The Football Girl Read online

  “No, I mean, I care about the game,” Caleb replied, waving his hands. “I totally wanted to win. But I would never be mad at you for not making a catch. Seriously, that was a tough play, and I figured if you couldn’t do it, nobody could.”

  “You mean that?”

  “You’re a good football player, and I’m not just saying you’re good for a girl. If I was picking teams…”

  “You’d pick me first?”

  Caleb smiled. “Well, I can’t say first for sure. But top five definitely.”

  Wow. This guy knew the way to my heart. “Really?”

  Caleb nodded. “Yeah, you’re fast. You’ve got good hands. You run tight routes. And you want to win as bad as anyone else I know.”

  “I wish I had caught that ball,” I replied.

  “I wish you could go to football camp so you’d have a redo. I think that’s the only thing that would help me.”

  My heart did a little end-zone dance. “Thank you.”

  There wasn’t much more to say about football, so we made plans to walk up to the ridge after my run with the girls.

  —

  The ridge was a steep half-mile hike to a spot with a view of the whole town. As we cruised up the trail, Caleb seemed on top of the world about everything. He was “beyond pumped” about going camping with his brothers, even though they wouldn’t be able to fish. He was “losing his mind” about seeing Octosaur, and he asked me if I’d go with him. And he was “on fire” about football tryouts in the fall.

  I wasn’t jealous about camping, and I didn’t really want to see Octosaur, but when he mentioned football camp, I bit my lip with envy.

  “I know it’s still more than a month away,” he said, “but me and Nick and Dobie are going to start training as soon as school’s over. Charlie said he’d set us up with weights and a bench in the garage, and we’ll run the stairs in the grandstand.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said as we came within a hundred yards of the ridge.

  “Oh, it’s going to be brutal,” Caleb replied. “You’d love it.”

  I was probably reading too much into it, but in that moment, what I heard Caleb say was You should do it too. Could you blame me, after everything he had actually said? His belief in me as a player was giving me ideas, crazy ideas, and before I knew it, there were fireworks going off in my mind. And it was all because of Caleb, who understood me and gave me that extra confidence I needed to keep playing.

  Lots of people had climbed to the ridge to watch the sunset. We found a flat rock to sit on and leaned back, side by side, against the trunk of an alder tree.

  “Do you really think I could play football?” I asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “What if I’m not fast enough?”

  “You are.”

  “What if I don’t know where to run?”

  “You will.”

  “What if my hands are too small?”

  “Let me see,” Caleb said.

  I held out my hands.

  “Hold one up,” he said.

  I lifted my left hand, and Caleb pressed his palm against mine. His top knuckles met my fingertips. “See. I have small hands.”

  Before Caleb could answer, there was a flash of light, and a man with a badge hanging around his neck was looking at his camera.

  “Great shot,” he said to himself. Then he looked up at us. “You two want to be in the paper?” he asked.

  SATURDAY, MAY 28

  Charlie and Luke destroyed me when they saw the picture in the paper. It was right there on the front page, Tessa and me, our hands locked together as the sun set behind us. The caption read: Summer love on the ridge as Tessa Dooley and Caleb McCleary, both 14, enjoy the sunset over Pilchuck. Charlie harassed me during the whole drive up to the trailhead.

  By the time Dad put the truck in park, I was ready to leave civilization behind. I swore I would never let anyone print my name in the paper again. We strapped on our packs in the gravel parking lot. The sun had burned through the last of the morning clouds. It was going to be hot and dry. Charlie had already taken off his T-shirt.

  Luke and I grabbed our fishing poles from the bed of the truck.

  “No fishing,” Dad said.

  “Nobody’s going to know,” Luke protested.

  “Rangers patrol the lakes, Luke. Season doesn’t open for another week,” Dad said. “They catch you, you’re going to get fined, which means I’m going to have to pay. So, no fishing.”

  Charlie walked over holding his pole. “We’re just going to practice casting,” he said. “We don’t even have bait.”

  “Just casting,” Dad repeated.

  “Scout’s honor,” Charlie said.

  “I hope I can count on you for this at least,” Dad told Charlie, before driving off in the truck.

  Charlie watched Dad disappear down the mountain. “Screw it,” he said. “Let’s go fishing.”

  Luke and I followed Charlie single file up the trail. We moved quickly, stopping only twice for water. After two hours of hard hiking, we arrived at the lake and set up camp on an outcrop shaded by the small mountain peak behind us. A light breeze blew cool air off the last of the snowpack.

  “What are we going to do now?” Luke asked.

  “We’re gonna fish,” said Charlie, like it was a stupid question.

  “You mean cast?” I asked.

  “Nooo,” said Charlie, digging a jar of bait out of his pack. “I mean fish. Luke was right for once in his life. Nobody’s gonna know. We’re the only ones here.”

  “Dad said not to,” Luke grumbled.

  “Is Dad always right?” Charlie asked angrily.

  “No,” Luke admitted.

  “Then shut up and fish,” Charlie shot back.

  Luke and I baited our hooks and followed Charlie to the lake. Pretty soon we were all standing in the water casting and waiting for the fish to bite.

