Heads Up! (2 page)

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Because I don’t like wearing tights and toe shoes, Mom. I like wearing shorts and sneakers. Now let
go, you’re squeezing the stuffing out of me!”

“The coach said you collapsed on the field!”

“I fainted when I saw the blood,” Amanda admitted and instantly wished that she hadn’t.

“Blood! What blood? Oh, my, there was blood?” Mrs. Caler was getting more and more upset.

Coach Bradley stepped in.

“Now, now, Amanda’s fine. She took a hit in the nose, so naturally she got a nosebleed. But the nose stopped bleeding right
away, and she’s been perfectly fine ever since. Right, Amanda?”

Mrs. Caler looked from her daughter to the coach and back again. She seemed to be calming down. Then Eddie stepped forward.

“Here, Amanda, don’t forget your old shirt. Though I don’t guess you’ll be wanting to wear it again on account of how it looks.”
She shook the shirt out right under Mrs. Caler’s nose.

Mrs. Caler took one look, made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and crumpled to the ground.

“What did you do that for?” Amanda yelled, rushing forward to her mother. She patted her mother’s face gently, like she’d
seen people do in movies.

Eddie widened her eyes. “Gee, sorry. Boy, talk about ‘like mother, like daughter’! She passed out even quicker than you did
when you saw the blood!”

When Mrs. Caler came to, Coach Bradley insisted on driving her and Amanda home. “Your husband can come back for your car later,”
he said when Mrs. Caler tried to protest. “Besides, it will give me a chance to convince you that soccer is just as safe as
ballet.”

“Hmph,” sniffed Mrs. Caler. She waved a hand at the bloody T-shirt Eddie was still holding. “You’ll never find a ballerina
wearing something like that!” She wobbled unsteadily to the car.

Eddie came alongside Amanda. “Your mom seems pretty upset. You don’t think she’d make you quit the team, do you?”

Amanda looked at Eddie with surprise. “No, she wouldn’t do that. I mean, it was only one little nosebleed, after all.”

Eddie gazed after Mrs. Caler. “Right. One little nosebleed wouldn’t be enough.” She tossed Amanda’s old T-shirt into the trash
can and dusted her hands clean. “Well, see you at practice tomorrow!”

T
he next day shone bright and clear, perfect for playing soccer. Amanda was looking forward to practice from the moment she
got out of bed.

An hour after breakfast she hurried to join her teammates.

“Hi, Amanda,” Jason Shearer said, popping his gum. “Didn’t think we’d see you here today.”

“Why not?” Amanda replied.

“Oh, I don’t... don’t... know—ooh, oooh!” Jason pretended to faint.

Amanda made a face. “Very funny,” she said. She balled her hand up into a fist and waved it under Jason’s nose. “Maybe I should
show you up close and personal what it’s like to get a bloody nose.”

“All right, that’s enough,” said Bundy Neel, captain of the Soccer ’Cats. “Jason, don’t you ever stop clowning around?”

“Only when I’m in the goal!” Jason danced away.

Bundy turned to Amanda. “Seriously, how are you feeling today?”

Amanda shrugged. “Fine,” she said.

But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Jason’s little joke had reminded her of how painful being hit had been. And fainting hadn’t
been any picnic either, if the truth were to be told.

But getting hit was a fluke, a one-time thing,
she tried to reassure herself.
The odds against it happening again are a million to one.

Coach Bradley appeared a minute later.
The ’Cats did their usual warm-up drills, then the coach called them together.

“I had a call last night asking if we could practice heading the ball today,” he announced. “So unless there are any objections,
let’s start the drill.”

No one said anything, though they glanced at each other. Amanda could guess what they were thinking, because she was thinking
the same thing: Who had made the call to the coach? No one seemed to know.

Just then, Eddie appeared.

“Sorry I’m late!” was all she said.

The coach nodded, then organized the drill.

“Count off A-B, A-B.” The ’Cats did. “Okay, I want the A players on the center line. Spread out so there’s plenty of room
between you.”

The A’s moved to the center line.

