Double or Nothing (6 page)

“Sackett!” Coach K growled. “You'll be with us.”

Without a word, Ava trotted over to the quarterbacks and receivers. Corey gave her a little twitch of a smile. She recognized Owen Rooney, a kid from her math class, and was troubled to see that Andy Baker had also joined the group. At least Owen seemed nicer than Andy—Ava suspected that her friend Kylie had a crush on him.

They spent the next hour practicing footwork, pass routes, and downfield blocking. It was a lot to absorb, but Ava knew she was pretty good at remembering stuff as long as she could physically practice it. That was why she remembered sports plays more easily than science facts.

At last, toward the final half hour of practice, Coach K announced that anyone interested in kicking should report to Coach MacDonald over at the other end of the field. Ava trotted toward him, and soon there was a small group of kickers. Besides her and Xander, there were three other kids. Ava guessed they were all either sixth or seventh graders.

“We're going to practice kicking from a tee today,” said Coach MacDonald, eyeing the five kids in front of him. “That's how a kickoff kicker does it. I realize some of you may turn out to be punters or field goal kickers, but for now, I'm looking for accuracy and consistency, and I don't want to introduce a snap at this point.”

All five of them nodded. Ava's heart was pounding. This was just what Coach had said too. That it's fine if you can kick a ball forty yards once, but coaches are looking for players who can kick twenty-five yards consistently.

Coach MacDonald demonstrated the kicking technique. He showed them how to run in on the ball from an angle—from the left side for right-footed kickers, and from the right side for left-footed kickers. Then he asked them to line up according to which foot they kicked with.

Ava remained in the center, uncertain what to do.

“What's the matter, Sackett?” barked Coach MacDonald.

Ava hesitated. “I—I kick from both sides,” she said. She saw Xander roll his eyes.

“Choose a side,” Coach said gruffly.

Ava got behind a sixth grader, the only other kid who was kicking with his left foot.

Coach MacDonald showed them how to approach the ball, to swing the kicking foot back, to keep the toe down, and to kick it “on the hammer of your metatarsals.”

They lined up. Xander went first.

It was a nice kick. Probably about twenty-two yards, Ava estimated.

Then the three younger boys went, one at a time. Two kicked it out of bounds. The lefty ahead of Ava sent the ball skittering and bouncing along the ground, where it came to rest about fifteen yards in front of him.

“I can see we have some technique to learn,” said Coach MacDonald. “Sackett. You're next.”

It had not escaped Ava's notice that hers was the one name all the coaches seemed to know among the new players.

Probably not a coincidence,
she thought.

Ava lined up behind the ball. Was she imagining it, or had all the other players stopped to watch her? The linemen at the other end of the field had been ramming into the sled they used to practice blocking, but from what she could see out of the corner of her eye, they'd paused. Were they pausing to watch her kick? She tried her best to ignore everyone around her, took several steps, and sent the ball flying.

It was a pretty good kick, but it was hard to see where it was going with the sun shining in her eyes. It seemed to be soaring straight, traveling end over end and rotating backward the way it should, but then, as though it were a kite being tugged on a string, it began to curve left. It hit the ground just out of bounds. Great. She heard Coach MacDonald grunt. Was it a disappointed grunt? What other kind would it be? She felt her ears burn and her face get hot, and was glad it was all hidden beneath her helmet. She'd let the pressure get to her. She needed to concentrate and forget about all the eyes on her. What would she do in a game situation if she let this affect her?

They each had two more chances, and this
time they each kicked twice in a row. Xander sent both of his kicks flying, and both landed more or less in the exact same spot, about twenty-two yards away.

Coach MacDonald grunted again, and Ava decided this was a grunt of approval. Consistency. That was what the coaches wanted. She watched him make a note on his clipboard.

The other three kids managed to kick the ball in the air without it going out of bounds at least once each, although nowhere near as far as Xander had.

For Ava's second kick, she gained some lift but didn't feel she'd hit it in the “sweet spot.” Sure enough, the ball went about twenty yards. Okay, but not great. She knew she could kick it farther than that. She'd done so a zillion times with Tommy snapping the ball for her.

