For the Win Read online

  Even though I’d played with these guys for years they still intimidated me. The difference in age. In our cultures. Definitely in the way they treated women. “Don’t push it, Allie.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to be treated differently just because you’re a girl. I’m sick of it. I need the practice and yeah, they are really good. These guys grew up playing in the streets in a country where soccer is king. I want to learn from them as much as prove what I already know.”

  I sat down and rested my arms on my knees, exhausted. “Go for it.”

  She glared, but took off down the steps. I watched from afar as she dropped her bag at the sideline and approached the field with her chin up. One of the players, Zia, watched her walk up. He held his hand up and the game slowed. Allie’s hands were on her hips and she was talking, God, I could imagine what she was saying and couldn’t help but laugh. Zia was getting a mouthful I’m sure.

  I thought about going down there and dragging her off the field, but my sister needed to learn a lesson—just because you deserve something doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Life sucks like that, I learned that at seven when my body turned on itself.

  She turned and I waited for her to walk back over, but she stopped by the bag she’d left and bent over, fishing out her shoes. Without looking back at me, not even once, she took the field and the position they offered her (center back—not her strongest) with a determined set to her jaw.

  They let her play and from high up on my perch I kept watch, making sure they treated her fairly and that she was safe, but allowing her this moment on her own. She’d earned it and predictably, she kicked their asses.

  *

  “Stop.”

  I turned the wheel, ignoring her.

  She held up her hands. “Stop, Julian.”

  I didn’t though. Through the windshield I saw Melina mutter something under her breath, probably cussing me out. She needed to calm down.

  I’ve got this.

  Through my peripheral I saw her jump up and down, waving wildly in the parking lot. Yeah, like that helped my concentration. When she jumped, things…jiggled and crap. Why did she have to wear those shorts?

  Focus, Julian.

  Biting down on my lip, I glanced in the rearview mirror again. Just a little tap and I’d be fine.

  Outside Melina shouted, “Stop the car!”

  My eyes jumped to hers right as I heard an awful scraping sound. Slamming on the breaks, I jerked the car to a stop, but not before ramming the back bumper into the trashcan we’d been using as a makeshift perimeter.

  Mel’s eyes narrowed as she walked over to the driver’s side window. I slowly rolled it down, letting in the humid, afternoon heat.

  “What the hell?” she asked, all flushed and impatient.

  “I couldn’t hear you!”

  She leaned her hands against the car, which only made the V-neck of her shirt gape. The gold cross on her neck glinted as a reminder of her father and all the reasons I needed to get a grip, but then she shifted and my brain turned off. Maybe having Melina help me before my driving test wasn’t the best idea.

  “Your test is in two weeks. You have got to figure out how to parallel park.”

  “Parallel parking is stupid,” I argued, tapping my fingers over the wheel. “When am I going to need to do it?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. What the hell was going on with all the chest movement? I tried looking at her eyes, but then she moved her mouth and I was distracted by her lips.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I asked, swallowing.

  “You’re not even trying,” she said.

  “I am. I’m just really bad at this.”

  That confession brought a smile to her lips. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I offered to help you. I couldn’t bear to watch you struggle. And suck.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I mean, I’m the master of parallel parking,” she continued, smirking.

  “Maybe if you yelled at me from inside the car instead of outside the car it would be more helpful.” I gave her my best persuasive smile.

  Unaffected by my attempts at charm, she snorted. “Yeah, maybe.”

  But she came over, repositioning the trashcan on her way to the passenger seat, bringing the mixed smell of shampoo and clean sweat into the car. The truth was, I wasn’t that bad of a driver. I had outstanding reflexes—the kind that might earn a kid from the wrong side of the highway a college scholarship—but I’d do nearly anything to spend time with Melina. Even over-exaggerate my inability to parallel park my mom’s two-door Toyota.

  It was a brilliant ploy, really, because even if I hadn’t been too chicken to ask Melina out, she wasn’t allowed to date. But helping a friend pass his driver’s test? That was the work of a Good Samaritan. A hot Good Samaritan that sometimes smiled at me and brushed my arm with hers, one that chose to spend Saturdays with me, not hanging out with anyone else.

  “Ready?” she asked, buckling her seat belt.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just make sure you position the wheel right, like turn it all the way to the left. Hard left.”

  I followed her directions and within minutes we were parked in the tight space between the two trashcans we’d borrowed from the side of the middle school building.

  “You did it!” She smiled wide, bright white teeth against her perfect, tanned skin.

  “Finally. Bet you were about to give up on me.”

  I sat back in the seat and put the car in gear. Melina’s hand covered mine, and I wondered if energy rippled up her arm the way it did mine. “Nah,” she said, eyebrow arched. “I’m all or nothing, Jules. You should know that by now.”

  Chapter 15

  After a quick breakfast I head out for a run. Our afternoons are pretty regimented, but morning workouts are up to the players and trainers. Some guys hit the gym, but I’ve learned to manage my levels pretty well after a run so we decided during the medical assessment to keep that part of my activity schedule the same.

  I’m sweaty and breathing hard when I get back to my bag. My phone shows a missed call from my mom. Two in fact, even though I’d explained how busy we would be and having daily calls would be difficult to manage. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.