“Now the B’s form a line about five feet away from them.” Amanda joined the rest of the B’s. The coach started rolling a soccer
ball
to each of the A’s and explained the rest of the drill.

“The B’s are going to kneel down. The A’s are going to lob the balls to the B’s and the B’s are going to head them back as
best they can. Kneeling down teaches you not to lunge or jump for the ball. Lunging and jumping could lead to injury.”

He rolled the last of the balls to the A’s. “Use the part of your forehead that’s closest to your hairline. Heading with the
top of your head can hurt — and yesterday we saw what happens when you head with your face,” he added with a smile.

Amanda knew the coach hadn’t meant to embarrass her, yet she reddened anyway as she knelt down. Then she looked up to see
who her partner was, and suddenly she was no longer embarrassed. Instead, for a reason she couldn’t explain, she was uneasy.

Maybe it was the way Eddie was tossing the ball from hand to hand and grinning.

“A
ll set, partner?” Eddie asked.

Amanda gulped, then nodded.

“Well, then, here it comes.” Eddie tossed the ball high into the air. So high that Amanda lost sight of it in the sun. She
squinted, then suddenly there it was.

She couldn’t help herself. She gave a sharp cry, covered her head with her arms, and ducked.

“Whoa!” Coach Bradley hurried up to them. “Everything okay here?”

Amanda was about to answer but Eddie cut her off. “I don’t know what happened, Coach. It’s like Amanda’s afraid of the ball or something.”

Amanda’s jaw dropped. “I am not!” she sputtered. “It’s just —just — “ She was so surprised at Eddie that she couldn’t get
the words out.

Coach Bradley patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Amanda. It’s natural to be afraid after getting hit. Just try not to flinch.
Once you’ve headed the ball successfully a few times, you’ll be back in control.” He walked away to watch another pair.

Amanda turned to glare at Eddie. “What did you say that for?” she demanded.

“The coach asked a question. When someone asks a question, I answer it.”

Amanda looked closely at Eddie, trying to figure out if there was a hidden message in her reply. Like,
I asked you a question in the rest room yesterday and I’m still waiting for my answer.
Amanda couldn’t be sure.

With a sigh, she got back into the kneeling position. “Okay, let’s do this again. And this time, could you toss it up a little
lower?”

Eddie ran a hand through her hair. “Sure, whatever you say,” she said.

But it didn’t seem to matter how Eddie tossed the ball. Whenever it came close to her head, Amanda shrank back. Only twice
did she make good contact.

Eddie, on the other hand, headed the ball with gusto. “Nice job,” commented the coach as he watched her send the ball rocketing
back into the air. Eddie beamed.

Amanda was relieved when the coach blew the whistle, ending the drill.

Now maybe we’ll get to scrimmage,
she thought.
And I’ll be able to get back into the swing of things!

Instead, to her dismay, the coach called, “On your feet! It’s time to practice heading the ball from the standing position.
After all, you’ll be standing during the game!”

“Well, the players on the field will be, anyway,” joked Jason, who usually started the games sitting on the bench.

“Most of them will be, at least,” Eddie added. And she winked at Amanda.

T
he rest of practice was a disaster for Amanda. Nearly every time the ball came toward her, she flashed back to the day before
and flinched. The few times the ball did make contact with her head hurt. When the drill ended, she felt frustrated.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” the coach reassured her. But Amanda wasn’t so sure. She was happy when the coach
called for a scrimmage.

At last!
she thought.
Now I can get into the groove.

But she didn’t. It seemed like the other players were eager to try out their new heading skills in a game-like situation.
The ball was constantly in the air instead of on the ground — and Amanda felt like a sitting duck waiting to be picked off.

Coach Bradley finally ended the practice. Before everyone left, he reminded the team of the next day’s game against the Torpedoes.

Amanda couldn’t wait to get home. All she wanted to do was lie in the hammock in her backyard and forget about soccer for
the afternoon.

When she pushed open the kitchen door, she found the mail lying on the floor under the mail slot. She picked it up. Along
with the usual junk mail and bills was a plain envelope addressed to her mother. The envelope wasn’t sealed, and when she
tossed it on the counter with the other mail, a piece of paper came fluttering out.