“This’ll only take a few minutes,” I promised, getting out of the car. I clutched my coat tighter around me, doing my best not to squish the cupcakes balanced on my splinted arm, and hurried up the steps to ring the doorbell.
A blond guy around my age answered the door, and we frowned at each other.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d been backstabbing one of my friends, and I’d publicly called him out for it.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Always a delight, Jefferson,” I said. “Can I talk to your sister? I have cupcakes.” I held out a pink box.
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to you. But thanks for the dessert.” He grabbed the box from me and started to close the door. I pushed with my whole body so that he stumbled backward. “Dude! What gives?”
“Go. Get. Lacey.” I scowled at him, edging my way inside. “The future of the Strikers depends on it.”
“Seriously?” Lacey appeared at the entrance to her living room, fuzzy robe over her pajamas and hair disheveled like she’d been sleeping in a wind tunnel. “Don’t you think that’s a tad overdramatic?”
“Clearly, you haven’t seen our replacements play,” I said, wrinkling my nose as she pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her robe. Lacey blew her nose and returned the treasure to her pocket. “Are you feeling any better?”
She stared at me with groggy, red eyes. “Do I look like I’m feeling better?”
“Well, you have to hurry this up.” I gestured at her whole body. “Because we’re going to lose on Saturday if you’re not there.”
Lacey leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Really. The amazing Brooke Jacobs finally admits she’s not the only good player? I’m shocked.”
“I was too,” I confessed while Lacey rolled her eyes. “But I realized it doesn’t matter how great I play by myself. Soccer is a team sport, and we’re only as strong as our weakest link.”
“Which right now is me.” Lacey pointed to herself. “I’m barely able to stand. If my brother wasn’t holding me up—”
“He’s not. That’s a wall,” I corrected.
Lacey blinked in surprise and glanced around. “Where’d he go?”
I knew now wasn’t the time for snide remarks, so I continued with my point. “You’re not our weakest link, but I need your help dealing with the ones who are.” I took a deep breath. “I want you to be my co-captain.”
Lacey laughed and then coughed and then hacked something into her tissue. I tried to breathe the air as little as possible.
“I’m not going to be your co-captain!” she told me. “When I start feeling better, I’m going back to showing Coach that he needs to assign a new captain.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘going back to’?”
Lacey’s cheeks reddened even more than they were. “If you had a bad day on Monday, I might have had something to do with it.”
“You . . . you what?” I stared at her, wide-eyed, and watched her shrink several inches.
“I greased your cleats while you went to the bathroom,” she said in a small voice. “And I gave you a ball I knew was a dud.”
I held my hand to my forehead. “Why? I know we don’t like each other, but that is seriously low.”
Lacey paused for a moment and said, “Brooke, I’m going to tell you something, and if you ever tell anyone I said it, I’ll convince everyone you’re crazy.”
“This is off to a promising start,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re pretty good at soccer, all right?” She covered her eyes as if she’d just confessed to something embarrassing, like wearing footie pajamas. “And it makes me crazy that you also have a boyfriend and best friends and parents who come to watch you play. I want at least one of those things.”
I’d never seen Lacey so vulnerable. It was creeping me out.
“Well . . . thank you,” I said. “You’re pretty good too. That’s why I want you as my co-captain.”
It was her turn to look startled. “Still? After I tried to sabotage you? If I were you, I’d be furious.”
“Oh, I am,” I assured her. “But I can’t make this all about me. The team is more important. Now, how soon can you be healthy?”
Lacey smiled weakly. “You think I’ve got this on my calendar?” She sniffled and shook her head. “I had some tests at the doctor today, so I’ll know more tomorrow.” Lacey ventured over to the couch and collapsed against the arm.
“Have you been getting lots of rest and taking vitamin C?” I asked.
“If you stick me, I’ll bleed Tropicana,” she said. “And I’ve been trapped in bed since Monday night.” She pointed at the ceiling. “This is the first trip I’ve actually made downstairs since I went up after soccer practice that day.” She glanced around again. “My mom bought a new lamp.”
