NACHO CHEESE BALL

That night after dinner, my teammates and I, stuffed with raviolis and garlic bread, walk out to the college square across from the entrance to Piedmont Chamber. The white pillars on the buildings make it look like a giant playground from ancient Greece. Tonight, the Piedmont sports games begin, and we’ve signed up for Nacho Cheese Ball. At the filling station at the edge of the field, we pick up buckets and plastic suits from the referees. The suits are covered with sensors and link up to the scoreboard. Once we’re dressed, one by one, we turn a spigot and gooey cheddar cheese balls plop into our buckets. We grab nacho-chip-shaped scoopers, gloves, and goggles and head out to battle, looking like astronauts.

The object of the Nacho Cheese Ball is to throw cheese balls at the other team’s target for points. The targets are bulls-eyes marked 58, 46, 34, 22, 10. You get 58 points for hitting the small circle in the center. The New York target is placed at one end of the field, and the Iowa target is placed at the other. All players begin standing in the center of the field in a section painted yellow. It’s called the neutral zone—the only safe place on the field, the only place where you can’t be hit with cheese balls. If you get hit while you’re running anywhere else on the field, your team loses four points.

We’re up against the Iowa team for the first round. We step into the neutral zone, buckets in hand, ready to whip some cheese. The referee blows the whistle and we make a run for it. A red-haired girl, who looks like she’s six, winds up her scooper and whips one at me. I’m too quick though. It misses me by a few inches and I keep running for their target. When I’m a few feet away, I dig into my bucket. I scoop out a cheese ball but . . . GLOP! Goo explodes on my ankle. The six-year-old got me! Ugh. I may have just lost four points for getting hit, but I’m about to get fifty-eight. I whip a cheese ball at their target. Smash! 34. That’s good. I’ll take it. I dig in for another, but a scary boy is racing for me. No! I turn away from their target, and he chases me back into the neutral zone.

I have nowhere to go. I can’t get past him so I come up with a new plan. If I can’t get any more big points, I’ll just fire away at him for lots of little ones off his score. When he steps out of the box, I chase him down. Dig, scoop, fire! Dig scoop, fire! I get him at least nine times. That’s probably 36 points!

The whistle blows and we freeze. The scoreboard flashes—New York: 416, Iowa: 242. Yes!

My legs are dripping in cheese as I meet up with my teammates. Mare trudges over too, her whole body covered, even her hair. She freaks out and I don’t even try not to laugh. Jillian, Ander, and Jax have escaped with just a few cheese stains. That makes Mare even madder. We jog off the field together with a win in our first round of Nacho Cheese Ball. Not bad, even if we do look like astronauts.