The Beast Read Free Page A

snicker isn’t under her breath. It’s so loud that it feels like it’s echoing in my skull. “That’s what I told myself too,” she says.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œDid you know I used to be a starter?”
    â€œFor who?”
    â€œFor us,” Ruth says. “The Copperheads.”
    I try to think back to a time when Ruth played in games. It’s true that I just had a profound head injury, but still—I’ve been on varsity for two years now. You’d think I’d remember her on the field. But I don’t. At all. “I thought you weren’t on the team until this year.”
    â€œI actually made varsity as a freshman,” Ruth says. That would explain why I don’t remember her. She’s a year older than me, so I was still playing middle school soccer when she was a freshman. “Right or left on Berkstrom Road?”
    â€œRight,” I say. I hold onto the edge of the seat as the car turns.
    â€œAfter a few games, the girl ahead of me got mono, and Coach put me into the starting lineup,” Ruth continues. “I did pretty well too. But then I screwed up my back and had to sit out the rest of the season. The next year I tried to come back, but Coach had already replaced me with Juanita.”
    â€œSo you quit?”
    â€œIt didn’t feel like I had a choice. Do I take Wilkens Avenue, or do I keep going?”
    â€œKeep going,” I say. “You were only in tenth grade. You had plenty of time to earn your way back on the field.”
    â€œThat’s what I told myself for a while. But it was like Coach didn’t even notice me in practice, no matter how hard I worked.”
    â€œJuanita is a great player,” I add. “There’s no shame in losing your spot to her.”
    â€œShe’s a great player now . But back then, before she specialized in soccer, we were about the same. I’m not trying to rag on Juanita—she’s better now than I ever was, definitely. I’m just telling you how it was then.”
    I’m starting to feel dizzy again. “What’s your point?”
    â€œMy point is, why do you think Juanita specialized in soccer? Left or right on Dobbins?”
    I answer her second question—“Left”—but I can’t remember the first.
    Ruth goes ahead and answers it herself. “Because she wanted to keep her spot on the roster, that’s why. She had to be better than all the younger players coming up.”
    â€œThat’s how all teams work,” I say.
    â€œNo, on most teams a player just needs to be as good as a younger player to keep her spot. On this team, Juanita’s only chance was to be better than the younger player.”
    Ruth asks me which way to go a few more times. Other than that, we drive in silence. My brain feels all wobbly, and it helps to have the peace and quiet. By the time she’s idling in my driveway, I’ve formed two questions to ask her.
    The first is: “So why’d you rejoin the team this year?”
    â€œBecause screw Coach Berg,” Ruth says. “He may get to decide whether I play in games, but I’m not going to let him decide whether I’m on the team.”
    My second question: “What are you telling me I should do?” I’m still lying on the backseat because I’m afraid that getting up will send another wave my way. I can see Ruth’s eyes looking at me in the rearview mirror.
    â€œAsk yourself whether you’re better than Becca,” she says.
    â€œAnd if the answer’s no?”
    Ruth gets out of the car and walks to the back door on the other side. She opens the door and offers me her hand. “If the answer’s no,” she says, “come talk to me. We’ll do what it takes to get your spot back.”

W hen I get inside my house, I’m surprised to find my mother making spaghetti in the kitchen. A big pot of water boils on the