Thanks for the Smoke by Katie L. Carroll

Chuck was down to one or two cigarettes a day and about to give up on the whole damn idea of trying to quit. It was hardest first thing in the morning and in the evening after dinner. There was just nothing to keep his hands occupied during those times. Emma, his niece, gave him the idea that kept him on track.

He had tried to quit cold turkey a couple of weeks before Emma’s fifth birthday. It had been going okay. Sure he had been grumpy most of the day, and he'd been drinking beer with dinner every night, but he hadn’t been smoking. Then he went to his sister’s house for Emma’s party where his brother-in-law produced a bunch of stogies.

Chuck thought, “Why not? It’s not a cigarette.”

So when the guys went out to the front yard to smoke, Chuck joined them. Boy was that a big mistake. After he inhaled his first unsatisfying puff, all he could think about was the taste of a cigarette on his lips.

He began to wonder why he had quit in the first place. Sure there was the whole lung cancer and emphysema aspect, but it sure as hell wasn’t helping his attitude or his physique. He had already gained ten pounds. Chuck was wondering if he still had a pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment of his truck when his niece ran up to him.

“Uncle Charlie, will you come and blow bubbles with me?” she asked.

As he sat there with the sticky solution running down his arm and the taste of soap in his mouth, Chuck felt better than he had in weeks…maybe years. On his way home that night, he stopped at a toy store and bought out its entire stock of bubbles. They were great for when he was at home in his apartment. He would sit out on his front steps and just blow bubbles, watching them float. Some popped right away and others went so high up he never saw them burst. They were a harmless vice, except they didn’t work in every situation.

Like tonight when he was out with his buddy Dave. They went to a bar downtown. He was okay for a while, drinking a couple of beers and watching the baseball game on the big screen. Then he spotted a cute woman smoking by herself on the outdoor patio. That had been another reason why he had decided to quit: that law banning smoking indoors in public places, forcing those with the habit outside. He didn’t like feeling like an outcast. Being part of a group was one thing that had attracted him to smoking in the first place when it seemed like everyone he knew smoked. But not anymore.

He pointed the woman out to Dave.

“You should go ask her for a cigarette,” Dave said.

“But I’m trying to quit.”

Dave punched him on the arm and called him a not-so-nice word for the female anatomy, enough motivation for him to walk out to the patio.

“Can I bum a cigarette off you?” he asked.

“Sure,” the woman said, eyeing him. “I was just starting to think that I was the only smoker in this place.”

She looked to be in her mid thirties, at least five years younger than Chuck, but she wasn’t wearing a ring. He figured he’d give it a shot.

“I’m trying to quit,” he admitted.

“My friends are all trying to quit, too,” she said. “None of them could stand being out here with me.”

She pulled a box of slim cigarettes out of her purse. Chuck cringed at having to waste a smoke on one of those—they were barely even worth the breath used to inhale them—but it was a sacrifice he was hoping would pay off. He managed to accept the cigarette without grimacing, but he thought he saw a glint in the woman’s eye when she lit it for him.

“I’m Chuck Testa,” he said after his first drag.

“I’m Linda, Linda Blake,” she said.

He held his free hand out to shake hers and she obliged. They talked while they smoked. He found out that she ran a daycare center. He told her he customized cars for a living. His uncle owned the business, but he was hoping to buy in as an owner soon. He mentioned Emma and the bubbles, his face burning hot from embarrassment, but Linda ate it up.

“That’s adorable!” she exclaimed. Then she took the last puff of her cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray.

Chuck squished out the rest of his. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

He held the door for her and followed her into the bar. Dave gave Chuck a sideways smile when he saw Linda. Chuck steered her to the opposite side of the bar. Linda gave a little wave to a table with three women at it, her friend he supposed. She surprised him by ordering a beer.

“Make that two,” he said to the bartender.

He turned to Linda. “A woman that drinks beer and smokes slims. I’m confused.”

“I grew up with three brothers,” she said. “I got to liking the taste of beer, so I decided to smoke something a little more feminine to make up for it.”