Jefferson appeared in the doorway, mouth full of cupcake, and mumbled, “You have to leave. Dad says Lacey needs rest.”
“I’ve been resting for three days!” said Lacey, but she got to her feet and gave me a tight smile. “Sorry for everything that happened, and . . . I hope things go better with the team tomorrow. Tell everyone I said hi.”
Lacey’s brother opened the front door and stood there expectantly.
I nodded to Lacey. “Hopefully you can tell them yourself,” I said. Then I left.
“So?” asked Mom when I got back in the car. “How did it go?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I confessed. “But I did what I could.”
I just hoped Lacey cared enough about the team to consider my offer.
The next morning, Friday, I woke with paws prodding my smiling face.
“Good morning, Chelsea!” I picked her up and lifted her into the air. She splayed her paws and mewed at me until I put her down.
I threw back the covers, hopped out of bed, and changed into my nicest jeans and shirt. V and I had talked after I saw Lacey, and apparently I was the hot gossip in school.
“When you come back tomorrow, all eyes will be on you,” she’d told me. “So make it count.”
I thundered down the stairs to breakfast, which to my utter joy was delicious, melty cinnamon rolls.
“Yum! Can it be Friday every day?” I asked.
Mom chuckled and slipped a roll onto a plate for me. “Consider these a special treat,” she said. “But I’m glad they make you so happy.”
“It’s not the cinnamon rolls, Mom. It’s life!” I took a deep whiff of sugary heaven.
She handed me a glass of milk and carried her own plate to the table, where Dad was eating a bowl of cereal.
“Does this mean you’re ready to face the world, no matter what?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” I tore off a piece of sticky pastry and shoved it into my mouth. “Because whatever it brings, I can handle it.”
“That’s my girl!” he cheered, toasting me with his coffee mug. I clinked my glass of milk against it.
“I’m even ready for the nicknames people might call me after I tried to steal the Bunsen burner,” I said.
“Really?” Mom grinned. “Like what?”
“Brooke the Crook, the Bunsen Burglar, Lab Looter . . .”
Mom and Dad were cracking up.
“The Auburn Almost-Arsonist,” said Mom with a wink.
Dad pointed at me. “The Red Menace.”
I beamed at him. “That would be an awesome soccer nickname!”
When Dad and I stepped outside to head for school, it was snowing. I tilted my head back and let the flakes hit my cheeks, melting into icy dots on my face. I’d seen snow every year since I was a baby, but now I was seeing it differently. It really was all about perspective.
“Snow is amazing,” I said. “So fluffy and soft and cold.”
“And soaking into your coat,” he said. “Let’s get in the car.”
The entire ride, I gazed out the window and watched the snow flurries whip across the windshield. Dad pulled into the carpool lane, and I jumped out.
“Have a good day!” he called.
“I will!” I shouted, and sprinted into the building, ready to face whatever was coming.
There were some stares when I walked into the student lounge, but mostly people wanted to know why I’d broken into the lab. I made it roughly five steps before the questions started.
“I wanted to try a science experiment on my own” was all I told them.
“Did you really get suspended?” asked Tim’s sister, Gabby.
“Of course she didn’t. She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Actually, I got suspended for the afternoon,” I confessed. “It was super embarrassing.”
“Oh my God, I would die if I got suspended,” said Katie. “Mainly because my parents would kill me.”
Several people laughed, and in the distance I heard my name being called. I stood on my tiptoes and saw Vanessa and Heather waving to me from a couch. I said good-bye to the kids around me and hurried to join my friends.
“Thank goodness you’re okay!” said Heather, hugging me.
I laughed. “Of course I’m okay. You saw me in the principal’s office, remember?”
“Yes, but I’ve had that hug waiting since then.”
All three of us laughed, and I sat between my friends on the couch.
“Guys, I’ve got to tell you something serious,” I said. “Actually, Tim should probably hear this too.” I glanced around the student lounge and saw him talking to a couple of girls. “Tim!” I bellowed.
