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“Seriously?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“Great.”
“Do I need to offer religious guidance?” Tibby asked with some trepidation.
Christina shook her head. “No, no. Teach him filmmaking. Or teach him about cars. Take him to movies I won’t let him see.”
Tibby nodded. She liked this idea. “God, wait till I tell my parents,” she said joyfully. “I’m a teenage single mother.”
Christina’s laughter came out in a snort again, but the baby didn’t notice this time.
Carmen appeared at the door. She was wearing a tangerine sundress and her skin was tanned and glossy.
“So what did she say?” Carmen demanded.
Christina beamed. “She said yes.”
“Congratulations to all three of you,” Carmen said.
“Thanks. And where are you going, Miss Gorgeous?” Tibby asked.
“She’s going out with Win.” Christina looked as happy as if it had been her own date. “Have you met him yet?”
Tibby shook her head. “I can’t wait to. So what’s he like?” she asked.
Carmen pointed to her pink, wrinkly little spud of a brother. “Well, he’s no Ryan Breckman….”
The championship game was a long, fierce defensive grind. By late in the second half, both teams were exhausted. It was soccer’s version of the rope-a-dope. Bridget put her best and brightest on defense. She did virtually nothing on offense. Even Naughty got some playing time at center forward. She kept Mikey Rosen in the goal. He was balanced and competent. On regular and even on good shots, he didn’t mess up. And anyway, her defense was so strong and so psyched up, she didn’t think his job would be all-important.
The thing was, she wasn’t coaching her team for the win. Not yet. That made her strategy simpler. She was going for a tie of the 0–0 variety. Her team did not grasp exactly why this was so, but they trusted her.
“Defense,” she said to her subs. “Defense,” she said to every player every time she opened her mouth. “Defense!” she screamed at the top of her lungs when any ball passed centerfield. She was single-minded. “Non passerat,” she muttered to them. Sometimes it was easier to concentrate fully and completely on one clear objective.
She paced her sideline and Eric paced his. He saw what she was doing, but he couldn’t figure out why. She liked him confused. He needed to change his strategy to fit hers, and it put his team a little off their game, just as she had hoped it would.
The final whistle passed the verdict she’d hoped for: tied at zero. Now they just had to gut it out through the overtime, to prevent the Golden Goal.
The entire camp had gathered on the sidelines by this point. They were screaming for blood. It was frustrating to watch this long without a single goal. Without even a particularly thrilling attempt on goal.
She pulled her team close around her. All eyes stayed locked on hers. As a coach, this was just what she wanted: to feel totally attached and in sync with each of her players. Her intensity was catching. She didn’t need to make a big speech. She just held their eyes. “Zero,” she said in a whisper. “Can you do it?”
They shouted and yelled and spilled back onto the field.
Amid all the yelling and bullying from the fans, her team stayed the course throughout the extra time. No heroics. They played hard, gritty defense. They made their coach proud.
Another whistle signaled the end of the game and the beginning of the shootout to determine the winner.
The ref tossed the coin and Bridget’s team won the first kick. This was just how she wanted it to go. She nodded to Russell Chen. He wasn’t as great an all-around player as Lundgren, but he was a sublime kicker, and having held back all game, he was ready to explode.
Her heart pounded as Eric’s goalie took his position and the other team members clustered in the center circle. The refs took their positions and Russell set up at the penalty mark. She watched the ballet of guesswork between kicker and goalie, and then Chen made his shot. Bridget’s heart soared as the ball fired straight into the top of the goal. Eric’s goalie guessed wrong. He didn’t get a finger on it.
Her entire team and roughly half the fans erupted in cheers. Telepathically she warned them not to lose focus yet, and being in sync as they were, they seemed to receive the message.
Now Eric’s team got their turn.
There was no question whom he’d choose to kick. Jerome Lewis was probably the best player in the camp. He walked out to the penalty mark.
Bridget’s team watched her breathlessly. They knew she had something up her sleeve. She poked Naughton in the shoulder. “Go get ’em,” she said.
He looked surprised, like he didn’t think she actually meant it.
“Go!” she yelled.
He went. Slowly. Everybody was whispering and chattering as they watched his slow march to the goal. Even the refs looked back at her as if to say, “Are you sure this is what you mean?” She waited until Naughton was in position before she nodded to the ref.
For once Eric was staring directly at her. He was competitive, sure, but now he looked more concerned for her sanity. His players were smiling at each other smugly in the center circle.
Bridget put her eyes on Naughton and kept them there. He needed to know she believed in him.
According to camp rules, this was sudden death overtime. If Lewis made the shot, the shootout would continue to the next round. If he missed it, the game was over.
The ref blew his whistle. Usually, as the opposing coach, you hoped for the kicker to blunder it. In the strange case of Naughton, it was the opposite. Please let this guy get a good shot off, Bridget thought.
Lewis launched a magnificent shot. The entire camp was perfectly silent as they watched the ball stab through the air toward the goal. Naughton seemed to jump the very instant the ball left Lewis’s foot. That was one thing, Bridget decided. Naughton had incredible eyes.
The ball flew, Naughton leaped, and the two came together at the very uppermost corner of the goal. Naughton pulled the ball out of the air and landed with it in his hands. He looked so surprised at his accomplishment that he stumbled and let the ball dribble from his grasp. Luckily it dribbled out of the goal rather than into it.
Stunned, the crowd burst into cheers. Bridget watched with pleasure and pride as her team rushed the goal and carried Naughton out on their shoulders. They carried him to his coach, placing him at her feet. Amid the cheering, she hugged him and planted a fat kiss on his cheek. He seemed to like that.
She graciously allowed them to dump the icy
contents of the water cooler on her head. Then it was time to shake hands with their opponents. They lined up, Bridget at the back, and slapped or shook hands. The last two to come face to face were the coaches.
“You win. Of course,” Eric said gallantly, bowing to her like she was a Japanese businessman and not a girl who loved him to oblivion.
She couldn’t help locking on his eyes for a moment. I didn’t, though, did I?
“Lenny. Hey. It’s Bee. I’m fine. I really am. Stop worrying right now! But I do want to talk to you. I’m ready to come home. I miss you so bad. Hey! I heard the baby’s name! I love it! Was it Carmen’s idea? She must have laughed for an hour. Call me…no, never mind. It’s impossible to call me here. I’ll call you. And don’t worry! Okay? I miss you.” Beeeeep.
I have Immortal longings in me.
—William Shakespeare
Lena thrust her portfolio at Annik. She was girding herself for a long wait, and suddenly feeling strangely impatient. But it wasn’t like that. Annik put down her pencil, put on her glasses, and began flipping through right away.
Not three minutes later she closed it and looked up.
“It doesn’t matter if you get the scholarship,” she said.
Lena cocked her head in confusion. “It matters to me,” she said.
“You will get it,” Annik said, almost dismissively. “Unless the committee guys are blind or completely idiotic.” She smiled at Lena. “The reason it doesn’t matter is because you’ve done it. Whatever happens after is a little of this or a little of that. A little car wreck. A little dread disease. A little heartbreak. Now you are an artist.”
Annik said the word artist like it was the best possible thing you could say of someone. Better than being a superhero or an immortal.
“Thank you. I think.”
