“Thank you,” Massie mouthed.
She glanced over at the Tomahawks, hoping Derrington would notice the team applauding her. But he was busy inside the net, blocking the hailstorm of balls being kicked at his face.
Alicia nudged her “When should tell the coach I don't run?”
“I have a feeling she'll figure it out.” Dylan fake-coughed while she opened a Ziploc baggie stuffed with bagel chips. Coughing again, she popped one in her mouth and held the bag out to her friends. “Carb-loading is the key to endurance.”
“Shhhhh,” Kristen hissed, never taking her eyes off the coach.
“We have high hopes for you girls,” smiled the coach. Her wide green eyes glistened like sparkling sea glass against her bronzed skin. If she'd traded in her vintage sweat suit for a modern Azzedine Alaïa gown, she'd have looked like a red-carpet regular or an
E.T.
correspondent.
Assuming the adoration ran both ways, Massie imagined herself being crowned captain by the end of the week in a torchlight ceremony where they'd present her with a platinum soccer ball for her charm bracelet, or a tiny cleat. Something deep inside her shifted. Maybe she
could
learn to love a sport. All she'd have to do was score a few goals and then those silver seats would be filled with hundreds of people, shouting her name and cheering her on. And what wasn't to love about that?
“And I am doubly pleased to announce that our
star
, Kristen Gregory, is back at OCD after a devastating three-week expulsion. And that means we finally have a shot at the finals!”
The Sirens lifted Kristen into the air like she had already won the big game. Their cheers were
American Idol
loud. Much louder than they had been for Massie, Alicia, and Dylan. Of course, this time Derrington and the boys stopped practicing and looked.
Despite her frustration, Massie smiled and laughed so Derrington would think she preferred
not
to be the one getting carried around like royalty.
When the boys turned away, Massie smoothed out her
mini and whispered to Dylan, “Who knew Kristen was so ‘in’; with the SLBRs?”
“Soccer losers beyond repair?”
Massie nodded, unable to turn away from her Kristen-obsessed teammates.
Each time they lifted their “star,” Massie felt more and more like a foreign-exchange student or a substitute teacher. Forget the platinum ball and the tiny cleat! Soccer, she suddenly decided, was for people who couldn't afford to shop.
Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp!
Coach Davis's silver whistle put a much-needed end to the ah-nnoying fandemonium.
“Today we're going to practice dribbling and kicking.” She paced the line, her eyes hardening with every step. “We're up against the Woodson Meerkats on Sunday. Beat them and we're off to the finals.” She lifted her palm, blocking their cheers. “Their offense is strong. So this week we are going to focus on—”
Alicia raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“If I want to score a goal, where should I stand?”
Muffled giggles erupted.
The coach glared at Kristen, who had assured her the girls could hold their own on the field. “You're joking, right?”
Kristen pinched Alicia's elbow.
“Uh, yeah, totally.”
Everyone laughed.
The coach shook her head, then continued. “I am going to use today's practice to evaluate our new players, which may mean different positions for some of you, depending on their strengths.”
A few girls groaned.
Massie glanced at Alicia and Dylan, wondering if this whole thing felt like a dream to them too. They were both biting their nails.
Evaluate our new players? Different positions? Strengths?
Did Coach Davis not understand that the closest Massie had ever come to playing soccer was the time she'd kicked Livvy Collins's Hello Kitty pencil case into the male teachers' bathroom? If this
was
a dream, Massie prayed her clock radio would go off in the next five seconds and JoJo's new song would wake her before any embarrassing evaluating could begin.
Peeking to her right, Massie saw Cam sprinting, with five other guys. The sight of him made her instantly resent Claire. How hard could it have been to get invited to his house? What had made her settle on Friday, four whole days away? And why didn't Massie just call him herself?
“Um, I have a question.” Dylan twirled a red ringlet around her finger. “How many calories are burned during a typical practice?” She crunched down on a bagel chip, emitting a cloud of garlic fumes.
Kristen tugged on her yellow Puma wristband.
“Good question, Miss Marvil,” deadpanned the coach.
“Why don't you run across the field five times and we'll see if those shorts of yours don't get a little looser?”
