Read Gracie Online

Authors: Suzanne Weyn

Gracie (6 page)

“What are you busy with?” she demanded angrily. “A boy?”
I threw my hands in the air, giving up. She was unbelievable. In her mind if I wasn't interested in my hair or shopping, the only other thing that could be occupying my mind had to be a boy! “Just things,” I said sarcastically as I walked away from her. “You know!”
“I don't know,” she shouted at my back. “That's why I'm asking. We saw Mr. Clark and Mr. Enright today.”
Mr. Enright?
That stopped me cold just as I was about to head up the stairs.
Mr. Enright was the principal of the school. And she'd said “we.” Had Dad gone, too?
I turned toward her just as Dad walked into the dining room. “Grace, you're flunking history,” he said. “Mr. Clark knows you cheated from Jena on the last test. Your
answers were identical, even the wrong ones. Your grade right now is zero!”
This was about as bad as it could get. In my house, cheating on a test was an even bigger offense than failing. In fact, it was huge. But I'd done it and not very well, apparently. What I didn't want to do was have a big endless conversation about how they were so disappointed in me. I didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. “So I'm grounded? What?” I asked.
“I didn't say that. Not yet, anyway,” Dad replied.
What could they really do to me? There was nothing they could take away that I would care about. I knew it and so did they. I didn't want to stand around and hear them blab about it. “Let me know when you decide something,” I said, heading up the stairs.
In my room, I took out Johnny's old hand weights, sat on my bed, and began to lift. There was a knock on the door and I knew it was Dad from the sound of it. Quickly, I slid the weights under my bed. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside. “What's going on?” he demanded.
Nothing was going on. I didn't want to be in school. It was just a lot of useless facts to learn, more meaningless junk. I couldn't tell him that, though, so I just sat there in silence.
“Do I have to check your homework every night?” he asked. “If you're going to act like a kid, that's how I'm going to treat you.”
I just turned away from him. I knew this would really get him mad, but I couldn't think of anything else to do.
“Okay, show me your homework,” he insisted, his voice rising.
“Haven't done it,” I muttered.
“Do it now!”
“Can't,” I said. “I didn't bring my books home.” I cringed just a little as I spoke because I knew I was pushing him over the edge of his patience, and I was right.
“You're grounded!” he exploded. “Come home straight from school.”
No big deal. Most of my workouts were in the morning, and afterward I could still exercise in my room.
“If those grades don't go up—summer school!” he added, then slammed the door on the way out.
Summer school! Ow! I had to give him credit. I hadn't thought of that.
So even though the days were getting warmer and longer and nicer, I came home dutifully after school and went inside. I did my crunches and chin-ups and lifted weights in my room, still determined that some way, somehow, I would find my chance to prove that I could play soccer as well as any boy.
In my spare time, I opened a textbook or two. It wasn't that I had developed a sudden love of learning. It was just that summer school would seriously interrupt
the months that I was counting on for maximum training time.
One afternoon I came home on my bike and found Dad out in the yard kicking a soccer ball around with Peter, Mike, and Daniel. I guessed he'd gotten off from work early for some reason. What struck me was the unfairness of it. I should have been playing with them. Why wasn't I?
I was walking past them toward the back door when something happened I couldn't resist. Daniel lost the ball and it rolled right in front of me. Without even thinking, I stole it away.
“Gracie!” Dad cried, annoyed.
Peter was instantly beside me, trying to steal it back. He might not have been playing as hard as he could, but I was. There was no way he was getting the ball back.
In a second, Dad was beside Peter. They were double-teaming! Dad knocked me off the ball with a shoulder charge. That was so like him. He
would
play just as rough as he could to get rid of me!
Furious, I charged at him and got the ball back. Yes! I pushed it right, then left, cutting back, and then turning fast, heading for the goal! “Peter, cover her!” Dad shouted.
It was too late. BAM! I shot it right into the goal!
What would Dad say to
that?
I waited to hear. I could see how impressed Peter was. Even my monstrous little brothers were staring at me with their mouths agape.
But Dad said nothing as he picked up the ball. Well, he did say
something:
“Okay, back to work.”
I had promised myself I wouldn't care what he said, or did, or thought—not anymore. At that moment, I nearly broke that promise to myself. If one of the boys had done what I just did, he would at least have said, “Good job.” But he wouldn't say it to me.
Well, it was fine. It was just fine. I didn't need him or anybody.
In the kitchen, I saw that my leg was bleeding. Peter had probably gotten me with his cleat. At the time I hadn't even noticed. I tore off a corner of a paper towel and stuck it on to dab up the blood. Mom handed me a box of Band-Aids, but I pushed them away.
“Take them,” she insisted. “You need shin guards.”
“You never cared when I played with Johnny,” I reminded her.
“Johnny protected you,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
Had he? I never realized it. That would have been just like Johnny to take care of me and make me think I was doing it myself. Was that why none of them thought I could take care of myself now?
After washing the cut and putting on the Band-Aid, I settled into a seat by an open window that overlooked the backyard to watch them finish playing. If I couldn't join in, I could at least get the benefit of Dad's coaching.
When they were done, Dad, Daniel, and Mike went inside. Peter was about to leave when he noticed me and
came over. “Hey,” he said, “Friday we meet up at the old stadium for pickup games.”
At first I didn't understand; then I realized. He was inviting me to go. The flicker of excitement I felt quickly died out as I remembered that I was grounded. “I can't go—anywhere,” I told him glumly.
“Can't—or won't?” he asked.
I turned away from him and when I turned back, he was gone.
 
Gracie Bowen (Carly Schroeder)
[All photos by K. C. Bailey/A Picturehouse Release]
 
The Columbia High soccer team, with Johnny Bowen (Jesse Lee Soffer) second from the left, wearing the Number 7 jersey.
 
Bryan Bowen (Dermot Mulroney) at the podium during the soccer awards dinner, holding Johnny's jersey, with Coach Colasanti (John Doman) listening on the left.
 
Mike Bowen (Hunter Schroeder), Daniel Bowen (Trevor Heins), and Peter (Joshua Caras) doing soccer drills in the Bowen back-yard as Bryan Bowen (Dermot Mulroney) coaches them.
 
Peter (Joshua Caras,
left)
and Gracie (Carly Schroeder,
right)
chase a ball as Bryan Bowen (Dermot Mulroney,
center)
watches from the goal area.
 
Mike (Hunter Schroeder) and his mom, Lindsay Bowen (Elisabeth Shue)

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