Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (16 page)

“I have too!” Januarie’s whine wound up. “Haven’t I, Lucy?”

“Um, not so anybody could tell,” Lucy said.

The round face fell and took Lucy’s heart with it. But they’d just gotten a real field. They had a chance to be actual players now. Januarie could mess it all up.

“Go home,” J.J. said. “Tell Dad — I don’t care — just get out.”

“Guess what,” Carla Rosa said. “She’s gonna cry.”

Januarie’s face indeed puckered.

“See. She’s crying.”

“There ain’t no cryin’ in soccer,” Oscar said.

“You don’t see me cryin’,” Emanuel put in.

Okay, if Emanuel was talking, this team really was worth saving. Lucy had an idea.

“We should let Januarie try out for the team,” she said.

“Try out?” J.J. said.

Carla Rosa crunched her forehead. “We didn’t have to — ”

“New members do,” Lucy said. “Januarie, you get between J.J. and me out on the field. We’ll pass the ball back and forth to each other. If you can get it away from us before we get to the goal, you can be on the team.”

“And you can’t use your hands,” Carla Rosa said.

“Then how am I supposed to get it?” Januarie said.

Oscar gave a loud “Ha.” “I told you you didn’t know nothin’ about soccer.”

“If you can’t get it away from us,” Lucy said, “you have to go home and not tell your dad where we are.”

“How come your dad can’t know you’re here?” Carla Rosa said.

“Because,” J.J. said.

“Because why?”

“Shut up!”

Oscar buzzed. Then J.J. jumped him. Then Carla Rosa hopped up and down and waved her hands and said, “Don’t fight. I hate fighting!” and went purple in the face.

Once Lucy got that all sorted out and everyone standing up, she turned to Januarie. “There’s one other choice.”

Januarie managed to squeeze a “What?” from her pouted-out mouth.

“You agree not to play, and be my personal assistant instead. I need somebody to bring me water and wipe the sweat off me — ”

“What sweat?” Carla Rosa said. “Guess what? It’s freezing.”

Januarie stomped her foot, nearly taking out Emanuel’s toe. “No. I want to play. Mr. Auggy lets me.”

“He’s not here. This is our team.” J.J. jammed a thumb into his chest. “Ours.” He glared at Lucy. “Don’t even let her try out.”

“It’s only fair,” Lucy said, although she knew it really wasn’t. There was no way Januarie was going to get the ball away from them. Not with all the tricks Mr. Auggy had taught them that Januarie never got because she was, well, Januarie.

It turned out to be true. Lucy used a long, lofted pass to get the ball to J.J. over Januarie’s head. When she ran for it, he took a few dribbles and called “Wall!” to Lucy. As the ball came toward her, Lucy trapped it while J.J. ran around Januarie. Feeling like Mia Hamm herself, Lucy passed it back to him. By then they were so far ahead of the poor kid that she sat down on the dirt and burst into tears.

“Not fair!” she wailed.

Lucy trotted over to her and put a hand down to pull her up. Januarie turned her streaked face away and continued to blubber.

“Cry all you want,” J.J. said, “but you gotta get off the field. Go home — and remember — you can’t tell — ”

“I
am
telling!” Januarie struggled to her knees and then her feet.

“I’m telling that you — ” She thrust a hand toward Lucy. “ — won’t let me play because you think I’m too fat.”

“Huh?” Lucy said. She swiped her bangs back with her hand. “I never said you were fat.”

“Yes, you did. They told me you did. And I didn’t believe them, but now I do.”

Carla Rosa was right about one thing. There was a lot of stuff coming out of Januarie’s nose. And the crying screech made Lucy wish for the Chihuahua whine.

It howled out of Januarie as she stomped off the field and down the road. That’s when it occurred to Lucy that Januarie had walked all that way to be with them — and that she was going to cross the highway by herself.

And that she really was going to tell J.J.’s dad.

“We better go after her,” Lucy said.

“I hate that kid,” J.J. said.

“We’ll fix it somehow. But if she gets run over by a car — ”

“Guess what,” Carla Rosa said in her matter-of-fact voice. “She’ll get killed.”

J.J. muttered something about that being fine with him. Lucy herself would have at least let Mudge loose on her if he’d been there.

They caught up with Januarie at a bent sign that seemed to have once said SLOW CHILDREN PLAYING. She was sitting against it, huffing and puffing, and the crying started again as soon as she saw them. Lucy hushed her up with a Jolly Rancher she found in the pocket of her sweatshirt and a promise that Januarie could spy for her the next day — just as soon as Lucy needed her.

“I still want to play,” Januarie said stubbornly when Lucy said good-bye to them at the gate.

“You get to play at school,” Lucy said. “And as soon as you get good enough, you can join our team.”

J.J. grunted. But Lucy found herself warming up. “See, our team is secret. And so is the field. That’s what makes it special. It’s not an honor to belong to it if you don’t have to work to get in on the secret.”

Januarie wiped her nose on her sleeve. Fortunately, the jacket was the same color as what came out.

“It’s so special,” Lucy said, “Gabe and Veronica and Dusty aren’t even good enough to be on it yet.”

That was actually not true, Lucy knew. But “good” could mean a lot of things. As in good sport, which they so were not.

“If you tell,” J.J. said, “that ruins the whole team, and you’ll never get to be on it.” He glanced at Lucy, who nodded at him.

Januarie looked as if she were eating his words with her eyes, tasting them for truth. “But when I’m good enough, I will be on it,” she said. “Right? You said that.”

