We found a spot easily along the vast sidelines. As the guys predicted, only mothers, siblings and the occasional father were in attendance. We plopped down and checked out the boys in their crisp white jerseys and red satin shorts. During the warm-up, Pete O’Reilly stood in the goalkeeper position while the others peppered the field, practicing passes and goals.
The whistle blew to start the game. The ball changed possession frequently, and both teams ran, passed and attempted goals so often, I struggled to keep track.
Steve fell down writhing in pain, and Michelle and I jumped to our feet in concern. A muscle cramp, we overheard his mother say. He stood, grimacing, and limped off the field with help. Reese Stevenson, another sophomore, took his place. Fast and focused, he scored a goal in minutes. Jim Ryder took the field, and I smiled. I’d known him since elementary school.
Of course, Ken in action had me spellbound. His athleticism and strength impressed me, and he was so sexy! I hope, hope, hope you will be mine.
The team moved together seamlessly, controlling the ball with their knees, feet and heads. They never lost their intensity from the first to the second half. The game held my rapt attention until the final whistle signaled the end of the game, the score in our favor 4-3. The guys ran to the center of the field, hooting and slapping each other’s backs in celebration.
In the awkward aftermath, I wasn’t sure whether to approach Ken or wait for him to head my way. The answer came soon enough—he walked off with his mom without so much as a wave. I tried not to appear crestfallen despite the hole he’d punched in my heart. Pete, Steve and Reese stopped to thank us for coming, which helped. And Jim and I chatted, his enthusiasm and appreciation genuine.
I rode back to Michelle’s house in silence, ruminating. Ken didn’t seem to like me at all. Wasn’t I pretty enough? Nice enough? What was wrong with me? I didn’t have a clue.
§§
My bedroom was in complete disarray as I redecorated—something I did every few months. The phone rang, and I turned the volume down on my stereo and lunged for it. My parents had stopped answering it back in junior high when ninety percent of the calls were for me.
“Is this Anna?”
“Yup. Who’s this?”
“Reese Stevenson.”
“Oh, hi.” How unexpected. I sat on my waterbed, the liquid sloshing in response. My pulse ticked up a notch.
“A bunch of us are partying at my place. Wanna come over and hang out?”
My insides accelerated even more. My nightstand clock read 9:24. There was no way my parents were going to let me go anywhere this time of night, especially not to a party with boys, let alone guys with whom I was scarcely familiar.
“That sounds fun, but I can’t tonight.” I cringed, hating my life for a sec. My finger twirled through my pink Princess phone’s spiral cord, winding and unwinding in rapid succession. Did Reese like me?
“That’s cool. Listen, you know Pete O’Reilly?” Scuffling and muffled whispers in the background leaked through the phone.
“Sure.” I stopped fiddling with the cord and sat still, barely breathing. I easily conjured up Pete’s image: ash brown hair with a kiss of honey blonde, handsome but shy, tall yet sturdy. Athletic. Cute.
“Well, he likes you, and knowing Pete would never have the guts to ask you out, I’m kind of doing it for him. I hope that’s cool.” More scuffling.
Whoa! “What’s going on over there?”
“Pete’s a little pissed off at me right now. Listen, why don’t you two talk to each other? My work is done. Here’s he is.”
“Hello?” Pete said.
“Hi.” My heart rate took off for the sky.
“Sorry about Stevenson. He, uh, can be a bit of a jerk.”
I laughed and willed myself to settle down. “No problem. I can relate. My friends exhibit their sophomoric behavior all the time.” I hated how they used to call my crushes to profess love on my behalf—thinking they were doing me some kind of favor. Did I really just say sophomoric?
“Maybe we should pair them up, give them a taste of their own medicine.”
I laughed again.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
“Playing music, hanging out in my room, trying to avoid the parents and annoying brother…the usual.” I flopped back on my bed and crossed one leg over the other, a fuzzy slipper dangling from my toes.
Pete chuckled. “What are you listening to?”
“Earth, Wind and Fire. You like them?”
“Not since seventh grade.”
“Hmm. I like funk and soul, pop and disco.” I glanced over at my albums, stacked neatly next to my turntable, except for the few on the floor ready to play.
“I’m going to have to help you with your musical selection.” There was a smile in his voice, but I sensed he wasn’t joking.
“You think it’s that bad?”
“Yes, yes I do,” he said, laughing.
“Why, what do you listen to?” My slipper slid off my foot and onto the floor.
“Only the best: rock and roll.”
“I plead ignorance. I do remember the day Elvis died. Does that count?” I flashed to the night friends and I went skinny-dipping on a dare while at camp. Our crackly transistor radio delivered the news about the King of Rock ’n Roll as we shivered on the huge rocks along the river’s edge.
“Not that kind,” he said, bringing me back to the present. “Later time frame.”
“Alright, I’m game. You can help me out as much as you want.” I enjoyed bantering with Pete. It calmed me down. A few notches, anyway—my heart still thumped erratically.
“You’re on. I don’t think I could let you go on much longer listening to that other crap. Who knows what it’s doing to
