Offside (4 page)

W

hen the bus was a few miles from school, Faith called her mom. The family's old Subaru was in the parking lot when the bus pulled in around nine thirty that night. Faith hung back for a few moments, until most of the girls had grabbed their stuff and stepped out, wanting to avoid another confrontation with Caitlyn.

Her mom started the car before Faith had even shut the door. “It would help if you weren't always the last person off the bus. I don't like leaving the kids alone in the apartment.”

“I know.” Faith leaned against the headrest. “But it's like ten minutes at the most.”

“Can't you sit in the front of the bus?”

Faith turned her head and looked at her mom. She was wearing her scrubs with teddy bears on them. “I'll try.”

“Did you win?”

She looked out the windshield again. “No. We tied.”

“Did you get to play?”

Faith tapped her armrest. “I'm not getting a soccer scholarship, okay? Colleges don't want benchwarmers with average grades.”

“That's not why I asked.” Her mom was quiet a moment. “But I do worry about your future.” She pulled up in front of the apartment building.

“Yeah, well, I worry about it too.” Faith opened her door and jumped out.

Leaning across the front seat, her mom said, “Antim's getting a cold. I sent the boys to bed.”

“And you think they're still in bed now?” Faith shook her head. “See ya later.” She closed the door, and her mom drove off.

Just as Faith expected, Vijay was sprawled on the living room couch, watching TV. But to her surprise, Antim was still in bed. She pressed her hand to his forehead. He felt warm.

“Someone give you a germ at school, Ant Man?”

He nodded under her hand.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Call if you need me.”

Faith staggered into her bedroom and belly flopped onto her bed. Hamsa had the laptop propped on her knees. Faith knew she should check what her sister was looking at online, but she didn't have the energy. Glimpses of the botched play churned in her head. She felt Caitlyn yanking on her hair and heard Coach scolding Caitlyn. About to fall asleep, Faith pictured herself running and running. But she wasn't sure if she was running away from something or toward something.

“Faith.”

Faith jerked awake. Antim stood next to her bed, sniffling. “I don't feel good.”

Faith patted her bed, and he climbed up with her. She held him in her lap until he went to sleep.

 . . .

At school the next day, Faith slogged through morning classes. She hadn't gotten any of her homework done. She'd given up on her nutrition paper since she'd missed last week's deadline. She envied the kids who racked up A's like easy soccer goals.

Fifth period, Faith made sure she got to health class early. She knew Coach Berg didn't like mixing teaching duties with coaching, but she was hoping he'd make an exception. She wanted his feedback on yesterday's game while it was still fresh in his mind. If the news was bad, which it probably was, she wanted to get it over with.

She sat at her desk along the wall, tapping her foot and twiddling her pencil. Coach Berg marched into class late, not giving Faith enough time to talk to him. She sighed and slumped in her seat.

For the next fifty-five minutes, Faith watched Coach Berg lecture with the same intensity that he used in coaching. How in the world could Caitlyn think there was anything going on between them? He was all business, pacing from one side of the classroom to the other. He reminded Faith of a caged tiger. She laughed to herself at the thought of Coach Berg with orange fur and black stripes.

“Patel? You're smiling. Does that mean you know the answer?”

Faith sat up straighter. “What? No.”

Coach shook his head. He called on a girl who had her hand raised.

Great
. Faith sank back into her seat.

The bell rang. As the classroom emptied, Coach said, “Remember, quiz tomorrow.”

Faith grabbed her backpack and slowly approached his desk. He looked up from a paper he was marking. “Hey, Patel.”

“Hey.” She chewed her lip, unsure how to ask about the game.

“I'm glad you stopped by.” He pulled a notebook in front of him and opened it. “I got midterm grade reports this morning. You're under a C average right now.”

“I am?” She knew she wasn't doing all of her schoolwork. But she didn't realize she wasn't passing.

“You'll be off the team if you don't get your grades up. Academic probation.”

“Really?”

“This shouldn't come as a surprise. I talk about academics at the start of every season.”

Maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise—but it still shocked her. Off the team? Faith's legs wobbled. She could feel tears pushing behind her eyes.

Coach Berg must have seen she was upset. He pointed to the empty chair next to his desk. “Have a seat.”

Faith slumped onto the plastic chair.

“Sometimes, staying eligible is just a matter of turning in missing assignments. Like you didn't turn in your nutrition paper last week. I'll extend your deadline to next Monday. If you get an A on that paper, it will raise your health grade to a B.”

Faith nodded, staring at the floor.

“Talk to your other teachers and find out what you're missing. And study! I want you on the team and off the bench.”

She met his eyes. “You do?”

“Well, yeah, of course. You made a couple of mistakes yesterday, but that was mostly from lack of experience. We can work on that. You were fast and showed good instincts. I think midfield is your natural position. I notice it's where you sit too.” He jutted his chin toward the classroom.

Faith shook her head, confused.

“Your desk against the wall? It's at wide midfield.” His eyes twinkled. “That's an unscientific observation, by the way.”

She smiled.

He folded his hands. “I remember you said you babysit. Who for?”

“My sister and two brothers. My mother works nights. As a nurse.”

