Saving the Team (12 page)

“And we ended up with Pinewood again? I'd call that
losing
the lottery,” I said.

“Me too,” Jessi agreed. “Hey, since we're not practicing today, I'm gonna go watch Cody practice,” Jessi announced.

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“You are?” I asked. “Maybe you should take the opportunity to catch up on homework instead?”

Jessi rolled her eyes. “Don't worry about it,
Mom
,” she said sarcastically. “Cody invited me, at the dance on Friday. He said I should come watch him play sometime. Anyone else want to come?” She gave me a sly smile. “I bet Steven will be there.”

“Ew, after what his teammates said to us at the dance?” Emma said. “No way am I gonna watch those jerks practice! Zoe and I are going shopping. Devin?”

I didn't feel like shopping, and I certainly didn't want to see the boys' soccer team either. Not after what they'd done. “It's okay. You guys go.”

I knew what I had to do. It was way more important than shopping or helping Jessi drool over her crush. I had to get the Kangaroos together as a team. I couldn't talk to Mirabelle like I had planned, but it was time to let Coach Flores know exactly what I was thinking.

After the rest of the team left, I marched over to Coach Flores's office. She was sitting there, tilted way back in her chair, looking at her computer screen.

I knocked loudly on her door. “Can I come in?”

“Devin,” Coach said, easing out of her seat. “How are you doing?” She motioned me in while opening a folding chair for me to sit on.

Coach reached into a drawer and pulled out a half-empty package of Girl Scout cookies. She removed the
cookie tray from the box and offered me some with her usual smile. “I know this is hard,” she said, “having a teammate leave in the middle of the season like this.”

I nodded but didn't say anything. It was harder to speak my mind to Coach than I'd thought it would be. I'd rather face an angry Mirabelle. At least I didn't have to worry about hurting her feelings!

“What's bothering you, Devin?” she asked.

“Mirabelle always complained to me about how bad we were, and how we kept losing.” I felt the words rush out of me. “Do
you
care that we're losers?”

“You girls are
not
losers. Don't say that. You're still in middle school. Sports should be for fun. Isn't that what I always say?”

“I'm not having fun,” I said. “I don't think anybody is.”

“Is that true?” Coach said. She looked surprised, and genuinely concerned.

I nodded. “Our team isn't very . . . ” I searched around for the right word. “Cohesive. My friend back home, Kara, she's co-captain of her soccer team, and she said they do a lot of team-bonding stuff. After school, and even on the weekends. Why don't we do any of that?” I asked her.

“I didn't know you girls wanted to do that kind of thing. I just never want to take up all your time with soccer. I know you girls have lives outside of school. Trust me, I've been there before,” Coach said wistfully.

“You played soccer, right?” I asked. “Mirabelle told me that.”

“I did play once,” she said, reaching into her desk and pulling out a framed newspaper article.

The article was titled
THESE GIRLS CAN KICK: KENTVILLE KANGAROOS STATE CHAMPS TWO YEARS IN A ROW
and featured a large photo of a team of smiling girls, wearing the blue-and-white Kentville uniform. Some of the girls were holding their pointer fingers up in the air in the
Number one
sign. Two girls in the front row held a large golden trophy between them, with 1992
STATE CHAMPIONS
emblazoned across the front.

“Did you go to Kentville?” I asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “That's me.” She pointed to one of the girls holding the trophy. I barely recognized her. She looked so young!

I quickly scanned the top of the article.
Maria Luisa Flores leads the Kentville Kangaroos to their second state win. The Kicks, as they are known to their fans for the arsenal of kicks they use against their opponents on the field, didn't disappoint. Just a little more than five minutes into the game, co-captain midfielder Flores landed a pass of forty yards to midfielder Kerry Coles . . .

What? I shook my head in disbelief. The Kangaroos used to be good. In fact, they used to be great—state champions, even!

“You were on the team when it got its nickname?” I asked, still in shock. “Jessi and Emma said nobody even remembers where the name ‘the Kicks' came from.”

“Our coach drilled us nonstop on kicks—push, instep,
outside, toe, heel, you name it,” Coach Flores said. “We had a kick for every and any situation. And since we were the Kangaroos, too, our fans started calling us ‘the Kicks.' ”

She got a faraway look in her eye. “When I was your age, all I did was play soccer. Nothing else. My parents made me practice every day so I could get a college scholarship. Which I did.” She paused for emphasis. “But I ended up hating it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“There was too much pressure,” she said. “All the fun had been taken out of it for me. It was all about winning, not about having a good time.”

“Then why are you a soccer coach, if you hate it?” I asked.

“I loved the game. I just hated the pressure and not being able to pursue other interests I had,” she said. “I'm a soccer coach because I don't want kids to go through what I went through. All that yelling and screaming. Trust me, you don't want that.”

“You're right,” I said. “That doesn't sound fun at all. But can't there be something in the middle?” I suggested.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“We
want
to win,” I replied immediately. Mirabelle thought we were losers. We had to prove her wrong.

“But, Devin,” she said, “winning isn't everything.”

“I know that,” I said. “But feeling like we don't have a shot at being any good—that's worse. Can you help us at least try to get better?”

Coach Flores sat up straight in her chair, looking at me curiously. “Does this have anything to do with what you said in the locker room, about someone calling you losers?”

“It's part of it,” I admitted. “We want to do better as a team. And we don't want to be the laughingstocks of the school. There is
nothing
fun about that!”