“Yes,” Lucy said quickly, before J.J. could point out that the chances of her ever being good enough didn’t exist.

“All right then.” Januarie drew her finger across her lips and pressed them together so tightly they turned white.

“What was that?” J.J. said.

“I’m zipping my lips,” she said, barely opening them.

J.J. grunted again. “That’s the smartest thing you ever said.”

Dad was sitting in his special cracked-leather chair in the almost-dark living room when Lucy got inside with an armful of Mudge. Marmalade was snoozing on his lap, and Lollipop sat in a curl on the tile in front of the fireplace, face to the f lames like she was trying to get a tan. Artemis Hamm crouched with her whiskers to the corner near what Lucy and Dad called the Napping Couch, where you could nap, as opposed to the Sitting Couch, where you could sit. Lucy suddenly wanted to be with Dad again.

“Artemis Hamm is stalking something,” she said.

“I hope it’s not alive,” Dad said. “You have Mudge with you.”

“How do you always know?”

“Because Marmalade’s heart rate just went up about twenty notches.”

Mudge gave a low growl and leaped out of Lucy’s arms, straight for Lolli. She rolled under the Sitting Couch, so Mudge tore after Artemis, who hissed and spit — and then retreated to the windowsill.

“Outside with him,” Dad said in his dry voice.

Lucy scooped Mudge up and shut him in the kitchen with his food, which she could hear him eating between grumbles.

“Why is he so evil to the other cats?” Lucy said as she perched on the arm of Dad’s chair.

“That’s his job,” Dad said. “They all have their jobs.”

“Artemis’s is definitely to hunt. Tell me about when she first came.” She’d heard it six thousand times, of course, but happy as she was with the day, she was in the mood to hear it again.

“She just strolled up to our back door one day with a snake in her mouth.”

“Dead, right?”

“Yes, or your mother would never have let her in. She wanted to exchange it for food.” He gave his special chuckle. “You have to be good to catch a snake, which is why Mommy named her Artemis.”

“The goddess of the hunt in mythology,” Lucy said. “But I got to give her the middle name Hamm.”

“Your mother was so proud that you knew about Mia Hamm. Of course, she was telling you about female soccer players when other moms were talking to their daughters about fairy princesses.”

Lucy shook her ponytail. “Artemis Cinderella wouldn’t be a very good name.”

“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Artemis Hamm. Did you ever notice how she won’t come running for her food if you don’t say the whole thing?”

“Sometimes she doesn’t even come then if she already ate something. Something gross. Like a kangaroo rat. Those things are nasty.”

“Like you said, that’s just her job.” Dad eased his hands down Marmalade’s sides. “Marmalade’s is to sleep, and Lollipop’s is to cuddle with you.”

Lucy peered under the Sitting Couch where Lollipop was still puffed up. Her eyes were almost as big as Mora’s at the moment.

“She’s mad at me because I brought Mudge in. What’s his job?”

“To be grouchy. That’s why his name is Curmudgeon, a grumpy old man.” Dad tilted his head back. “Am I turning into a curmudgeon, champ?”

Lucy didn’t answer right away, and Dad laughed. “I guess that answers that question.”

“You’re not grumpy,” Lucy said slowly. “Like you didn’t care that I was gone all day playing soccer.” She slid down from the arm of the chair so she could get comfortable on the thick, nappy rug. “It was awesome, Dad. We all played so good on that big field.”

“Excellent.” Dad said.

And then he waited. He was never fooled by a Lucy fast change-of-subject. Lucy dug her fingers into the rug. You’re not grumpy, Dad, she wanted to say. But —

The phone rang on the table next to him, and Artemis shot off the windowsill and pounced on it. That cat would hunt anything. Lucy laughed, until she heard Dad say, “Karen, hi.”

So much for the happy mood.

Lucy started to crawl across the floor, but Dad stopped her with his foot. She flattened her face on the rug and closed her eyes. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep she wouldn’t have to talk to her.

“We’re good,” Dad was saying. “Yeah, that’s working out fine. She has a granddaughter Lucy’s age.”

There was a long pause in which Lucy could imagine Aunt Karen asking if this granddaughter was a good influence on her. Like, did she wear pink and look in the mirror every minute?

“She’s formed her own soccer team,” Dad said.

Lucy opened her eyes. His voice sounded kind of proud.

“No, it’s just a bunch of kids from school — ”

Lucy sat up and tugged at Dad’s pant leg. “Don’t tell her,” she whispered.

Dad felt for the top of her head and tugged at her ponytail. “Really?

Well, she’s pretty excited about this one — ”

Another long pause. Lucy f lopped back to the rug and propped her feet on the arm of the chair. Aunt Karen was probably telling Dad Lucy’s team should wear pink uniforms.

Uniforms. She hadn’t thought about that yet. What should their colors be? Something very cool, but not too flashy. Blue, maybe, and red. Blue pants and red shirts —

Dad nudged her with the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

Lucy made a face.

“Be nice,” Dad said.

Sometimes she was just sure he only pretended to be blind. With a hidden sigh, Lucy put the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Aunt Karen.”

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Aunt Karen said, instead of “hello.” It was like she was always too busy for friendly. “They have a great community soccer program here in El Paso. My company sponsors a team.”

In spite of herself, Lucy said, “What does that mean, they sponsor it?”

“We pay for their uniforms — ”

Here we go.

“ — provide money for them to travel when they win championships, and they have the company name on the back of their shirts.”

Lucy couldn’t imagine anything but her players’ own names on their shirts. Maybe they could all have soccer nicknames. Not Lucy Goosey for sure —