For her last kick, Ava closed her eyes and heaved a calming breath. She needed to do some brief mental preparation. This time she wouldn't be nervous. What good was a kicker who got nervous? By definition, a kicker was supposed to thrive on pressure, to want to perform under the most stressful possible conditions, to ignore the shouts and jeers of the opposing fans. She
imagined this was the final minute of a tied game. Everything depended on her.

She opened her eyes, took a running step, and launched the ball.

She knew it was a good kick the second it left her shoe. She'd hit it from just the right part of her foot, like a soccer ball. It sailed high, traveling end over end through the air, silhouetted against the sky. The other kickers and Coach MacDonald all shielded their eyes against the bright sun to see where it landed.

It looked like about a forty-two-yard kick. Ava resisted a strong urge to pump the air with her fist. Instead she looked calmly at Coach MacDonald. He grunted and made a note on his clipboard.

“So what meeting did you have around here?” Alex asked her mom as she buckled her seat belt.

Her mom pulled away from the front of the school and didn't answer right away. Then she said, “I had a meeting about Ava.”

Alex turned to look at her in surprise. “About her ADHD? I thought she was doing okay with that.”

“She is. Or anyway, we're working on getting her a tutor. It wasn't about that. It was about football.”

“Oh,” said Alex. “What's going on with that? I didn't see her at lunch today because of our field trip.”

“To be honest, Alex, Ava doesn't know that I met with Coach Kenerson. And neither does your father, for that matter. But Mr. Kenerson was very nice about agreeing to it. I just wanted to find out where he stands on the tryout issue. I wanted to know what he personally thinks. It turns out that he's fine with Ava playing, but it seems there are others who are objecting. Other parents.”

“Let me guess. The Kellys?”

Mrs. Sackett didn't say yes or no, but Alex could tell by the look on her face that she'd guessed correctly. The Kellys were the parents of a player on the high school team, the star quarterback, PJ. And they'd been giving her dad a hard time from day one of his taking over as coach of the team.

Alex sighed. This day was not the best kickoff to her presidential campaign. First there was the whole scene with Lindsey in the girls' bathroom this morning. Lindsey had barely spoken to her after that, even during the rare moments of the field trip where the classes had mixed and Alex and Emily had been chatting away. And now Ava playing football was starting to look like a real issue. “So what's going to happen now?”

Mrs. Sackett slowed to a stop to allow a
crossing guard to help a group of elementary school kids. The guard waved the okay, and they started up again. “I'm not sure,” she said. “But it may go to the school board. This may become a much bigger issue than just a discussion between Ava and her coach.”

“Terrific,” said Alex. “Why couldn't I have been born with a twin sister who does normal sports, like soccer or cheerleading?”

“I don't want to hear that, Alexandra,” said Mrs. Sackett sternly. “Your job is to support your sister, not criticize her.”

“I meant the question rhetorically,” said Alex. “Of course I support her.”

“Good,” Mrs. Sackett said as she slowed the car down. “I think this is the place. And that car just pulled out. We can park right in front!”

Alex scrutinized the storefront as her mom pulled up alongside a parked car and then carefully backed into the empty space behind it.

“Carolee's Consignment, huh? This doesn't look like the thrift stores we used to go to in Boston,” she said dubiously.

“Keep an open mind,” said her mother, turning off the engine. “That's the fun of these places. You never know what you might come across. Maybe
you'll find that snappy red blazer you want.”

“Maybe,” said Alex. “It's worth a look.”

A little bell dinged as Alex pushed open the heavy door, holding it for her mom. She was met with the familiar thrift-store smell: a combination of old leather, old-fashioned cologne, and dust. She loved that smell.

Still, at first glance, this was not the same kind of store they had gone to back in Boston. Whereas those had been frequented by hipster twentysomethings and fashion-forward girls like her on the prowl for retro cool, this store seemed more like a store for people who were really in search of a bargain.

