For the Win Read Free Page B

the week before. It was in the opposite direction—not far, but we’d stepped out of the land of rentals and into middle class, single family homes. The diversity continued but suddenly there were more white people around, which brought mixed feelings to the surface. Allie and I were white, but we weren’t from this tax bracket. We had more in common with the brown faces in our complex than we’d ever have with the people over there.
    Our new school sat perched on a hill. Narrow windows and plain beige brick marked it as an unappealing building; I couldn’t imagine how dull it was inside.
    “Come on,” Allie said, skirting the edges of the building and walking toward the back parking lot.
    “We should go back. Judge Hatchett is on…you know you love her.”
    “Later,” she said, waving me off.
    So I followed her, because that’s what I did. We reached a tall row of cement stairs that led down to the athletic fields. A shabby, fenced-in basketball court sat right at the bottom, but it was the field that caught my attention.  Through the trees, I watched the figures racing up and down the grass. Allie gasped beside me and I knew my future was sealed.
    “Jules, look,” she said, grabbing my sleeve. “They’re playing.”
    She ran off ahead of me, down the narrow steps to the field below. When I was diagnosed with Type 1, and we spent months in the hospital trying to figure it out, Mom decided Allie needed a hobby. Something to keep her mind off the possibility I could die, off the needles and blood tests and constant hovering. She found a rec team that would let her play on scholarship and that was that. Allie lived and breathed soccer. A poster of Mia Hamm had center stage in our room. She cried when we moved and had to leave her team.
    Mom hadn’t signed her up here. Yet.
    I chased after my sister, and from the sidelines we watched as a group of men ran a soccer ball up and down the field. Their ages were as varied as their complexions —although none quite as pale as the two of us. They spoke in quick, clipped English, but it didn’t matter—the sport had a universal language.
    No one paid us any attention until the ball came hurtling our way, crashing into my chest. I caught it reflexively, holding on with both hands by sheer luck.
    “Good catch,” called one guy with dark brown skin and a thick accent. He was halfway across the field.
    I tossed it back with one hand and it landed at his feet. He looked down the toward the empty goal and scratched the scruffy beard under his chin. “We need a goalie.”
    I was 12, small for my age and had never set foot on the soccer field. Getting pummeled by a ball going 40 miles per hour didn’t appeal much. Allie bounced on her toes next to me. “I’ll do it!” she shouted.
    He didn’t even acknowledge her—just lifted his chin in my direction.
    “Uh.” I looked at my sister, who seemed more annoyed than heartbroken. “Do you care?”
    “Nah.” She tossed her hair. “Go for it. They’ll realize soon enough that you suck and come find me.”
    I jogged down and stood, dwarfed by the oversized goal. The game picked up again, and I watched as the ball shot back and forth between nimble feet.
    I didn’t know it then, but that moment changed my life.

 
     
    Chapter 5
    The number from Chicago registers twice more over the next 24 hours. I don’t pick up either time. Whatever they want will open a can of worms I’ve firmly shut.
    The next time my phone rings I’ve just gotten out of the shower at the Rec Center. This time, though, it’s my mother’s kooky ring tone. I pick it up once I tug on a pair of shorts.
    “Hey, Ma.” My voice echoes through the empty locker room. “How are you?”
    “Everything’s fine up here. How about you?”
    “Good. Just working with the kids. You guys should come down and see this team sometime—they’re getting better.”
    “How’s their goalie?” she asks.
    “He’s coming around. We’ve got some gaps in the