Archenemy (3 page)

I imagined Skittles gnawing away at my leg. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “When she gets to know me a little better.”

Eva nodded and then went back to the task at hand. She stuck pieces of tape on the back of the picture she was holding and pointed to another bare patch of ceiling. I took the picture from her and stepped on the bed.

“Here?” I asked.

“Yes, please,” she said, licking her lips.

“Eva—time to go!”

It was her dad's voice.

Eva rolled over, grabbed the phone on her side table, and checked the time. “Yikes.” She turned her head and yelled, “Coming!”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Church,” Eva sighed.

“You go to church on Thursday?”

Addie nodded. “And Friday and Saturday and Sunday and Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday.”

It had never occurred to me that the church was even open on weekdays. For the last couple years, my family hadn't even gone on Sundays.

“Wanna come?” Eva asked.

“Think I'd rather pass the soccer ball with Belle,” I said.

Eva bent her knees and got up like she was doing a sit-up. “No fair,” she said. “You'll be playing soccer while I'm yawning in a pew.” She picked up the stack of studs. “Will you at least do me a favor?” she asked.

“What?”

“Before you leave, will you finish putting these pictures up? Otherwise, I'll have to ask my dad to help, which would be totally weird.”

“As weird as me being here alone in your house?”

“Why is that weird? Mi casa es su casa.” She held out the pile of pictures.

“How am I supposed to lock up when I leave?”

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “We leave our house unlocked all the time. Mom and Dad say a community is a neighborhood that keeps its doors open.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I stopped arguing and took the pictures.

“Eva!”

This time it was her mother's voice.

“I said I'm coming!” Eva hollered. She brushed past me, and I got another whiff of her. When she got to the door, she turned back toward me. “Thanks, Addie,” she said and closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, the door opened again. “Feel free to take a picture home with you. Any soccer stud your heart desires.”

She waved her hand across the room, said, “See ya,” and closed the door again.

I scanned the wall and the stack of pictures in my hands—but I didn't take a soccer stud. I took a soccer babe. It was an action shot. The model was just about to kick the ball. She had on a sports bra but no jersey. I didn't find the picture on the walls or in the stack. I hadn't even noticed it until the breeze from the open window sent the picture fluttering through the air. Where had it come from? The top of a dresser? Under her bed?

In any case, I figured she wouldn't miss it much, so I folded it neatly and stuffed it into my soccer bag.

O

ur fifth game of the season comes three days after my whiffed pass to Eva against Cardinal Creek. I spend each day in between trying to convince myself she didn't intentionally sabotage me.

Yes, she's been mean to me ever since last fall.

Yes, she wants me off the team.

Yes, she said, “Whoop!” when she wasn't actually open.

Until now, she's never tried to sabotage me
during a game
. Because doing that is as bad for her as it is for me. Worse, it's bad for the team.

So maybe, I think, she just got the code wrong. Maybe she mixed up “Whoop!” and “Hey-o!”

Right.

At least, she finally spoke to me during a game.

And she kept talking to me during the next couple practices too. Then again, Coach made her. He kept shouting things like, “I can't hear you, Riley!” and “Speak up, Williams!” I think the only reason he isn't going to bench us is because Fraser still managed to beat Cardinal Creek.

Whatever his reasons, I know Eva well enough to know she'll do just about anything to stay on the field. So will I.

 . . .

In any case, the only thing worse than Eva not talking to me might be Eva talking
too much
.

We're playing Ironwood today. Over the roar of their fans, I can hear Eva yelling at me again for no reason. She's spent the whole game barking orders and reminders at me. She tells me to watch the ball and to pay attention even though I'm already doing both of those things. A couple times, as I'm about to clear the ball by booting it up the field, she shouts, “I'm
not
open, Addie,” as if I need to be reminded not to pass the ball to a guarded player. Another time, she simply tells me to “Pass it!” just as I'm doing exactly that. Toward the end of the game, an Ironwood player tries to lob the ball into the penalty area. I camp under the pass, ready to spring into the air with my superhero calves and head the ball safely away from our end of the field. Just as I'm about to launch, Eva says, “Get it, Addie!”

Her comments might seem harmless, but they're super annoying. Especially the way she says them—like I need to be reminded how to play soccer. Like soccer isn't my life and isn't as natural to me as breathing or blinking. They're the kind of comments neither of us would have dreamed of making during the summer.

Back then, we talked in code. Back then, we trusted each other completely.

T

rust must have had something to do with why I found myself in front of New Hope Church on a Wednesday night in July. Eva and I had been juggling the ball in her yard when she said she knew a place with more room. It turned out she was talking about the church lawn.

