Gracie (4 page)

He didn't sit, though. “He never saw that win,” he said, his voice shaky. “But don't be sad for him. Just go out next season and beat Kingston! You can still do it! You can make his dream come true!”

Everyone in the room stood, applauding hard. You could tell how much they loved Johnny—not as much as we did, but still.…

At that moment I was glad Dad had insisted we come to the dinner. Johnny would have wanted us here because the team meant everything to him. And I was being reminded how much he meant to the team. It was right that his family should be here to represent him.

I couldn't get this idea out of my head for the rest of the evening. We were the ones who had to stand up and remind everyone what Johnny meant. It was up to us to keep the memory alive of all Johnny had achieved. It was what Dad hoped a win against Kingston next season would do. I wanted to help Dad, but I didn't know how.

That night I was exhausted and fell asleep fast. In the middle of the night, though, my eyes opened and I couldn't get back to sleep. I still had Johnny on my mind. I had the feeling I'd been dreaming about him, although I couldn't recall the details.

Tossing back my covers, I slid out of bed, making my way to his room down the hall. It was still the way it had always looked, only neater, since Johnny wasn't living in it anymore.

I walked softly around the quiet moonlit room looking at Johnny's trophies, plaques, and team photos. There was a poster on the wall of his hero, the soccer player
Pelé. His wounded hawk sat on its perch in the cage, sleeping.

I sat on Johnny's bed, sensing him all around me. It was a good feeling. Johnny could still be my big brother, my friend and protector, as long as I kept in touch with his presence like this. I pulled his covers around me and felt like he was there telling me that everything would be all right.

Leaning over, I scooped up his soccer ball that lay on the floor by his desk and kissed it lightly. It was the same ball Johnny had set down for me to kick just a little while ago. I recalled that day, how good I'd felt that my brother had so much confidence in my ability. Even though Dad didn't think a girl could play soccer, Johnny knew what I could do.

In the morning I awoke with a gray wash of light in my eyes. I had fallen asleep in Johnny's bed.

While I slept, a plan must have formed in my head because in the morning I was absolutely sure about what I needed to do.

With Johnny's soccer ball tucked under my arm, I headed downstairs to share my plan with my family.

“I have an announcement,” I said, standing in the doorway, Johnny's soccer ball still under my arm. My family was all dressed and seated for breakfast. They looked up at me quizzically, their eyes alert with interest. “I know how we can beat Kingston next season,” I told them.

There was no response other than their puzzled expressions.

“I'm going to play in Johnny's place,” I stated. “Dad's going to train me.”

Still no one said anything. They just sat there, stunned.

Figuring that it was a positive sign that they weren't objecting, I took my seat and poured myself a bowl of cereal. “We have nine months before team tryouts,” I said, and I began to explain my plan for getting into good training shape.

Dad let out a blast of laughter.

Daniel and Mike followed his lead, snickering and giggling.

The only one not laughing was Mom; she just watched the whole scene, perplexed and unhappy.

I stared at them as anger welled up inside. Did they really think I was just going to sit there and let them try to humiliate me?

I wasn't the same girl I had been before Johnny's death. Back then, I'd let them cut me out of practices and ignore me during games. No more.

I couldn't look at their awful, laughing faces another second. Furious, I stormed from the table, tearing through the kitchen to the backyard. Icy rain was pouring down on me, but I didn't care. Nothing would make me go back inside that house.

Dad was right behind me, standing on the back stoop to stay dry. “Gracie, sweetheart, I'm sorry,” he called through the pelting rain.

I wasn't ready to accept his apology. “You wouldn't laugh at Mike or Daniel,” I insisted angrily.

“Because they're
boys,
” he said, as though that were an explanation I should understand.

“You said at the banquet to go out and beat Kingston,” I reminded him.

“I didn't mean you.”

His words began to sink in. He didn't think I could compete—and he thought that for only one reason: because I was a girl.

I grabbed a muddy soccer ball from the dirt and placed it in front of the half-torn-down goal. Rain splashed in my eyes but I whisked it away. “Watch this!” I told Dad. “Top corner.”

I kicked the ball, smashing it exactly into the top corner, just as I'd said I would. Turning to him, I stared at Dad defiantly. What could he say to
that?

He left the stoop, rain soaking his uniform. “Good shot, but not good enough,” he remarked.

“It was right in the upper corner!” I pointed out indignantly.

“With no goalkeeper, no one blocking; it had nothing on it,” he shot back. “It was a meatball. Your Gran could have knocked it down with her handbag.”

I turned away. He wasn't going to give me a break no matter what I did.

He kicked the ball up and bounced it into his hands. “Is Peter here yet?” he shouted into the kitchen doorway.

In a moment, Peter appeared, followed by Mike and Daniel. “Stand over there,” Dad told Peter. “Daniel and Mike, go one-on-one to goal. Come on!”

Obediently, the boys stepped into the pouring rain. Peter looked wary, like he didn't quite understand what was happening and wasn't sure he wanted any part of it, but he did as Dad asked. Mom came out with her raincoat over her shoulders and watched from the stoop.

“Play for real. Don't go easy,” I told them.

Dad tossed me the ball, and I dribbled it to the other side of the yard. The dirt and patchy grass were muddy, but I kept good control of the ball as I moved toward Peter. When I felt I was in a good position, I started to make my move to shoot, but Peter stole the ball away.

Mike and Daniel cheered for Peter, but Dad shut them up with a look. “Try it again,” he told me.

Going back across the yard with the ball, I headed for the goal again. And again, Peter got the ball away from me at the last minute.

“Again,” Dad said.

Okay, I saw what he was getting at. It only meant I had to change strategies. This time, I shot before Peter could get to me. But he jumped in front and it threw me off balance just a little as I kicked. The ball sailed wide of the goal.

