with a private smile. Bring it on.
That night, as Lucy boiled the hot water for another dinner of mac and cheese, the phone rang. She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she couldn’t exactly tell her dad she’d pigged out on thirty-two scoops of ice cream before dinner.
“Probably one of your friends,” her dad said, not looking up from the work he was doing at the dining room table.
“My friends call my cell,” she reminded him as she hurriedly dumped the macaroni into the pot and grabbed the cordless off the wall. And by friends, she meant Annie. Although since the girls from the soccer team had cheered for her at tryouts and taken her out for ice cream, Lucy couldn’t help but think she might have a few more incoming calls than usual. All the girls had programmed her cell number into their phones at Ben & Jerry’s.
“Hello?” she said into the phone, as she headed back over to the stove to stir the noodles and add a little salt, just the way her mom had taught her.
Coach Offredi was on the other end of the line. “ Ms . Malone?”
Ms. Malone? That was her mom. Or, as her mom would say, that was her grandma.
“This is Lucy,” she responded nervously. She wasn’t sure if Coach Offredi calling her at home was a good sign or bad one.
“I just wanted to tell you . . .” He took a long pause, as if the words were hard to get out. “You . . . uh . . . yeah, you made the team.”
“I did?” she gasped.
“Mm-hmmm,” he responded, his voice tight. “You’ll be our first-string placekicker this year. Congratulations.”
Lucy was so surprised she dropped the wooden spoon directly into the pot. Quickly, she grabbed tongs to fish it out.
“I . . . really?” she stammered, in complete disbelief.
Her dad looked up from his work. “Is that Coach Reese?” he asked. Since Hell Week, Martie’s name had become a fixture around the house.
Lucy shook her head no and turned her back toward her dad for privacy. She listened as Coach Offredi told her to be there tomorrow before school for weights. Weights? Lucy had never lifted anything heavier than three-pounders.
“Okay.” She gulped. “I will.” She paused, feeling obligated to say something nice. “Um . . . thanks.” Coach Offredi muttered something on the other end.
Lucy cringed as she hung up the phone. It was obvious the guy hated her. She turned the water down to a low simmer and placed the metal lid on the pot.
Her dad looked at her expectantly.
“Well?” He waited.
Lucy smiled and gave a cute shrug. “I, um . . . I made the team.”
Her dad beamed. “Luce, that’s great! I knew Coach Reese would come to her senses.”
“Not the soccer team, Dad,” she explained. “The football team. The boys’ football team. Can you believe it?”
It took a minute for her father to process this information. “Wait—you tried out for football?” he asked, unable to wrap his head around the concept. “When?”
“Today, after school,” Lucy admitted. She hadn’t told him because she hadn’t definitely planned on trying out.
But from the look of betrayal on his face, it was obvious this had been a mistake.
“How could you have kept this from me?” he asked, clearly upset.
Lucy recoiled, surprised at his reaction. “It’s just football, Dad. It’s not like I have a crystal meth addiction or an illegitimate child or something.”
Her dad gave her a look that quickly shut her up. The timer on the oven went off. Lucy turned the burner off and searched in the drawers for pot holders. She was still learning where everything was.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, as she slipped the pot holder mittens over each hand and grabbed the handles on either side of the pot, dumping the water and noodles into a
That night, as Lucy boiled the hot water for another dinner of mac and cheese, the phone rang. She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she couldn’t exactly tell her dad she’d pigged out on thirty-two scoops of ice cream before dinner.
“Probably one of your friends,” her dad said, not looking up from the work he was doing at the dining room table.
“My friends call my cell,” she reminded him as she hurriedly dumped the macaroni into the pot and grabbed the cordless off the wall. And by friends, she meant Annie. Although since the girls from the soccer team had cheered for her at tryouts and taken her out for ice cream, Lucy couldn’t help but think she might have a few more incoming calls than usual. All the girls had programmed her cell number into their phones at Ben & Jerry’s.
“Hello?” she said into the phone, as she headed back over to the stove to stir the noodles and add a little salt, just the way her mom had taught her.
Coach Offredi was on the other end of the line. “ Ms . Malone?”
Ms. Malone? That was her mom. Or, as her mom would say, that was her grandma.
“This is Lucy,” she responded nervously. She wasn’t sure if Coach Offredi calling her at home was a good sign or bad one.
“I just wanted to tell you . . .” He took a long pause, as if the words were hard to get out. “You . . . uh . . . yeah, you made the team.”
“I did?” she gasped.
“Mm-hmmm,” he responded, his voice tight. “You’ll be our first-string placekicker this year. Congratulations.”
Lucy was so surprised she dropped the wooden spoon directly into the pot. Quickly, she grabbed tongs to fish it out.
“I . . . really?” she stammered, in complete disbelief.
Her dad looked up from his work. “Is that Coach Reese?” he asked. Since Hell Week, Martie’s name had become a fixture around the house.
Lucy shook her head no and turned her back toward her dad for privacy. She listened as Coach Offredi told her to be there tomorrow before school for weights. Weights? Lucy had never lifted anything heavier than three-pounders.
“Okay.” She gulped. “I will.” She paused, feeling obligated to say something nice. “Um . . . thanks.” Coach Offredi muttered something on the other end.
Lucy cringed as she hung up the phone. It was obvious the guy hated her. She turned the water down to a low simmer and placed the metal lid on the pot.
Her dad looked at her expectantly.
“Well?” He waited.
Lucy smiled and gave a cute shrug. “I, um . . . I made the team.”
Her dad beamed. “Luce, that’s great! I knew Coach Reese would come to her senses.”
“Not the soccer team, Dad,” she explained. “The football team. The boys’ football team. Can you believe it?”
It took a minute for her father to process this information. “Wait—you tried out for football?” he asked, unable to wrap his head around the concept. “When?”
“Today, after school,” Lucy admitted. She hadn’t told him because she hadn’t definitely planned on trying out.
But from the look of betrayal on his face, it was obvious this had been a mistake.
“How could you have kept this from me?” he asked, clearly upset.
Lucy recoiled, surprised at his reaction. “It’s just football, Dad. It’s not like I have a crystal meth addiction or an illegitimate child or something.”
Her dad gave her a look that quickly shut her up. The timer on the oven went off. Lucy turned the burner off and searched in the drawers for pot holders. She was still learning where everything was.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, as she slipped the pot holder mittens over each hand and grabbed the handles on either side of the pot, dumping the water and noodles into a
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