The Beast Read Free

it might be worth switching things up a bit, so I asked Becca to give goalie a try. The girl’s an absolute natural. Still rough around the edges—she doesn’t know the ins and outs of goalkeeping yet—but she’s got great athleticism and instincts.”
    Last night, Coach was so upset he couldn’t talk. Now he’s having trouble slowing his words to a normal human rate.
    â€œLook at her out there, Duncan,” he says, gesturing toward the field.
    I had turned away from Becca to talk with Coach, but now I follow his hand back to the goal box. I hear another shout: “Watch out!”
    Just then, a soccer ball shoots toward me. As I duck out of the way, another tidal wave of wooziness crashes into me and I stagger backward. Luckily, someone catches me.
    â€œYou all right?”
    The voice belongs to Ruth Middleton, the girl who drove me to the hospital the day before.
    â€œFine,” I say, hoping I sound casual enough not to worry Coach.
    â€œOh, my God. I’m so sorry, Alyssa.”
    My vision is blurry, and at first, I can’t see the person who’s apologizing. When my vision clears, none other than Becca Miller is standing over me. Framed by long, beautiful eyelashes, her blue eyes are showing what looks like deep concern. I feel like vomiting and not just because of the dizziness.
    â€œI was trying to punt,” Becca says, “and I’ve never really done that before. As you can see, I need to work on my accuracy.” She smiles, and I notice her dimples for the first time. The dimples make me want to puke too.
    â€œLike I said,” I tell her, “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou sure, Duncan?” It’s Coach who’s talking now, but if I say any more words I really am going to barf.
    â€œI’ll take her home,” Ruth offers. I’d forgotten she was there, but now I realize she’s still propping me up. “Alyssa, you probably just need to lie down for a bit.”
    â€œGood idea, Middleton. Thanks for the help.”
    â€œYou got it, Coach,” she says. “It’s the least I can do.” Then she mutters, “Or maybe the most .”
    Becca says sorry one more time as Ruth drags me away from the field.
    When we finally reach the parking lot, I hear Coach yelling my name one more time. “Duncan! Hold up!”
    Ruth and I wait for him to catch up to us. “Yeah, Coach?” I say.
    â€œYou mind helping Becca out these next couple weeks?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWith her goalkeeping,” he says. “Like I said, she’s still a little rough around the edges. Mind smoothing her out for me? Teaching her some real technique? You know what I mean—footwork, tactics, that sort of stuff?”
    I hear Ruth snicker behind me. “I guess so,” I say. “I mean, yeah—of course. I’ll do what I can.”
    â€œThanks, Duncan. Oh and one more thing.”
    â€œWhat is it, Coach?”
    â€œI think your yellow jersey will fit Becca better than Erin’s. Make sure you get it to her before Friday’s game, okay?”

“H ow you feeling?” Ruth asks me.
    I’m lying in the backseat of Ruth’s car as she drives me home. It’s a big, old boat of a car—a Buick from way back—but I still have to bend my knees to fit in it lengthwise. My head’s resting on the edge of one of the worn leather seats. Ruth adjusts the rearview mirror so she can keep an eye on me.
    The combination of her question and her attentive eyes makes me think she’s truly concerned. “Pretty dizzy,” I admit. “And my head is pounding.”
    â€œSorry to hear that,” she says. “But that’s not what I meant. How do you feel about losing your spot?”
    The comment catches me off guard. It’s almost like she’s reading my mind. “It’s only for a couple weeks,” I say weakly.
    For the first time, Ruth’s