Confidentially Yours #5 Read online

  Mom studied it. “You realize the accountant side of me is screaming, ‘Don’t do it! Invest!’”

  “I am investing,” I said, leaning over to give her a one-armed hug. “In my future.”

  “Your future? What about me and Dad?” she teased as I opened the car door.

  “You can live in my guest house,” I promised. “See you in a bit!”

  “Brooke, wait!” Mom called before I could shut the door. “No playing while you’ve got that sling on.”

  “Of course,” I said. “No playing with the sling on.”

  I closed the car door and added, “So I’ll just have to take it off.”

  When I walked into the soccer complex, I peeked around to make sure nobody I knew was in sight. Then I glanced back to see that Mom had left before I unclipped the sling and shoved it in my bag. I hopped up and down a few times as an experiment. My wrist hurt just a tiny bit, but once the adrenaline of the game kicked in, I wouldn’t even feel it.

  The first thing I noticed when I entered the locker room made my spirits soar even higher: Lacey was nowhere in sight. One less pain to deal with.

  “Hey, Brooke! Are you feeling better?” one of the girls asked as I set down my bag. “Oh my gosh, your wrist!”

  She and several other girls gathered around me.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I assured them. “Only a sprain.”

  “Phew!” said someone. “With Kayla gone and Lacey sick, we’d be in huge trouble if you couldn’t play either.”

  “Lacey’s sick?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she has a cold.”

  That explained why she was sneezing all over the place. But with her out too, that put even more pressure on me. No matter! I had my lucky charm.

  I pulled my soccer uniform out of my bag and held it up. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’m going to make you proud of your captain! And nobody will be harmed in the process!”

  The girls laughed and cheered, changing into their uniforms.

  Even though I was the last one into the locker room, I was also the first one out. I grabbed a practice ball and sprinted right up to Coach Bly.

  “Brooke!” He reached out for my splinted hand, and it was all I could do not to wince. “What was the verdict?”

  “Just a sprain!” I said as cheerfully as possible. “It should be completely healed . . . soon.”

  A few weeks was soon, if you were comparing it to a whole year.

  He smiled with relief. “That’s what I needed to hear. It looks like Lacey’s going to be out for our first game, so you’re the only star forward we’ve got left.”

  “Who’s filling in for her?” I asked.

  “Lana,” he said.

  I sucked air in through my teeth. Lana was fast, which was good, but she couldn’t think very well on her feet. That was bad for a spontaneous play change, which sometimes happened in soccer.

  Coach looked me in the eyes. “Be honest with me. Are you okay to play?”

  “I’m great to play,” I assured him.

  Except I wasn’t. The drills where we stayed in place and juggled the ball or kicked it back and forth were fine, but once I had to start running, my wrist began to ache. I kept the pain off my face, but I couldn’t keep it out of my mind. By the time we started running plays, I was so terrified of someone bumping my wrist that I went out of my way to avoid other players. This, unfortunately, meant that I didn’t make any attempts to steal the ball, and when I had it, I passed it as quickly as I could to someone else.

  After ten minutes of this, Coach blew his whistle and had us take a water break. I tried to join the other girls, but Coach pulled me aside.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where’s my ferocious forward? You’re acting like the ball is a bomb you want to get away from.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I think I’m just a little spooked after what happened yesterday with Lacey.”

  Coach’s worried expression eased. “That was a freak accident. As long as you keep your eyes on where you’re going, you’ll be fine.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. I’ll get my head in the game.”

  Coach smiled. “Good. Because I’ve got a new play for us to run.”

  One of the other girls called him over, and he put his clipboard on the bench to go assist. “Excuse me.”

  “Sure,” I said, taking a seat to fix my laces. I glanced at the clipboard and saw that the top page was the new play. I paused in tightening my shoelaces.

  If I could memorize this play, I could predict the other team’s moves and execute it perfectly. No chance of anyone bumping into me because I’d stay out of their reach.

  Grabbing the pen off Coach’s clipboard, I jotted a quick sketch of the moves on my palm. Then I disappeared into a bathroom stall of the locker room . . . the only place I could stare at my hand in peace. After studying the play for a couple minutes and picturing my part, I returned to the pitch just as Coach blew the whistle to resume practice.

  “I’ve drawn up a new play that I think will get us some goals this weekend. Everybody gather around.”

  We all huddled close as he explained, and I nodded along with everyone else, even raising my hand to ask a question so he wouldn’t get too suspicious when I aced it the first time out.

  “Let’s give it a whirl!” Coach said, clapping his hands. We took our positions on the field, and he blew the whistle.

  I’m not gonna lie; I deserved both an ESPY and an Academy Award for my performance. As soon as that ball reached my feet, I was on the move, zipping past midfielders. I could’ve shot the goal myself, but I figured it would be better for Coach to see me as a team player, so I passed to Brin, who almost didn’t see it coming.

  Goal in under a minute.

  The girls on my team cheered, and Coach clapped his hands.

  “Nicely done, Jacobs! Let’s run it again!”

