Playing With the Boys by Liz Tigelaar Page B

a nanosecond away from screaming for her dad, when her eyes adjusted to the dark. Benji was standing below her windowsill. She opened her window.
     
     
    “What’re you doing down there?” Lucy asked, almost laughing. “You just scared me half to death.”
     
     
    From below, Benji gave a wave. “I got your messages. I’m sorry I took off. The game, you know—”
     
     
    “No, no, it’s fine,” she assured him. “Are you okay?”
     
     
    “I didn’t feel much like a party,” he explained. “For obvious, you know, publicly humiliating reasons.”
     
     
    She shook her head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t really allowed to go anyway.”
     
     
    “Well, I just wanted to explain—I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested.” He added quickly, “You know, in hanging out with you.”
     
     
    “Oh no, I didn’t take it that way,” she reassured him. “I know you’re interested. I mean, not interested interested. But interested in hanging out.”
     
     
    “Right,” he said, “I’m interested in a lot of things, now that . . . you know . . . we’re friends.” Lucy smiled. She liked the sound of being friends.
     
     
    “How did you know which window was mine?” she asked.
     
     
    He pointed at the rainbow-colored wind chime hanging from a hook beside the sill.
     
     
    Lucy smiled. How sweet of Benji to notice that small detail. He playfully tossed another pebble up at the closed window on the other side of her bedroom. Suddenly there was a loud crack!
     
     
    Lucy’s eyes widened as a web-shaped fracture formed in the middle of her window. Her father was sure to have heard the noise. Lucy had no idea what he would do if he found a boy outside their house.
     
     
    “Oh my God!” she panicked. “Go! Run!”
     
     
    Benji took off at a full sprint. Lucy heard his car start and peel out of their driveway. She hopped back in bed, pulling the covers over her head. Within a minute, her bedroom door opened.
     
     
    “Luce?” her dad asked, concerned. “You okay, kid?”
     
     
    “Huh?” Lucy groaned, as if she’d been fast asleep.
     
     
    “Nothing,” he said. “I just . . . thought I’d heard something.”
     
     
    Lucy muttered something incoherent and rolled over, acting as out of it as she possibly could . . . until her dad shut the door. Then she pulled the covers off and crept back to the window, staring at the spot where Benji had been. Her face broke into a wide smile and she spent the rest of the night lying in bed, unable to sleep, just thinking of how fun it was to have a friend who would bother coming all the way over in the middle of the night just to make sure she was okay.
     
     
    She could at least say it to herself: It felt really, really cool.
     

 
    five
     
     
    Halfway through Saturday’s scrimmage, Lucy was seriously hurting. Getting little sleep was definitely taking its toll. Charlie cheered her on.
     
     
    “Come on, Luce,” she said encouragingly. “You got this. Stay on the ball.”
     
     
    Lucy pressed hard, knowing this was her last chance to make a good impression on Martie, who had become more serious as the week continued, knowing she had tough decisions to make.
     
     
    Lucy won the other team’s throw in and trapped the ball between her feet.
     
     
    “Nice,” Martie shouted from the sidelines. “Way to go to it, Luce.” Lucy could hear the faint sounds of praise but couldn’t let them distract her. She looked for a midfielder to receive her pass. Everyone was guarded.
     
     
    “Get open,” Lucy shouted, searching for a teammate. Her team had the dubious distinction of once again wearing the not-so-flattering, not-so-hygienic red pinnies. Hot.
     
     
    “Got me! Got me back,” Pickle yelled to Lucy from the center of the backfield. Lucy had the ball, and Charlie was fast approaching. Lucy tried to use her body to shield the ball from Charlie, who was relentless in pursuing it. She stole it before Lucy could pass it back to