“Young kids can be a handful.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So you don't play club ball?”

“No. We can't afford it.”

A student wandered in for sixth period.

Faith stood and looped her backpack over her shoulder. “I guess I'd better go.”

“Don't worry, Faith,” he said. “I'm sure you'll get a handle on it. See you at practice.”

“Okay.”

Faith
, she said to herself in the hallway.
He called me Faith
.

Maybe he did care about her as a person. She hadn't felt that understood by anyone in a long time. Faith's footsteps were just a little lighter as she walked to her locker.

“R

un closer to the touchline, Patel!”

Coach Berg had given Faith about ten instructions in a row during scrimmage. It was hard to keep track of what she was and wasn't supposed to do. She sprinted up the sideline and then moved into the empty space right of the goal.

“Sheridan!” he yelled at the Copperhead's left forward. “Pass already!”

Lacy Sheridan kept the ball close as she scanned the field. Faith was the only offensive player open. She could tell Lacy wanted to get the ball to another striker, but they were all covered. Lacy sent up a cross to Faith. Faith ran to meet it. She had a clear view of the goal, but she hesitated.

“Shoot, Patel!” Coach screamed. At the same moment, Nita Ortiz called out, “Faith!” The center forward was sprinting behind Nita. Faith tapped the ball toward her. Nita struck at the net, but Becca blocked it.

Faith shook her head as she ran back down the field. She hadn't made a goal since middle school. She had zero confidence that she could get the ball past the keeper.

Keeping an eye on her zone, Faith moved in to help the defenders. Right behind her ear, she heard a kissing sound and “How's it going, pet?”

Faith shoved her elbow back into Caitlyn's ribs.

“Ow! Hey!”

Before Caitlyn could retaliate, Faith's side got the ball back, and she was running downfield on the attack. Faith was sick of the sneers she'd been getting from Caitlyn lately. But hitting her was stupid, and Faith regretted it. Fighting was a sure way to get kicked off the team. At least Coach hadn't yelled at her—she guessed he hadn't seen what happened.

A few minutes later, Coach blew his whistle and scrimmage ended. “Remember,” he announced, “Coach Simmons is subbing in for me tomorrow night. Make me proud. And we're having a Monday match next week, not a Wednesday one.”

As players left the field for the locker room, Caitlyn threw death stares at Faith from over Caitlyn's shoulder.

Normally, Faith would have headed straight home. But between her skirmish with Caitlyn and stress over playing midfield, she still had energy to burn. Taking a deep breath, she started jogging. Running also gave her time to review the afternoon's practice. She'd felt a little more comfortable on the field, but not completely comfortable. The longer she played midfield, the less she seemed to understand the position. The strategy was completely different from defense. There were all sorts of patterns to memorize. Maybe the bench
was
the best place for her.

Breathing hard, her legs giving out, Faith finally stopped running. She passed Coach Berg, who was gathering ball bags.

“You know, there's such a thing as too much exercise,” he said.

Faith nodded and stopped. She pressed her hands on her hips. Talking to Coach Berg about her misgivings was something she never would have done a week ago. But after their chat in fifth period, she had a feeling he'd understand.

“I'm not sure about playing midfield.”

He handed her a bag filled with balls. “Giving up already?”

She hadn't thought about it as giving up. She slowly reached out and took the bag.

He shrugged. “Okay. I'll keep you on defense.” He headed toward the equipment shed.

Confused, Faith stood there a moment.

He looked over his shoulder. “That
is
what you want, right?”

She started following him. “I don't know.”

They'd reached the shed. He unlocked the door and opened it. “Look,” he said, stepping inside. “It sounds like you've got a lot of responsibilities at home.”

Faith followed him in.

He threw the bags he was carrying into the corner and faced her. “Soccer shouldn't add to your stress. If you're going to worry about anything, it should be schoolwork. Academics always trump athletics.”

She didn't know what
trump
meant, but she understood what he was saying. “Do
you
think I should stop playing midfield?”

“Based on your overall performance, no. I've already told you, I think you have potential. But it will take time and hard work to get good at it.”

Faith took a deep breath, relieved he still thought she had potential. “What kinds of things should I work on?”

“Well, first remember that you won't be playing at all if you don't get your grades up. Striking practice would help. If an opportunity to score is right in front of you, take it. Your dribbling could be a little better—you're not used to going long distances with the ball. Practicing one-on-ones would help.” He reached out for the bag of balls she was still holding. “Is that enough?” He smiled.

She smiled in return, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”

Their fingers touched as she handed the bag to him. He turned and threw the bag on top of the others. She couldn't get over how nice he was being. He was concerned about her grades and her home life. He was giving her all kinds of advice. He didn't need to be so kind. So why was he?

One possible answer sent heat into Faith's face. She scolded herself:
What's wrong with you?
She was glad her skin was dark so Coach Berg wouldn't see her red cheeks.

“Okay,” he said, brushing his hands together. “Let's get out of here. Time to go home.”

As they stepped outside into the setting sun, Faith saw a flash of movement. A few yards away, someone was trotting away under the bleachers—a tall girl with light brown hair. A girl who looked a lot like Caitlyn.