Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (28 page)

At least he wouldn’t be avoiding Gabe anymore.

“Show God the knots,” somebody said.

Dad and Mr. Auggy were sitting at the table now, leaning into cups of coffee, talking in low voices. Inez stood at the stove stirring black bean soup and looking at Lucy with her wise eyes.

Show God the knots.

Okay.

Here they are: I’m afraid to go out there. I’m afraid J.J. doesn’t want to be
my friend anymore.

And I need him to be my friend
.

Those were the knots. Nothing felt untangled, but she opened the door and went out into the cold afternoon and sat down beside J.J. without looking at him. She didn’t want to see if his lip was curled up.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said back. She picked at some paint peeling on the steps.

“I was stupid.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna practice fakes?” His voice went up into the stratosphere.

Lucy finally looked at the side of his face. His Adam’s apple was going up and down for the second time that day. When had that started?

“Only if you’re not mad at me anymore,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

J.J. nodded and stood and picked up a soccer ball.

“Where’d you get that?” she said.

“Mr. Auggy.”

She didn’t ask why. She didn’t ask what he and Mr. Auggy talked about every day before school and after school and sometimes on her front steps. She didn’t ask anything. She could ask Dusty stuff like that — and Mora would tell her more than she ever wanted to know whether Lucy asked or not. But boys were different kinds of friends than girls.

She smiled. She could know that now. She sort of had girlfriends.

Lucy and J.J. practiced their fakes until it was so dark they couldn’t see shadows and they needed the jackets they’d thrown onto the back steps. Mora mouthed things to Lucy as she and Inez crossed the backyard to go home — things Lucy couldn’t understand, though she could guess. Something about J.J. being cute and was he her boyfriend.

No. This was better.

Dad and Mr. Auggy were still talking when she and J.J. went inside. There was a bubbling pan of enchiladas on the table for the four of them, and as they ate, the talk was all about a plan. Lucy felt her eyes getting bigger and bigger as they laid it out. Even J.J.’s icy-blues grew round.

As soon as Mr. Auggy found a team for them to play, he and Dad were going to get things rolling. Dad would talk it up on the radio and try to get community support. The stand at the field would have to be cleaned out — and, of course, the bleachers needed to be shored up for safety. As for shin guards and cleats — Mr. Auggy had found a place in Alamogordo where they could rent them. Parents might be able to afford that.

“Now all I have to do is find a team for us to — well, slaughter,” Mr. Auggy said, eyes shining. “I’m not promising anything, but this could be a way to keep the town council from selling that property.”

“What can we do?” Lucy said. “Us — the team?”

“Become the best team you can,” Mr. Auggy said.

“What about Gabe?”

“Parent-teacher conferences are Friday.” Mr. Auggy twitched his eyebrows. “I think the sheriff and I can figure something out for Gabe.”

Lucy shook her head. “He won’t do anything.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dad said. “Did you ever think you wouldn’t be chewing your fingernails because parent-teacher conferences were coming up?” He chuckled. “Mr. Auggy makes me want to believe in miracles myself.”

It really was the first time since third grade that Lucy’s stomach didn’t have cocoons hanging in it, ready to transform into butterflies at the thought of her teacher filling Dad in on her “failure to live up to her potential.” Wouldn’t Aunt Karen have to eat a whole plateful of her words?

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “That means we’re out of school Friday.” She got up on one knee. “We could practice on the field the whole day.”

“Not without supervision,” Dad said. “Remember?”

“Oh.”

“Let me work on it.” Mr. Auggy gave the small secret smile, and Lucy believed he really could make anything happen.

She was happily brushing her teeth that night, sharing the mirror with Artemis who was gazing at her own whiskers, when she heard the phone ring.

“Hi,” Dad said, in his it’s-Aunt-Karen voice.

Lucy spit in the sink and listened.

There was the usual adult stuff, and then the silence, and then Dad saying, as usual, “She’s doing great.”

More silence. When Dad answered it, Lucy got very still with her toothbrush poised in midair. His voice had an edge around it.

“She
is
doing great. . . . Yes, I know what’s going on in my daughter’s life. . . . All right, I have a conference with her teacher Friday. Why don’t you come up here and sit in on it?”

What?
Lucy let the toothbrush drop. Artemis crouched on the edge of the sink, ready to attack it.

Okay — wait — it was okay. Aunt Karen would never leave work to come up here on a weekday —“Noon,” Dad said. “I’ll meet you at the school.”

This was an outrage. While Artemis pounced on the toothbrush and batted it around the sink, Lucy made for the door, ready to tell Dad there was no way she wanted Aunt Karen at that conference.

And then she stopped, hand on the doorknob. Wasn’t this what she wanted — for Aunt Karen to have to say she was sorry for ever even thinking Lucy needed to be with her to do good in school and have a soccer team and have girls for friends?

She went back to the sink and rescued her toothbrush from Artemis and counted her freckles in the mirror. There were still sixteen. She was her mother’s daughter, not Aunt Karen’s, and her aunt was going to see that once and for all.

Lucy was actually excited about Friday, especially since Mr. Auggy announced on Thursday that they might be able to practice on the big field for two hours Friday afternoon if he could get the adult he had in mind to supervise. He would notify Captain Lucy at 11:00 a.m.

“I’ll call everybody,” she said.

But at 10:45, Gabe, Veronica, Dusty, Oscar, Emanuel, Carla Rosa, J.J., and Januarie were all at Lucy’s back gate.

“Tell them come in,” Inez said.