They talked for over an hour. It was easy talking to her. She like that he worked with his hands for a living. She called it “real blue-collar work.” Then one of her friends came over.

“Linda,” she said. “We’re ready to go.”

“Oh, hey Sheri,” Linda said. “This is Chuck. Chuck, this is Sheri.”

“Great,” Sheri said, ignoring the hand he held out to her. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” Linda answered.

She pulled her phone from her purse and asked Chuck for his number. Shortly after he recited it, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“That’s from me, so you have my number.” She produced another slim and handed it to him. “One last one on me. Then that’s it, right?”

Chuck nodded. “Bubbles are better anyway.”

She giggled. “Yeah. Hey, thanks for the beer.”

“No problem.” He held up the phone. “Thanks for this. And for the smoke.” He watched her walk out before going back to sit with Dave for the end of the game.

On his way home, Chuck lit up the slim. It tasted terrible, but he sucked on it gratefully, thinking of Linda’s lips the whole time. It was the last cigarette he ever smoked, but it was not the last time he saw Linda.

***

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and speaker. 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.

Chicken by Crystal Collier

The old school looks like a toothless bag lady in the dark, sprawled on her side.

I gulp.

“Get moving, Ryan. Or are you a chicken?”

I grate my teeth so hard they squeal, unwilling to look up at Greg Damien, future NFL star and neighborhood bully. A.K.A, my next door neighbor. The jerk would see my fear the way a dog sniffs people’s butts.

“I’m not a chicken,” I lie. The old building is already giving me nightmares of mummified teachers and human-sized, flesh-eating rats. (Or at least, they want you to believe they’re rats. They’re actually hairy, zombie aliens from another planet who decided to inhabit abandoned buildings on the rundown side of Detroit.)

Greg rips my bike handles from my grasp. “So get in there.”

Squaring my shoulders, I let out a sigh. He could force me into the building without breaking a sweat, seeing as how he’s twice my size. If I refuse, he’ll probably drop kick my rear through the front door.

Five months ago a rumor started floating around the city about a millionaire who converted all his cash into gold, buried it somewhere for safe keeping, then died. Without telling anyone where he hid it. Last week Marcy Livingston snapped a shot of a homeless guy leaving our old school with what she said was a gold bar in his hand. (She’s my other neighbor, the one who never shuts up. Seriously. Her mom threatens to duct tape her mouth shut so loud I can hear her shouting from my bedroom.)

I wouldn’t be standing at the broken entry in the middle of the night, debating the value of my backside if Marcy had just kept her mouth shut. We were going to be rich, but she said something in front of Greg and he decided our plan needed a mastermind. More like a master thug. You’d think with the promise of fortune he’d be going with me, or that he’d go himself, but there are rumors this place is haunted. People hear strange sounds and Marcy claims she saw a ghost.

The glass has been shattered and a couple pieces still glitter on the floor. Those that aren’t covered by dust. I glance back at Greg who grinds a fist into his palm.

Flicking on my phone flashlight, I step into the gloom. It’s not like I’m going to tell Greg if I find something, but he doesn’t have to know that. I start rehearsing my response once I get done here:

It was empty. All empty. The only things I saw were rats, graffiti on the walls, and broken furniture.

Truthfully, I’ve been dying to come check out the empty building, just not the night before my birthday. I want to live until I’m 11. A kid from three streets over went missing a few weeks back while exploring. Mom says he must have been kidnapped or killed by one of the drifters passing through. I’m curious. Not stupid.

Shadows creep across the wall beside me.

Or maybe I am stupid. Or just a chicken. If I had more guts, I would have punched Greg in his bullfrog nose and locked myself in my house. Instead I’m shivering and expecting something to jump out and snap my neck in half with its gator-sized teeth.

“It’s just graffiti and broken furniture,” I chant. Like I’ll believe those words if I say them enough. My foot crunches down on something and I twist the flashlight that direction.

Pages. Book spines. Dozens of them all broken and open-faced, littering the floor.

Now that’s a tragedy.

Rustling.

I jump and flash the light. The tail of a shadow disappears.

