Saving the Team (14 page)

The oversize buckets were so big, we had to stand up over them. This was going to be disgusting. We all exchanged worried glances.

“It's gigantic,” Zoe said, cringing.

“I'll eat your share, don't worry,” Emma said, practically drooling at the site of all that ice cream.

Our waitress hit a switch on the jukebox, and the song “Purple People Eater” began to play. It was a silly song from the 1950s.

“Go!” she yelled.

We dove in, and stuffed our faces with ice cream as fast as we could while the music played loudly and our parents cheered us on.

Halfway through our bucket, I stopped and took a few deep breaths. I was running out of room in my stomach.

“Keep going!” Emma said, her mouth crammed with ice cream. She had it smeared all over her face.

Less than ten minutes later, we'd done it. We'd finished forty scoops of ice cream. Our waitress banged the gong five times to sound our success. Everyone in the diner cheered for us. We all high-fived one another, even though our hands were pretty sticky.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Emma moaned. “Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?”

Even Brianna's long blond hair had ice cream in it. “It was yours, you nut!” she reminded Emma.

“Ugh,” said Zoe. “Nuts sound disgusting.”

It was too much. We were all laughing our heads off, which only made our stomachs hurt more.

“You girls,” our waitress said, laughing. “You're a hoot—a real bunch of kicks!”

“That's because we
are
the Kicks!” Grace, our new eighth-grade captain said, with a messy ice-cream-smeared smile.

“Kicks, Kicks, Kicks, Kicks,” Anna started chanting. Soon everyone joined in, even our parents.

I looked around the room, at everyone smiling and laughing. We were more a team than we'd ever been before. But I couldn't be completely happy. Where was Jessi?

Later that night, after recovering from a massive brain freeze and a bit of a stomachache, I called Jessi's house, half-expecting her not to be there.

“Hello?” She picked up.

“Where were you tonight?” I asked, launching in before she could say anything else. “Are you okay? Are you sick? I texted you, like, five times. I was getting worried!”

There was a pause on her end. “Devin, I couldn't go because I couldn't go,” she said. Then I heard a small sniffle from her end of the phone.

“Jessi, what's wrong?” I asked.

“I didn't text you back because my cell got taken away. And I'm off the team. I can't play soccer anymore! I'm flunking math and Spanish, and my mom said the rest of my report card is almost as bad.”

I was too stunned to speak. I knew Jessi wasn't doing
great in school, but I'd had no idea she was failing. “You can't even go to practice or team events?” I finally managed to ask.

“Nothing. It's straight to school and then straight back. That's it.”

“I'm so sorry.” I didn't know what else to say. This was crushing news. Not just for Jessi but for all of us. We had just started to come together as a team, and now we were losing one of our best players.

“My parents say I can start playing if I get my grades up,” Jessi said.

“Let me know if I can help,” I said.

Jessi gave a little hiccup. I could tell she was holding back tears. “I can't believe how bad I messed up,” she said sadly.

“Don't worry. If you work hard and stay focused, you'll get those grades up!” I tried to encourage her.

I heard Mrs. Dukes's voice in the background.

“I have to go,” Jessi said in a very tiny, un-Jessi-like voice. “Bye, Devin.”

“Bye.” I put the phone down. I felt so bad for Jessi!

I didn't know how to help Jessi, but I knew I had to do something for the team. We really had a lot of momentum behind us now. Losing Jessi could totally derail us.

So I found Zoe the next day during lunch and explained the situation to her. “We need you to score. Do you think you're up to it?”

Zoe nodded slowly. “Frida and I have been getting
together every day. She's really giving me some great tips. I'm pretty sure they're working. I really won't know, though, until we have a real game.” She started to get a little pale. “But I'll do my best.”

“No pressure, but we have our rematch with Pinewood coming up. I really don't want to lose to them again.
Especially
now that Mirabelle's on their team.”

I saw a spark in Zoe's eye as I mentioned our former teammate. “Beating them, that would be sweet,” Zoe said.

I really hoped she'd be able to get over her fear of playing under pressure. The team needed her now more than ever.

Soccer practice would have been perfect the next Monday, except for the fact that Jessi wasn't there. Coach Flores had us running some pretty tough drills on the kicks that had given our team its nickname, but then we ended by playing a fun game of Capture the Flag with soccer balls. Coach's new style was really working. The fun stuff balanced out the hard work and kept us feeling like a team that was in this together.

“Great practice, Kicks,” Coach told us, smiling.

Zoe, Emma, and I were feeling pretty good after practice and decided to head over to the local diner for a snack.

“I wish Jessi were here,” Zoe said sadly.

Before Emma or I could say anything, we heard a shout.

“Look out!”

