The Swap (12 page)

He glances up. “Was the dude chirpin' or what?”

“Chirping?” I repeat, and look at him weird.

“Are you kidding me right now?” He shakes his head. “Well? Did ya pump him?”

“Pump him?” I say, but then I stop, completely confused, and hope he just keeps talking.

“Bud, you're just hilarious.” He pauses. “Did you light him up? Did you smoke him?”

“I guess.” I repeat the same answer I told Gunner, not exactly sure what I just said I did.

“Not gonna lie, your mug looks a little bit nasty.” Brother Number Two laughs, shaking his head. “The Captain is going to be pissed, big dog.”

Duhhh! Took me long enough.
The Captain must be Jack's dad
.

“I'm not going to tell him,” I blurt out.

He winks. “Good plan, little man.”

I flop backward on my small section at the very end of his bed and look up at the ceiling. No fake solar system up there. No free wishes. Just a fan whipping farts and smelly feet around. I close my eyes, just for a second, until I feel a foot kicking me hard in my ribs.

“Oww!” I say. I somehow managed to make Jack's voice squeal.

“Easy, Sally, simmer.” He shakes his head.

I look at him, like, “
Who the heck is Sally?
”

“I'll give you this, Jacko, takes some berries to tangle. A little bit grungy, though, to do it in school, bro. Not a good look. C'mon, man, figure it out.”

I have no idea what Jack was thinking or why he even got in a fight or even, gosh, who with!

Brother Number Two nudges me with his foot. “Next time, don't be such a donkey!”

I nod, oddly grateful for the advice that isn't even meant for me.

“Haaa, rookie move, I guess.” He closes his book and sits up in bed. I notice he has the same tiny gold pendant hanging from a thin chain around his neck, same as . . .

I slip my hand up and feel around my neck. Same as I do.

“Well?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Besides the tangle, how was the big first day? Meet any good-looking ladies?”

I look at him, like, “
What are you talking about?
”

But he just breaks into a huge smile. “Handling business as usual, bro. Battled hard and got the W! Throw on a smile, ya big beauty.” He kicks me again, harder than before. “My li'l buddy is growin' up so fast.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

NO WONDER I HAVE NO
game. Girls make absolutely no sense. I come to this conclusion about two seconds after throwing down my bag and sitting on the turf in front of the goal where the rest of the Thunderbirds—and everyone trying to be one—are getting ready for tryouts.

As soon as I do, this bouncy, friendly, smiley girl plops down next to me. “'Sup playa!” she says, sounding a little bit too much like Sammy. “When is your individual?”

“My individual?” I repeat.

“Duuuuh, with Coach?” She laughs. She has a mouthful of braces with fluorescent pink rubber bands framing each tooth.

“Oh, uh, not sure,” I answer. At least that's true. I try to glance down at the name sewn on her hoodie.

Her name is Sammie.
Girl Sammie
!

“Relax, dude! You seriously look freaked! She'll probably call us up one by one, right?”

“Sure, yeah, I guess,” I say. I look around for the coach. I can't even tell you how much I want to get this over with.

“Wowzers!” Girl Sammie flops back onto the turf and closes her eyes. She's wearing the same pink gear, head to toe. I'm thinking how goofy-funny she is and I'm almost grinning watching her when her eyes pop open and she sits straight up.

“OMG, Ellie, I mean, hopefully, we both make it, in which case”—she grabs my wrist and yanks me toward her—“how excited are you to spend a whole soccer season with me!”

Mostly I'm just hoping you let go of my hand, thanks
.

Girl Sammie's smile suddenly dissolves, she lowers her voice. “Incoming!” she says, nodding toward . . .

I look up. Sassy Gaines and that new girl, Aspen, are walking straight toward us, same Thunderbird hoodies, hair pulled back, matching pink headbands. I watch as they stop two feet away, their backs to us, and drop their bags onto the turf. I won't lie. Sassy Gaines is a head turner. You have to work not to stare. When Sassy catches my eye, though, she doesn't smile at me the way she does at school or at the pool all summer. No. She glares.

“Ahem,” she says, looking back over her shoulder directly at me. “Why do people think it's okay to wear their soccer gear over their gym clothes?”

Aspen glances back too, scowling with her nose scrunched up. “I know, right? So pathetic!”

Sassy turns to Aspen. “So super awk, when you say something and people think you're talking about them.”

“I know, right? If you were talking to
someone
”—Aspen smirks—“you would have said it to
her
.”

Sassy starts laughing hysterically. “I was totally just thinking that! We literally thought the
exact
same thing at the
exact
same time!”

“Twins!” they both squeal.

Sassy may be hot, but it's amazing how someone can go from a ten to a two just by opening her mouth. What a clown. I just look at her and shake my head. I mean, if I were in the locker room and one of the guys lipped off to me like that? I'd just throw tape at his head and shut him up. “Easy, buddy,” I'd say, and laugh. “That all you got?” That would get the boys going. But I'm not in our locker room and I don't know what the protocol is if you have boobs, so I just keep my head down and fidget with Freckles's pink-striped socks.

Girl Sammie moves closer. “Sorry, Ellie,” she says. “It's so not even funny how two-faced people can be.”

I shrug. “Girl's a clown,” I say under my breath.