  The ball was re-set and we ran the play, but this time the other team was better prepared. Luckily I’d expected it, and, in addition to Coach’s original play, I’d thought of another escape route that would work. I juggled the ball around a defender and took the goal shot myself. It struck the net with a satisfying swish.

  My team cheered again, while the opposing team gave me murderous looks.

  “Maybe we should just call this play The Brooke,” said Coach jokingly.

  I was practically walking on air. The pain in my wrist was totally worth it.

  “Let’s run it again!” he shouted. “Midfielders on defense, I don’t want that ball getting past you this time.”

  Unfortunately, they must have all left their good-luck charms at home, because I swept right through, passing to Jenny this time, who scored our third goal in the first ten minutes. Coach worked with the defense to point out weak spots, but because he was doing it out loud, I was able to avoid those spots, and we made yet another goal.

  But . . . this time, it wasn’t as satisfying.

  While I liked winning, I didn’t like winning easily. And now I understood what Heather had said about school. She wanted to earn her good grades, and I wanted to earn my victory. These girls were practically handing it to me, and I knew exactly why.

  I was a team of one.

  It was me driving the ball down the field, me making the goals. Yeah, I was passing to the other girls, but they were really just an extension of me.

  If Lacey were there, she would’ve been all over the ball, and I would’ve had to work with her to make the goals. But my good luck was so good, nobody could step to me. Even on plays we’d practiced a hundred times. Toward the end, I was intentionally not playing as well just so other girls could have a chance. For the second time in a row, Coach called me over.

  “You started doing better, but now you’re giving away some easy shots,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  I couldn’t stop the truth from coming out. “It’s too easy. I feel like I’m playing against U8s, so I thought I should take it down a notch.”

  Coach sh
ook his head. “Don’t do that. They can’t learn if they aren’t challenged. Just play like yourself. We’ve got to train the rest of these girls up.”

  I gave a firm nod and returned to the pitch. This time I didn’t hold anything back. Even though Coach said I was helping the team, they sure didn’t look like they appreciated it. If it wasn’t for my good-luck charm, they probably would’ve trampled me with their cleats.

  At the end of practice, we all went into the locker room to change, and I could practically feel the sweat on my forehead freeze from all the icy stares I was getting.

  “What?” I asked. “I told you guys I was going to prove I was a good captain, and I did.”

  “Yeah, but you made the rest of us look bad,” said one of the defenders. A couple of her teammates murmured their agreement.

  “No,” said a girl on my team, “you guys made yourselves look bad.”

  I held up my hands to quiet the girls, and several of them gasped. One girl screamed.

  “What?” I glanced down at my right hand. It was bright purple. “Augh!”

  Brin grabbed my good arm and dragged me out of the locker room. “Coach Bly! Coach Bly!”

  He looked up from where he was throwing soccer balls into a bag. “What’s wrong?”

  Coach took one look at me and hurried over. “Brooke, I thought you said you were okay to play.”

  “Well, mentally I am,” I said, wincing as he unstrapped the splint. My wrist was even more swollen than it had been the day before. “Uh-oh.”

  Coach Bly turned to Brin, who looked like she either wanted to throw up or scream. “Go to the first aid kit and get some ibuprofen and a cold pack.”

  She nodded and ran away.

  “She’s getting faster,” I commented with a weak smile.

  Coach pointed at me. “You are not playing soccer until I get an official note from your doctor saying it’s okay.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I said. “Look, my hand is turning back to its normal color.” I showed him. “Besides, you can’t spare losing another starter. You said so yourself.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “I think we can make an exception in this case.”

  Brin reappeared with the ibuprofen, cold pack, and a bottle of water. Several of the other girls were with her.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the ibuprofen and bottle of water from her while Coach snapped the disks in the cold pack to make it freeze.

  “Coach, if Brooke is out too, what are we going to do?” asked Brin.

  “You’re going to play your best,” he said, placing the cold pack on my wrist.

  “But what if our best isn’t good enough?” asked Lana, Lacey’s replacement.

  “It will be,” I said. “I’ll come up with some tips for you and Brin and whoever Coach chooses to replace me.” I looked up at him, and he thought for a moment.

  “Allison,” he said, naming another of our second-string forwards.

  She was fast, had good reaction skills, but wasn’t a very aggressive player. Nevertheless, I smiled at Allison, who was in the crowd of girls.

  By the time Mom picked me up, the swelling in my wrist had gone down enough for Coach to put the splint back on, and I sheepishly pulled my sling out of my bag and let him help me put my arm through it.

  “Does she have to know about today?” I asked with pleading eyes.

  Coach clapped me on the back. “I wouldn’t be a good coach or a good person if I didn’t tell her to keep an eye on you.”

  Mom was kind enough not to fly into a rage in front of him, but as soon as we were on the road, she let me have it.

  “How dare you disobey your father and me! I can’t believe you would do something so dangerous! Don’t you have any regard for your own safety?”

  Apparently good-luck charms do not work on angry moms.

  I was smart enough to stay quiet until she’d finished with “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I love soccer,” I told her. “And I care about my team. I didn’t want to let them down.”

  For some reason, that seemed to calm her.

  Mom sighed. “Sweetie, that’s admirable, but sometimes you have to put yourself first.”

