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By the time I got home from the stadium, my excitement about my Clinton Central dream had begun to fade. It wasn t realistic and as the lump in my throat returned
with a familiar sense of dread, I was suddenly sure this would remain nothing more than a fantasy.
But I had to try. I knew that much. It was like Dirk had said to me before my first tryout. If I wouldn t do this for myself, I had to do it for my dad.
I sat down at my computer and looked up the phone number to Clinton Central s athletic office and found exactly what I was looking for in a matter of seconds. I
punched the ten digits into my cell phone and stared at them, my finger refusing to press send.
Not calling, I knew, would turn into one of the biggest regrets in my life.
So I pressed the button.
After speaking with Clinton Central s coach, Mr. Alvarez, for a few minutes, I d secured myself a tryout with the Panthers.
Mr. Alvarez had sounded legitimately interested in my story; I prayed it wouldn t turn into another situation like with Coach Harrington, where I was only getting a
shot that would never really amount to anything because I happened to be a born a girl and football happened to be dominated by boys.
Still, I had to smile. I was in a better place now than I had been when I woke up this morning, and I was finally doing something--anything--to keep football in my life,
no matter how far-fetched it might be. Even if I wound up never playing for a team in my life, I could be happy knowing that I d done all that I could. It was already
enough for me.
This was one chance I wasn t willing to let pass me by.
I picked up my phone again to send Scott a quick text telling him my news, but something--I wasn t sure what--stopped me.
I hadn t wanted to admit it, but I felt kind of funny about playing for Ash Valley s biggest rival after the whole Brenden situation. Instead of telling Scott, I closed my
computer and climbed into bed. No sense in stirring up everybody s emotions until I knew I absolutely had to.
And as I laid in bed, unable to fall asleep, I thought about my dad and second chances and how everything he d ever told me had become so crucial in my life lately.
I hadn t realized it before, but this opportunity at Clinton Central...this was my second chance. And if anyone deserved one these days, I knew it was me. I d
overcome two years of not being able to look at a football without tearing up or getting angry and had somehow brought myself to the point where I d almost become a
starting quarterback.
Well, okay, so technically Coach Harrington had never actually intended on giving me a uniform, but I d made it through all of the emotional hurdles I needed to. And
being back in Jason s world wasn t nearly as painful or hard as I d spent so many nights imagining it would be.
I rubbed my head and turned off the light. I d think about this more in the morning, but right now, I thought it was about time I ended a day happy.
My appointment at Clinton Central was scheduled to take place late Sunday morning. I was supposed to meet with Mr. Alvarez in his office and then we d head out
to his team s Sunday afternoon practice where I d get a chance to show him some of my skills.
I d immediately fallen in love with the idea of practicing on Sundays; it felt so professional, so real. No wonder the Panthers had surprised just about everyone and
nearly beaten Ash Valley in last season s state championship game. And if it hadn t been for Brenden Clemson s amazing defensive stop on the final play of the game,
Clinton Central would have pulled off the improbable upset.
Whitney Berringer?
I looked up and smiled at the tall, fit, brown-haired man with sparkling blue-green eyes and a deep tan who greeted me as I opened the door to Clinton Central s
beautiful, brand-new athletic building.
It s great to meet you, he said.
Hi, I replied lamely, taken aback by the man s youthful appearance. Mr. Alvarez?
The one and the only. Why don t you come on in here? he said, gesturing towards his office. Have a seat. He pointed at one of the two chairs positioned in front
of his desk.
As I waited for him to finish whatever it was he d been doing on his laptop before I arrived, I looked around the room. Yellowed newspaper clippings covered the
walls, many of them about his own triumphs in high school and college football. One headline in particular jumped out at me, nearly knocking me to the floor:
Alvarez and Berringer Dominate to Send Plymouth to Title Game!
A fuzzy, black-and-white photograph of two young football players, one piggy-backed on the other, their fists held high in triumph, smiles as genuine and happy as
could be, accompanied the story.
You knew my father? I asked as my mouth ran dry. I knew my dad had been a star at Plymouth High School in Connecticut.
Mr. Alvarez looked up and nodded. Yes, I did. You didn t know? We were great friends in high school, on and off the field. I m truly sorry about what happened
to him, Whitney.
Yeah, I said faintly, mind reeling from this new discovery. Thanks.
The coach smiled warmly. It doesn t surprise me at all that you ve got the talent of a future football star. It s in your genes, as sure as your hair and eye color are. I
hope you don t mind if I ask you to tell me exactly what happened at Ash Valley.
I shook my head, telling him the entire sinister story from start to finish.
That is a crying shame, Mr. Alvarez said a few seconds after I finished. I knew I didn t like that man, but I could never quite figure out why. He never had any
intention of keeping you on the roster from the moment you stepped onto that field. But I ll tell you this right now. If you play the same way that your father did, I have
no doubt the Panthers will welcome you with open arms. What do you say we go ahead and meet the team and see a little of what you can do?
I nodded, shocked by his overwhelming show of support and belief that I d be good enough, and followed him out of the building and into the Panthers new
stadium.
As I walked through the team gates, my jaw dropped. It didn t even begin to compare to the facilities at Ash Valley. Here, they had at least five hundred extra seats
and the white yard lines on the grass were crisp and fresh, as if they had just been painted that morning. Ash Valley s grounds crew only went over the lines before [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
By the time I got home from the stadium, my excitement about my Clinton Central dream had begun to fade. It wasn t realistic and as the lump in my throat returned
with a familiar sense of dread, I was suddenly sure this would remain nothing more than a fantasy.
