Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,6

car or something?” Tina shook her head. “The poor guy. He only wanted to shape minds.”

“He is shaping minds,” I told her. “Dirty ones.”

Dana pursed her lips tight, like my impertinence was the same as if I’d suggested peeing in the lemon curd. “He’s never been married. And he lives on Mansfield, probably in one of the duplexes near Rocket Slide Park.”

“And what are his turn-ons and turn-offs?” I said, getting a laugh from Tina and Candace and another look from Dana. I gave my lemon one last run across the grater and filed away all the information Dana had offered like it was answers for a test I’d be having soon.

“Do you think you’re going to try out?” Tina said, mostly to me and Candace.

“I don’t know,” I said. I hadn’t known I’d even been considering it before she asked, but I realized in that moment that I’d made a mental note of the place and time for tryouts the next day when I had passed the sign-up sheet on the way out of the cafeteria. “Are you?”

Tina nodded with certainty. “I want to,” she said. “It might be fun.” I could imagine Tina on a team. She was good at everything she tried, which we teased her about. She claimed she did well in school and joined extracurriculars because it made her parents happy—Tina’s mom kept a stack of college brochures on the coffee table—but I knew she kind of loved that her house was a shrine to her accomplishments.

“I was thinking it could be good exercise,” Candace said. “And maybe we’d bump into the boys’ teams if we practice after school?”

“Yearbook doesn’t really get going until winter, and I don’t have a fall activity,” Dana said.

“But none of us know anything about soccer,” I said.

“Who does?” Candace waved the whisk, sending a spray of lemon curd toward me. “I’m sure no one.”

“But why not tennis, or swimming? Why soccer?” I couldn’t imagine a world where I’d make the team, much less one where I’d want to practice every day after school. But if my friends could see themselves doing it, did I want to be the one left behind? Plus, getting to look at Mr. McMann in his shorts every day might be worth faking an interest in a sport.

“You guys, the curd’s going to burn,” Candace said, now stirring furiously. The other teams of girls were already assembling their pies, while our curd smelled like toast on fire.

Miss Cuddle padded over to our station and tilted her head. She looked like Mrs. Claus’s cousin with her short copper curls and soft gaze. “Good work, girls,” she said, clearly not noticing or at least not caring that our work was anything but good.

When the bell rang, Tina offered me a ride home but I turned it down, saying I needed a couple books from the library. As the halls emptied, I made my way to the cafeteria.

I stood in front of the soccer tryout sheet Coach McMann had tacked up. There were a few names on it, but most of the lines were cluttered with guys’ handwriting and rude fake names, including a couple for Coach McMann: Booby McMann. Bobby McNads.

My stomach growled noisily. Our team’s lemon pie had been mostly inedible after the curd had turned brown and stuck to the bottom of the pan. I eyeballed the blank line where I could write my name.

No. I would sleep on it.

“Need a pen?”

I recognized his voice instantly. How had he snuck up on me twice today?

I spun around and was looking right at Coach McMann. Bobby.

I gulped. “Um, no,” I said.

His grin faltered. He held up a palm, like he was apologizing for bumping into me, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you might be thinking about trying out.”

“I am,” I stammered. “I mean, I’m going to.”

This got a smile. A smile that made me sure I was going to try out.

“Oh, good,” he said. He peered at the sheet. “Do you think Jimmy Carter’s Balding Ballsack knows this is a girls’ team?”

I laughed and involuntarily reached to flip my hair over my shoulder, a gesture I’d only ever been inspired to use in my daydreams. “Don’t worry, I know a few girls showing up tomorrow who aren’t on the list. I bet there will be a lot of us.”

That smile again. “Good to know. Maybe the sign-up sheet is silly,” he said. He pulled the paper from the bulletin board. “I’m looking forward to