Offside (2 page)

F

aith's mom purposely chose an apartment building located between Fraser High and the elementary and middle schools. So what if the building was a total dump in Fraser's worst neighborhood? It was convenient. And inexpensive.

As with every walk to and from school, Faith turned on her iPod. It was an ancient model, but it worked. Faith also plastered on her “don't mess with me” face. But at six thirty
A.M.
, the only people up and about were trash collectors. A garbage truck rumbled by. The guy hanging off the back whistled at her. Faith hunched her shoulders and sped up.

After three blocks, the streets became more residential. Faith slowed her pace. Her jaw slackened. Not only did she feel safer on these blocks, she also liked to admire the lawns and flowers and well-kept houses. Four blocks more and the two-story high school came into view. The doors unlocked at a quarter past seven. That would give her a little time to get her paper done. Otherwise, she was in no hurry for school to start. Following the sidewalk around the main building, then beyond the arts studio, the auto shop, and the gym, she came to the field complex.

The field gate was never locked. Fraser High left it open as a community service or something. Next to the soccer fields was the football stadium and the track. Faith was at the field often enough that she recognized the two adults jogging around the track. While she would have liked the place all to herself, she knew they'd mind their own business.

After setting her backpack and ball on the bleachers, she stretched her quads and started jogging. Her goal was to work off her anger at her mom but not get so sweaty that Andrew Rizzo would hold his nose and fake gag in chem lab.

After four laps, she was pumping some good oxygen into her brain. She'd planned on stopping after a mile to practice dribbling. But it was a perfect morning for running—crisp and dry. She decided one more lap wouldn't make her any smellier than she already was.

Up ahead, at the end of the bleachers, a movement caught her eye. Coach Berg, who led her soccer team, was standing in front of the sports equipment shed.

Faith stopped when she rounded the track close to the shed. In addition to coaching soccer, Berg taught her fifth-period health class. That was when she'd planned on telling him about missing the coming match. But he was gruff to begin with, and he became really grumpy when players missed games. She figured she might as well get her bad news over with now.

“Hi,” she said, slowing as she got close to him.

He twisted around. His dark hair was cut short. He was about six feet tall, probably in his late thirties, and always looked fit. She'd heard someone say he had played on a minor league team for a while.

“Hey, Patel.” He inserted a key into a padlock and slid the lock off the clasp. “Good morning for a run.”

Faith stepped out of the way as he swung the door open. Then she stood in the doorway as he strode inside. The wooden shed was about the size of Faith's living room, maybe twelve square feet. One side was packed with track equipment and the other with soccer gear. Coach Berg held a clipboard and stared at the soccer side, his forehead wrinkled.

“Coach?” Faith asked.

He looked at her. “Inventory,” he said, as though she'd asked what he was doing. “I've been putting it off.” He turned back to the mountain of equipment and sighed, shoulders drooping. “I hate paperwork.”

Faith had never seen her coach look so overwhelmed.

“Um… do you need help?”

“Nah.” He stared at his clipboard. “Although it
would
be simpler with two people.” He glanced at Faith. “Would I be keeping you from anything?”

She thought about her paper for his class. She wasn't going to finish it in time, anyway. “No.”

He handed her the clipboard. “Great. This shouldn't take long. Just write down what I tell you.”

She pulled out the pencil that was shoved under the clip.

Faith stayed in the doorway as Coach rummaged through the bags of soccer balls. He mumbled, counting to himself. Then he said, “Okay. Good soccer balls, 38.” He pulled up another bag and counted. “Questionable, 4. Completely dead, 5.”

The form only included one ball category: soccer balls. “Um, Coach?” Faith said softly. “I'm not sure where those go.”

He strode over and lifted the clipboard closer to his nose. “Oh. If it's not on the list, just write it in the margin. Okay?”

She nodded, and he let the clipboard go before stepping in front of a box of field cones. “Orange disc cones, 60…”

By the time Coach Berg said, “Okay, I think that's it,” Faith knew the 8:15 bell would be ringing soon. He stepped next to her and took the clipboard. “Sorry that took so long.”

“That's okay.” It really hadn't been a problem. They hadn't chitchatted or anything, but she couldn't remember him ever saying more than three words to her. It was nice not feeling invisible. Too bad she had to ruin it with her news.

They walked out of the shed, and he closed the door.

Faith took a deep breath. “I can't play in the game tonight, against Pinecrest.”

“Oh?” His eyes met hers.

“I have to babysit.”

“Uhhhh-huh. Well… okay,” he said. “Just don't make it a habit. I count on you for depth.” Latching the padlock, he said, “Thanks again.” Then he marched in the direction of the gym.

Faith let out a breath of relief. He'd sounded disappointed but not grumpy. As she walked to the bleachers to gather her things, she thought maybe Coach Berg wasn't as gruff as she'd always believed.

A

t the start of Thursday's practice, all anyone wanted to talk about was the Copperheads' win against Pinecrest the night before.

“Could you believe that striker?” Olivia Cooper said to Caitlyn Novak. The two of them always stood next to each other during drills. Faith was playing across from Caitlyn, paired with her for passing games. Faith wished Coach would let them wear headphones during practice. Instead, she had to imagine music drowning out the chatter from her teammates.