“What?”

“Oh, I mean . . .” I stall and try and think hard of something to say besides what I want to say, which is “I could seriously care less about Sassy Gaines. Girl's a joke, plain and simple.”

Don't worry! I don't say that.

I pop up to my feet and start juggling the ball. I haven't played soccer since I was nine. The Captain does not believe in an off-season. It's number four on his list of life maxims: “Success demands singleness of purpose.” We play hockey year-round. One hundred games. Even if I wanted to play soccer, I can't. Off-ice training, lifting, working on my shot in The Cage, watching game film. Hockey is a twenty-four-hour, three-hundred-and-sixty-five-day job. The work never stops. My brothers and I train seven days a week. You've always got to be putting in the time. You can always get a lot stronger, tougher, faster.

I kick the ball around for a little bit before I hear the whistle calling us in for a huddle. I don't know why she bothers using her whistle, though. The coach has one of those voices that demands everyone's attention.

“Listen up, ladies,” she hollers. She looks more like a small gymnast than a soccer star. She's wearing a black warm-up, zipped all the way up, and a visor with a dark ponytail spilling out the back. And she's smiling.

She waits a few seconds, bringing the shuffling and whispers to a hush. I glance around me and try not to be freaked out by the fact that I'm standing with twenty girls. Twenty-one, including me. My ears tingle and my hands feel sweaty. It's so crazy how much can change in such little time.

“Today and Sunday morning are the two last tryouts before cuts.” The coach looks at me. “I'm only keeping ten for indoor. It's going to come down to who is working the hardest—who wants it most! Do you want it?”

“Yeaaaah!” they shriek at the top of their lungs.

Holy jeez, I have to do everything I can to not cover my ears.

Everyone throws their hands in on top of the coach's. “Thunderbirds on three,” she says.

I look around as if someone is actually going to be understanding my predicament . . . you know, that I'm not Freckles! I'm
Jack
.

Monday needs to hurry up
.

Then, just when it all starts to sink in again? Mackenzie comes out of nowhere and wiggles herself into the huddle right next to me, throwing her arm around my shoulders. We are so close. Her cheek is practically grazing mine. My heart starts beating like a thousand beats per minute.

I mean . . . it's not like I have anything better to do.
Whatever
.

I throw my hand into the pile too.

Twenty minutes of lunges, squat thrusts, sprints, and military-style warm-ups later? I am not laughing. The Thunderbirds are no joke. I throw myself into Ellie's tryouts like I'm on a mission. I only have one gear. Ask my brothers. We have a lot of heated battles. Doesn't matter what I'm doing. I've played the same way pretty much my whole life. That's just my nature. I'm a competitive guy. I like to win. I hate to lose.

Sassy is chirping at me the whole time. “Some people should save themselves the embarrassment and just quit,” she says, talking loud enough for me to hear her.

Gutless.

I will never hit a girl in my life, but between you and me? I'd love to collide Freckles's fist with Sassy's noggin.

The coach calls me over at the start of the scrimmage. I don't come right away. I would have obviously jumped if I heard “Malloy!” or “Mallsy!” The fact that the coach is screaming at me to come over for a good minute is not a good sign. When I finally realize everyone is shouting “Ellie!” and Ellie means
me
, I hustle over to where the coach is standing by the players' box and double over, hands on my knees to catch my breath. I am legit gassed.

These girls can play.

The coach doesn't even really acknowledge me standing there. She clutches her clipboard to her chest. “Let's go, Claire, watch that first touch!” she hollers. “Sassy, pick your head up. You have to see what's around you. Mackenzie, great job supporting the play. Great anticipation, keep it up!” Finally she turns toward me. “Ellie O'Brien!”

“Yes, ma'am,” I answer.

She looks surprised. “Yes, ma'am?” she says with a laugh. “How very polite of you, Ellie!”

We sit on the metal bench in the players' box.

“Jeepers, Ellie, you can sit a little closer.” She smiles. “I don't have cooties!”

“Sorry, ma'am,” I say, and scoot in a little bit.

“So!”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“How was day one?”

“Day one, ma'am?” I repeat, not sure what she means.

“School?” she offers. She looks at me a little strangely. “You okay, Ellie? You're acting a little bit different.”

For a few seconds I completely freeze.

I am not okay.

“I'm fine, ma'am,” I manage.

She glances down at her notes, then back at me. “You know if something's going on, you can talk to me, right?”

I nod. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Look.” She sighs. “I have some big decisions to make. I'm only keeping six up front for indoor. Are you ready to play whatever role that's needed?”

The only thing I know for sure is that Ellie told me to not even
go
to soccer. I try to think.

“Ellie?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The coach looks concerned. “You sure you're okay?”

Actually, I'm pretty sure I am not okay
.

“I'm going to be completely honest, Ellie. . . .” She stops and takes this long pause, and I get this totally sinking feeling. “I would say your strength by far is your speed, but your weakness? You need to believe in yourself more! I want to see more of those things that are hard to measure—confidence, risk taking. I need you to take some risks instead of passing off all the time. Attack the goal yourself. And if you lose the ball, what's the worst that can happen? With your speed, you can just run it down and win it back. Show me some determination to put that ball in the goal.”