It’s not luck if
you’re always in the right place at
the right time.
I angle my run up the field on the diagonal. With one eye on
the last defender to keep from being caught offsides and the other on the ball,
I bide my time, waiting to burst into full speed. I don’t really think about it
as I’m doing it, almost like my brain and body are on autopilot. Years of
training make it all happen naturally. I’m in the zone.
My teammate Haley dribbles the ball up the center of the
field. She breezes past an opponent, but several more stand between her and the
open field.
“Brooke!” she unnecessarily yells my name.
I’m ready and waiting. The ball zooms off her foot in a
perfect arc over the last defender. In a full-out sprint, I beat everyone to
the ball. Just me and the goalie now.
A shrill blast from the whistle brings me to a halt. Did
something happen behind me, a foul off the ball maybe? Nope, the assistant
referee is holding up her flag, signaling I’m offsides.
My arms fly up in indignation. “No way!”
The fans, mostly parents but a few students as well, shout
their displeasure at the call. Megan, our team captain, runs from the back of
the field right up to the main referee. Her face is bright red and her cheeks
are puffed out, but she keeps her cool as she talks it over with the ref.
The rest of the team surrounds me because I’m about to “go
into beast,” as my Italian grandmother would say of anyone who gets angry. I
breathe in and store the anger deep inside to fuel my game instead of my
temper. I’m the only freshman on the Central High varsity team, and it would be
a very bad idea to get carded and kicked out of our first game of the season.
Megan jogs back to her position as sweeper and the other
team takes their free kick. The first half ends a few minutes later, the score
0-0. My feet are almost literally itching to get another chance at scoring.
I pour water over my head and take sip of sports drink, the
afternoon sun a scorcher in early September. Coach Walker—a male coach even
though we’re a women’s team—gives us a pep talk and sends us back out on the
field.
Megan pulls me aside. “Don’t worry about that call.”
“Coach didn’t mention it,” I say.
“Well I am mentioning it. It was total BS and everyone knows
it.” She slaps me on the shoulder. “You’ll be ready when the next scoring
chance comes. Prove those refs are idiots.”
I nod and internalize the words, more fuel to my fire. Seems
the rest of the team is fueled up, too. We thunder down the field, passing seamlessly
around our opponents. Haley receives the ball in striking range and lets a shot
rip. The goalie knuckles it up and over the crossbar, earning us a corner kick.
Megan had us practice corner kicks last week. I position
myself right next to the goalie as she instructed, doing my best to be an
annoyance. Mac—as we all call Mackenzie when she’s on the field—sends a beauty
of a corner kick right to the sweet spot, far enough out so the goalie doesn’t
go for it but close enough for our players to have a good chance at scoring.
Megan, who as a defender probably doesn’t get many chances
to score, barrels in and heads Mac’s kick. The goalie saves it but not cleanly.
The ball rebounds right into my chest, which by anyone’s standards is pretty
flat, and deflects into the back of the net. Goal by breasts! My breasts!
My teammates surround me, squealing with delight. I take off
for the corner flag and dive headfirst toward it, my teammates following suit,
a move Megan also had us practice. Gotta have a good celebration planned for
the first goal of the season.
There’s no time to rest on my laurels—that’s an expression
my non-Italian grandmother uses—as the other team is about to kick off.
Despite our high from the goal, the rest of the second half passes without us scoring again, but neither does the other team. The game ends
1-0, my goal the one and only, the game winner.
We exchange handshakes with the other team, offering a less-than-heartfelt
chant of “good game” down the line and rush back to our bench to celebrate.
Megan slaps me on the back. “See. I told you you’d get
another chance and you’d be ready for it. And off my header, too.” I’ve hardly
ever seen her smile, but her face is lit up brighter than a tinsel-doused
Christmas tree.
Coach Walker calls us in for a huddle and reminds us about
practice tomorrow morning. There are a few grumbles about having to get up
early on a Saturday, but I’m too keyed up to care.
I’m about to find my parents in the stands when Coach calls
for me. “Good team effort on that goal. Lucky you were in the right place at
the right time.”
“Lucky?” I shrug. “I have a knack for being in the right
place at the right time. Scored a lot of goals that way. I’ve developed a good
feel for the game, know how to capitalize on chances like that. Luck’s got
nothing to do with it.”
He stares at me, mouth slightly open. No one—not even my
coach—is going to diminish this moment for me. I’ve earned it.
***
Want more from the young women on the Central High School varsity team? Check out these other Tales from the Field: "Captain Megan" and "Addison in Love?".
Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer
player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old
sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to
many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND
so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the
picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a
serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a
small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit
her website at www.katielcarroll.com.
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