We tied Belle and Skittles by their leashes to a tree and practiced yelling, “Whoop!” and passing to each other. After a few minutes, people in nice clothes began shuffling up the sidewalk. Two of those people were her parents. “There you are, Eva,” her mom said. “I hope you brought a change of clothes.”

“Yes, mother,” Eva said, clearly annoyed.

“Well,” her dad said, “you better go use the restroom to change. The service starts in a few minutes.”

Once again, I'd forgotten all about church on weekdays.

“
Okay
, dad,” Eva said.

I watched her parents pass the tall pillars at the front of the church. When I turned back to Eva, I saw her pulling a summer dress out of her soccer bag.

“You knew church was about to start, didn't you?” I asked.

She grinned guiltily and then pulled the dress over her head. “Thought it might be less boring if I went with a friend.”

“I'm not really a churchgoer,” I said.

“Oh, c'mon.” She was still wearing her shirt and shorts under her dress. “It'll be fun. Trust me.”

There was that word again. Trust.

Of course, I didn't trust her—not about this. I hadn't been to New Hope in years, but the last time I was there, it definitely wasn't fun.

And yet, there I was anyway—sitting with Eva in the balcony of the church, my legs sticking to the pew, and hoping no one would recognize me. It wasn't just sweat that made me uncomfortable or that I was still wearing athletic clothes. It was the memory of my mother storming out of this church and dragging me with her. It was the sound of Pastor Meyer's voice, then and now.

That's when I heard a sound I wasn't expecting.

Giggling.

Eva's giggling.

She had her makeup compact open. I looked back at the pastor and saw him squinting. That's when I realized what she was doing. The last sunlight of the day was shining through the stained glass windows, and Eva was using the mirror in her compact to redirect it toward the altar.

Into Pastor Meyer's face.

The pastor squinted and blocked the light with a forearm as the congregation turned their heads and followed the beam of light to the back of the church. Eva's parents were sitting several rows up. They were the first ones to locate the light's source. Maybe Eva had pulled this stunt before. They swiped their hands across their throats, the universal sign for
Cut it out
!

By the time Eva closed the compact, the whole congregation was glaring at her—and I didn't blame them. But that doesn't mean I joined them. I giggled with Eva.

Eva had been right. Church really
could
be fun.

Except it was weird. Afterward, Eva was no longer in a laughing mood. Maybe her parents had scolded her. Or maybe it was because of something I said.

“You went to church so much,” I said to her over the phone. “I was worried you were like super religious.”

There was a pause.

“I
am
super religious,” Eva said. “Why would you say I'm not?”

“I just thought —you know, because of the prank you pulled—”

“Just because the pastor is boring doesn't mean I don't believe what he says.”

Like I said—it was weird. At church, she'd been laughing. But she had turned deadly serious.

I changed the subject. “We still playing soccer tomorrow?”

“Whoop!” Eva said.

A

couple hours after the Ironwood game, I'm in my bedroom, juggling my soccer ball. I should be happy. We won the game, and this time I didn't have any major screwups.

Eva may have been annoying, but annoying is better than nasty. I'll take what I can get.

Yeah—happy. That's what I should be. So why aren't I?

As I'm thinking all this, I try to keep the ball in the air with my feet and thighs. My eyes are fixed on the ball as it drops onto the laces of my left cleat. Belle is on my bed, her eyes moving up and down with the ball too.

Mom took me out to eat after the game and asked why I don't hang out with Eva anymore. I lied and told her that I'd been too busy studying to worry about my social life. She was impressed. Somehow or other, she blames last year's suspension on my grades. No matter how many times I remind her that I was suspended for cutting class, not failing it, she still blames my classroom performance. It's weird because I'm not that bad of a student. I mean, I'm not pulling As out of my pockets, but I get a lot of Bs and Cs.

I felt bad lying to my mom about why I don't hang out with Eva anymore, but I didn't have a choice. If I had listed all the things Eva's been doing to me, Mom would've made a huge deal about it. So would my teammates, come to think of it. If Mom did know the whole situation, she'd try to convince me to tell Coach and anyone else who could help. She'd have told me to take a stand against injustice. Mom's a social activist. So for her, there's no issue that isn't worth fighting for.

That's what she was doing three years ago when she left the church: fighting on my behalf. The pastor at New Hope said that two girls liking each other
that way
was a sin—the word he used was
abomination
. Mom dragged me out of the church pew and never brought me back. For a while, we experimented with a few other churches in neighboring towns. Some were more welcoming, but eventually, we just stopped going altogether.