He jumped and turned toward us before saying something to the girls and running over.
“What’s up, Foghorn?” he asked.
I looked to all three of my friends. “I wasn’t cursed with bad luck, and that wasn’t a real good-luck charm I had.”
Vanessa gasped and clutched at her chest. “No way! You mean all this time . . . I was right?” She relaxed and grinned at me.
“Ha-ha,” I said.
“What made you change your mind?” asked Heather.
“I did a lot of soul-searching yesterday afternoon,” I said with a sage nod. “And thinking about what’s really important.” I cleared my throat. “Also, it turned out I was making a marriage charm.”
My friends looked at one another and doubled over laughing.
“Hey, listen.” Tim cupped his hand around his ear. “You can almost hear Abel screaming and running for the exit.”
“Be nice!” I said, pushing him. “You realize if my situation wasn’t real, it means you won’t be a millionaire by Monday either.”
He waved me off. “Yeah, I gave up on that when the next step to fortune and glory was sending the author fifty bucks for the next book in the series.”
I made a face. “Sorry.” I turned to Heather. “And I’m sorry I messed up your date with Emmett.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “He and I talked, and since we don’t see eye to eye on dating, we agreed that we’re better off as friends.”
“Aw.” I leaned forward and hugged her. Then I turned to V and hugged her.
“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but what was that for?” she asked.
“For putting up with me even when I was being a bit of a dork,” I said.
“You mean a huge dork,” she corrected me, laughing. “And I’m your best friend. I’m always going to be there for you.”
“Me too!” said Heather.
The three of us hugged, and Tim shifted his weight from side to side. “Are we done here? Because if I don’t get back to those girls I was talking to, I’m going to have bad luck.”
“Almost,” I said. “Has Mrs. H changed her mind about letting us enter the newspaper contest?” I asked.
Tim shook his head.
“Nope,” said V.
Heather sighed. “This morning I saw Mary Patrick dunking a king-size Hershey bar in a jar of peanut butter.”
I nodded. “That’s what I figured. Which is why I came up with this.” I pulled a sheet of paper out of my notebook.
“What is it?” asked Tim, taking it from me.
“It’s an agreement for everyone on the newspaper staff to sign,” I said. “It says if any section wins an award, they have to split the money with the rest of the newspaper staff.”
“‘Because when one of us wins, we all win,’” Heather read from the agreement. “I like it!” She took the paper from Tim and signed the top line.
“But whichever section wins will still gloat about it,” said Vanessa. “And Mrs. H won’t like that.”
“Which is why there’s a line in the agreement about that.” I pointed. “‘Good sportsmanship means being gracious in victory or defeat. We will be both.’”
“Here’s hoping this works,” said V, adding her name below Heather’s.
I signed below them and passed the paper back to Tim, who sighed.
“You know sharing money is against everything I stand for,” he said, scrawling his name on the page.
The bell rang, and there was a general shuffle of movement toward the door.
“And now to track the other members down in homeroom and get the rest of the signatures,” I said.
“Hurry,” said Heather. “You don’t want to be in trouble two days in a row.”
I pointed at my feet and winked. “That’s why I got my good sneakers on.”
I pushed through the crowd and sprinted for the eighth-grade hall.
Getting signatures ended up taking all the way through lunch, but everyone was eager to sign. When I snuck the list to Mary Patrick at the start of Journalism, she put down her jar of peanut butter and gave me an actual, real-life hug.
“Was that like hugging a robot?” asked Tim as I sat down.
“Actually, it was more like hugging a five-year-old,” I said, feeling my hair. “I think she got a piece of candy bar stuck in here.”
For once, the entire classroom was quiet when Mrs. H walked in, and when Mary Patrick handed her the Lincoln Log agreement, she read it with tears in her eyes.
“I couldn’t be more proud,” said Mrs. H, clutching the paper to her chest, “to be the adviser who shares in your victory.”
