Even the Score (5 page)

“I will contact the company and halt the delivery of the scoreboard,” Ms. Palmer said. “An announcement will have to be made over the loudspeaker tomorrow, informing the student body of the decision and explaining our rationale. Johnny?”

“I am not doing that.” Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. “No way.”

“I can do it,” Chloe offered. “I want to do commercials someday. It will be good practice.”

“Let's keep this quiet until tomorrow,” Ms. Palmer suggested. “I need to clear everything with the administration.”

“No problem. I'm not telling anyone about this,” Johnny said.

“Johnny, we need to be unified on this,” Alex reminded him. “You can't be—”

Johnny sighed. “I'm not going to do or say anything. It's your show.”

“Actually, it's a show for the whole school,
and we saved it. That's
really
cool,” Alex said. “Can we tell Spencer and Nicole? I'm sure I hear them waiting outside the door.”

“Go for it,” Mrs. Palmer said.

As she opened the door, Alex felt like the great and powerful Oz, granting wishes.

“Hey, guys, wait up!” Ava pushed her locker door shut. Corey's red hair was easy to spot at a distance. She hurried to catch up with him and Xander on their way to the locker room after school.

“Chocolate or fruit?” Corey asked when she reached them. “Which side are you on?”

“Chocolate, for sure,” Ava said, adjusting her backpack on her left shoulder. “Why are we taking sides?”

“Energy bars,” Xander explained. “O'Sullivan here is trying to convince me that if I go with the fruit bar, I'll run faster.”

“It's a proven fact,” Corey said. “Chocolate hypes you up, but then you crash. It's a sugar bomb.”

“I never crash, man.” Xander jogged in place. “I just keep going and going.”

“Yeah, I saw how you kept going on Saturday, right past that ginormous tackle when you were supposed to be guarding me. That guy snuck by and pummeled me!” Corey's blue eyes glinted with fun as he pushed his hands together in prayer. “I beg you to go with the fruit. For my safety.”

Xander turned serious for a moment. “That was bad. I'm on it this week.” He grinned. “Going to double up on my chocolate, and—
boom!
—no one will get to you!”

Ava laughed. Xander was at least two heads taller than she was, and his shoulders had filled out already, unlike many boys on the team. He had a great kick and often played punter, but his strength made him a tough guard on their offensive line. As quarterback, Corey relied on him.

They slowed as they reached the two locker-room doors. Ava eyed the tarnished metal signs on each.
BOYS. GIRLS.
Side by side but worlds apart. Ava wondered what went on in the boys' locker room. Did she miss major team bonding in the ten minutes it took her to pull on her heavy pads and practice jersey?

“We're going to turn it around this week,” Ava said, pausing as two blond volleyball players
pushed the
GIRLS
door open. “The pieces will come together at practice.”

“You planning on being there?” Xander asked.

“Of course.” A spark of anger ignited in her stomach. When would these boys start taking her seriously? She was committed to the team.

“Well then, it's going to be fumble central,” he remarked.

“What does that mean?” Ava jumped to the defensive. “I can catch Corey's passes!”

“We're not talking about you,” Corey said. “It's Owen. With you nearby, he can't keep his eyes on the ball.”

“What do I have to do with him not catching?” Ava was sick of being blamed. “It's not like I'm pulling the ball away from him.”

“Clueless much?” Xander shook his head. “Wake up, Sackett. You've messed up his focus. Our best receiver is too busy looking at you.”

“Why would he be looking at me? That makes no sense,” Ava sputtered.

“Because he likes you,” Xander said simply.

“Owen likes you,” Corey agreed. “He likes you
a lot
.”

What do those idiots know?
Ava asked herself as she changed in the girls' locker room. She desperately wished Alex was here to analyze that weird conversation. Alex knew so much more about the strange things boys said.

WHERE ARE YOU?
she texted her twin.

INTENSE COUNCIL MTG!!!
Alex responded.

Ava knew how wrapped up in student government her sister got. She'd have to wait to talk with Alex at home.
Just play your game.
She repeated her dad's advice as she stepped into the afternoon sunshine and joined the line of players for warm-ups.
Corey and Xander were probably trying to rile me up.

Together the team touched their toes and lunged to the sides. After high-knee jogging and hurdle stretches, they dropped for thirty push-ups and a series of sit-ups. Ava put every ounce of energy into stretching and loosening her muscles. Only when they moved on to sprints did she finally dare to look Owen's way.

He was staring at her.

She upped her speed and glanced back at him once more. His eyes held a glassy, dreamy look while he watched her run.

Yikes!
Ava wanted to race right off the field.

She finished her turn and bent over to catch her breath, her hands resting on her thighs. She wondered what to do. Then she noticed Coach Kenerson watching Owen . . . watching her.

He frowned, as late to the party as she was, suddenly realizing where Owen's attention had been all week. His head turned from Owen to her and back again, silently calculating what to do.

Ava held her breath. She hoped he wouldn't embarrass Owen in front of the team.

He blew his whistle. “Sackett, head to the far end with Coach MacDonald to work on kicking drills. Everyone else with me and Coach D'Annolfo.”

“Just me?” Ava asked. Usually all the kids who played kicker—she, Xander, and Bryce Hobson—practiced together.

