Vanishing Acts

Chapter 4

A Nightmare at Soccer Tryouts

By the time eighth-period science rolled around, Madison had started to get the hang of junior high. She’d figured out where her classes were, where the seventh graders hung out, and where the eighth graders ruled. But she still hadn’t seen Ann, and she was convinced that something bad had happened to her.

When you grow up in a house where a call from prison in the middle of the night is not an odd occurrence, and murder weapons are discussed over cornflakes, you tend to think the worst. And Madison was thinking the worst when she slid into a random seat in her eighth-period science class. She was so preoccupied with imagining ghastly scenarios that she only half heard the teacher drone on about how great science class was going to be—something she ordinarily would have been excited about.

“Hey,” a voice whispered, “you okay?”

She looked up. The boy sitting next to her was tall and gangly with clear green eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and ginger-colored hair that spiked in places and was pressed flat in others.

“I guess,” she whispered back, not wanting to attract attention.

“What word is always spelled incorrectly?” he said. Madison was thrown off. She began cycling through words in her head, puzzled.

“Um, I don’t know,” she said quietly.

“Incorrectly!” he whispered. Madison was stunned for a moment and then, against her will, let out a giggle and rolled her eyes.

The teacher stopped talking and stared at Madison.

“I hope I’m not interfering with your tête-à-tête, Miss . . . ?”

“Uh, Madison. Madison Kincaid,” she answered, feeling her face turn tomato red.

“And your gentleman friend is?”

“Jake Stephenson, sir,” the boy answered.

“Well, Miss Kincaid and Mr. Stephenson, do I have your permission to continue?”

“Sorry,” Madison mumbled. Ann was temporarily forgotten. This really wasn’t the way she wanted to end her first day in junior high.

As soon as science was over, Madison got up to hurry to the girls’ locker room to change for soccer tryouts. As she walked out of the science class, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“This is for you,” the red-headed boy said as he handed her a folded piece of paper. Madison quickly opened the sheet. It was a goofy cartoon of the science teacher yelling at them. Madison grinned and looked up, but the cute red-haired boy was gone.

That was really weird, Madison thought. And it was confusing. Why had . . . she couldn’t remember his name because she’d been too embarrassed by the teacher when the boy had said it. Did he want to be friends? Madison had never had a good friend who was a boy. Oh well, this was no time to think about something like that—she had to concentrate on soccer.

As soon as Madison got into the locker room, she pulled on her shirt, shorts, shin guards, socks, and cleats. Walking out to the soccer field, she couldn’t help but notice that Ann was not among the girls trying out for the team.

“So you weren’t nervous about junior high, you were worried about soccer tryouts.”

Madison turned and found the same boy standing next to her, dressed in soccer gear.

“Oh, hi . . .”

“Jake. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself formally.”

Madison liked Jake’s southern accent, and he certainly had better manners than the boys at Lewis and Clark Elementary.

She found herself blushing. “I’m Madison.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thanks for the drawing.”

“No problem.”

“And I wasn’t worried about school or soccer tryouts.”

“Not concerned about soccer tryouts, huh? You must be pretty good,” Jake said, smiling.

“I’m not amazing,” Madison answered, embarrassed and blushing for the third time that day. “But I can kick a ball. I just don’t want to be stuck on the bench this year.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“What I’m really worried about is Ann. She’s my best friend and I haven’t seen her all day. We’ve been teammates since we were five years old, and she would never miss soccer tryouts.”

“I’m sure she’ll show up,” Jake said, looking concerned. Madison thought he was about to say more when he suddenly got distracted by something that was happening on the field. “It looks like tryouts are starting. I’ve got to go. Good luck.”

Madison joined a group gathered around the girls’ coach. Coach Davis was tall and gaunt with shoulder-length ash blond hair and a pale complexion. She was wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt, and she bounced a soccer ball in the palm of her hand as she spoke.