“Actually, it's a skirt,” Dylan offered.
“You don't say?” The coach's eyes softened. A now-why-didn't-you-tell-me-that-sooner look replaced her scowl. “Come forward and give us a look.”
Dylan threw her hands above her head and twirled.
Kristen chewed the end of her side braid.
“Massie? Alicia?” The coach beckoned.
They stepped forward too.
The Sirens whooped and hollered with delight. Massie blew them kisses. It felt good to have them back.
“Forget about running across the field,” said Coach Davis with a calming grin.
Dylan slapped her heart. “Thank you so mu—”
“See those towels over there by the bench?”
“Uh-oh,” Kristen groaned.
“Take off those ridiculous party outfits, cover up in those towels, and then join our drill. Failure to do so in four minutes will result in this entire team sitting out Sunday's game.”
Everyone gasped.
You're jealous of our creativity! You're a power-hungry failure! You're just upset you didn't think of glitter numbers first!
Massie wanted to shout. But the coach beat her to it.
“Go!” She set the timer on her black Seiko stopwatch.
As long as all eyes were on her, Massie had to make whatever she was doing seem like the most fun ever, even if it involved public humiliation and a dew-covered soccer field. So she giggle-jogged all the way to the bench. Thankfully, owing to a lifetime of slipping out of wet bathing suits at the beach, the girls were able to strip under their towels without incident.
“Woo-hooo,” Massie yelped when her bare feet touched the cold grass. “Chilllllyyyyy,” she shouted, just loud enough for Derrington to hear.
He stepped out of the net and shielded his eyes from the sun.
“Ew!” Alicia giggled. “What are
you
looking at?”
“A lot!” Derrington held out his hands like a zombie.
The boys high-fived him.
He wiggled his butt.
“Two minutes,” the coach called.
“Ooops, my towel is slipping,” Dylan joked.
The guys whistled.
“Claire is going to be so upset she missed this.” Massie scraped some navy glitter off her #2 and sprinkled it over her bare collarbone.
“Fifty-three seconds,” shouted the coach.
The boys whistled more.
“My dad is so suing for public humiliation.” Alicia folded her arms across her chest.
“Why?” Dylan shimmied for the boys and got more whistles. “This is great!”
Massie considered racing over to Cam and asking if they could visit sooner, but Coach Davis shouted, “Twenty seconds!” before she had the chance.
“Hurry,” their teammates urged.
“SLBRs,” Massie muttered under her breath.
They scooped up their clothes and padded across the field like starlets at a day spa.
“Make us lose and you're dead,” Kori hissed as she zipped past them kicking a ball.
“Impossible. You're already losers,” Massie snapped.
The coach cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Grab a ball and start dribbling!”
Dylan shoved one last bagel chip in her mouth, then dropped the crumb-filled bag on the field.
“Hey, Dylan, are you a cat?” asked Massie.
“No.” She chewed.
“Then what's with the litter?”
Dylan was about to pick up the bag when Kori head-butted a ball toward her stomach. Along came another. Then another.
“Watch it!” Alicia squealed when one skimmed her cheek.
“Oops.” Kori raced past them again, her posture so bad it looked like someone had kicked a ball into her stomach.
“Kori, look out!” Jessi shouted.
But it was too late.
The heel of her cleat came down on the Ziploc and she skidded across the field, landing smack on her kneecap.
“Owwwww!” She rocked back and forth cradling her leg.
“They should call those things Slip-locs.” Massie giggled.
Dylan burst out laughing.
A crowd formed around Kori, and Massie knew it was now or never. “Cover me,” she whisper-shouted.
“Where are you going?” Alicia whisper-shouted back.
“Cam!”
Massie gripped her towel and darted across the field.
It wasn't long before Kori's wailing faded and the sound of boys shouting, “Pass!” and “Quit hogging!” got louder. So what if she wasn't the MVP? Sprinting to the boys' side, half-nude during practice was sure to earn her a place in the soccer hall of fame.
“Toga party?” asked Cam. Luckily, he was sitting on the sidelines alone, tightening his laces.
“Long story.” Massie blushed, suddenly feeling ten times more naked without her friends. “Listen, I just wanted to make sure Claire spoke to you about soccer lessons.”