The entire class cheered, and instantly Mary Patrick was back in action.
“Okay, I’ve made a few tweaks to the paper based on suggestions from our team leaders.” She turned on the projector, and Mrs. H smiled.
“That fast, huh?”
Mary Patrick smiled sheepishly. “I was kind of hoping you’d change your mind.”
An image of the front page appeared on the dry-erase board.
“You’ll notice we’ve changed the look a bit,” said Mary Patrick. “Along the right border, we’ve got shaded squares positioned at different heights based on what section of the paper it is.”
I sat up a little taller and puffed out my chest. That had been one of my ideas, based on V’s cloth tabs for different clothing designs.
“We’ve also bolded key words, like dates, places, and people, so readers can focus on what’s important about each piece.”
Also my idea! Heather wanted to be bold and stand out, and so would our newspaper.
Mary Patrick continued to go through the changes, all of which I had to say were impressive, including my third idea, which I’d based off Tim’s constant want for money.
“We’re doing a classifieds section?” someone asked. “Cool! It’s like a real paper!”
When we broke into our small groups, I told my friends which suggestions I’d made, and they all smiled proudly. Before class ended, Gil wandered over to our team with something behind his back and a big smile on his face.
“Ooh! Do you have a present for me?” asked Vanessa, trying to peek behind him.
“For the paper, actually,” he said, revealing what he’d been hiding.
It was a photo taken during my PE class the day before, where Katie and I had faced off against eleven kids in dodgeball . . . and emerged victorious.
Heather, Vanessa, and Tim all cheered, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“I thought it perfectly summed up beating the odds,” said Gil. “But I didn’t want to submit it without Brooke’s permission.” He gave me a hopeful smile, and I nodded.
“It’s perfect. Go for it.”
Considering how horribly the week had started, it was actually turning out to be pretty good. I made a few last-minute tweaks to my response to Swimfan, based on my own personal experiences, and when I turned in my team’s advice to Mrs. H, she gave me a knowing smile.
“Thanks for all your hard work,” she said, and I knew she was talking about more than the advice column.
That afternoon when I got to the soccer complex, I made a beeline for the locker room to see if Lacey was there. She wasn’t.
“Has anyone heard from Lacey?” I asked the other girls who were changing.
“I think she’s still sick,” someone said.
“Oh,” I said, checking my watch. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be okay without her.”
“You said you were going to come up with ways to help us,” said Brin. “Did you?”
I nodded. “I’ve got some videos for you, Lana, and Allison to watch that’ll help with the areas where you’re having trouble. For Jenny too. And I came up with a couple drills to help.”
“Neat!” she said. “What else?”
I hesitated. “What else?”
I didn’t have anything else. I’d been so busy trying to get the newspaper back in the contest and finding videos that I hadn’t thought of anything else.
Then a voice spoke from the doorway. A stuffy, snotty voice. “We need to talk to Coach about running plays that work toward your strengths,” said Lacey.
“You came!” I cried, walking over to her. “Can you play?”
Lacey shook her head. “The doctor says it’s not pneumonia, but he doesn’t want me playing until next week,” she said. “So I’m just here to help with training . . .” She paused and added, “As your co-captain.”
“Great! Let’s go tell Coach.” I nudged her out the locker room exit.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the others, she said, “You know we’re not friends.”
“I know.” I stopped and turned to face her, grinning. “But we’re also not enemies.”
Lacey rolled her eyes and smirked. “Just keep walking, Brooke.”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s the Red Menace.”
Dear Swimfan,
Being a top athlete takes physical and mental training. You’re not alone when you say you crack under pressure and lose your talent. Athletes even have a term for it: choking. But it’s important to remember that the fear is in your head. Which means you can get rid of it! Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies, and we don’t succeed because we tell ourselves we can’t. Tell yourself you CAN and watch what happens. (But keep your eyes closed underwater, because chlorine stings.) I believe in you!
Confidentially yours,
Brooke Jacobs