About the Author
MIKE LUPICA has been called “the greatest sports writer for middle school readers.” He is the author of multiple bestselling books, including Heat, Travel Team, Million-Dollar Throw, The Underdogs, QB 1, Fantasy League, Fast Break, Last Man Out, No Slam Dunk, Strike Zone, and Triple Threat. When not writing novels, Mike Lupica writes a column for the New York Daily News and MLB.com, appears regularly on MSNBC, and does twice-weekly The Sports Reporters podcasts for Compass Media. He has proven that he can write for andspeak to sports fans of all ages and stripes.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
PROLOGUE
It’s me again.
Seventh grader Alex Carlisle.
The girl who got to play quarterback last year on the Orville Middle School boys’ football team.
Except I never thought of it that way. As their team.
Just ours.
Bottom line? I learned so much last season. Not just about friendship or what it takes to be a good teammate. But about overcoming fears and chasing dreams. I’d started out thinking I wanted to prove a point to all the people who doubted me. Who doubted that a girl could play what had always been a “boys-only” sport.
It was way bigger than that, though. I proved a point to myself and learned a lesson I’ll never forget. That if you’ve got the talent and the belief in yourself, all you need to achieve great things—in sports or anything else—is this:
A chance.
But it turns out my story didn’t end with the football season.
No. In fact, that was only the beginning . . .
ONE
It was Christmas Eve, and Alex and her dad were sprawled out on the couch, watching the Steelers play their last game of the regular season.
They had to start their backup quarterback today, but if they won, they were back in the playoffs.
“I started out as a backup to Jeff Stiles,” Alex said to Jack Carlisle, “and look how well things worked out for me.”
Her dad smiled at her. That smile had always made her feel like being wrapped in a soft blanket.
“I never thought of you as second-string,” he said, “not from the moment you made that team.”
Alex rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re my dad,” she said. “It’s not like you were impartial or anything.”
“But you know better than anyone that I know my football,” he said. “And once I saw you on that field, throwing the ball the way you’d done in our backyard, I knew I was looking at the best QB your age in Orville.”
Alex smiled back at him. The day before Christmas was always a special day in the Carlisle household. And watching football with her dad was like an early holiday present. She just wished the Steelers were playing at home this week, so that instead of the couch, they could sit in their reserved seats at Heinz Field.
Jack had bought season tickets the year Alex was born. It was like he predicted his daughter would one day grow up to be as big a Steelers fan as he was.
“You honestly thought that?” Alex asked. “Even though there’d never been a girl on the team before?”
“Of course,” he said, without a hint of hesitation. “I knew I was looking at a quarterback. And somebody who had a passion for football since you were old enough to attend your first game.”
“Like I had a choice,” she said.
“And what would you have chosen if I hadn’t given you a little nudge in the direction of Heinz Field?” he said.
“Little?” Alex said with a sideways glance.
“Answer the question.”
“I would have chosen Section 136, visitors’ side of the stadium.”
It was where their seats were located. And Alex knew that even with the snow coming down the way it was now, they would have braved the cold if in fact the Steelers were playing at home. But as far as Alex was concerned, the snow made today even more special. There’d be snow on the ground when she woke tomorrow morning, and Christmas would look exactly how she thought it should in their part of the world. Sometimes she couldn’t believe it was only a little over a month ago that she’d achieved her dream of playing starting quarterback for the Owls, making things just about perfect in her world.
Not totally perfect, of course.
She always missed her mom during the holidays. Her parents had divorced a long time ago, but remained close friends, and Alex still talked to her mom regularly over the phone. But Dr. Liza Borelli now lived in San Francisco with her husband, Richard, and Alex’s five-year-old half brother, Connor. Alex’s mom had decided to pursue her own dream of becoming a doctor, and over time, Alex had come to understand that sacrifice. Especially during the last few months. Because now, more than ever, Alex understood how it felt to chase a dream.
