Free Beyond Lucky by Sarah Aronson

sticks out her tongue, and he does too. She jogs to the field. She turns around and says, “I’ll show you, Mac MacDonald.”
    Mac isn’t fazed one bit. “Oooh, now I’m scared.”
    She says, “You should be.”
    I wish they would leave each other alone.
    He says to me, “You know, I heard Greenview’s premiere coach was coming here to scout. I heard he is looking to fill some unexpected gaps.”
    Whether the coach is really coming or this is Mac’s way of making himself feel important, I know for a fact he’s not going anywhere. Who would drive him to practice? Greenview Premiere has never been a winning squad. But friends are friends. Sometimes I need Mac to pump me up. Sometimes he needs me. I kiss the card on the back and the front. “Well, that’s too bad, because you’re our star and no one is going to take you away from us. Right?”
    Mac smiles. He gets up and jogs in place. “Right.”
    I kiss the card one more time. If I could get away with it, I would get on my knees and pray. I don’t want to talk about scouts or leagues or Parker Llewellyn. I want to focus. List the presidents. Maybe do a few push-ups.
    Too bad there isn’t time. Coach blows his whistle and waves everyone to the far end of the field. Mac says, “Come on. Put that thing away. It doesn’t play the game. We do.”
    Easy for him to say.
    I look at Wayne one more time, wrap the card in Sam’s letter, put it away, zip up the backpack, and run toward the rest of the team.
    I’m nervous. Really nervous. We have imagined this moment for a long time.
    We huddle around Coach. “People, people, people. We have had a phenomenal week. All of you have worked hard.” He reminds the offense to look for breakaway opportunities and open men downfield. “Weave off the ball. Don’t lose your cool if they get hot.” They nod, and he turns to the D. “I know you’re going to take care of business. They may have a star, but the rest of their offense is slow. Read the speed. Anticipate passes. If he gets close, Biggs, stick to him like glue.”
    Mac talks next. “As your captain, I just want you to know that you can count on me. And that there will be no big mistakes today.” He looks at me and nods. “As somebody once told me, fight for what is important to you.”
    He holds out his hand, and we stack ours one on top of the other. We shout, “Somerset Valley rules,” and then we clap our hands and take the field.
    The sun is high in the sky.
    No shadows.
    No chance of rain.
    Mischelotti sits at the end of the bench. He raises his crutch. “Good luck, Fish. I hope you don’t need it.”
    I retie my shoes and stretch my hamstrings one more time. For the first half, we’re defending my favorite goal, Wayne’s net, and Greenview doesn’t know that there is a dead spot right in front. If the ball hits the bald patch near the right, it won’t skip to the left, no matter how much spin they put on the ball.
    Greenview’s center wears number 19. Historically speaking, this is not a great number. It maybe prime, but James Buchanan, our nineteenth president, is generally ranked in the bottom ten.
    I can beat him.
    I hope.
    Someone whistles. “Let’s see what you got.” My dad. He’s standing under the tree with my mom. Next to them, Mr. Llewellyn paces back and forth, talking on his phone. From here, it looks like he’s not happy with the person on the other end of that call.
    Parker doesn’t look all that happy either. She sits on the end of the bench, as far away from her father as possible, surrounded by her friends. Behind her and off to the side, I see a tall guy with huge shoulders and short brown hair, a Red Sox cap, and aviator sunglasses. He’s wearing a Will’s Delivery shirt. I try to get Mac’s attention. It looks like Beer Man, but it can’t be