Okay, Ryan. This is the point where you get smart, run away, and hide for a few hours so Greg will believe your story.

Fingers trembling, I lift my light to follow the direction of the movement, to an open doorway. It was just a rat. Had to be. Or an alien luring me to my death.

And now I’m seeing things because is that a hint of light?

I click the off button. And swallow so hard it hurts.

The glow creeps across broken pages like a sea of scaly dead things just waiting for me to cross. Daring me to cross. One wrong step and I’ll probably be sucked into the pile and this giant tongue will slurp out, followed by a book-monster’s burp.

The phone is slick in my hands as I step forward.

I do want to die. Clearly.

The pages swish and crack as I step over them, reminding me of that neck-breaking sound effect in movies. I’m shaking as I reach the hall and turn to the source of the glow: another doorway straight ahead.

Every step echoes in the hall. Each smack of my sneaker reminds me how Mom would slap me silly for even thinking about coming here. I would take it and go to my room and dream about sneaking out to Van Naters for midnight ice cream and breaking more windows on abandoned buildings. Even if I’d never do either.

I halt in front of the entry.

This is it. I’ll step into the light and disappear. Poof. Gone. Greg will keep his mouth shut about how he bullied me into coming here and Marcy will blab about what she knows, but she doesn’t know I came here. That I’m about to die. And that I did it willingly.

I shove my phone into my pocket with trembling hands and ball my fists. One quick breath and I step forward.

I’m in the gym, bleachers flailed unevenly from either side, narrowing the room to a central point: the glowing thing in the middle of the floor.

My jaw drops.

Candles gleam on top of a one-story cake. Eleven candles.

“Surprise!” People jump out from behind the bleachers, igniting camping lamps and circling me. I stare in stunned silence, trying to figure this out.

“He’s in shock.” Marcy laughs. Greg’s chuckle bounces off the walls as he appears next to my parents. My parents? In my abandoned old school?

They’re holding packages in their arms, packages wrapped in birthday paper…

Oh.

The grin on my face grows so large my cheeks ache. Best. Birthday. Ever!

Maybe not chickening out pays off.

Crystal Collier is a young adult author who pens dark fantasy, historical, and romance hybrids. She can be found practicing her brother-induced ninja skills while teaching children or madly typing about fantastic and impossible creatures. She has lived from coast to coast and now calls Florida home with her creative husband, four littles, and “friend” (a.k.a. the zombie locked in her closet). Secretly, she dreams of world domination and a bottomless supply of cheese. You can find her on her HERE.

Come help celebrate her birthday by picking up one of her books!  

Tales from the Field: Mac’s Ultimate Prank by Katie L. Carroll

Central High women’s soccer team: schooling the boys’ team on the field since 2012. Now it’s time to school them off the field.

I mute the music and kill the lights on my mom’s SUV, packed full of my teammates, as we approach our rival school, Valley High. The speedometer hovers below 20 mph. A block away from the school, I park behind a beat-up sedan, also packed full of soccer players.

Malcolm, the captain of the boys’ team (yes, I said boys, not men…because no high school guy is actually a man), leans against his car, his dreadlocks peeking out from under a black winter hat. We’re all dressed in black to blend in with the October night. Megan and I slip out of the SUV to talk strategy with him.

“Mac. Megan,” he whispers in greeting, his breath puffing in the cold air. We’re not close enough to the school to be heard by anyone there, but we’re not taking any chances of talking loudly and disturbing the neighborhood. “You ladies ready for this?”

“We were born ready,” I say before Megan can answer. She’s our captain and the boss on the soccer field, but I’m in charge tonight.

The thing is every year the Central High women’s soccer team has a better record than the boys’ team. And it goes without saying (though I’m going to say it) that we look a helluva lot better out on the field than they do.

But there is one thing the boys’ team is better at than us: they always pull the best Dog Day Eve prank. So this year (my senior—and final—year), I’m determined to one up them by stealing Benji the Bulldog, Valley’s mascot. And I’ve come up with a brilliant plan.