  I dial her number.

  “Hey mom,” I say after she answers on the third ring. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

  “Just thought I’d catch you before the day got started.”

  I laugh. I’ve been up for two hours. The swimmers have been rotating through the pool since four. “There’s no such thing as too early around here.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Really good.”

  “Are you testing enough? You know the altitude can change things. Plus the extra workouts. You’re not used to that.”

  “I’ve been monitoring more frequently, I promise.” I’ve actually got my blood tester in my hand now but don’t say anything.

  “What about the food--can you find what you need?”

  “Mom, everything is under control.”

  “I know you say that but…”

  “Hey,” I say, in a soft voice. “I know you’re worried but this place is amazing. Full medical team. Trainers all over the place. Water, food...anything we need is available.” I don’t mention that McDowell has made it his personal mission to make sure I’m in top physical health when we get to Rio. No one is letting me slip up while I’m here. Not with so much on the line. “I’m in the best possible hands.”

  She sighs loud enough for me to hear it over the phone. “At least your sister is there to keep an eye on you.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve got a full clinic and trainers at my disposal but my mother doesn’t trust anyone (including myself) better than my sister. Once again I keep the fact to myself that Allie, as amazing as she is, is not actually perfect.

  “What are you doing today?” I ask, hoping to get her off the subject.

  “I picked up another s
hift at work, trying to earn a little extra spending money for the trip.”

  “Don’t work too hard.”

  “It’s not so bad. You know I like it.”

  Most parents can move on from supporting their kids once they graduate. Our mom got an extra couple of years with Allie and I playing like this. I know she does it because she wants to, because we’re her pride and joy, but I’m looking forward to the day we can take care of her.

  “Love you,” I say, walking toward the center of campus.

  “Be good, Julian.”

  “I will.”

  I pass Allie and Melina on my way back to the dorm as they’re leaving the cafeteria with a group of athletes. Allie gives me a tired “good morning,” but Melina continues her conversation with the tall, built guy beside her. With excessively broad shoulders and a face made for Olympic Gold, there’s only one person that square jaw and never-been-elbowed straight nose could belong to: Tyson Rickman.

  Fucking swimmers.

  They’re the undeniable royalty around here, fawned over by the IOC, media and other athletes. I’m not denying they work hard, like really hard, but they’ve never had to fend off a two-hundred pound forward—cleats first.

  I’m unconsciously touching the scar over my eyebrow when Allie grabs my arm, letting the others walk away. “Did you get the message from McDowell?”

  “No. But I haven’t checked. They told me to report in with Mitchell at nine.”

  “Change of plans. McDowell is here and he wants to meet with us.” She peers up at me. “Both of us. Any idea why?”

  I suspect it’s about the marketing plan they have for the two of us, but I shrug. “Not a clue.”

  Back at the room I shower quickly, eating one Powerbar before I get in and another when I get out. The altitude here is different, and I’ve had to make some adjustments, but so far everything seems okay. As long as I don’t go off on a bender or get sick, and I don’t plan to, I should be fine.

  Allie and I meet up outside the dormitory and walk together to the main office. McDowell’s is the largest, reserved for when he comes in from Chicago. We’re ushered in to find him speaking with a woman and man.

  “Ah, there are my stars,” McDowell says with a clap of his hands. The others swing their attention to us. The woman’s eyes light up, her gaze travelling from our heads to our toes.

  “Stars?” Allie glances my way, bemused.

  “Allie and Julian Anderson, meet Veronica Weathers and James Houseworth. Veronica is a filmmaker and James is her camera man. They’re creating documentary-style promotional material on you for the Games.”

  “Just us?” Allie asks, checking them out. I can’t lie—Veronica is kind of a knockout, with long, shiny brown hair, big blue eyes and legs that go on for miles. Clearing my throat, I focus my attention on the guy next to her. James? Well, he looks like he just crawled out of a dark room with the other film nerds.

  “Veronica and James will work specifically with you,” McDowell says. “There are dozens of teams working with other high profile athletes.”

  “Uh, exactly when did we become high profile?” I can already see the wheels spinning in my sister’s head. She always has a million questions, but this may send her into over-drive. I try to arrange my face into something that resembles aloof curiosity.

  Veronica steps forward and shakes both of our hands. “You’re the first opposite gender twins to ever make it to the Olympics. It’s a very big deal. The US Olympic Committee has asked that we profile you specifically.”

  McDowell jumps back in. “They’ll be following you through the training program over the next couple of weeks. You’ll make time each day to answer questions or film whatever they need. These mini-documentaries will show during the actual games.”

  “Interviews?” No one said anything about interviews.

  “I’m thinking of really focusing on the two of you and how you grew up—especially with Julian’s Diabetes. I want to show the challenges you both went through to get here.”

  Allie’s tongue pushes into her cheek—a sure sign she’s not convinced about all this. “You don’t think this will be distracting? What about the others? It’s Maria Thomas’ last year on the team. If we win she’ll be the only woman to have three gold medals.”

  “Don’t worry,” McDowell says. “Everyone will get coverage. You two are just a special angle we’re taking. You’ll see other film crews around campus interviewing people from different sports.”