Along one wall were three racks of clothes labeled
$5/$10/TWO ITEMS FOR $15.
There were lots of children's clothes in one area, and a section of hunting wear in another.
That
you didn't see in Boston. But Alex loved to shop no matter what, so she looked around and decided to start in the jewelry section.

“Oh, good, I see some old glassware,” said her mom, moving toward the back of the store.

Alex checked out a case full of old necklaces. It was mildly disappointing; mostly old-lady-looking stuff.

A girl emerged from one of the dressing rooms at the rear of the store. Her back was to Alex, but Alex thought she recognized the girl's long, shiny ponytail.

“Mom, this dress smells funny,” the girl said to her mother, who was sitting in an old, threadbare armchair, thumbing through a magazine. “Plus, it's way too long on me.”

“We can hem it,” said her mom. “Turn around and let me see the back.”

The girl gave an exasperated sigh and turned around. As she did so, her eyes met Alex's.

It was Lindsey.

Alex waved at her. “Hey, Lindsey!” she called across the store.

Lindsey weakly waggled three of her fingers at Alex and dove back into the dressing room.

Alex stood, unsure what to do. Should she keep pretending to be engrossed in the jewelry case, or should she hurry back to the dressing room area to wait for Lindsey to emerge? She wanted to make things up to Lindsey after her cluelessness in the bathroom this morning, but she didn't want to come across as too eager. She decided to keep studying the jewelry.

Lindsey must have changed in lightning-fast
time, because she emerged fully dressed just a minute later, carrying the dress she'd been trying on. After a hasty, whispered conversation with her mother, Lindsey finally thrust the dress into Mrs. Davis's hands. Her mom made her way toward the register at the front of the store, but Lindsey didn't make an effort to move in Alex's direction. Instead she stood in the dressing room area and flipped listlessly through a rack of ugly belts.

Alex decided to make the first move, promising herself she wouldn't say anything to offend Lindsey.

“So do you come to this store often?” she asked Lindsey as she joined her next to the belt rack. “This is my first time, but I love thrift shops. My friends and I used to go to them all the time back in Boston. And my mom is always looking for old glass or jewelry and stuff for her pottery.”

Lindsey said nothing, so to fill the awkward pause, Alex prattled on in her false-cheerful voice. “I came to find a red blazer for my speech this Friday, but I don't think they have one here. Did you find anything good?”

“I think my mom is ready to go,” mumbled Lindsey. “I'll see you tomorrow at school.”

And a second later, she had dragged her mom out of the store.

Alex stared after her, contemplating Lindsey's behavior. She'd seemed more embarrassed than anything else. Why would she be embarrassed? What was the big deal about running into someone at a thrift store?

This time it dawned on her more quickly.

She's shopping here because she can't afford to shop at other stores, not because she thinks it's cool.

No wonder Lindsey had seemed so embarrassed. Twice in one day, Alex had inadvertently shown up at just the wrong place at the wrong time. First she had seen Lindsey transfer her school-issued lunch into her own bag. And then she had seen her shopping at a thrift store.
Lindsey's family must really be hurting for money,
Alex thought,
and I'm the one kid from school who has witnessed firsthand what she's going through.

“Did you find your red blazer?” asked her mom. Mrs. Sackett was carrying several thick glass bottles, the sort they probably used for medicine back in the olden days.

“No, but that's okay,” said Alex, still thinking of Lindsey. “I'll make do with something from my closet.”

Ava was completely winded. She took off her helmet and gulped fresh air. Must be the pads. They'd take some getting used to, especially in this unfamiliar Texas climate.

Her second-ever Ashland practice was over. They hadn't run nearly as much as they had yesterday, but it had still been tough.

“Sackett! A word.”

She trotted over to Coach K, who was standing on the sideline, out of earshot of the locker room area.

“Heard you did a nice job kicking today, Sackett,” he said.

“Thanks,” she replied, and waited.

“So here's the deal. Good news, bad news. You've made the team. But you can't play. At least, not just yet.”