  I thought back to practice and frowned. “Not when it comes to soccer. People don’t like that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  I told her about my winning streak and she frowned too.

  “Brooke, that’s cheating.”

  I gaped at her. “No, it’s not!”

  “You looked at the coach’s playbook,” she said. “Before anyone else had a chance to. That was an unfair advantage.” She pulled into our driveway. “Also known as cheating.”

  “Let’s just agree to disagree,” I said, getting out of the car.

  Mom followed me. “That’s what people say when they know they’re wrong but won’t admit it.”

  “It wasn’t an unfair advantage,” I argued. “Coach left it where anyone could see it. I just chose to be proactive.” I walked inside and shrugged off my coat. “Dad would take my side.”

  “I’d take your side on what?” called a voice from the kitchen.

  I froze and looked at Mom, who shrugged.

  “Parental Scolding, round two,” she said.

  Either Dad knew Mom had already done enough yelling for the both of them or thought I’d learned my lesson, because when he found out I’d been playing, he simply said, “Your mother’s right. And you can say good-bye to your allowance this month.”

  “Oh, she won’t have anything to spend it on since she’s grounded anyway.” Mom gave me a huge smile and a side squeeze.

  Maybe there was a special good-luck charm just for parents.

  “Well, since I’ve got nowhere to go and no money to spend, I’ll be up in my room,” I said. “Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

  “Cheer up, honey!” Mom called as I trudged upstairs. “Your lottery ticket might be a winner!”

  As I closed the door, I heard Dad asking Mom, “You bought her a lottery ticket?”

  Chelsea and Hammie were curled up on my bed when I opened the door to my room but jumped down to greet me. Hammie sniffed at the lipstick and quarter I placed on the carpet.

  “Sorry, Hamm. It’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

  I arranged the socks in a circle on the floor. Then I placed my pumpkin candle in the center and lit it.

  Since Heather needed the most luck, I waved her lipstick over the flame first. Then Tim’s quarter. I even added a little something for V in case she changed her mind.

  Shortly after I blew out the candle, Mom yelled up that dinner was ready.

  We had just settled at the table and I had a mouthful of bread when Dad cut into his meat and said, “So I walked past your room and heard you talking to yourself earlier.” He speared his meat and studied it thoughtfully. “It sounded like you were saying a spell, but I thought your witches’ coven only met on Thursdays.”

  I groaned and lowered my napkin.

  “Aw, tell them we said hi,” added Mom with an exaggerated smile. “If you’re not busy turning princes into frogs.”

  I rolled my eyes and swallowed my bread. “You guys are hilarious.”

  “Actually it sounded like she was asking for good luck,” said Dad. He tilted his head to one side. “How’s that working out, sunshine?”

  I scowled at him. “Can we not?”

  Mom and Dad grinned at each other.

  “Okay, we’re sorry,” said Dad. “How’s that algebra coming? Are you ready for the quiz tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  I wasn’t, but I figured my good-luck charm would take care of that. My good-luck charm also got me out of doing the dishes since I only had one usable arm.

  “Just go finish your homework,” said Mom. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

  I didn’t bother with homework. Instead I called Abel, and we chatted about his track practice and my soccer practice. Then I called
V, and we talked more about KV Fashions and some ideas she’d come up with.

  “A fashion show at school!” she told me.

  “That sounds awesome,” I told her. “Do you think they’d let you do it?”

  “Katie and her parents are good friends with Principal Winslow, remember? It should be easy!”

  “Yay!” I said, glancing at the good-luck charm I’d made for her. “When did you guys decide on that?”

  “When Katie came over a couple hours ago to watch a fashion show,” V explained.

  I smiled to myself. My friends didn’t even need to have their good-luck charms with them for them to work! I was kind of awesome. “You’re welcome.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean well done!”

  “Thanks!” said V. “Well, I should probably get off the phone and work on newspaper stuff.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

  That I knew wouldn’t take care of itself. I hung up with V and lay back on my bed, trying to think of ways to make the paper more interesting. How did Vanessa make fashion interesting? I pictured her book of designs, with its tabbed sketches and bold colors. Thinking about bold colors made me think of Heather’s lipstick. Then I started jotting ideas. My friends were brilliant without even knowing it. Even Tim. Although his response would most likely be “Duh.”

  I pulled Abel’s note from my pocket and kissed it. “You’ve done it again!”

  Once I’d finished my ideas for Mary Patrick, I went to work on my letter for the kid who lacked confidence. After seeing Brin and Jenny on the field, the inspiration flowed. I talked about believing in yourself and how nobody was perfect and it was better to try and fail than to never try at all. My advice was heartfelt and uplifting and motivational.

  If the Lincoln Log didn’t win the newspaper contest, it wouldn’t be because of me.

  At bedtime, Mom knocked on my door to say good night.

  “Did you get all your schoolwork done?” she asked as I settled down under the covers.

  I nodded. “And I came up with ways to make the newspaper better for a contest we’re entering.”

  “That’s great!” She beamed and squeezed my hand. “And it’s all thanks to Brooke’s brain.” She kissed my forehead. “No luck needed.”