  Luke rubbed his stomach. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

  —

  For a long time, the only sounds we heard were the whine of our lines unreeling and mosquitoes buzzing in the warm air. We fished for more than an hour, but none of us caught anything big enough to keep. I think defying Dad made Charlie feel better, because he was in a happier mood as dusk fell. We made a small fire outside our tents and roasted hot dogs. After we ate, Luke put on a headlamp and propped himself against a tree to read, leaving Charlie and me to watch the fire.

  I hoped Charlie would ask about Tessa. I wanted him to tell me everything he knew about having a girlfriend. I needed information, and he was the only one who could help me. Nick and Dobie had never had girlfriends, and I had questions I would never ask Dad. I stayed quiet for as long as I could, thinking Charlie might start the conversation, because I didn’t know where to begin. But he just stared into the flames, poking the coals with a long stick.

  “I’m not going to change my mind,” he said finally.

  “About what?” I asked.

  Charlie looked straight ahead, like he was talking to the fire. “I’m not going to work at the shop. I’m not going to spend my life installing aluminum siding. I’m going to be a physical therapist. I don’t care what Dad says or does.”

  “Maybe you could just work there for a couple of years and then be a physical therapist,” I said.

  “No,” Charlie replied, shaking his head. “If I do that, I’ll never leave.”

  “Leave where?” I asked.

  Charlie didn’t answer.

  The wind shifted, blowing smoke into my eyes. I moved to the opposite side of the fire pit. “Leave where?” I repeated.

  “Hey,” Charlie replied a moment later. “So you’ve got a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I do.”

  “That’s a good thing, man. You know what you’re doing?”

  “What am I doing?”

  “No,” Charlie corrected me. “I mean, do you have this under control?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “Al
l I know is, a few weeks ago she wasn’t my girlfriend and now she is, and I can’t really tell what’s different.”

  “The difference is, she comes first now.”

  “First before what?”

  “Before anything,” Charlie explained. “She goes through the door first. You call her before you call your friends. You don’t eat until she eats. You don’t speak until she speaks.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Charlie laughed. “Only kind of,” he said. “Look, what I think is that you can’t let one girl change your life too much. You have to keep being you. You gotta have your friends. Other than that, just make sure to have fun. You’re not ready for anything more than that.”

  “Are there rules?” I asked.

  “Oh, you want to know the rules?” Charlie asked. “I’ve got ’em written down here. Everything you need to know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “You want it? This is sacred. Dad gave it to me when I was your age. I carry it with me everywhere.”

  “Definitely,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. Charlie was giving me the playbook for having a girlfriend!

  Charlie tossed the paper onto the fire. “Too bad,” he said.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked, horrified.

  “It was a grocery receipt, stupid,” Charlie said. “There are no rules. Just be yourself and make her happy.”

  “You’re a punk,” I said.

  “Takes one to know one, Romeo.” Charlie stood up. “I’m going to find a tree.”

  I felt like a dope for thinking Charlie had really had a list of rules. But mostly I was relieved. Knowing there weren’t rules was as good as knowing there were rules. Maybe even better. Be myself and make Tessa happy. What could be hard about that?

  Not far off, I saw the light from Luke’s headlamp darting around inside his tent. A moment later, he was walking over to the fire. There was a brick in his hand. “It’s a joke, isn’t it?” he asked. “You guys made me carry these for no reason.”

  “You’ll have to ask Charlie,” I responded.

  “I hate him,” Luke said, finding a spot beside me.

  “You’d miss him if he were gone,” I said.

  SUNDAY, MAY 29

  Everyone had an opinion about the photo in the paper. Caleb and I had told the photographer he could use it because we thought it would be cool. Now I wasn’t so sure. Lexie said it was real. Marina said it was cinematic. Dad said I was too young to be in a couple. I didn’t know what Caleb thought, because he’d left early Saturday morning to camp with his brothers.

  There was no question what Mom thought, though.

  “Why is this front-page news?” she asked, like it had been up to me. Mom was sitting on the couch with a reporter while a cameraman set up lights. She was about to be interviewed for the local news. Mom had won the primary the week before, which was like a semifinal for politicians. It meant she would be one of two candidates that people could vote for in the November election.

  “It’s not like the sun sets every day,” I said, obviously joking.

  “It’s a human-interest story, Jane,” Dad explained to Mom. “It has visual appeal. It sells papers.” He sat on the edge of the coffee table facing the couch, where Mom and I were sitting. “Let’s focus on the interview.”

  “Three minutes, Jane,” said the reporter.

  “Sounds good,” Mom said.

  “She’s going to ask you about three things,” Dad said. “She’ll ask about your record on the city council. She’ll ask you about your opponent. And she’ll ask about school funding and the stadium.”

  I knew what Dad meant about the last thing. The school district didn’t have enough money to pay the teachers and fix the schools, so some of the people on the city council wanted to raise taxes. Like she’d said before, Mom thought the school district should save money by cutting “nonessential” projects, like a new football stadium. This was going to be an issue with a lot of people in Pilchuck.

  “One minute,” said the reporter.

  “We need the daughter out of the shot,” the cameraman said.