But I had to try. I knew that much. It was like Dirk had said to me before my first tryout. If I wouldn t do this for myself, I had to do it for my dad.
I sat down at my computer and looked up the phone number to Clinton Central s athletic office and found exactly what I was looking for in a matter of seconds. I
punched the ten digits into my cell phone and stared at them, my finger refusing to press send.
Not calling, I knew, would turn into one of the biggest regrets in my life.
So I pressed the button.
After speaking with Clinton Central s coach, Mr. Alvarez, for a few minutes, I d secured myself a tryout with the Panthers.
Mr. Alvarez had sounded legitimately interested in my story; I prayed it wouldn t turn into another situation like with Coach Harrington, where I was only getting a
shot that would never really amount to anything because I happened to be a born a girl and football happened to be dominated by boys.
Still, I had to smile. I was in a better place now than I had been when I woke up this morning, and I was finally doing something--anything--to keep football in my life,
no matter how far-fetched it might be. Even if I wound up never playing for a team in my life, I could be happy knowing that I d done all that I could. It was already
enough for me.
This was one chance I wasn t willing to let pass me by.
I picked up my phone again to send Scott a quick text telling him my news, but something--I wasn t sure what--stopped me.
I hadn t wanted to admit it, but I felt kind of funny about playing for Ash Valley s biggest rival after the whole Brenden situation. Instead of telling Scott, I closed my
computer and climbed into bed. No sense in stirring up everybody s emotions until I knew I absolutely had to.
And as I laid in bed, unable to fall asleep, I thought about my dad and second chances and how everything he d ever told me had become so crucial in my life lately.
I hadn t realized it before, but this opportunity at Clinton Central...this was my second chance. And if anyone deserved one these days, I knew it was me. I d
overcome two years of not being able to look at a football without tearing up or getting angry and had somehow brought myself to the point where I d almost become a
starting quarterback.
Well, okay, so technically Coach Harrington had never actually intended on giving me a uniform, but I d made it through all of the emotional hurdles I needed to. And
being back in Jason s world wasn t nearly as painful or hard as I d spent so many nights imagining it would be.
I rubbed my head and turned off the light. I d think about this more in the morning, but right now, I thought it was about time I ended a day happy.
My appointment at Clinton Central was scheduled to take place late Sunday morning. I was supposed to meet with Mr. Alvarez in his office and then we d head out
to his team s Sunday afternoon practice where I d get a chance to show him some of my skills.
I d immediately fallen in love with the idea of practicing on Sundays; it felt so professional, so real. No wonder the Panthers had surprised just about everyone and
nearly beaten Ash Valley in last season s state championship game. And if it hadn t been for Brenden Clemson s amazing defensive stop on the final play of the game,
Clinton Central would have pulled off the improbable upset.
Whitney Berringer?
I looked up and smiled at the tall, fit, brown-haired man with sparkling blue-green eyes and a deep tan who greeted me as I opened the door to Clinton Central s
beautiful, brand-new athletic building.
It s great to meet you, he said.
Hi, I replied lamely, taken aback by the man s youthful appearance. Mr. Alvarez?
The one and the only. Why don t you come on in here? he said, gesturing towards his office. Have a seat. He pointed at one of the two chairs positioned in front
of his desk.
As I waited for him to finish whatever it was he d been doing on his laptop before I arrived, I looked around the room. Yellowed newspaper clippings covered the
walls, many of them about his own triumphs in high school and college football. One headline in particular jumped out at me, nearly knocking me to the floor:
Alvarez and Berringer Dominate to Send Plymouth to Title Game!
A fuzzy, black-and-white photograph of two young football players, one piggy-backed on the other, their fists held high in triumph, smiles as genuine and happy as
could be, accompanied the story.
You knew my father? I asked as my mouth ran dry. I knew my dad had been a star at Plymouth High School in Connecticut.
Mr. Alvarez looked up and nodded. Yes, I did. You didn t know? We were great friends in high school, on and off the field. I m truly sorry about what happened
to him, Whitney.
Yeah, I said faintly, mind reeling from this new discovery. Thanks.
The coach smiled warmly. It doesn t surprise me at all that you ve got the talent of a future football star. It s in your genes, as sure as your hair and eye color are. I
hope you don t mind if I ask you to tell me exactly what happened at Ash Valley.
I shook my head, telling him the entire sinister story from start to finish.
That is a crying shame, Mr. Alvarez said a few seconds after I finished. I knew I didn t like that man, but I could never quite figure out why. He never had any
intention of keeping you on the roster from the moment you stepped onto that field. But I ll tell you this right now. If you play the same way that your father did, I have
no doubt the Panthers will welcome you with open arms. What do you say we go ahead and meet the team and see a little of what you can do?
I nodded, shocked by his overwhelming show of support and belief that I d be good enough, and followed him out of the building and into the Panthers new
stadium.
As I walked through the team gates, my jaw dropped. It didn t even begin to compare to the facilities at Ash Valley. Here, they had at least five hundred extra seats
and the white yard lines on the grass were crisp and fresh, as if they had just been painted that morning. Ash Valley s grounds crew only went over the lines before [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]