Playing With the Boys by Liz Tigelaar Page B

girls’ bathroom and changed out of her white knee-length peasant skirt and ribbed orange tank top into her workout clothes. Wearing baggy shorts and a white sleeveless tee, with her hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, she’d hoped to blend in as much as possible. But as soon as she walked into the weight room— into a sea of biceps and testosterone—she knew she’d be out of place no matter what she wore.
     
     
    All heads swiveled toward her as the door opened. Chalk dust filled the air. The squeak of the machines came to a grinding halt as the guys gawked at their new female teammate. It was amazing, the difference boobs could make—even relatively little ones. It was like they were looking at an alien from Mars.
     
     
    Across the room, Benji stopped his leg presses. Ryan was mid-pull-up. He continued, unfazed by her entrance. Lucy was grateful. She stared at him, momentarily transfixed. Being that cute should have been illegal in all fifty states.
     
     
    Coach Offredi stepped in front of Lucy and turned to the guys. “What? You boys never seen a girl before? Let’s go!” Then he turned to Lucy. “You’re late.”
     
     
    Lucy inhaled quickly and then explained. “I know. I’m sorry. I had to change—”
     
     
    “I don’t want to hear excuses. I want you here on time. You want to be on this team? You show up with the team.” She felt as though she’d been slapped across the face. Public humiliation was never fun, but especially not before 8 A.M.
     
     
    “Go join Benji,” Coach Offredi said dismissively.“He’ll show you what to do.” Lucy rolled her eyes. What was with this guy? Music blared from a radio that looked so old, it might have been Coach Offredi’s when he was in high school. Obediently, she wove around the guys, making her way over to Benji. Ryan hopped off the pull-up bar, landing right in front of her. She stopped abruptly.
     
     
    “Oh, hi,” she said quickly. God, he could even make sweaty pit stains look hot.
     
     
    “Hey,” Ryan said as he moved around her, headed to the bench press. “So, you made it,” he said, hitting her on the arm.
     
     
    “Oh yeah,” she responded. “I just had to change—that’s why I was late.”
     
     
    Ryan laughed. “I meant the team. You made the team.” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, right,” she realized. “Right, right. Yeah. I made it. The team.” She shifted uncomfortably, staring down at her gray New Balances.
     
     
    “Lucy, you ready?” Benji asked, interrupting the moment. Lucy spun back around. Benji was standing at the leg press, smiling, waiting for her.
     
     
    “See ya,” she told Ryan. She hurried over and Benji engulfed her in a huge hug.
     
     
    “Congratulations,” he said proudly. “Obviously, you made the team.”
     
     
    “I know,” she admitted bashfully. “I hope—I know you wanted to be the placekicker—”
     
     
    “Hey, hey,” Benji reassured her. “I’m glad we’ll get more time together. I just can’t believe I was beat by a girl—”
     
     
    “Wait a minute,” Lucy said, punching him in the arm. “When you say it that way, it sounds like a bad thing—like a huge insult to girls.”
     
     
    “Insult?” Benji gasped. “It was a compliment. There’s no one I’d rather be beaten by.”
     
     
    Lucy smiled, then nodded toward the leg press. “So . . . what do I do?”
     
     
    “It’s called a leg press,” he teased. “What you do is you use your legs, put them right there, to press the weight.”
     
     
    “Oh, really?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “I couldn’t have figured that out.”
     
     
    “You two!” Coach Offredi snapped. “Enough talking.” He tossed a thick binder in Lucy’s general direction. It landed near the leg press machine with a thud. “Playbook,” he explained. “I suggest you learn what’s in there.”
     
     
    Lucy picked up the binder. Her arms sagged under the weight. She gulped and looked at Benji,