It’s a brilliant because there’s little fear of retaliation. Our mascot is also a dog (a husky), but unlike Valley’s bulldog, our husky isn’t real. The dog is a costume worn by the gym teacher. (It used to be worn by a student until two years ago when there was an unfortunate incident with a bare bottom underneath said costume. Both hilarious and gross!)

From my pocket, I pull out a drawing of the school and a flashlight. I point to the bus drop-off circle. “This is where we park. It’s easy in/easy out. They keep Benji in the janitor’s office until the night janitor takes him home around ten p.m. I’ve got dog treats to keep him quiet.” I add as an afterthought, “For the dog, not the janitor.”

Malcolm stifles a laugh. “How many are going in?”

“Four of us. Me, Megan, you, and whoever you want to take.”

“Jimmy’s my wingman.”

I make a snap decision. “Okay. The four of us will take your car up to the circle. Everyone else can wait here.” My mom will kill me if I get dog hair (or worse) all over her SUV.

Malcolm ducks his head into window and in true clown-car fashion an impossible number of boys file out of the tiny sedan. I tell them they’re not going to fit in my car and they can wait outside.

While Malcolm chats up Addison (who we all call Hunter) in my front seat, I flip my car keys to Denise (my best friend), who is squished into the very back with Sadie and Paloma. “You’re in charge until I get back. No boys allowed inside.”

She ducks low and makes her way to the front. “Got it.”

I let Malcolm drive up to the school (only because it’s a stick and I don’t know how to drive one) and we park at the end of the drop-off circle for a quick getaway.

I’m about to get out, when from the backseat Megan locks my shoulder in a death-grip. “Wait, MacKenzie. You never told me how we’re supposed to get in. It’s after hours, way after hours. All the doors are locked. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”

Before she can spiral further into panic (any sense of unpreparedness makes Megan slightly crazy), I pry her hand away. “I’ve got it under control. My cousin’s boyfriend goes to Valley. He spilled a bunch of chemicals in the photo lab and convinced the teacher to leave a window open to air it out.”

Next to Megan, Jimmy lets out a long whistle, clearly impressed by my prank skills. He has no idea how long I’ve been planning this.

“Let’s do this,” I say, and then we’re out of the car and creeping around the school to the photo lab’s, which is in fact cracked open (I barely refrain from shouting with joy that my boyfriend’s cousin has come through for me).

Between the hushed whispers and the squeak of the window being pushed farther open, we’re making way more noise than we should. I make another executive decision.

“Only two of us go in. The other two wait outside and stand watch.” I didn’t want the boys involved at all (so they can’t try and steal all the credit for the prank), but no one on my team could take Benji overnight and Malcolm agreed to do it.

“Me,” Megan says. “I’ll go with Mac.”

“No way,” Malcolm argues. “It should be me. I’m the one housing the dog tonight.”

Before a real argument breaks out and blows up my whole plan, I shush them. “Malcolm comes. Megan and Jimmy wait outside.” Maybe I should have been captain of the team (not really, too much responsibility).

Amazingly we sneak down several hallways to the janitor’s office and find it empty except for Benji. I slip a couple of dog treats to him and open the dog crate. I swear he smiles (though bulldogs always kind of look like they’re grinning) and attempts a leap with his stubby legs. But he’s quiet.

Malcolm grabs him around the middle and we take off in a jog back to the photo lab. That’s when all hell breaks loose! As Malcolm is passing Benji through the open window Jimmy, the dog starts barking, and barking, and barking. Benji squiggles in Jimmy’s arms, and Jimmy swears, loudly.

We sprint toward the car, but by the time we reach the front of the school, lights are turning on inside. Jimmy practically throws the still-barking Benji into the car and we all pile in. Malcolm guns it out of the driveway.

Megan screams, “Slow down! We’ll get caught. We’ve gotta look inconspicuous.”

Malcolm decelerates the car to a normal speed. I stuff the last remaining treats into Benji’s mouth, and he finally calms down.

A squad car rushes past, no lights or sirens (but definitely in a hurry). Malcolm puts his blinker on to turn down the street where we left everyone else, but I direct him to head to the mall. I’ve resigned myself to letting all those boys into my mom’s SUV and text Denise to meet us there. (No way am I staying so close to Valley High with the contraband.)

