Monday’s practice began with a lecture from Coach J.
“We didn’t play very well in either of our games last week, did we?” he said. Not looking for a response this time, he plowed on. “That’s understandable because we were playing teams from private schools who have had sixth-grade teams for a while. That’s why I scheduled those games before we began playing the games that matter—which start tomorrow when we go to Ardmore.
“They’re like us, like all the teams in our league. This is their first year with a sixth-grade team. They only played one preconference game and they lost, just like we did. So this is our chance to get the season started in the right direction.”
He paused for a moment to look at his players.
“Just so everyone understands, we’re going to start the same eleven players we started on Friday. But Coach C and I have decided we’re going to substitute earlier and more often. So the five of you who aren’t starting, be ready. You’ll be in the game in the first half.”
Jeff looked at Andi, whose expression hadn’t changed. This was a concession of some kind, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant—except that they were going to get a chance before the last few minutes of the game.
As they grabbed mesh pinnies and broke into red and blue teams to scrimmage, Jeff saw Ron Arlow walking in his direction. This made sense because Jeff was dropping back to play defense, and Arlow was the striker for the starters.
“What are you smirking about?” Arlow said. “You think you’ve won because he’s going to play your girlfriend more?”
“No one knows a smirk better than you, Arlow,” Jeff said. “And if Andi—that’s her name, by the way—helps us win, that means we’ve all won.”
Arlow didn’t respond, just turned his back to prepare for play to start.
The practice was rough, but it didn’t get out of hand the way it had the previous week. The second team actually outscored the first—which made Coach Johnston’s announcement that everyone would play the next day look very smart.
Jeff felt good about the day. The more he played—or practiced—the more confident he became, especially with the ball. And as a defender, he was getting better at reading the moves of an attacking player. At one point, Arlow came in on him one-on-one and when he tried to make a fake, Jeff stood his ground, took the ball off Arlow’s foot, and started upfield with the ball.
He did glance over his shoulder to see if Arlow was going to try to knock him down from behind, but Arlow was just standing still, hands on hips. Jeff quickly passed the ball to Zack Roth, who sent a high looping pass to Andi. She controlled the ball with one touch, found Mike Craig open in the box, and he easily put it between the unguarded pylons.
It all really felt good.
When they were finished, everyone hot and sweaty because it was still humid, Coach J was almost smiling.
“I liked the hustle today,” he said. “Play like that tomorrow and we’ll be okay.”
He nodded at his colleague. “Coach C is going to give each of you a consent form that one of your parents or guardians has to sign.” He went over departure and pickup times. “Any questions?” he asked.
Jeff had one. “Coach, will we need a different consent form for every road game, or is this one good for all of them?”
“Good question, Michaels,” Coach J said—surprising him. “You’ll need a different one for each road game. We’ll have them for you at practice the day before each game.”
Coach C handed out the consent forms, and they headed for the locker rooms. Jeff fell into step with Andi.
“Looks like somebody is rethinking things a little,” he said.
She gave him her dazzling smile. “Maybe,” she said. “Did you see the story online yesterday in the Washington Herald?”
Jeff had no reason to even think to look online for anything in the Washington Herald. He shook his head.
“They ran a piece saying that Coach J admitted that he would think about reconsidering how much he let me play. Quoted him on it.”
That, Jeff thought, would explain Coach J’s comments today.
Andi stopped and looked at him. “Think about where I was a week ago—not even on the team. Then your dad did the story and others followed—including Stevie Thomas. Now I may get to really play tomorrow. It all started with you.”
She gave him a quick hug, then turned and jogged in the direction of the girls’ locker room.
Jeff stood there, staring after her. He had a feeling he had a stupid grin on his face, and he was vaguely aware of a couple of the other guys hooting at him.
“Way to go, lover boy,” Danny Diskin said with a huge smile.
Jeff didn’t care. All he knew was that Andi wasn’t the only one who had come a long way in the last week.
It was raining Tuesday when they got on the bus—a steady, all-day kind of rain. There was no thunder or lightning, which meant they’d play the game unless the field was too soaking wet to play on.
The only player in uniform as the bus lurched toward Ardmore was Andi. Apparently there was no available girls’ locker room near Ardmore’s soccer field, so she had changed at school.
Jeff didn’t really want to go outside in the steady rain, and the field was already looking pretty muddy as they stretched and warmed up. He was hoping the coaches might get together and decide to postpone the game.
No such luck.
It was too wet to sit on the bench when the game started, so the Merion benchwarmers all stood as close to the sideline as they could.
On the very first play of the game, one of Ardmore’s players made a move on Danny Diskin, who slipped and fell into the mud. He came up absolutely drenched as the Ardmore player went in one-on-one against goalie Bobby Woodward and punched a shot past him. Woodward’s unsuccessful dive at the ball left him just as muddy as Diskin.
Ardmore’s 1–0 lead held up for a while after that. It was tough to get traction going in any direction—the goal scorer’s move being the exception—and the referee had to keep stopping the game to change to a new ball because the ones in play kept getting wet, heavy, and muddy.
Midway through the first half, Jeff heard Coach J yell the word he’d been dreading. “Subs!”
He was looking at all five of them. Coach C told them who they were going in for, and when the whistle blew they all jogged in.
It took Jeff about thirty seconds to find himself sprawling in the mud. The same kid who had made Diskin look so bad did the same thing to him. He faked left and went right. Jeff tried to plant his foot to go to his left and went down in a sliding heap.
Lying there, his first thought was that they were about to be down 2–0. But as the kid sprinted in the direction of the goal, he saw Andi flying back from her forward position. She caught up with the Ardmore kid—only later did Jeff find out his name was Evan Collins—and, with a brave slide, swiped the ball away from him just as he crossed into the penalty area. That allowed Woodward to run up and scoop the ball into his arms before the attacker could recover.
Jeff got to his feet and started to run toward Andi but she was already up.
“Way to save the day,” Jeff hollered.
“No worries,” she said. “Let’s get going here.”
He realized she was right. Soccer was a fluid game. There were no huddles between plays. Woodward had already kicked the ball in the direction of midfield, and Andi was sprinting in that direction.
Shut up and play, he told himself as the ball again skidded loose from players trying to get control of it.
It was still 1–0 at halftime. The rain had let up a little, but it didn’t really matter, since everyone was soaked and the field was all but underwater. Not surprisingly, Coach J said the starters would all be back in to begin the second half but told the subs to “be ready at any moment.”
Jeff had noticed that almost anytime the ball went near Andi, there had been two Ardmore players marking her. It occurred to him that if Coach J put her up front with Arlow instead of at midfield, it would be difficult for the defense to mark them both without extra help.
Almost as if reading his mind, Coach J called for Andi, Jeff, and Allan Isidro about five minutes into the half.
“Next whistle,” he said. “Carillo, tell Roth to move back to midfield. You’re up front.”
Before the next whistle, though, Ardmore made it 2–0. Again, it was Collins. Fielding a deep pass from a midfielder, he dribbled around two defenders to the top of the penalty box and when Woodward came across to try to block his shot, he slid the ball to his left, to a wide-open teammate, who had a tap-in into the empty net.
Jeff saw Coach J’s shoulders sag.
“Okay, guys, go on in,” he said as he signaled the ref, and the three of them jogged onto the field.
“Come on, Andi, get us going,” Jeff said as Andi took her spot next to Arlow. Roth had moved back to midfield wordlessly when Coach J had waved him in that direction.
Diskin sidled over to Jeff as play was about to resume. “Now,” he muttered, “we’ve got our best team on the field.”
“We’ll see,” Jeff said.
The clock had just ticked under thirteen minutes left in the game.