Rivals by David Wellington Page A

to help him up and pat him on the back. And still, they didn’t so much as
glance at Maggie.
    “That was
unnecessary, Maggot,” someone said behind her.
    She whirled
around and saw Jill Hennessey standing there, with Dana Kravitz close by but
just a few steps behind. Maggie and Jill were not exactly what you would call
friends. They were both on the field hockey team, and they had worked together
to win a lot of games. But they never went out for pizza together after a
victory. More tellingly, they did not have each others’ numbers in their
respective phones.
    “It amused me,
Pill. And I crave amusement. What do you want?”
    “Not a thing
for myself,” Jill told her. “However. An associate of mine had a question
that I thought you could answer. If you’d like to earn a little goodwill from
the student body.”
    By which, of
course, Jill meant her circle of stuck-up friends. They were the only ones, in
Jill’s opinion, whose goodwill mattered.
    “Whatever,”
Maggie shrugged. “Shoot.”
    Dana Kravitz
looked over her friend’s shoulder at Maggie. She looked scared.
    Maggie kind of
liked that.
    “It’s only of
passing interest, but this associate of mine, who shall not be named, wanted to
know something about your brother. She was curious—just curious, mind
you, we are not brokering any kind of social arrangement here—whether
he’s seeing anyone.”
    Maggie laughed
out loud. “What, my little dweeb brother? Be serious. I doubt he’s ever seen
a girl with her shirt off. Oh, I suppose there’s Lucy Benez.”
    “Who? You
mean the cripple?” Jill asked. “He’s dating that?”
    “She’s
painfully obvious about being in love with him. But I don’t think they’ve even
held hands in a romantic fashion.” Maggie smiled wickedly. “Not that I would
know. I don’t exactly keep tabs on his love life.”
    “No, of course
not,” Jill said. She turned around. “Alright, Dana. You may go now. Maggot and
I have practice in a few minutes. I’m sure you have some batons to twirl to
keep yourself entertained until I’m done.”
    Dana Kravitz
nodded primly and fled the scene.
    “You really
are a vicious animal, aren’t you, Pill?” Maggie asked.
    Jill hefted
her stick in the air. “I’m a competitor.”
    Coach Peters
blew his whistle and the girls’ field hockey team lined up for orders. Maggie
had been on the team since freshman year and though she’d never been a star
player the others had learned to rely on her. She was great on defense,
usually serving as the team’s sweeper, and she was always willing to smack an
opponent in the shinguards at the right moment, even if it meant taking a
penalty.
    The coach had
always liked her, she thought. She put everything she had into the game. She
honestly loved it, in a way she loved very few things. Yet as he walked down
the line toward her, his face was scrunched up with worry and he had trouble
meeting her eyes. Just like the football players.
    “Maggie, you
can go change,” he said, finally. He was speaking in a voice barely louder
than a whisper. She was used to him shouting commands at her—she liked
it when he did, because things made sense when you were out on the field with
your stick in your hand and somebody was telling you what to do. Now he
sounded apologetic and she felt very lost.
    “Why? What’s
going on?” she asked.
    He grimaced
and looked at the rest of the team. They were disciplined, winners all, and
they looked straight ahead. Of course, Jill couldn’t resist the urge to
whisper something to the girl who stood next to her, who started to laugh and
then controlled herself. Coach Peters shot a nasty look at Jill and then put
his hand on Maggie’s shoulder.
    She shrugged
it off. “I want to know what’s going on,” she repeated.
    “Do you want
to maybe talk to the principal? Because I need you to understand this wasn’t
my decision. But there’s no way we can let you play this season. It wouldn’t
be fair to the other