  I’m sure Tyson Rickman has a full crew at his disposal.

  “I’m not comfortable exploiting Julian’s health for the IOC,” Allie says.

  “Think of it as an educational opportunity,” Veronica says with a smile.

  I nod to give my approval, hoping Allie follows. She’s right about this being a potential distraction, and there’s definitely a good chance our teammates won’t like it. But what she doesn’t realize is she’s holding on to her spot by a thread, and this is the only way she’ll get to Brazil.

  “I’m in,” I say, lifting my chin. “Tell me you’ve got some title like, ‘Can the Bad Boy of ACC Soccer Go for the Gold?’ Because that would be amazing.”

  Veronica blinks, like she’s not sure I just said that, while Allie pinches me viciously on the back of the arm. “Ow, just kidding. Only kidding.” McDowell nods dreamily, eyes glazed over like that was the best pitch he’s heard all year.

  “When do we start?” Allie asks, which is her way of giving her approval. “I’ve got to meet with the PT in ten minutes.”

  “Where will you be this afternoon?” Veronica asks me.

  “This afternoon?” I open my phone and scroll down the schedule sent to me by Coach Mitchell. “On the field.”

  She smiles. “We’ll see you there.”

  Reporter: What was the hardest part about joining this team?

  Julian: Facing my new teammates.

  Reporter: Really? Why is that?

  Julian: The elite soccer community is pretty small. We’ve all known one another, or have known of one another, since we were kids. Everyone on the team has heard some version of my downfall.

  Reporter: Were you embarrassed?

  Julian: No one wants to be the guy that brings all the drama to the team. I mean, there’s always going to be drama but I’ve spent the last year owning my mistakes. This matters to me. Walking onto that field was another step toward personal responsibility, but just because I was ready to accept it and move on didn’t mean everyone else was going to and that’s something I have to deal with.

  Chapter 16

  (2010)

  Jumping to my feet, I squinted down at the field. We were in the stands today, watching the girls play. They were tied one-one, but the game had paused as Allie was currently sprawled at the tip of the box. Melina trotted over and bent down to talk to her.

  “Foul!” Marcus cried, his voice mingling with others from the stands.

  After a moment, my sister took Melina’s hand and stood, brushing grass and dirt off her knees.

  Marcus was nearly beside himself. “Ref! Foul! Call it!”

  I chuckled, watching as Allie shot him a dirty look from fifty yards away. “Oh man, she’s not happy.”

  “She hurt her ankle again. See how she’s carrying it?”

  I frowned and leaned forward, observing how she favored her left foot. Sure enough, when the ref positioned the ball for the penalty kick, the girl’s coach shouted from the sideline and Melina, not Allie, lined up to take it.

  We’d practiced these a million times, but anything could happen. Melina didn’t look nervous, though. She rarely did. Readying herself by pushing her shoulders back, she got into position.

  “You got it,” I muttered under my breath.

  She tightened her ponytail and moved decisively, striking the ball on its sweet spot. The goalie tried—I would have had a hard time stopping it—but Melina scored with perfection, hitting the bottom left corner. Allie rushed over, throwing her arms aroun
d her best friend as cheers erupted from the stands.

  “That’s how you do it!” Marcus shouted. I stood and clapped, offering a thumbs-up when she glanced in my direction. “You totally would have missed that.”

  “Probably.” I nodded. “Her leg’s a rocket launcher.”

  Our game was next. Coach called us down, directing us to the adjacent field for warm up. Grabbing our gear, we joined the rest of team.

  “So did you ask her?”

  I didn’t need Marcus to clarify the question. Senior prom was all anyone cared about lately...those stupid ‘Prom-Posals’ were everywhere. It was too much pressure. What if I looked like an idiot? I wanted to ask Melina, but after years of tip-toeing around our relationship I was terrified to pull the trigger.

  “She’s not going to say no,” Marcus said, reading my mind. He nodded at me to head to the practice goal. I slipped on my gloves, and he lined up to take shots. The girl’s game continued on the field next to us, but their scoreboard was ticking off quickly. Three minutes left.

  “I don’t know,” I said, conflicted. Melina could say no, but if I was being honest with myself I didn’t think she would. She never moved when I reached for her hand or sat too close on the couch. She still had my hoodie, and she wore it whenever it got cold.

  Me? I couldn’t keep my hands off of her, even in a platonic way.

  “You don’t think someone else will ask her?” Marcus asked, leveling a ball at my face. I slapped it away just as the buzzer sounded, ending the girl’s game. We all stopped what we were doing and clapped, cheering them for their win. Melina caught my eye, and I knew right then I had to do it, because Marcus was right. Someone else would definitely ask her.

  We passed one another as she came off the field. “Good game,” I said, holding my hand up for a high-five.

  “Thanks.” She slapped hers against mine and I linked our fingers together, holding on. It was now or never.

  I glanced over at the coach, confirming he was still busy talking to the forwards. “Listen, I know I should do this with like...flowers or a handmade poster or sky-writing.” I let go of her and tugged at the tips of my gloves. “Would you, uh, you know, prom?”