Archenemy Read Free Page A

since last fall.
    Yes, she wants me off the team.
    Yes, she said, “Whoop!” when she wasn’t actually open.
    Until now, she’s never tried to sabotage me
during a game
. Because doing that is as bad for her as it is for me. Worse, it’s bad for the team.
    So maybe, I think, she just got the code wrong. Maybe she mixed up “Whoop!” and “Hey-o!”
    Right.
    At least, she finally spoke to me during a game.
    And she kept talking to me during the next couple practices too. Then again, Coach made her. He kept shouting things like, “I can’t hear you, Riley!” and “Speak up, Williams!” I think the only reason he isn’t going to bench us is because Fraser still managed to beat Cardinal Creek.
    Whatever his reasons, I know Eva well enough to know she’ll do just about anything to stay on the field. So will I.
    Â . . .

    In any case, the only thing worse than Eva not talking to me might be Eva talking
too much
.
    We’re playing Ironwood today. Over the roar of their fans, I can hear Eva yelling at me again for no reason. She’s spent the whole game barking orders and reminders at me. She tells me to watch the ball and to pay attention even though I’m already doing both of those things. A couple times, as I’m about to clear the ball by booting it up the field, she shouts, “I’m
not
open, Addie,” as if I need to be reminded not to pass the ball to a guarded player. Another time, she simply tells me to “Pass it!” just as I’m doing exactly that. Toward the end of the game, an Ironwood player tries to lob the ball into the penalty area. I camp under the pass, ready to spring into the air with my superhero calves and head the ball safely away from our end of the field. Just as I’m about to launch, Eva says, “Get it, Addie!”
    Her comments might seem harmless, but they’re super annoying. Especially the way she says them—like I need to be reminded how to play soccer. Like soccer isn’t my life and isn’t as natural to me as breathing or blinking. They’re the kind of comments neither of us would have dreamed of making during the summer.
    Back then, we talked in code. Back then, we trusted each other completely.

T
    rust must have had something to do with why I found myself in front of New Hope Church on a Wednesday night in July. Eva and I had been juggling the ball in her yard when she said she knew a place with more room. It turned out she was talking about the church lawn.
    We tied Belle and Skittles by their leashes to a tree and practiced yelling, “Whoop!” and passing to each other. After a few minutes, people in nice clothes began shuffling up the sidewalk. Two of those people were her parents. “There you are, Eva,” her mom said. “I hope you brought a change of clothes.”
    â€œYes, mother,” Eva said, clearly annoyed.
    â€œWell,” her dad said, “you better go use the restroom to change. The service starts in a few minutes.”
    Once again, I’d forgotten all about church on weekdays.
    â€œ
Okay
, dad,” Eva said.
    I watched her parents pass the tall pillars at the front of the church. When I turned back to Eva, I saw her pulling a summer dress out of her soccer bag.
    â€œYou knew church was about to start, didn’t you?” I asked.
    She grinned guiltily and then pulled the dress over her head. “Thought it might be less boring if I went with a friend.”
    â€œI’m not really a churchgoer,” I said.
    â€œOh, c’mon.” She was still wearing her shirt and shorts under her dress. “It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
    There was that word again. Trust.
    Of course, I didn’t trust her—not about this. I hadn’t been to New Hope in years, but the last time I was there, it definitely wasn’t fun.
    And yet, there I was anyway—sitting with Eva in the balcony of the church, my