“Yes,” Coach K grunted, then turned his back.

Ava jogged down to the goalpost where Coach MacDonald waited. She was being banished, she realized. Kept apart from the team, and specifically from Owen. Out of his sight.

It wasn't fair, she knew, but she could deal with it. Besides, having a private session was helpful. Ava tried her hardest to improve her kicks. More loft. More distance. Better follow-through. The team's voices floated her way between kicks.

“You're hitting the ball cleanly. Let's try a quality kick.” Coach MacDonald held the ball at the thirty yard line.

At the other end of the field, Coach K barked at the team to run a sidelines-catching drill.

Ava focused on her own kick, although she could clearly hear Corey shouting commands. She took three steps away, then approached at game speed. Her eyes never left Coach MacDonald's fingers, as she let her shoulders lead her through the ball. Her foot connected and the ball soared gracefully between the two goalposts.

A chorus of groans rose up from the other end of the field. Ava twisted in time to see Owen fumble Corey's pass. He stood, gazing instead at her field goal.

“Rooney!” Coach K did not mask his anger. “Sprints on the bleachers. Now!”

“How many?” Owen asked, his voice barely audible to Ava.

“As many as it takes for you to focus on the ball in front of you! Think about that while you run!” Coach K sputtered.

With a sinking sensation, Ava realized Owen once again had messed up because of her. Even all the way down the field, his attention had been on her kick.

“There goes this Saturday's game, too,” Coach MacDonald muttered softly.

Owen's cleats clattered as he ascended the metal bleachers. Several players turned toward Ava. Were they giving her dirty looks? She couldn't be sure from so far away.

She didn't know what to think. She'd never had a boy so openly interested in her. It was kind of flattering, even though she didn't like him in that way. Or at least it would be flattering, if he could catch the ball at the same time.

Now it was just embarrassing.

She desperately needed to talk to Alex. She had to put a stop to this—or soon Coach K and the whole team would blame her.

After practice ended, Ava hurried into the locker room, for once glad to be away from the team. She peeled off her jersey and put on the outfit she'd worn to school. Jeans, a gray Boston Celtics T-shirt, and her green high-top Converses. Her T-shirts often featured a sports team, although she did have some solid ones. Alex called those her “feeble attempt at fashion.” Ava didn't care. Comfort was key. Listening in class was tricky enough without wearing a little skirt or lace-trimmed tank like Alex did.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Ava grabbed her backpack and raced out the door. The sports late bus left promptly at five p.m. Missing it meant calling her mom for a ride, or walking a few miles, and she didn't want to do either. Her mom was crunched this week with all her new orders, and Ava was tired.

“Hey!”

“Oh, hey!” Ava nearly collided with Owen outside the girls' locker room.

“That was a really great kick,” he said quickly.
His cheeks were rosy from the sprints up and down the bleachers.

“Uh, thanks.” Ava scanned the empty hallway. Everyone else must have run for the bus.

“Listen, uh . . . I was wondering . . .” Owen paused and stared at his feet. Ava smelled that musky, chocolate-tinged deodorant all the boys sprayed over themselves.

An awkward silence hung over them. Ava debated saying something about the practice, about him staring at her, but she couldn't piece together any words. Maybe she should bring up Kylie or that fantasy site they were on.

“Are you walking home?” Owen finally blurted out. His eyes stayed trained on his sneakers.

“No, I usually take the late bus. I live pretty far. Why?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, well, I walk and I—I—I wanted to, well, uh . . . ,” he stammered. The rosiness from his cheeks crept down his neck.

A loud buzz blared over the loudspeakers. The final call for the bus.

Ava gulped. “Listen, I really need to—”

“I just wanted . . . I mean, if it's okay . . . I thought—”

“Sorry, but I have to go.” Ava took off down
the hall at top speed. “Sorry!” she called again over her shoulder.

Ava had to make the bus—she couldn't wait any longer for him to get out whatever he was trying to say. And truthfully, a big part of her didn't want to hear it. From all his stuttering and blushing, she was now sure Owen liked her.

She had no idea what to do about that.

“What's for dinner?” Alex asked, entering the kitchen that night. She'd gone to the library with Chloe after the meeting, and Chloe's mom had just driven her home.

Tommy's textbooks and notebook paper covered the kitchen table. “No idea,” he mumbled. “Big history test tomorrow.”

“I'm starving,” their dad announced, coming in behind Alex.

“Me too,” Ava added, trailing behind him. Her hair, wet from the shower, was wrapped in a yellow towel. “Where's Mom?”

“I'm here! I'm here!” Mrs. Sackett raced through the back door.

“Ew! What's in your hair?” Alex cried. She
guided her mom to the microwave, using the glass door as a mirror.

“Oh!” Her mom's fingers brushed the thick gray clumps. “What else? Clay.”

“You look really tired.” Alex noticed the dark circles under her glassy eyes. “Maybe you should—”

“What about food?” Tommy asked. “My stomach is telling me it's time to refuel.”

Figures,
Alex thought, looking up at the clock. Her brother's stomach was better than an alarm. The family tried to eat together at six o'clock every night.

And now it was ten minutes after six.

“Right, dinner,” their mom said, as if this were a surprising idea. She opened the refrigerator and studied the contents.