“What? Laughingstocks?” Coach looked upset. “Out with it, Devin. I need to know what's going on.”

I sighed. I knew she wasn't going to let it rest, so I quickly told her what had happened.

“For the record, I want to make it clear that Steven and Cody had nothing to do with it,” I said. They were both nice guys. “And please don't go to Coach Valentine. The boys will just come after us even more,” I pleaded.

Coach had a pained look on her face. “I had no idea,” she said. “Now, don't worry about the boys' team. I promise they won't bother you again. And if the girls' team really wants to try to win, I'll do my best. But I'm not going to force you girls to do anything.”

“But what if we want you to tell us what to do?” I said. “We want your guidance. We need a leader. Mirabelle—she might have been a good player, but she wasn't a good leader. She was more of a bully than anything else.”

Coach sighed. “I am so sorry you felt that way,” she said. “I always got a funny vibe from that girl, like maybe she wasn't who she was pretending to be when she was talking to me.”

Coach had caught on more than I'd realized. “Yeah,” I said. “She wasn't always very nice.” That was an understatement.

Coach shook her head. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that, as her co-captain,” she said. “How can I help lead you girls? How can I give you what you need to have fun out there?”

I saw a spark in Coach's eyes I had never seen before. At the very least I had gotten her thinking a little differently. I talked to her about my ideas for team-bonding events, and for some drills we could run. Coach began to get excited and began to come up with a lot of great ideas. She knew a ton about formations, and she had done lots of different kinds of drills in her heyday. By the time our practice would have been over, and my dad was outside waiting to pick me up, we both felt energized and excited about the possibilities.

“Thanks for coming to talk to me, Devin,” she said. “I know it must have been hard for you, but I had no idea any of you were feeling like this or that the team was being teased. I'll make sure to let you all know that we have an open dialogue here. I just want you girls to be happy, and I mistakenly thought what
I
would have wanted at your age is what
you
girls wanted too. I'm sorry about that.”

Coach Flores was supernice. If she could put her ideas into action and start to lead the team, she could be the best coach ever! “It's okay,” I told her. “I'm just excited for our next practice now!”

Coach smiled. “You know what? So am I! See you tomorrow!” she said.

“You got it, Coach!” I raced out of her office, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders. No more Mirabelle. And Coach was open to all my ideas! I felt like singing as I climbed into the car.

“Wow!” Dad remarked as he looked at my face. “You're all smiles!”

I felt my grin widen. “I have a feeling that the Kangaroos have just turned over a new leaf!”

I could barely sleep that night, I was so charged about all the new plans for the Kangaroos.

But there were some problems I wasn't sure even Coach could help with. Like Emma's clumsiness, Frida's not wanting to be on the team at all, and Zoe's stage fright. A lightbulb went off in my head. I didn't know what to do about Emma just yet, but I think I had a way to help Zoe and Frida!

When I got up in the morning, I grabbed my phone and sent a group text to Jessi, Emma, Zoe, Frida, Brianna, Sarah, and Anna.

New day, new Kangaroos! Meet me after practice. I have an idea.

I raced to our dusty practice field after school. Even the crummy garbage-can goals looked better to me today. This was a new start! But I could tell the rest of the team
didn't feel so happy, especially the eighth graders.

I overheard two eighth graders, Grace and Anjali, talking. They were the girls who'd hung out with us for a little bit at the dance. I didn't know them too well, but they seemed pretty nice.

“We were supposed to be friends,” Anjali was complaining. “She didn't even say good-bye.”

Part of the problem with our team was that the seventh graders and eighth graders didn't interact much. That had been mostly Mirabelle's doing. But now that she was out of the picture, it was time to change that.

Coach Flores wasn't there yet, but I took charge.

“Gather round!” I yelled. Some of them looked surprised to hear me raising my voice.

When everyone had gotten together, I started talking. “Look,” I said. “I know things haven't been so great. But we can turn it around. I found out yesterday that back in the nineties the Kicks were state champions two years in a row! In fact, that's when they got their nickname. It was because of their awesome footwork. And Coach Flores was on the championship team!”

It sounded like a group of bees had descended on the field. Everyone started buzzing at the news!

“If we were state champions once, we can be again!” I yelled over the girls' excited chatter. “It's time to turn this team around and be a team worthy of the name ‘Kicks.' With Mirabelle gone I need an eighth grader to be co-captain with me. Any nominations?”

An eighth grader with curly blond hair, named Giselle, stepped forward.

“I nominate Grace,” she said. Quietly under her breath she added, “That's who I wanted the first time around.”

Anjali chimed in right away. “I second it!”

I looked around the group. “Is that okay with everyone?” Everyone nodded.

“Grace is the new eighth-grade captain,” I said. “I'll let Coach know we all agreed on it.” A few people started cheering, while Grace smiled shyly. I could feel the atmosphere begin to lighten, and then suddenly we all heard a funny humming noise.

When we turned to look, we saw Coach Flores coming onto the field, two bags slung over her shoulders—a big one and a small one.

The sound appeared to be coming from a new whistle she kept blowing into every few seconds. It sounded silly, like something from a cartoon. We couldn't help but crack up.

“
What is
that thing?” Emma asked, laughing.

Coach Flores dropped the bags and then held up the whistle with one hand. It was plastic, red, and shaped like a tiny submarine. “It's a kazoo.”

“I knew that,” Frida said as Coach Flores passed the kazoo around. When Emma got her hands on it, she immediately tried it out and blew into the wrong end. A wimpy whine dribbled out.