It was hot for mid-September in the Philadelphia area. Merion was located west of the city and was part of the string of the Main Line towns and suburbs known for being the location of Villanova University and many multimillion dollar homes.
By the time the coaches had put the candidates for their team through ninety minutes of drills, including shooting, dribbling, and passing, and vicious wind sprints called ladders, most of the boys were bending over, grabbing their shorts, and struggling for breath.
Andi Carillo was tired, too, but she wasn’t going to let anybody—least of all the coaches—see her gasping or looking as if anything that had been asked had been too difficult.
She was keenly aware of Coach J’s veiled shot at her when he had referenced her wanting to play soccer and that Principal Block had said she had “the right” to try out for the team.
Andi knew that Coach J didn’t want her there. When she had brought in the consent form her parents had signed, he had looked at it, handed it back, and said, “Andrea, this is a boys’ team. You can try out for field hockey. Or the girls’ varsity soccer team next fall.”
“I don’t want to play field hockey, or wait a year to try out for varsity,” Andi had said. “And I prefer to be called Andi. I’m a good soccer player. I know I can make your team.”
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal, but you can’t make my team because it’s a boys’ team and you’re not a boy.”
He had stood up and handed her back the consent form. Andi’s first instinct had been to throw the form back at him, but she resisted.
“If there’s no girls’ team in a sport, you have to give girls the chance to play,” she’d said, not giving up just yet.
“Says who?” Coach J had said. “I set the rules for this team—not you.”
Angrily, Andi had stormed out, feeling crushed. For weeks she had been fired up when she saw in the information packet sent to first-year students that there was to be a sixth-grade soccer team.
She had first played soccer with her two older brothers—who were now off at college—when she could barely walk, much less run. She’d played on her first youth team at six, and by the time she was nine, she was one of the top players on any team she played on. She was fast, could dribble the ball remarkably well for a kid her age, and had developed a strong, hard shot—even off her weak foot.
After the meeting with Coach J, she’d told her parents what had happened.
“Who does this guy think he is, Bill Belichick?” her dad had said, referencing the famous NFL coach. “He’s coaching sixth graders!”
“Andi, you need to talk to the principal about this,” her mother had said.
Andi had agreed.
The next morning, she had gotten to school early, marched to the office of Arthur L. Block, and asked for a meeting. His assistant had been puzzled why a sixth grader would want a meeting with the principal so early in the school year, but she told Andi to come back at lunchtime.
Andi had seen Mr. Block only once: at the opening assembly for the entire school on the first day of the school year. As she settled into the chair Mr. Block had waved her into when she’d come back for her meeting, she decided he looked the way a principal was supposed to look. He was tall, with short graying hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a serious look on his face. Her impression was that he was a very serious person.
As soon as Andi started to explain what had happened, Mr. Block held up a hand, picked up his phone, and asked his assistant (Andi assumed) to find Mr. Johnston and have him come to the office right away.
The next five minutes were awkward: Mr. Block had asked Andi how she liked school so far and asked how her older brother Drew was doing in his first year at college. Andi had been relieved when Mr. Johnston walked in.
She had been less relieved when he began glaring at her as soon as Mr. Block told him what he thought about his meeting with Andi the day before.
“Mr. Johnston, this isn’t anything new,” he’d said, leaning forward in his chair. “At this age, girls can compete with boys. If we had a sixth-grade girls’ soccer team it would be different. We don’t. Andrea should be given the opportunity to try out.”
“Does that mean you’re going to let boys try out for the girls’ field hockey team since there’s no boys’ field hockey team?” Coach J had said sarcastically. Andi wasn’t 100 percent sure what a sneer was, but she’d suspected the twisted look on Coach J’s face was one.
“I’ll cross that bridge if I get to it,” Mr. Block had responded, his tone very measured. “As far as I know, even at the high school and college levels there aren’t very many boys’ field hockey teams, so it is a little bit different.
“We created these sixth-grade teams to give the younger kids the chance to compete. If Miss Carillo wants the chance to compete with the boys, she’s entitled to that chance.”
“I still have final say on who makes the team?” Coach J had asked.
Mr. Block thought about that one for a moment. “As long as you give me your word you’ll give Andi the same shot as the boys.”
“I promise I’ll be fair,” he’d said.
Andi hadn’t been even close to convinced. But there was nothing more for her to say at that moment.
By the time Coach J and Coach C gathered the team at the end of the third day of practice, there was no doubt in Andi’s mind that she’d made the team. In fact, she was pretty certain she was one of the three or four best players on the field.
Even some of the boys who had appeared to not want her out there the first day had changed their tune. On several occasions when she went around players during scrimmages or scored, boys would call out, “Way to go, Andi,” or “Nice play, Carillo.”
Andi knew she had the best shot on the team. Others, notably Arlow, might have more power, but she was more accurate. Several of the boys didn’t understand the offside rule and she spent some time explaining it to them.
She kept an unofficial count in her head of goals scored when they scrimmaged, and even though she spent most of her time playing midfield, only Arlow—who was never moved out of the striker position in front of the goal—scored more often than she did. A number of his goals came after she burst past midfielders and the defense had to come to stop her when she slid the ball to an open Arlow.
He never acknowledged one of her passes, but other boys did when she set them up.
The more often the others called her Carillo, the better Andi felt. Both Drew and Todd, her older brothers, would call her Carillo when she made a good play in the backyard. Everyone knew it was an unofficial jock way of saying, “You’re good; you belong.”
Andi knew she belonged.
“We’ll post the roster tomorrow morning outside Mr. King’s office,” Coach J said. Mr. King was the school’s athletic director—and an English teacher—and he had an office in the gym.
“Thank you all for participating,” Coach J continued. “Coach C and I will have some hard decisions to make tonight.”
As they turned to walk off the field, Andi noticed Jeff Michaels walking a half step behind her.
“Andi?” he said.
She turned and gave him a smile. He was shorter than she was, like most of the boys, but seemed nice in the classes they were both in. And, she had noticed the couple of times they had interacted, shy.
“Hey, Jeff,” she said.
He pulled up next to her. He smiled—shyly. “I just wanted to say, because I don’t know if I’ll be around after today, that most of us not named Ron Arlow and maybe a couple of his dopey friends know you belong on this team. You’re a terrific player.”
Andi knew she deserved to be on the team—by a lot—but it was nice to hear it directly from one of the boys.
“Thanks,” she said. “I think you should be on the team, too.”
She wasn’t completely sure if that was true. She hadn’t really noticed how well he had played. He wasn’t glaringly bad—or glaringly good. Now, though, she hoped he’d be on the team.
“I hope you’re right,” Jeff answered.
They had arrived at the entrance to the gym. Andi needed to go right, Jeff left.
“See you at practice Monday,” she said, giving him a smile.
“That would be great,” he said, blushing just a little.
They exchanged numbers before parting, and Andi turned toward the locker room feeling good. She had proven herself to a lot of the boys. She hoped that Coach J had noticed.