“That's enough, Bryan,” Mom called to Dad from the stoop.

He didn't pay attention to her as he picked up the ball. “Gracie, get around him. Do it again.”

I had to get it this time. Everything I wanted to do depended on it. I took my time setting up, just as Johnny always told me to. Then I charged at Peter, hoping the sheer force of my run would make him give ground.

It was a miscalculation. Peter blocked hard and knocked me back. I went down into the mud and slid.

My knee and arm stung, but I couldn't pay attention to it. I got up again as fast as I could and faced Dad. I knew it looked bad. I couldn't let it stop me.

He just looked at me as though he'd proven his point and there was no more to say. Without another word, ball in hand, he headed back to the house.

“I can do this!” I shouted after him as I jumped in front and tried to take the ball from him. “Let me show you.”

He held the ball high so I couldn't reach it. “It's very simple,” he said calmly. “You're not tough enough. Those guys will destroy you.”

That was it. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. The frustration and anger I felt made me feel close to exploding. I punched Dad angrily and let my tears flow without even trying to stop them.

“Gracie, stop!” he said. There was kindness in his voice, but I didn't want to know about it. He tried to hug me. I just pushed him away. I couldn't be hugged by him, the man who didn't care about my hopes and dreams.

He went inside, followed by Mike and Daniel. Peter waited for me there in the rain. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, though. I'd told him to play hard, but did he have to play that hard? “Get out of here!” I shouted at him, still seething, my arms and knees stinging.

I was still standing there in the rain when his car pulled out of the driveway. Dad left next. Good. I didn't want to see any of their smirking, self-satisfied boy faces.

After a few minutes, Mom came out to the stoop. “Get cleaned up. You can ride with me,” she offered.

I figured I might as well go to school as hang around the house. I wiped the mud off with a towel, pulled on any old dry jeans and shirt, and, not even bothering to brush out my hair, got into the car with her.

As she drove, I tried to focus all my attention on the windshield wipers going back and forth…back and forth. That way I wouldn't have to think about anything else.

After a couple of blocks, Mom broke the silence. “Not everything is possible,” she said.

“It was for Johnny,” I replied sullenly.

“It's different for you. You're a girl,” she insisted.

I'd heard her say stuff like this before, and it made me crazy. She was always telling me how her mother said women have it tougher and had to accept life's unfairness. Didn't she know there was a women's movement going on, that women were protesting and marching, trying to change things? I'd never thought too much about it because I never thought it had anything to do with me. But at least I knew it was going on! What world did she live in?

“You didn't have to take his side,” I mumbled, turning away from her.

The next six months were sort of a blur. I guess I went to school and all, but I was numb inside. Everything seemed to be going on in some other world outside of me. I was far away from it all. It was better that way. Being removed from the world meant I didn't have to care about anything or feel anything or even think about anything.

I still thought about Johnny, of course. I thought about him every day when I fed his hawk, which I took into my room. The bird still wasn't able to fly. I'd let him out of the cage, but he only hopped around. In my secret opinion, he wasn't going to fly again. But I knew Johnny had thought he would, so I never said it out loud.

Time seemed to pass in its everyday sort of way, but I drifted through most of it in a haze. I remember one day sitting in class, staring out the window while Mr. Clark, my history teacher, rattled on about Lincoln or someone, and I was surprised to realize that there were buds on the trees. Spring was coming. It sort of took me by surprise.

The bell for the end of class rang and I was preparing to bolt, but Mr. Clark caught my eye. “Ms. Bowen, a moment, please.”

This couldn't be good.

“Your exam surprised me,” he said. “It was blank.”

What could I say? My mind had been blank when I took the exam. Blank was my new favorite state of mind. I knew he expected some kind of explanation but once again I was…
blank
.

“What do you think I should do? Fail you?” he pressed.

He was a nice man and probably not a bad teacher, if I ever bothered to listen in class. He was the assistant soccer coach, and Johnny had always said he was cool. In some faraway part of my mind, I longed to tell him how cut off I felt, how I just couldn't seem to care about anything. But I couldn't reach that part of me, couldn't make it speak—so I just stood there, staring, not knowing what to say or even able to try very hard.

“Gracie, I'll overlook this—but you'll need to step up for the next one,” he said.

He expected me to promise I would try. I didn't want to make him a promise I had no intention of keeping. “I've got to get going,” I said instead.

His frustration was written all over his face. “Do you want to talk to someone, maybe the nurse?” he suggested.

“My mother
is
the nurse,” I reminded him flatly.

“I knew your brother…you could talk to me,” he said kindly. I really wished I
could,
but I couldn't talk to anyone.

Jena was waiting for me outside the door. There were some things I
could
talk to her about, not the things deep inside like the blank thing, but lighter stuff like school and guys. She was always interested in talking about guys.

I had pretty big news so, with a jerk of my head, I indicated that we should go to our special spot behind the bleachers. It was where we went to talk about things we didn't want anyone to overhear.

“Kyle's going to be captain next year,” I told her when we got there. It wasn't my really big news. I was holding back on that.

“He told you that?” she asked, impressed.

“Yeah, when I told him I'd go out with him.” It had happened just two days earlier. He had cornered me on my way out of gym and told me he had big news that he'd reveal only if I agreed to go out with him. It surprised me because I thought he'd forgotten about me. To be honest, I'd forgotten about him, but I remembered how hot I always thought he was as he stood there with that confident look on his face. So I agreed. “He's going to pick me up tonight at seven.”

“What are you going to do?” Jena asked.

I shrugged. “He didn't say.”

She gave me a look and I shot one back to her. We both knew Kyle was the make-out king of Columbia High. I could handle him, keep him at bay, but maybe I didn't want to. I hadn't made up my mind yet.