  I stood up, but the reporter gestured for me to sit. “No,” she said. “Let’s keep her. You don’t mind, right?” she asked, looking at Mom.

  Before Mom could answer, the cameraman had snapped a tiny microphone to my shirt.

  “Councilwoman?” said Beth to my mother. “Is it okay if we interview your daughter on the air? I’d love for the voters to meet a member of your wonderful family.”

  Mom strained to put on a smile. “Well, sure!”

  This was the first time she had ever needed to share the spotlight, to acknowledge my presence for more than five minutes. This would be good.

  She forcefully laid her notes on her lap. It was the last time she looked at them. Because the reporter didn’t ask any questions about taxes or schools or parks.

  “We’re here in the living room of City Councilwoman Jane Dooley, who recently won her party’s primary. How are you feeling about the upcoming general election?” Beth asked.

  Mom smiled back at the camera. “I am looking forward to an open and positive discussion about the issues that matter to all of us living in Pilchuck.” Mom paused and extended her pointer finger, which I knew meant she wanted to list the reasons she was running for mayor. But she didn’t get a chance.

  “Wonderful,” Beth replied, cutting her off. “And who do you have with you?”

  “This is my heart and joy, my daughter, Tessa.”

  “Tessa, you’re becoming quite a media star,” Beth said. “First you get your picture on the front page of the Pilchuck Observer, and now a televised interview. Can you tell me who was with you in the photo?”

  “A friend. My friend. Caleb.”

  “Just a friend? Or boyfriend?”

  “Just a friend,” Mom cut in and answered.

  “So what do you like to do, Tessa?”

  “She’s a wonderful runner,” Mom interrupted. “Cross-country. She’s very fast.”

  It was something about the way she said it. Like she knew exactly what I did and what I liked. Like she listened and noticed. Which she didn’t.

  “I also play football,” I spurted.

  Beth looked surprised. “You mean soccer?”

  “No,” I said. “I mean football. I played flag football this spring. And I’m going to go to football camp this summer. It’s like a warm-up for tryouts,” I added. I knew I was lighting a fuse, but I had to take control. I couldn’t let Mom tell me and the whole world what mattered in my life. I was finally ready to break their expectations.

  “You’re what?” Mom asked.

  Beth looked back and forth from me to Mom. “Oh, looks like we have some breaking news here in the Dooley household.”

  —

  Lesson learned. Once you say something on TV, you can’t really take it back.

  “How much trouble am I in?” I asked Dad after the news crew had left and Mom had gone for a run.

  “It depends,” Dad answered.

  “On what?” I asked.

  “On whether we can spin this,” he said, anxiously scrolling on his phone. “It was definitely not the interview we wanted, but we might get lucky if people identify with your mom as a mother with an unpredictable but appealing family. We can use that as a stepping-stone to talking about the real issues.”

  “Dad, what are you talking about?”

  “Huh?”

  “I didn’t understand anything you just said.”

  “You don’t have to, sweetie. It’s just politics. We’ll take care of it. Just need a little damage control.”

  “What about the other thing?” I asked.

  “What other thing?”

  “The football thing,” I said.

  “That’s a tough call,” Dad replied. “It could play out a couple of ways. Voters might respond positively if they see it as a just cause—or it could backfire if they think we’re pushing the envelope on equalit
y.”

  “Yeah, but what do you think about me playing football? Do you think I’d be good? Can I do it?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “I’ve never seen you play.”

  A moment later, Dad’s phone rang and I left the room, wondering if anything would ever change.

  Dad picked us up on Sunday afternoon. We tossed our gear into the back of the truck and headed home. I didn’t know it yet, but by then, Tessa had been on TV and all over the media.

  It was Charlie who saw it first.

  “Holy…,” he said from the passenger seat.

  “What?” I asked.

  He passed his phone back to me.

  The headline on the screen read, PILCHUCK TEEN, 14, DECLARES FOOTBALL AMBITIONS, UPSTAGING MOM. I clicked on the link and skimmed the article, not really believing that it was about Tessa. I told myself it had to be about some other Tessa with the same last name whose mom was also running for mayor, because that made more sense than a girl going to football camp. I knew I had told Tessa she could play football, but that didn’t mean I thought she should. First, football was a guys’ sport. Second, I did not want to look over in the huddle and see my girlfriend starting at me through a face mask.

  “What do I do?” I said.

  “Simple,” Charlie answered. “Make it go away.”

  “What do you mean? Just tell her she can’t play?”

  “There’s no question she can’t play,” Charlie said. “What I’m saying is that you can’t let her even think about it.”

  “You think anyone else knows yet?”

  “Have you checked your phone?”

  “No.”

  “Might want to look.”

  I opened my phone. Thirteen new texts. Dobie, Nick, Julian, Ruben, Khalil, and a bunch of numbers I didn’t even know. Plus two from Tessa.

  Dude, seriously? Is this a joke?

  BWAA HA HA HA!

  My mom is sooo mad.

  Did we trade you to the cheerleaders?

  I hope they make punk shoulder pads.

  Puke.

  PINK! I meant pink shoulder pads. I hate my phone.

  U there?

  She knows it’s TACKLE football, right?

  This CANNOT happen.