who is two, appeared in the doorway behind them.

  “It’s not raining inside, is it?” asked Kristy, holding out her hand and pretending to be worried about the weather.

  Hannie burst out laughing and Linny said, “Of course not.”

  “That’s good,” said Kristy, leading her crew inside, “because it makes an awful mess.” She glanced at Karen. “Do you think I should carry an umbrella, just in case?”

  Karen’s blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind her glasses. Then she said, “If it rained indoors long enough, it might flood and wash all the furniture outdoors.”

  Hannie said, “And then it could dry and we could bring it back inside.”

  “But only if it stopped raining inside,” said Karen.

  Everyone started laughing then. When they stopped, Claudia said, “Well, it won’t rain inside today, but I predict very local showers outside. Like in the driveway, over the Papadakises’ station wagon.”

  “Ah,” said Kristy, the light dawning.

  “We’re going to wash Daddy’s car,” said Hannie. “It needs it. It’s a surprise.”

  “It’s also good practice for when you get a car of your own,” said Karen.

  Linny, Karen, Andrew, and David Michael all nodded solemnly, making it very difficult for Kristy and Claudia not to laugh. Which they didn’t do, although Claudia had to bury her face in Sari’s soft, baby-sweet-smelling curls for a moment to hide the smile she couldn’t keep off her face.

  Then Claudia said, “Let me get Sari’s bathing suit before we go outside.”

  “We need car-wash clothes, too,” announced Karen. (In case you haven’t noticed, Karen is a stickler for detail, in addition to being very imaginative.)

  “We’ve got lots and lots of stuff,” said Hannie. “And there’s more stuff in the hall closet.”

  In no time at all, the car-wash crew had swathed itself in rain hats, caps, and even rain boots. Then Claudia and Kristy found some buckets and sponges and everyone went outside to wash the car.

  It was when they were swabbing on the soap
that Kristy had her next Great Idea.

  “A car wash!” she exclaimed, stopping in mid-window-wipe. “That’s what we’ll do.”

  “We’re doing it already,” said David Michael.

  “Kristy? What is it?” asked Claudia, who was accustomed to the look that Kristy wore when she was Thinking.

  “Stoneybrook United needs equipment and shirts, right?”

  “Right,” said Claudia.

  “Well, why don’t we raise some money to support them? If we all worked together, I bet we could do it.”

  Linny said, “What’s Stoneybrook United?”

  As they washed the car, Kristy and Claudia explained what the Special Olympics Unified Team was and that Abby was playing on a soccer team called Stoneybrook United.

  “They don’t have team shirts?” asked Karen. “You have to have shirts to be a team! It’s very, very important.”

  “I know,” said Kristy. “That’s why I want to raise money to help the team buy shirts.”

  “We could form a Booster Club,” Claudia suggested, “to support Stoneybrook United.”

  “I want to join,” said Linny instantly.

  “Me, too,” said Karen, and all the other kids agreed.

  When Kristy had calmed them down, she told them that everyone could participate.

  “Let’s call all the Krushers,” said Karen. “They should help, too.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Kristy. “I’ll call the BSC members tonight and we’ll start a phone tree.”

  “We could have a bake sale,” said David Michael.

  “Or at least sell refreshments to people while they wait for us to wash their cars. Where can we hold it, though?” said Kristy.

  “In our driveway!” shouted Karen in her loudest outdoor voice. “We’ll make signs and put them on all the corners and we can stand on the corner of our street with a big sign and a flag to show people where to come to the car wash!”

  In no time at all, the plans for the SB United Booster Club had mushroomed. (SB was our way of abbreviating Stoneybrook.) Before the Papadakises’ car was clean (and it got a really good wash, because all of the kids kept scrubbing it and sloshing water over it in their excitement), the founding members of the Booster Club had decided to recruit the Krusher cheerleaders — Vanessa Pike, Haley Braddock, and Charlotte Johanssen — to cheer SB United on. The Booster Club would also make signs for the games and even make buttons to sell at the games.

  By the time the car-wash crew had trooped back inside to shed rain gear and drink lemonade, Kristy knew that another Great Idea was on its way to being realized.

  What she didn’t know was that I wasn’t ready for anyone’s Great Ideas now.

  How many practices does it take to convince a coach that she has made a mistake?

  I didn’t know, and I was getting over my enthusiasm for Coach Wu. In fact, I was beginning to have serious doubts about her. She might be a great softball coach, but what did she know about soccer, really? So she’d played a little varsity at UNC. That was probably years and years ago.

  But I am not a quitter. So even though I realized that I was all wrong in a defensive position, I did my best at practice. And I kept in mind that in soccer, anyone can score. There have been great defensive players throughout the history of soccer who have done just that. When everybody on the team plays together like a team, any player can run through and use the element of surprise to take a shot on the goal. On the best teams, all the players can play all positions and switch off. Total soccer it’s called.

  I decided to put the total-soccer concept into effect during our scrimmage at the end of the practice. In the meantime, I concentrated on doing everything perfectly for Coach Wu. This was my last chance before our first game to convince the coach to give me the position I deserved.

  Only, Erin got lucky. I mean, so she executed a few neat foot moves, did a nice give and go, and passed me to score during the scrimmage. We had a green goalie, and I’m not used to playing defense anyway.

  “Concentrate, Abby,” called Coach Wu. “Good work, Erin.”

  Erin’s team cheered and they all gave each other high fives.