They were all sitting at Lucy’s table drooling over her sopapillas when the phone rang.

Mr. Auggy’s voice was like Christmas morning. “You can head over there right now.”

“Who’s there?”

“You’ll see.” Mr. Auggy gave a chuckle that sounded like Dad’s. They were spending way too much time together.

But the fact that they were made Lucy feel important — like she belonged to something special. She straightened her shoulders as she turned to the expectant faces and said, “Let’s go, team. We’ve got a grown-up.”

“Guess what?” Carla Rosa said as they climbed onto their bikes. “It’s not my dad.”

“Mine either,” Dusty said. Veronica shook her head.

“I ain’t got no dad right now,” Oscar said.

J.J. and Januarie didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.

The sizzle of mystery made them pedal furiously. But when they rounded the bend and saw the sheriff ’s cruiser parked under the sign, they groaned like one person. Lucy went into knots immediately. How was God going to untie this one?

“You’re the captain, Lucy,” Carla Rosa said. “You go talk to him.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to him,” Oscar said.

Dusty curled her hand into Lucy’s. “I’ll go with you.”

“So what are you waitin’ for, an invitation?”

Lucy jerked around. Gabe stood a few feet away, next to his beefy father, a bigger, grumpier version of Gabe himself. He wasn’t in his uniform. He wore gray sweats that bulged with his muscles.

“Are we playing or what?” Gabe said. “My dad said he’d watch us.”

Nobody said anything. Lucy, the captain, felt a tug inside her, like a knot was untying. She took a step forward.

“Are you going to play by the rules — I mean, Mr. Auggy’s rules?” she said.

“Yes, he is.” The sheriff poked his kid in the back. Gabe seemed to grow smaller. “Aren’t cha?”

“Yeah.” Gabe shifted his eyes to J.J. “Sorry, man.”

J.J. shrugged and mumbled, “It’s okay.”

“I love that!” Veronica said.

Lucy had a feeling Gabe was boyfriend material again.

“All right then,” Lucy said. “Let’s play soccer.”

It was the best practice ever. Nobody fell down. Nobody called “foul.” Nobody curled a lip or muttered under their breath. Gabe called her Lucy Goosey once, but Lucy ignored him. Veronica seemed to appreciate that.

They were taking their required water break — drinking the Gatorade the sheriff handed out in bottles — when Lucy felt the familiar tug at her sleeve.

“Lucy,” Januarie said, “I want to try out for the team again.”

J.J. grunted, but only faintly. Lucy looked at the rest of the team, but they were just watching her. Waiting. Everything was so perfect. Why did something always have to happen to wrinkle it up?

“You said if I was ever good enough I could be on the team.” The Chihuahua was emerging. “I bet I’m good enough now.”

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Same as before. If you can get the ball away from me and another player before we get down the field — ”

“I want Carla Rosa to be the other player,” she said.

“Aw man,” Gabe said.

His father growled at him, and he hushed up. If Lucy had known that was all it took, she’d have sicced Mudge on him a long time ago.

But she almost had to agree with Gabe this time. Januarie was sure to lose to anybody else on the team. But Carla Rosa wasn’t that much better than Januarie, especially if she got the giggles or her hat fell over her eyes or she just forgot what she was supposed to do.

Chewing on her lip, Lucy glanced at Carla. She was drawing a circle in the dirt with her toe, the way kids did when they were waiting for the grown-ups to find a nice way to say no. Lucy was the grown-up right now. She couldn’t help Januarie, but maybe —

With a wary eye on the sheriff, Lucy said, “All right, Carla Rosa.”

J.J.’s grunt was louder this time, but the smile that spread from sequins to sequins on Carla Rosa made it worth it.

“Me?” she said.

Oscar gave a snort. “Only ’cause you’re the wor — ”

“Shut up,” Emanuel said.

Nobody buzzed.

“Someone throw in to us,” Lucy said.

“Give me that.” Sheriff Navarra held out his hands for the ball.

Of course. That was only fair. Lucy tossed it to him and ran out on the field. Carla Rosa was practically chirping as she followed. Januarie was already breathing like a little locomotive.

“Ready?” Lucy said.

Carla Rosa’s sequins bobbed, and Lucy used a long, lofted pass to get the ball to her over Januarie’s head. Carla took a few dribbles, steady ones, and Januarie chugged toward her. “Here!” Lucy cried, and then held her breath. But it was okay, because Carla Rosa swung her leg back and passed it straight past Januarie. Lucy trapped it, and to her amazement, Carla Rosa ran around the by-now-very-confused Januarie. Lucy passed the ball back to Carla and ran. Furrowing her brow under the sequins, Carla drilled her eyes into the ball and dribbled in a straight line, until Lucy yelled, “To me!”

Carla passed the ball to her. It went a little crooked, but it didn’t matter, because Januarie was far behind them, crying out, “Wait! You’re going too fast!” Carla Rosa didn’t seem to hear her. She snagged the pass Lucy made to her, and as Lucy ran out ahead of her, she realized they were just a few yards from the goal.

“Take your shot, Carla Rosa!” she cried out.

Carla stopped dead, the ball trapped under her foot.

“Do it!” Lucy said.

And so she did. With a hockey stick leg, Carla Rosa smacked the ball — and it sailed over the goal line, right into the net.

A cheer went up from the sideline that matched any Lucy had dreamed up. It didn’t matter that there was no goalie and anybody could have shot the ball over the goal line. Until that day, Carla Rosa hadn’t been “anybody.”