At the mall, the guys and Benji head off with Malcolm and I start the long process of taking all my teammates home. My hands are still shaking with adrenaline as I take the wheel.

Megan recounts what happened and the atmosphere in the car is giddy with the excitement that we pulled of such a great prank. Swallowing back the lump of nerves in my throat, I join the celebration by blasting loud, brain-cell killing music. 

At home, I crash hard and wake up late. All day I can’t shake the butterflies wrecking havoc on my system. I tell myself that I’m just excited about the final phase of the prank tonight at half-time of the football game.

I pick up Denise and Megan and we head to our school for the football game (the football players never come to our games so we make of point of not attending theirs, but we have a special reason for attending tonight).

We sit with a bunch of our teammates and players from the boys’ team. Megan has forbidden anyone from talking about what we did last night. Those of us who were part of the prank keep shooting glances at each other. The high-fiving and giggling are rampant. Malcolm gives me a nod and heads out of the stands. It's almost time!

The half-time whistle blows and the anticipation in our section of the stands is palpable. Before the cheerleaders can take the field for their annual mid-game exhibition, a tennis ball is thrown at the 50-yard line (I bribed a freshman to do this without knowing why she was doing it). Benji (strategically released by Malcolm from the cover of the trees on the far end of the field), dressed in Central’s red and white colors, trots to the ball.

A cry of fury breaks out in the Valley stands as they realize the dog is their mascot. Our fans whoop and holler with glee. One of Valley’s cheerleading coaches scoops up Benji and stands in the middle of the field as if waiting for instructions on what to do. I think my sides are going to split I’m laughing so hard.

I bask in the triumph of a well-executed prank for one full minute before a heavy hand falls on my shoulder. All those butterflies that have been hanging in my stomach threaten to come out of my mouth.

I look up to find the vice principle staring down at me, her mouth closed in a harsh line of anger. Her other hand is pressed firmly to Megan’s shoulder. Megan sends daggers my way (she might be angrier than the vice principle). The boys’ soccer coach is already escorting Jimmy down the stands.

“You two need to come with me,” the vice principle says.

Best prank of all-time: accomplished. Punishment for my crimes: to be determined (but all signs point to something severe). Maybe I should have left the pranking up to the boys’ team this year.

***

Check out the other Tales From the Field here! 

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, speaker, 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.

Tales from the Field: Paloma’s Night Out by Katie L. Carroll

Two rival schools plus two dog mascots equals one crazy prank night.

“Paloma!” My name echoes off the lockers and down the nearly empty hallway. My teammate Sadie catches up to me and hooks her arm into mine. “You in for Dog Day Eve?”

“Huh?” I say. English may be my second language, but I’m pretty sure Sadie isn’t speaking it right now, or maybe she’s referring to some American holiday I don’t know about.

“Dog Day Eve,” she repeats, not making any more sense than the first time she said it. “The night before the football game against Valley High.”

“We don’t have a game tomorrow.” Moving to a new country the summer before sophomore year has left my social calendar very light, so I memorized the game and practice schedules after I made the varsity team at Central High School. We’ve already played our rivals, Valley High, and aren’t scheduled to play them again.

“Not futbol,” she corrects me, “American football.”

I suppose I’ll never get used to calling the sport I play soccer and a sport in which the foot is hardly used football.

“Yes, of course, football.” I’m careful to adjust my pronunciation of the last word. “Why does that involve a dog?” The term “pigskin” gave me some confusion the first time I watched a football game until someone told me it referred to the ball, so perhaps there is some kind of dog term in the game as well.

She giggles and arm-in-arm pulls me down the hallway toward her locker.

“It doesn’t. Well, it might this year.” A mischievous grin lights up her face as she looks sideways at me. “The day of the Central/Valley game is called Dog Day. You know, because we’re the huskies and they’re the bulldogs,” she explains because clearly I don’t know. “It’s a tradition the night before the big football game to pull a prank on Valley, and they always pull one on us.”