In fact, Alex’s football playing had only served to strengthen their relationship, which was ironic since Jack often joked that his ex-wife knew less about football than he knew about pediatric surgery. But through their shared experiences of defying the odds and overcoming unfair obstacles, Alex and her mom began to see each other a little more clearly.
Even with this newfound mother-daughter bond, Alex knew the hurt from her parents’ divorce would never fully disappear. But having experienced the struggles she did just to play football, and knowing what it had cost her, she’d learned a lot about choices. Especially for women.
Around halftime, Alex and her dad headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Today, her job was to chop vegetables for the pasta primavera, while her dad boiled a pot of water and started heating up the sauce. The kitchen may not have been Alex’s favorite place in the world, but being close to her dad certainly was.
While he kept an eye on the pasta he’d just thrown into the pot on the stove, he started assembling the salad. Alex knew he was a bear for making salads and tossing in as much fresh produce as possible. Jack belonged to the local CSA, or community-supported agriculture, and got a weekly delivery of fresh fruits and vegetables to use in their daily meals. Alex had to hand it to him—he’d become an ace at cooking for two. No thanks to Alex, of course, but she helped where she could.
Jack liked to sum up his philosophy in the kitchen this way:
“Go big or go home.”
Alex would usually respond by saying, “Dad? You are home.”
There was still some time before halftime was over. He had collected the veggies now and began cooking them up in a frying pan.
“So,” he said, “have you given any thought to what you want to do in the spring? Sports-wise, I mean.”
“Dad,” she said. “Football ended, like, yesterday.” She pointed out the kitchen window, where the snow was coming down even harder now, already covering the backyard in a sheet of white. “And you may have noticed that winter just officially started.”
“And you, young lady, may have noticed that I like to plan ahead,” Jack replied.
“Huh,” Alex said. “Never picked up on that.”
Because she knew him as well as she did, she’d been expecting the question.
“All I know is that I’m not going to play a winter sport,” Alex said. “Football was pretty intense, all the way to the last minute of the last game. Think I could use a break.”
“The reason I bring it up,” her dad said, “is because I was thinking of maybe hiring a coach to give you some private quarterbacking lessons. That’s if you still want to play football next year.”
“Totally going out for football next year,” Alex said without missing a beat.
“So how would you feel about a private coach?”
“I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “I mean, aren’t you my private coach?”
Her dad had once been a star quarterback at Orville High.
“I’m talking about a trained professional,” Jack said. “Someone who can really coach you up, work with you one on one, perfect your form.”
Alex thought for a moment. It would be nice to get the help. Then she could come back next season and surprise everyone with her improvement.
But when she really considered it, she knew it wasn’t what she really wanted. There was something else she craved. Something she’d been missing.
“If I am going to do something in the spring, I want to be on a team,” she said. “I realized that during football. Even when most of the other players didn’t want me there.”
“Problem is,” he said, “football is a fall sport.”
Now was as good a time as any to tell him, she thought.
“Well, not all kinds of football,” she said, a little coy.
Jack looked up from stirring the pot of pasta. “Not sure I’m following,” he said. “But you know I’m a little slow out of the chutes sometimes.”
“Well, you know how they call soccer ‘football’ pretty much everywhere else in the world,” Alex said. “And the school offers spring soccer, so . . .”
From the living room they heard the announcers come on again, signaling the beginning of the second half.
“Wait,” he said, “am I hearing you right? You want to go back to your old team?”
They left the sauce to simmer and drained the pasta before making their way back to the living room, planting themselves in their usual spots on the couch.
“Umm,” Alex said. “Maybe?”
“As I recall,” Jack said, “you were about as popular with your former teammates as you were with the guys on the football team at the start of the season. And well into the season, I might add. You sure you wanna do this? I mean, I’d support you either way, but—”
“Not saying I’m going to do it for sure,” she said. “Just something I’ve been thinking about.”
The Steelers and Bengals were lining up now for the second-half kickoff.
Her dad pulled her close to him and kissed the top of her head.
“Apparently I’m not the only one who plans ahead,” he said.
