Girls in Pants - Ann Brashares [84]
Tibby didn’t need to think. “I’d love to.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“Great.”
“Do I need to offer religious guidance?” Tibby asked with some trepidation.
Christina shook her head. “No, no. Teach him filmmaking. Or teach him about cars. Take him to movies I won’t let him see.”
Tibby nodded. She liked this idea. “God, wait till I tell my parents,” she said joyfully. “I’m a teenage single mother.”
Christina’s laughter came out in a snort again, but the baby didn’t notice this time.
Carmen appeared at the door. She was wearing a tangerine sundress and her skin was tanned and glossy.
“So what did she say?” Carmen demanded.
Christina beamed. “She said yes.”
“Congratulations to all three of you,” Carmen said.
“Thanks. And where are you going, Miss Gorgeous?” Tibby asked.
“She’s going out with Win.” Christina looked as happy as if it had been her own date. “Have you met him yet?”
Tibby shook her head. “I can’t wait to. So what’s he like?” she asked.
Carmen pointed to her pink, wrinkly little spud of a brother. “Well, he’s no Ryan Breckman….”
The championship game was a long, fierce defensive grind. By late in the second half, both teams were exhausted. It was soccer’s version of the rope-a-dope. Bridget put her best and brightest on defense. She did virtually nothing on offense. Even Naughty got some playing time at center forward. She kept Mikey Rosen in the goal. He was balanced and competent. On regular and even on good shots, he didn’t mess up. And anyway, her defense was so strong and so psyched up, she didn’t think his job would be all-important.
The thing was, she wasn’t coaching her team for the win. Not yet. That made her strategy simpler. She was going for a tie of the 0–0 variety. Her team did not grasp exactly why this was so, but they trusted her.
“Defense,” she said to her subs. “Defense,” she said to every player every time she opened her mouth. “Defense!” she screamed at the top of her lungs when any ball passed centerfield. She was single-minded. “Non passerat,” she muttered to them. Sometimes it was easier to concentrate fully and completely on one clear objective.
She paced her sideline and Eric paced his. He saw what she was doing, but he couldn’t figure out why. She liked him confused. He needed to change his strategy to fit hers, and it put his team a little off their game, just as she had hoped it would.
The final whistle passed the verdict she’d hoped for: tied at zero. Now they just had to gut it out through the overtime, to prevent the Golden Goal.
The entire camp had gathered on the sidelines by this point. They were screaming for blood. It was frustrating to watch this long without a single goal. Without even a particularly thrilling attempt on goal.
She pulled her team close around her. All eyes stayed locked on hers. As a coach, this was just what she wanted: to feel totally attached and in sync with each of her players. Her intensity was catching. She didn’t need to make a big speech. She just held their eyes. “Zero,” she said in a whisper. “Can you do it?”
They shouted and yelled and spilled back onto the field.
Amid all the yelling and bullying from the fans, her team stayed the course throughout the extra time. No heroics. They played hard, gritty defense. They made their coach proud.
Another whistle signaled the end of the game and the beginning of the shootout to determine the winner.
The ref tossed the coin and Bridget’s team won the first kick. This was just how she wanted it to go. She nodded to Russell Chen. He wasn’t as great an all-around player as Lundgren, but he was a sublime kicker, and having held back all game, he was ready to explode.
Her heart pounded as Eric’s goalie took his position and the other team members clustered in the center circle. The refs took their positions and Russell set up at the penalty mark. She watched the ballet of guesswork between kicker and goalie, and