We stop at her locker and she quickly spins the dial and opens it. School has been out for hours, but after practice I had to come back to my locker for a book. I guess Sadie forgot something, too.

“So this year Megan and Malcolm,” she looks over at me and adds, “he’s the captain of the guys’ team, the soccer team, not football.” I’m from Spain, not stupid, but given my earlier confusion, I forgive her for over-explaining in this case. “Anyway, they decided we’re going to pull the best prank ever on Valley High.”

My eyes widen. “What are you going to do?” That doesn't sound anything like what my friends and I would do for fun back home.

For a moment, I’m lost in a memory from about a month before we moved. I was riding the metro with my friends to the stadium to watch FC Barcelona play. We were munching on strawberry-flavored candy and laughing—I remember lots of laughing, but not much about the match.

“We,” Sadie interrupts my thoughts. Her locker is shut and a black jacket is draped across her arm. “You’re coming, right?”

“I don’t know.” I’m eager for a night out that doesn’t involve a long dinner with my parents. I don’t think my father will give me a ride anywhere tonight, and my mother doesn’t have a license—she didn’t need one when we lived in Barcelona.

“Mac’s got room in her car. We’ll come and get you. Be ready by seven.”

Pranking sounds fun but possibly dangerous, and certainly not an activity my father would approve of. “I’m not sure my parents will let me.”

“Tell them it’s a team thing. Trust me, this is going to be epic. You don’t want to miss it.” I nod hesitantly. She checks her phone. “I gotta run.” Heading down the hallway, she yells over her shoulder, “Make sure to wear black!”

A couple of hours later, I’m in the living room with my parents, all of us anxiously awaiting the arrival of my teammates. My mom sits on the edge of the couch, and my dad stands at the big front window, staring out into the night.

I’m clad in black jeans and my FC Barcelona jersey. To avoid raising my parents’ suspicions, I keep my black hooded sweatshirt on my lap, ready to be zipped over the bright shirt once I leave. On my feet are my indoor soccer shoes, which I hate to wear outside, but they’re the only black shoes I own besides my boots—cleats here in America.

My mother glances at the clock. “They’re late.” It’s 7:05 p.m., but being even a minute late is rude according to her.

“They’ll be here.” I hope.

It’s silent except for the tick-tock of the antique clock my mom brought on her carry-on, not trusting anyone else to transport the family heirloom and relic from pre World War II. The honk of a horn sounds outside.

I hop out of my seat and stand beside my dad to look out the window. A black SUV sits at the curb, and I recognize it as Mac’s mom’s car. “That’s them,” I say to him.

“They’re not coming to the door,” he says like he can’t believe it. “I don’t like this, Paloma.”

Of all my friends back in Spain, I had the strictest parents, but they’ve lightened up slightly since moving me across the world.

“They don’t do that here. Please,” I beg, “just let me go. They’re my teammates. You know them.”

He looks to my mother, who waves her hand and says, “Let her go. I suppose we’ll have to get used to this.”

“You may go,” he relents. “But don’t forget your toque de queda.”

“I won’t forget my curfew,” I say. “Ten o’ clock.”

I run out the front door before he changes his mind. The SUV is packed. Mac, of course, is driving, and Addison Hunter, who has a broken ankle, is in the front passenger seat. Megan and our goalie Olivia take up the middle seats. I squeeze into the very back with Sadie and Denise, a fellow defender for the team.

My parents’ stern figures are silhouetted in the window as Mac squeals away from the house. I swallow and quickly buckle my seatbelt. She turns up the music, a night-club type base rumbling through the car.

“Where are we going?” I yell to Sadie.

She bounces her head to the music, a crazy grin on her face. “Valley High!” She pumps a fist in the air.

“Why?” I ask.

Megan turns in her seat. “We’re kidnapping Benji the Bulldog!”

Mac drives onto the entrance ramp and guns it up to the highway. Back pressed against the leather seat, a chill of excitement shoots through me. Like Sadie said, Dog Day Eve is going to be epic!

***

Don't miss all of Central High women's Tales From the Field here! 

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.

Tales from the Field: Lucky Brooke by Katie L. Carroll

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.