  “Next time,” I said to Erin as she walked by. I smiled to show I was joking. She smiled back and said, after a moment, “No way!”

  “We’ll stop ’em,” said Sandy from behind me in the goal. I didn’t turn around to acknowledge what she had said.

  Needless to say, I stayed in center fullback position for the rest of the game. Ugh. But at least I kept Erin from scoring again.

  “Good practice, guys,” said Coach Wu. “Play like that in the game on Saturday and we won’t have any problems.”

  I looked at Coach Wu in disbelief. How could we play great without me on the front line?

  But everyone else was nodding enthusiastically. Then Coach Wu said, “How about some ice cream? I think we’ve earned it.”

  Jeana clapped her hands excitedly, seeming for a moment like a much younger kid. Connie, who had been playing defense with me, volunteered, “My mother has a big car. We could all ride in that.”

  “Not all of us,” said Coach Wu, “but anyone who can’t fit in Connie’s mother’s car is welcome to ride in my van.”

  I decided a ride in Coach Wu’s van was just what I needed, although sharing ice cream with my teammates wasn’t what I wanted at the moment.

  That’s how I found myself in the van with Coach Wu and half of SB United after practice.

  As we drove toward the ice-cream parlor, I turned to Coach Wu and said, “Soccer is a great game, isn’t it?” (I was trying to be subtle.)

  “It is,” she replied.

  “I love it,” cried Sandy from the backseat.

  “Soccer, soccer, soccer,” Petra began to chant, and the others took it up. The van was rocking. Coach Wu glanced in her rearview mirror and smiled.

  “Great team spirit, isn’t it?” I offered.

  Coach Wu’s eyes flicked toward me for an instant. I smiled. “My old team on Long Island had great team spirit, too. It’s why we won. Of course, you have to score to win as well. I was the leading scorer on my team. I was the center forward.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Coach Wu, and I had the feeling that she was deliberately misunderstanding me. “You’ll get the hang of center back.”

  We pulled into the parking lot in front of 32 Flavors and Then Some.

  As we piled through the front door, someone cried, “Erin! Hey, girl, what are you doing here on your day off?”

  Erin grinned. “Hello, Mr. Carr. I’ve been playing soccer,” she said.

  The big man behind the counter grinned broadly. “Good. It means you’ll eat more ice cream.”

  “I want extra-big scoops for all my friends,” said Erin.

  What a show-off, I thought. I had forgotten about her part-time job.

  But no one else seemed to think so. They crowded around Erin, asking her questions, pointing to all the different flavors, and basking in the attention that Mr. Carr and the other employees were lavishing on her and “her friends.”

  I hung back, staying a little separate, but not too much. I hadn’t forgotten that Coach Wu was lurking. I didn’t want her to think I had a bad attitude or anything.

  But when Erin turned to me and asked, “What kind of ice cream do you want, Abby?” I couldn’t help myself. I snapped, “I can order for myself. I’m not a baby.”

  Erin frowned. A hurt look came into her eyes. Then anger replaced it. “Okay,” she said. She turned back to the counter.

  I ordered vanilla and sat at the end of the table, as far from Erin as I could get.

  I was also as far from my team as I had ever been from any team of which I had been a part. On Long Island, I would have been laughing and joking with my teammates. We would have been doing all the silly things that teammates — and friends — do: pretending our straws were stupid mustaches, making loud slurping noises, ragging on each other about how we had played, talking about upcoming games
.

  But Stoneybrook United wasn’t like that. Everybody, I thought sourly, is treating Erin like a star.

  What a show-off, I thought again. And what a bunch of phonies. It was one thing to shine at practices, in no-pressure situations.

  It was quite another not to crack under pressure at the games.

  Erin would crack. I was sure of it.

  And the team would lose.

  Ha, I thought, and slurped my vanilla ice cream all alone.

  “What a great day for soccer,” said Sandy.

  “Every day is a great day for soccer,” I answered automatically. I checked the heavy silver tape that held each of my lucky cleats together in one piece. Should I add another wrap before the game, or would they hold up?

  I decided they would hold up. The big shoe companies make soccer cleats for women now (and it’s about time), and I had tried on several pairs, including this pair of Adidas that …

  But no use thinking about that now. My lucky cleats had gotten me through too many games to abandon them while they had a single kick left in them. That’s why I babied them along, only wearing them for games, keeping them supplied with new shoelaces and plenty of protective polish.

  “I’d rather play in weather like this than in rain. Or snow,” said Erin, who was sitting nearby.

  “A good player can play in any weather,” I said snappishly.

  I had insulted Erin, and some of the players knew it. Sandy glanced at me in confusion and surprise. Petra took in a sharp breath.

  Erin didn’t seem to notice. She answered immediately, with annoying self-confidence, “Then I’m not worried.”

  A few people laughed, and I saw Sandy and Petra relax visibly.

  The truth? Okay, I was a little ashamed of taking a shot at Erin. But I was angry, too. She had my position, and I was stuck in the hard-work-for-no-glory, kill-or-be-killed zone of the soccer field.

  I didn’t think it was fair. I didn’t think she’d earned it. But if we lost today, who would be blamed? Not the offense for not scoring, but the defense for letting the other team score against us.

  After Coach Wu went over the lineup with us, the referee checked all our equipment to make sure it conformed to the league rules. (Shin guards are required, and you can’t wear metal cleats, for example, or potentially dangerous jewelry such as earrings, which can get ripped out of your earlobe.)