The Swap by Megan Shull Page A

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    Then, just when it all starts to sink in again? Mackenzie comes out of nowhere and wiggles herself into the huddle right next to me, throwing her arm around my shoulders. We are so close. Her cheek is practically grazing mine. My heart starts beating like a thousand beats per minute.
    I mean . . . it’s not like I have anything better to do. Whatever .
    I throw my hand into the pile too.

    Twenty minutes of lunges, squat thrusts, sprints, and military-style warm-ups later? I am not laughing. The Thunderbirds are no joke. I throw myself into Ellie’s tryouts like I’m on a mission. I only have one gear. Ask my brothers. We have a lot of heated battles. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing. I’ve played the same way pretty much my whole life. That’s just my nature. I’m a competitive guy. I like to win. I hate to lose.
    Sassy is chirping at me the whole time. “Some people should save themselves the embarrassment and just quit,” she says, talking loud enough for me to hear her.
    Gutless.
    I will never hit a girl in my life, but between you and me? I’d love to collide Freckles’s fist with Sassy’s noggin.
    The coach calls me over at the start of the scrimmage. I don’t come right away. I would have obviously jumped if I heard “Malloy!” or “Mallsy!” The fact that the coach is screaming at me to come over for a good minute is not a good sign. When I finally realize everyone is shouting “Ellie!” and Ellie means me , I hustle over to where the coach is standing by the players’ box and double over, hands on my knees to catch my breath. I am legit gassed.
    These girls can play.
    The coach doesn’t even really acknowledge me standing there. She clutches her clipboard to her chest. “Let’s go, Claire, watch that first touch!” she hollers. “Sassy, pick your head up. You have to see what’s around you. Mackenzie, great job supporting the play. Great anticipation, keep it up!” Finally she turns toward me. “Ellie O’Brien!”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I answer.
    She looks surprised. “Yes, ma’am?” she says with a laugh. “How very polite of you, Ellie!”
    We sit on the metal bench in the players’ box.
    â€œJeepers, Ellie, you can sit a little closer.” She smiles. “I don’t have cooties!”
    â€œSorry, ma’am,” I say, and scoot in a little bit.
    â€œSo!”
    â€œYes, ma’am?”
    â€œHow was day one?”
    â€œDay one, ma’am?” I repeat, not sure what she means.
    â€œSchool?” she offers. She looks at me a little strangely. “You okay, Ellie? You’re acting a little bit different.”
    For a few seconds I completely freeze.
    I am not okay.
    â€œI’m fine, ma’am,” I manage.
    She glances down at her notes, then back at me. “You know if something’s going on, you can talk to me, right?”
    I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
    â€œLook.” She sighs. “I have some big decisions to make. I’m only keeping six up front for indoor. Are you ready to play whatever role that’s needed?”
    The only thing I know for sure is that Ellie told me to not even go to soccer. I try to think.
    â€œEllie?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    The coach looks concerned. “You sure you’re okay?”
    Actually, I’m pretty sure I am not okay .
    â€œI’m going to be completely honest, Ellie. . . .” She stops and takes this long pause, and I get this totally sinking feeling. “I would say your strength by far is your speed, but your weakness? You need to believe in yourself more! I want to see more of those things that are hard to measure—confidence, risk taking. I need you to take some risks instead of passing off all the time. Attack the goal yourself. And if you lose the ball, what’s the worst that can happen? With your speed, you