“I know. All she does is talk trash,” Olivia said and pushed a pass toward Faith. “I played with her in U11. She's always been like that.”

Even when Faith did go to games, she didn't always understand the conversations around her. Most of the Copperheads also played on traveling clubs and went to tournaments and showcases together. They were tight. Since her dad died, Faith's family hadn't been able to afford anything like club fees.

“Cooper! Novak!” Coach yelled. “Focus!” He stormed down the field toward them with his arms crossed. “Okay, chip drills, everyone! I want good backspin and accuracy. We could have used more of each yesterday.”

Faith had the ball, so she started first, rolling it under her foot and then jabbing it low across the ground with a sharp, downward motion. The ball rose quickly and flew straight. Caitlyn was able to trap it on her knee without moving more than an inch sideways.

“Nice, Patel,” Coach Berg said behind her.

Faith watched him amble down the sideline, his hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back. Should she say thanks? He rarely handed out praise, especially to her.

Whack.

The ball struck Faith right in her face.

Caitlyn snorted. “Wake up, dude!”

Olivia laughed too.

Faith pressed her hand to her nose. She felt like hammering the ball back at Caitlyn. But it
was
her fault. She quickly steadied herself when she saw Coach Berg heading in their direction again. Her next chip went a little wide, but Caitlyn got her head under it. Coach passed by without saying anything.

After practice ended, Caitlyn punched Faith's arm as they walked off the field. “Is your nose okay?”

Faith touched it again. It was tender, but not broken or anything. “I think so.”

“Sorry. I couldn't help it if you weren't watching. You've gotta admit, it was a little funny, though.” Her grin practically broke her face.

Olivia jumped up behind Caitlyn, grabbing her in a headlock and rubbing her head with her knuckles.

“Hey!” Caitlyn laughed. “Get off!”

Olivia let go. “Good practice, Cait.”

“Want to get some coffee?” Caitlyn asked.

“Nah, can't today,” Olivia said.

Since she wasn't usually included in these outings, Faith kept walking.

“Faith?”

Faith stopped and turned.

“Coffee? A chai, perhaps?” Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, smiling. “My treat. To make up for the bonk on your nose.”

Faith was taken aback. Was Caitlyn joking? Would her mom mind? She started to open her mouth but had no idea what to say.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Fine. Be rude,” she snapped, brushing Faith's shoulder as she walked by.

Faith hung back, balling her hands into fists. She was so sick of feeling like she was on the fringe of things. She belonged on the team, but she wasn't a starter. She didn't hang out with her teammates because she couldn't speak the club-soccer language. Come to think of it, she didn't have anything in common with anyone at Fraser High. Or at home. Or in the whole city of Fraser.

As Caitlyn and Olivia took off for the locker room, Faith began running around the track, slowly at first, then building to a sprint. After a while, she lost count of the laps, imagining herself somewhere far away. Her lungs burning, her legs turning to mush, she finally slowed to a jog.
I should head home
, she thought.
Mom'll need to nap before she leaves for work.
But Faith couldn't face the noisy, cramped apartment right. The she grabbed a soccer ball and started juggling it from knee to toe and back again. Ten more minutes. Then she'd start walking back.

“Good ball control.”

It was Coach Berg. He must have got caught up in something right after practice because he was just then gathering drill cones. “I haven't seen that speed before either.”

Faith caught the ball and held it. He must have seen her sprinting around the track.

Throwing the last cone into the box, he said, “Now, you're a junior, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you thought about playing midfield? You seem to have the stamina for it.”

Once again, Faith was at a loss for words. Midfield meant running, which she loved. But she'd always thought defense was all she could do. She shook her head.

He hoisted the box of cones in front of him. “You have a nice chip pass too.” He nodded slowly. “We may have you in the wrong position. Let's have you scrimmage at mid for a few practices. Depending on how things go next Wednesday, the Lake Valley game, maybe I'll sub you at outside mid.” He looked her in the eyes. “What do you think?”

“Um… sure. Okay.”

He nodded again and left.

For the second time that afternoon, Faith wondered if she should thank him. But he wasn't doing her a favor. He was just thinking of the team. If she messed up, he'd never mention midfield to her again. Still, it was nice of him to give her a chance. Really nice.

O

n her walk home, Faith thought about what it would mean to switch positions. She'd always liked defense. But lately she had felt as if she was just going through the motions. The more she thought about playing midfield, the more excited—and nervous—she became. In addition to defending, she'd have to go on the attack. It meant more dribbling—and not getting intercepted. It even meant scoring if she had the chance.

Faith knew mid was a tough position. The Copperhead midfielders, like Madison Wong and Elise Heisel, were constantly moving. They left the field drenched in sweat.

Faith checked the time on her phone. “Crap.” She was half an hour late. If she didn't live up to her end of the agreement, it would give her mom an excuse not to live up to hers. She jogged the rest of the way home and flew into the apartment. Everyone was in the kitchen, eating dinner.

“Hi,” Faith said, dropping her backpack on the floor. “Sorry I'm late. Practice went long.”