The weather on Friday was again perfect, autumn having finally come to Philadelphia. The opponent was Main Line Middle School, and the crowd was pretty substantial. Good weather and a Friday afternoon were probably, Andi figured, the reason.
Then again, there had been an item in the Inquirer about her play on Tuesday, and on TV the previous night Michael Barkann had mentioned the fact that Andi “led Merion’s rally to a two–two tie,” during his coverage of prep action.
To Andi’s amusement, Barkann reported an additional twist: A girl named Megan Tway had recently joined Main Line’s team. She just hadn’t received any attention because—apparently—no one had tried to keep her off the team. In fact, according to what Andi had heard, she was a starter on defense.
Not long after Merion had completed its stretching drills and the players had broken up into small groups to warm up, Andi saw someone in a black-and-white Main Line uniform trotting in her direction.
It was not a boy.
“Andi, I wanted to be sure to meet you,” she said, putting out a hand. “I’m Megan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Andi laughed. “Not for the reasons I’d like,” she said.
Megan shook her head. “Actually, I’ve heard you’re a really good player and your coach is making a mistake not playing you more. And I just want to say thanks for leading the way.”
Andi felt embarrassed and tried to change the subject. “So your coach didn’t give you a hard time about trying out for the team?”
“Not at all,” Megan said. She lowered her voice for a moment: “Honestly, we’re not very good. We’re like you, oh, two, and one, but our tie was zero–zero. We’ve only scored one goal all season.”
Andi thought that might be encouraging. Before she could point out that her team had been outscored 13–4 in three games, she heard a sharp whistle. Coach J was waving his players to the sideline to get ready to start the game.
“Gotta go,” she said. “Nice to meet you. Good luck today.”
“You too,” Megan said. “Maybe we can exchange cells after the game.”
“Sounds good,” Andi said, and jogged over to join her teammates. Coach Johnston had his hands on his hips when she arrived a few seconds after the others. “You here to socialize or play soccer, Carillo?” he asked.
“Coach, she just came over to say hello…”
“Save it for after the game,” he said. “If you’re here to compete, fine. If not, you can go on home right now. You want to play or not?”
“I want to play, Coach.”
“Fine.”
Andi felt her face burning with embarrassment and anger. Prior to their previous games other members of the team had occasionally stopped to talk to opponents they knew for one reason or another. Apparently it was okay for the boys but not for the girls.
She took her place on the bench as the game started. Jeff sat next to her.
“Just when you think he’s backing off on acting like a jerk, he goes and proves again that he’s a jerk,” Jeff said. “Don’t let it bother you.”
“How can I not?” she said. “He’s the worst kind of bully because he picks on people who can’t defend themselves—which I can’t because he’s my coach. The worst part of it is, if I just say, ‘The heck with you,’ and walk away from this team, he gets what he wants.”
Jeff didn’t have an answer for that one. She was right.
It was 0–0 midway through the first half when Coach J subbed for the first time. Four starters were pulled and four subs went in for them. The only sub who didn’t get into the game was Andi.
As play resumed after the subs had gone in, Coach J walked over to where she was sitting. “Assuming you’ve figured out that this isn’t a social hour by halftime, you’ll get in then,” he said.
He didn’t give Andi a chance to respond, turning his attention back to the field. It was probably a good thing, Andi thought, that she hadn’t had time to say anything. It only would have gotten her into more trouble.
Megan Tway had been right about her team: They weren’t very good. But Merion didn’t exactly look like an English Premier League team, either. The ball seemed to pinball back and forth in the middle of the field, neither team able to mount much of a scoring threat.
Finally, with about two minutes left before halftime, Mike Craig and Jeff maneuvered into scoring territory. Jeff, who was playing midfield with Zack Roth up front next to Ron Arlow, came down the left side and slid a pass to Craig, who got a step on a Main Line defender and bolted toward the penalty box.
Arlow was racing down the right side, calling for the ball, and Craig got it to him with only one defender between him and the goalie. The defender was Megan Tway.
Andi had noticed that when Arlow was one-on-one, he almost always made the same move: fake left, go right, and clear space for a right-footed kick or, if the defender completely bought the fake, keep going until the goalie was forced to make a move.
Arlow faked left: Tway stayed with him. As he moved right, she slid her left foot onto the ball as he tried to dribble it and punched it away from him. Then she raced after it while Arlow got his feet tangled and went down in a heap.
He came up screaming for a foul. “That’s a penalty kick!” he yelped. “She tripped me!”
The referee had been right on the play. He shook his head at Arlow and ran downfield, following the ball.
Tway was about as good with the ball as anyone playing for Main Line. She got across midfield before Roth and Craig came to double-team her. She ran to the middle of the field, drawing the defenders to her, then slipped a pass to one of her teammates who was racing down the left side with no one from Merion near him.
He moved in on Bobby Woodward, made a surprisingly good fake, and when Woodward, anticipating a shot, dived at the ball, he maneuvered around him and easily kicked it into the empty goal.
Just like that, Main Line led, 1–0. That was the halftime score.
During the break, Andi found herself feeling angry and frustrated. Her team was trailing, and Coach J had her tied to the bench for committing the crime of talking to an opponent.
Once again, she thought about what her dad had said before the season started: “We’re talking about sixth-grade soccer, not the World Cup.”
She realized someone was calling her name. It was Coach C: “You’re in to start the second half,” he said. He gave her a look that seemed to have an apology in it somewhere.
She didn’t say anything. Playing well, she decided, would be the best response.