“Hello, ladies. Welcome to tryouts for the best junior high soccer team in the city. I see a lot of familiar faces. Good to see you back, Marci,” Coach said, smiling at the eighth grader who had taunted Madison at lunch. “You ready to help our team win the city tournament again? Hey there, Ashley, Jennifer—good to see members of our winning team back for more.

“I also see a lot of new faces. I hope you’re good—because our team is excellent and we won’t take just anybody. I want to see great soccer today. Let’s start so I can see what you’re made of.”

Coach Davis had the girls run laps before starting their drills. Then she led them to one end of the soccer field and made them jog in place. Every few seconds she called “Left!” and the girls had to reach down to the grass with their left hand. Then she’d call “Right!” then “High knees!” Starting to work up a sweat, Madison looked around to see who was keeping up and who was lagging. This was the first soccer tryout she’d ever done without Ann to trade glances with.

For the next drill, Coach Davis got the girls in a line, told one of the eighth graders to guard the goal, then walked to the eighteen-yard box. The girl at the front of the line had to dribble twenty-five yards and pass the ball to the coach. The coach would then redirect the ball to the left or right and the girl would have to shoot the ball “one-touch” at the goal. It was her turn. Madison took a breath and focused. Her pass went straight to the coach. Then she timed the coach’s pass perfectly, striking the ball with the laces of her cleats. She watched it sail past the goalkeeper to the upper corner of the goal. Madison wanted to shoot her hands into the air and shout, “Goal,” but she knew better than to show off when she was trying to make the team, so she jogged away with her heart beating rapidly. Her eyes were down, but she could sense Marci glaring at her.

After a quick water break, Coach Davis set up teams for a scrimmage on a small patch of field outlined by bright orange cones. Marci was part of the five-girl team to which Madison was assigned. The goals were marked by more cones about four feet apart. A ball sat in the center of the field. When the coach blew her whistle, Madison raced toward the ball. She was almost to it when someone slammed into her side and she went flying. When she looked up, Marci was kicking the ball through the goal. Then Marci turned, looked straight at Madison, who was still sprawled on the ground, and smirked.

“Great hustle, Marci,” Coach Davis shouted.

Madison got up and brushed herself off. She was angry but couldn’t give Marci the satisfaction of showing it.

“Good goal,” she shouted instead.

Coach Davis mixed up the teams and Madison found herself facing Marci. When the whistle blew, she gritted her teeth and got to the ball first. Marci charged at her. Madison faked left. Marci committed and Madison shifted to the right, running around Marci. She was getting set to take her shot on goal when one of Marci’s friends threw an elbow, catching Madison in the eye. On the turf again, Madison looked over at the coach, but she was bent over her clipboard making notes. Choking back her fury, Madison decided that the best revenge would be making the team. She would show Marci and her friends that she could take everything they threw at her and still outplay them!

The rest of the scrimmage was a blur. Marci and her buddies harassed Madison whenever they got the chance, but Madison did not end up on the ground again. She scored twice before the whistle blew and it was time for a break.

After a few more drills, the coach signaled the end of the tryouts and the exhausted girls jogged back into the center circle and dropped to the grass.

“Great job, ladies, great job!” Coach Davis said. “I saw a lot of skill out there today, and I know we’re going to have another championship team. I’ll post the list of those of you who made the team on my office door tomorrow morning at eight a.m. Not everyone will make the team. Don’t be discouraged if you’re not on the list. Keep playing. I can give you the names of a few great soccer clubs where you’ll be able to practice your skills and hopefully make the team next year.”

Madison got up and brushed the grass off her legs. Club soccer! No way. She started to walk away. Then she remembered Ann. She ran over to the coach.

“Excuse me, Coach Davis? Is this the only time that people can try out? Like, if a girl missed it? Do they have a chance of making the team?”

“This is the only tryout, honey. The club teams take players all year. But serious players should have shown up today.”

This wasn’t good, Madison thought as she walked to the locker room. Ann couldn’t play club soccer! She and Madison had been on the same team forever. They had to be teammates!