A Frisbee appeared out of nowhere, heading right for
us. All three of us ducked, but the Frisbee still managed to crash into Emma.

“Ouch!” she said, rubbing her forehead.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” a boy said, running toward us.

Emma nodded.

“Um, can I have my Frisbee back?” he asked. I picked up the Frisbee and tossed it back. Somehow, as if by magic, it curved back around and threatened to decapitate Emma again.

“Whoa, what're you doing?” Emma said, this time getting out of the way, barely.

“You should just always walk around with a helmet,” Zoe said, and laughed.

“Sorry,” I said to her while picking up the Frisbee and handing it directly over to its owner this time.

Poor Emma. She never failed to trip over something, and she could always be counted on to knock things over.

Wait a minute.
A brilliant thought hit me. If flying objects were magnetically attracted to Emma, which they obviously were, it made sense that soccer balls would be too. I bet Emma would be totally unfazed by soccer balls zooming at her. Maybe she'd be good at deflecting them too.

Instead of getting in the way, which she always did on the field, we could turn her weakness into a strength.
Emma as goalie!

I got really excited. This would solve so many problems! For one, she would always be facing the right way,
which would already make her twice as effective. She also wouldn't have to worry about being in position ever again. Huge plus. Most of all, goalies were
supposed
to get in the way, and nobody got in the way better than Emma.

On top of that, if Emma was goalie, she could swing her arms around all she wanted. In fact, that's what she was supposed to do.

As we sat down in a booth and ordered our food, I kept seeing Emma as the Kicks' goalie. By the time my grilled cheese had arrived, I was ready. I was certain my idea was genius. If I could get Emma to agree.

First a little test. I threw a fry at her.

Direct hit.

“Hey, what're you doing?” she said, launching her own fry in my direction. She missed, of course, the potato missile falling harmlessly a few feet away.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” I couldn't stop a grin from spreading across my face. “There was something else I was wondering. Have you ever played goalie before?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Never really occurred to me, I guess.”

“Maybe you should give it a try,” I encouraged her. “I think you'd be a natural at it.”

“If being goalie is so great, how come nobody ever wants to play goalie?” Emma asked.

“Well, most people don't understand that being goalie is actually a very rewarding role,” I said, using my best
sales pitch. “A goalie needs to be both mentally and physically strong. They need to be able to stay positive when they get scored on. And we need someone the team trusts in that position.”

“Why would they trust me? I scored on our own team!” Emma reminded me.

“They trust you because you are always so positive and want everyone to do their best,” I said. “Plus, if you're in the goal, you can't score on yourself!”

Zoe laughed at that, and Emma joined in.

“That's a good point,” she said, before taking a bite of her hamburger and munching thoughtfully. “If you think I'll be good as a goalie, I'm willing to give it a try, Captain,” she said once she had swallowed.

I smiled. The Kicks kept getting better and better!

“I got it, I got it!” Emma screamed when a Rancho Verdes Viper got close enough to take a shot. The shot was weak, but Emma dove a little late and the ball dribbled in for a score. 1–0. Even though she was a natural, it was taking some time to get Emma adjusted to goal. But it was only her first game—and an away game, at that.

“Shoot,” she said, shaking her head.

Before we could even say anything to encourage her, Emma's enthusiasm bounced right back. “I'll stop the next one, no problem.” She shifted back and forth on her heels and clapped her goalie gloves.

“Let's go, dee-fense!” It was Emma's first official time
in goal, and it looked like she was loving it. For one, she could certainly yell louder than just about anyone else. “You guys need to help me out; it's not just me against the world here!”

When Rancho Verdes threatened with another scoring chance, Emma snuffed it out by leaping into a pile of bodies and emerging with the ball. Now that she could use her hands, Emma was magic.

Our entire defense was so much better. The skills that Coach Flores had been teaching us had really helped. We had learned to actually communicate on the field. Led by Emma, directing traffic in front of her, our back line was looking great. Especially when Emma managed to stop the next three Rancho Verdes shots. Her entire family chanted her name after each save: “Em-ma!” Em-ma!” Soon all the Kangaroo parents were doing it.

There was no doubt about it: Emma was brilliant in goal. She had no problem being the last line of defense. It didn't even faze her. In fact, she liked it. Plus, deflecting the ball miraculously turned out to be a natural skill. If a ball could get past her, it probably deserved to go in.

“Frida, watch number ten!” Emma shouted.

“I got her,” Frida hollered back. A motivated Frida was like a freight train. She had eagerly agreed to step out of the goal for Emma and move to midfield instead. For this game she was playing the part of a girl whose mother wanted her to become a dancer and forbid her to play soccer. She had to sneak out to get to practices and games.
It seemed crazy, but it was working! Frida with a part to play was more committed than I had ever seen her. She turned back another Viper attack with ease.