“Yeah, Friday night. Right?”
Two guys in matching burgundy shorts and green shirts whizzed past them.
“Right. But as you can see”—she clutched her towel— “we're not doing so well.”
He snickered.
“So, can we come tonight? You know, after your uncle leaves?”
“My uncle?”
Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp! Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp!
Massie had no idea if that whistle was for her or Cam. And she didn't care. All that mattered right now was checking Harris's mattress as soon as possible.
“Fisher!” roared a stocky bald man in a silver-and-blue Nike track suit. “Let's go!”
Cam looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with his angry coach. “Uh-oh.”
“What about Thursday?” Massie pleaded. “Can we come Thursday?”
“Why do so many girls want to come to my house lately?” Cam mussed his sweaty dark hair.
“What? What do you mean so many girls? Who?”
“Fish-er!” yelled the coach.
“I really gotta go.” Cam jogged toward the coach. “See you Friday.”
“Cam, wait! What girls? What did you tell them?”
But Cam was gone, leaving Massie wrapped in a nubby white towel in the middle of the soccer field, with nothing to kick but herself.
| CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION | ||
| IN | | OUT |
| Briarwood beds | | Briarwood boys |
| Friday-night soccer | | Friday-night sleepovers |
| Coach key chains | | Coach Davis |
N
EW
Y
ORK
C
ITY
T
HE
F
OUR
S
EASONS
H
OTEL
Tuesday, April 6th
7:32
A.M.
Miles Baime's dark eyes followed a leggy brunette as she crossed the elegant champagne-colored dining room at the Four Seasons Hotel.
“I'm gonna get straight to the point,” said Claire's boyishly handsome, dark-haired agent. “You have MSP!”
“She has
what?
“ Judi Lyons whipped off her cherry-red bifocals.
“MSP.” He leaned forward, clinking his gold knot cuff links against the marble tabletop, and folded his tanned hands. “Major. Star. Potential.”
“Oh.” Claire sighed, relieved. “It sounded like a disease.”
“Hardly.” Reaching across Claire's blueberry pancakes, he grabbed her wrist. “If you tap into it, the world is yours.”
Claire blushed. Something about her too-cute-in-a-suit agent telling her how talented she was in front of her mother was embarrassing. Flattering and ego boosting and tingle worthy, but still embarrassing.
Finally, Miles let go.
Claire hid her hand on her lap and made a mental note to get her mom's permission to shave above the knee. She was wearing an American Eagle camouflage cargo minidress, and her pale exposed thighs felt like Astroturf.
“So you think my daughter has MSP?” Judi giggled at her use of such a hip Hollywood term. It was the first time she'd smiled all morning. Nervous that the film industry was out to exploit her only daughter, Judi had been skeptical but supportive about the move out west ever since Miles had suggested it three days earlier.
“Absolutely.” He sank back into his wing chair. “In fact, Bernard Sinrod wants her for the lead in his new feature,
Princess Nobody
—”
Claire gasped. “No way! He's won, like, two Oscars.”
“Four.”
“And he wants
my
daughter?” Judi asked.
Claire sent a high-speed thanks-for-the-vote-of-confidence glare at her mother, who fired back with a can-you-blame-me shrug.
“He's seen an advance screening of
Dial L for Loser
and thinks your daughter would be perfect as the lead.” Miles grinned. “It's about a scrappy NYC runaway who helps the prince of Bhutan after he's been mugged by street thugs. They fall in love and she ends up becoming a beautiful princess. And guess who's on board to play Prince Aroon?”
Claire's mind went blank. This was happening too fast. An A-list director wanted
her
to star in his next movie…as a princess! A beautiful one! She squeezed her cell phone under the table, wishing the Pretty Committee could listen in.
“Give up?” Miles flipped open his Razr and responded to a text message.
Claire nodded as fast as she could.
“Cole Sprouse,” he announced. “You know, that mischievous blond twin from the Disney show
Suite Life of Zack and Cody.
“
“Ehmagawd, I love him!” Claire beamed, imagining a cover photo on
US Weekly
of their blond heads pressed together in a friendly embrace.