15

Andi was happy when practiced ended. And confused.

On the one hand the afternoon had gone almost exactly as she had expected—and feared. Coach Johnston had made it clear to the team that she was there only because Mr. Block had forced him to put her in uniform.

And Ron Arlow had—predictably—gone out of his way to cause trouble.

But there had also been noticeable support from a number of her teammates—not just Danny and Jeff, but from several other players as they walked from the field in the direction of the locker rooms.

Even Zack Roth, who she knew was pals with Arlow, had patted her on the shoulder while jogging by and said, “Good job out there.”

And then there was Coach J’s “Nice play, Carillo” after Arlow had knocked her down.

She reported all of this when her mom arrived to pick her up.

“I think most of the boys are going to figure out eventually that you can help them win,” her mom said on the drive home. “Everyone wants to win, right?”

“I’m not so sure if Coach J or Arlow are willing to win with me on the team,” Andi said.

Her mother smiled. “You said even the coach complimented you,” she said. “I would say that’s progress.”

Andi couldn’t argue with that. Any civil comment from him, much less a compliment, was progress.

She finished her homework quickly after dinner and decided to call Jeff to see if he could fill her in on what had happened in the boys’ locker room after practice. Normally she had communicated with him away from school through brief texts, but now she just felt like talking.

He answered quickly—second ring. When she told him why she was calling, she heard him sigh. Then he filled her in on what he’d heard in the locker room after practice.

“Look, some guys are still clinging to the idea that a girl shouldn’t be on a boys’ team. The others were more like, ‘If she can play, why not?’”

“Who said that?” she asked.

Jeff paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, Diskin you already know; Mike Craig—”

She cut him off. “Mike?” That surprised her, since it was Craig she had maneuvered past on the play that led to the goal.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I guess he had the closest look at how good you are.”

That cracked her up. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good laugh.


The second—and final—nonleague game of Merion’s season was against Isham Academy, a private school in Bryn Mawr, not far from Merion.

Coach Johnston had posted the starting lineup in the boys’ locker room, so Andi had to depend on Jeff to tell her that she wasn’t starting—which didn’t surprise her.

“Just remember, under the rules, he has to play you,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, I know. Five minutes. Whoop-de-doo. You can bet that’s all it will be.”

Jeff smiled. “Might depend on how the game’s going.”

The game didn’t go very well. Isham appeared to have a lot of experienced soccer players on their team. At one point during the first half Coach C wandered over and mentioned to Andi and Jeff and the other benchwarmers that almost the entire Isham team had played together in a youth soccer league. That explained why they clicked so well.

By halftime, it was 3–0. The break was only ten minutes, not enough time to go back to the locker room. The two teams sat on their benches and rested while their coaches talked to them. Andi stood—she’d been sitting long enough.

“Okay, we’re going to bring Friedman, Jackson, and Lewis on to start the second half,” Coach J said. “Mix things up a little bit.

“Craig, Trang, Adkins, you sit for a while, but be ready to go back in.”

The three boys who were coming out of the game nodded. Andi knew that in pro soccer once you were out of a game you couldn’t go back in. But at this level, players could return.

The lineup change meant that fourteen of Merion’s players would have seen the field. The two exceptions were Andi and Jeff. No surprise there. Andi thought Jeff was every bit as good as—probably better than—the three players who were being subbed into the game. He was clearly in the doghouse because of his father’s role in getting Andi on the team.

His crime was twofold: He was Andi’s friend and his father’s son.

Andi was different. She’d only done one thing wrong: been born a girl.

The lineup changes did little to affect the direction of the game. As Coach Johnston had said, Friedman, Jackson, and Lewis brought a different mix to the lineup—but it wasn’t any better than what the three starters who were now on the bench brought to the game.

Mike Craig sat down on Andi’s left—Jeff was to her right—as the half started.

“You should be in there,” Mike said to her.

Andi looked at him. He was, in her opinion, the best-looking boy on the team. She had been aware of that even before tryouts started, since they were in two classes together. He had wavy blond hair and an easy smile. He wasn’t smiling now.

“Thanks,” she said.

Jeff jumped in. “This doesn’t have anything to do with who the best players are, you know that, Mike,” he said.

Craig nodded. “I know. And, for the record, Michaels, you should be playing, too.”

It was hard not to like Mike Craig.


The score was 5–0 when Coach C walked over to where Andi and Jeff were sitting.

“Next whistle,” he said, “you guys go in for Arlow and Roth.”

Andi was surprised he was taking out two of his best players.

Coach C seemed to read her mind.

“We’re going to put you in the striker position, Andi,” he said. “See if you have any more luck than Arlow. Jeff, you’re at midfield for Roth.”

Coach C turned to Craig. “Mike, you’re back in for Lewis.”

That wasn’t a huge surprise. Ethan Lewis’s poor play on defense had been largely responsible for the two Isham second-half goals. He was a tall, gangly kid, probably better suited to basketball than soccer.

The three of them stood and walked to midfield so the coaches could signal for a sub on the whistle. Coach J didn’t look at any of them.

The whistle blew.

Coach Crist signaled the referee that Merion wanted to sub. The Isham coaches were doing the same thing. Andi jogged in, Roth giving her a fist bump as they passed each other. Arlow looked her right in the eye as he went by but ignored her proffered fist.

There were about ten minutes left in the game, the outcome clearly decided.

About five minutes after the subs had occurred, Andi was looking over her shoulder at the sideline. No one was standing as if to come in. Maybe they’d stay in till the final whistle.

Isham had a throw-in. Mike Craig ducked in and stole the ball. He weaved a few yards upfield and found Jeff open on the left side.

Unmarked, Jeff pushed the ball into Merion’s offensive area. A defender came to meet him. Jeff saw him coming and sent a pass in Andi’s direction as she was entering the penalty area. She gathered it in, faked to her left, then went right.

The goalie came out to try to cut the angle down on her shot. Out of the corner of her eye, Andi saw Teddy O’Connell on her right flank. She faked as if to slide the ball to her left foot in order to shoot and then slid the ball to O’Connell—who had a wide-open net because the goalie had come out to meet Andi.

O’Connell easily converted the pass, his kick hitting the back of the net. He turned and ran to Andi, pointing at her.

“Great pass, Andi!” he shouted, bear-hugging her the way soccer players do after a goal. Jeff came in from behind.

“You probably could have scored yourself,” he said, also giving her a quick hug.

“Teddy was wide-open,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

They turned to head upfield for Isham’s kickoff. The game clock was now under four minutes. There wasn’t time to rally, but at least they’d scored.

As she was lining up to prepare the restart, Andi heard a voice. It was Coach J.

“Ref, subs,” he said.

Andi looked up and saw the four starters who had been on the bench—only Craig had gone back into the game—standing next to Coach J.

“Merion subs, come on out!” he yelled.

Puzzled—but not puzzled—she jogged to the sideline, Jeff right behind. Coach J said nothing about the goal.

Jeff went straight to Coach C. “Why are we out?” he asked. “We at least got the team on the scoreboard.”

Coach J turned to him, giving him an angry look.

“That’s a question for me, Michaels, isn’t it?” he said. “You’re out because I’m still trying to win the game.”