Beyond Lucky

“Competition has been shown to be useful up to a
certain point and no further, but cooperation, which
is the thing we must strive for today, begins where
competition leaves off.”

At the special mandatory practice, Coach says, “There’s only one way to get through a crisis like this, and that is hard work.”

First he makes us run to the top of the field and back as fast as we can. When we’re done, he says, “Do it again.”

He does not care how tired we feel, or how lousy we look. He doesn’t let us stop running for a drink or a snack or to ease up on a cramp.

“You don’t like it?” He laughs. “Take an extra lap. Or don’t bother coming back.” He tells us that this is how practices are going to be until we start acting like a team. We are going to do things his way for as long as it takes. “Do you understand?”

He lines us up, and we do push-ups, planks, and sit-ups until we can’t move. Then he yells, “Get up,” and we dribble around the cones.

Parker is the only one not gasping for breath. She runs the best average time. And she doesn’t knock down a single cone. She glares at me. “You think Coach will have any problem playing me now?”

Then Coach shortens the field by half. He divides us into teams, and we scrimmage six on six, which puts twice as much pressure on the defense.

No one likes playing on a short field. Not Eddie. Not Mac. Not me. I tell Eddie to just take the corner or stay in front of me, and he does not appreciate my advice. Parker is everywhere. She dribbles between defenders and passes with perfect accuracy.

Soup yells at Mac. Mac insults David. Eddie starts to yell at me, but I tell him not to start. Even though this is only a scrimmage, I hate scooping out balls from the back of the net.

But it is still not enough for Coach. When we’re done, he shortens the field even more. “Let’s play two on two,” he says while pacing in front of us. Mac smells. So do I. We smell so bad, I want to step away.

For a moment, Mac forgets his promises. “Come on, Coach. Can’t you play someone else?” He lays on the charm. “All things considered.”

Coach isn’t buying. He says, “All things considered, MacDonald, you are lucky that any of us will tolerate your presence on this field.” He paces back and forth. “Team, I want to win games. I will do anything to win games. And that means playing with the best we have. I know you don’t want to believe this, MacDonald, but we need Llewellyn. She is good. I’ve been watching her close, and this Saturday, she’s going to see real time. On offense. Do you hear me, MacDonald?”

Usually, Mac can talk anyone into anything. But not today. Today of all days, Coach decides that Mac does not know what is best for our team.

Parker seizes the moment and runs onto the field. “I’m ready.” She looks at me and Mac. “Are you?”

Coach sends us to the field, two on two, offense on defense, Mac and Parker against me and Eddie.

Eddie tries to force the ball wide—to keep them from passing—but he is out of position. Too aggressive. Mac has no problem getting the ball to Parker. She dribbles tight. Her feet are super-fast. Left and right and right-left-left-right, and smash—into the corner.

After ten minutes, she scores twice, Mac once. I try and spell it out to Eddie—that he can’t just charge the ball, he’s got to wait for it—he’s got to watch their footwork. That the feet will tell you which way they’re going to kick.

He doesn’t appreciate it. He tells me he understands watching the feet. And that I should cut him some slack. “You know this drill favors the O.” When I don’t immediately agree, he adds, “You are becoming a diva.”

Mischelotti stands there and shakes his head. “Haven’t I taught you anything, Fish? You have to be nice to your stopper.”

Eddie doesn’t know when to shut up. “At least Parker had a reason to yell. At least she doesn’t act like she knows everything, and that everyone else knows squat.”

Parker can’t help chiming in. “It’s because of the stupid card.” She says, “I think it’s cursed.”

He scratches his head. “Maybe it is. Maybe the net is cursed too. Or maybe it’s you, Fish. Maybe you’re doomed. Just like Wayne Timcoe himself.”

Sam didn’t call, even though he promised he would. I’m sure it only means what it always means. There was another fire. Otherwise, he would have called.

And my horrible luck has nothing to do with the card. Or Parker. Or Mac. It’s just a coincidence. These things happen. Luck gets better. Then it gets worse. Then it gets better. It is a wave, just like Steve the Sports Guy said. In a couple of days, everything is going to turn around, if not exponentially, at least incrementally.

All I have to do is apologize. When I do that, my conscience will feel better. My luck will improve.

I knew Parker loved Wayne just as much as I do, but I never once thought she’d take him. When I realized the card was gone, I did not ever consider that Parker was the thief. Parker was my friend. She is my friend. When no one else would talk to me, she did.

I picture her at the field. At my locker. I remember what she looked like when she found the card in her backpack. She looked shocked, surprised, upset. I remember how, during tryouts, I was so scared she’d be starting instead of me.

The door creaks open, and a sliver of brightness cuts the room in half. Dad whispers, “Ari, you’re still up?”

It’s a funny thing. I went out of my way to convince myself of the truth, but only in the dark can I say what I fear most. “I wanted to believe that Parker took the card, but now I’m sure she didn’t.”

I can’t see Dad’s face, but I’m pretty sure he’s not smiling. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

My dad lets me think for a very long time. This is his way of making me come up with my own answers. “But what if he won’t admit what he did?” I ask.

Dad rubs my head. “Talk to him. Be frank. Tell him you forgive him. He’ll come around. There have been plenty of times when he has had to forgive you.”

For the time I told him I had plans, when really, I just didn’t feel like hanging out with him.

When Dad leaves, he opens the door wide. The hall light shines across my face, like a spotlight. I close my eyes, until it disappears with a click.

Tomorrow, I’m going to do what I should have done before. I am going to talk to Parker. First thing. I’m going to ask for her forgiveness, and then, we’re going to talk to Mac. For the first time, I’m going to be a leader. I’m going to do what Thomas Jefferson and Steve the Sports Guy and Sam would tell me to do: I’m going to fight until the end. I’m going to trust my gut. I’m not going to be a wuss anymore.

At 4:42, the phone wakes me up. Dad’s footsteps rush past my door. His voice echoes. Three words. “Hello? What? No.”

Downstairs, he is sitting in the dark. His face is in his hands. The phone is on its side. It beeps steadily, but Dad doesn’t touch it.