Crossing Over Page 5

  “This guy here, if you don’t know him already”—TJ pointed two fingers Steinberg’s way—“is Robert Steinberg, the team’s manager.”

  Steinberg stood so that they could see his job title ironed on the back of his T-shirt. It was a coveted position, he assumed, since he was offered payment in the form of Moo-Moo’s ice cream on the way home from off-campus games . . . when they won. A genius incentive to play hard.

  “While he’s matching faces to names, I want you stretching.”

  The guys kicked out their legs and tried to touch their toes. TJ cued Steinberg with a nod.

  Steinberg slid a mechanical pencil from the strap of his goggles. He took roll call and checked off Wawel Hillers like Garvey, Price, and Sampson. Then Highgate Hillers like Tannenbaum, Kumbhani, and Goldman. Totle was there, too, despite his age—he’d gotten a special invite from TJ because he’d shot up four inches since last summer and had the natural athleticism of a jaguar. Wiener sat next to him, even though no one had invited him, and the chances he’d make the team were none to none. He was quick, but he was clumsy and twelve, and even when he should’ve been trying to prove himself, he was tickling Totle’s ear with a blade of grass.

  “Is that everyone?” TJ asked, scanning the players.

  A shy hand rose from the back of the crowd.

  “Name?” Steinberg asked.

  “Mel . . . vin.”

  “Melvin what?”

  “Huh? Oh. Evans.”

  Very convincing, Melman, Steinberg thought with sincerity, noting her disguise: tucked-in hair, bandana, zinc lines under the eyes, mesh shorts to the knee, and an oversize Adidas T-shirt. When Steinberg had “run into” Melman at the watercooler at Rest Hour, they’d discussed this strategy. “Position?”

  “Goalie.”

  Steinberg gave TJ a thumbs-up. Now that the unstoppable Seth Klopper was a Junior Counselor and no longer eligible to play, TJ was counting on a newbie to come out for that position. Sampson wanted it—but Sampson may as well have dipped his hands in mayo, they were so slippery. Steinberg hoped that even if TJ discovered that Melvin was Melman, he’d let it slide after he saw her skills, for the sake of the team.

  “All right, guys, let’s see you out there,” TJ said. “Melvin, step into the goal.” He eyed the newbie, so Steinberg did the same. Thigh muscles: prominent. Arm length: long. Eye sight: goggle-free. Height: taller than Wiener, shorter than Totle. Yup, Steinberg thought, Melman is totally passing as a guy. Not even TJ can tell!

  Melvin tightened his bandana, rubbed his gloved hands together, and bounced his knees, while the rest of the players formed two lines: one for passing, one for shooting.

  Wiener was up. He passed it to Totle. Totle shot. The ball soared up at a forty-five-degree angle. It curved right, inches from the post . . . and . . . SAVE!

  “Nice!” TJ called, thrusting his chin at Steinberg to take note. “Nice kick, nice save.”

  “What about the pass?” Wiener asked.

  “Next!” TJ called.

  Wiener looked to the sidelines. “Steinberg?”

  Steinberg gave him an under-the-radar A-OK hand signal. It wasn’t very manager-like of him, but he knew better than to deny Wiener a compliment, even if it was underdeserved.

  One shot after the next, Melvin dove every which way. He leapt double his length. He suffered scrapes and kicks to the gut. He tricked players and gained possession, and punted so far that he actually scored on the opposite goal. Twice. With Sampson inside.

  “You’re an inspiration,” Totle said with a handshake, earning himself some major S.T.A.R.F.I.S.H. points. Totle had invented the S.T.A.R.F.I.S.H. value system (which stood for Sportsmanship, Tolerance, Appreciation, Respect, Friendship, Integrity, Sensitivity, Helpfulness and had since gone camp-wide viral), so naturally, he was a pro at applying it.

  “STEINBERG!” the Faith Hillers squealed from somewhere in the distance. Well . . . upon closer examination it was just Jamie and Jenny, but together they had the acoustic power of an entire cabin. They skipped toward him, their fingers interwoven so tight that their knuckles protruded like little white teeth. They greeted him with wide smiles, flashing spirited mouthfuls of pink braces. “What’s going on?” they asked in unison.

  “Tryouts.”

  The girls laughed hysterically. Steinberg cocked his head. He hadn’t realized he’d made a joke. But it got him pumped. If they thought that was funny, he could only imagine how hard they’d laugh at his actual jokes. Chaim came up with just the one. “Does a radioactive cat have eighteen half-lives?” Steinberg stuck his fingers in his ears in anticipation.

  The girls looked at each other, their noses scrunched.

  “Your cat was on the radio?” Jamie asked.

  “No . . .” Steinberg blinked three times and refocused on the guys. It was a challenge because the J-squad was now standing over him, smelling like berries and swinging their clutched hands millimeters from his right temple.

  Steinberg watched Wiener lose the ball to Melvin before he’d even taken a shot. “You work out?” Wiener asked him.

  Melvin shrugged, shifting his weight between bent knees.

  “Yeah, me too,” Wiener said, pushing out his inverted chest.

  Someone has a man crush, Steinberg thought.

  The J-squad must have heard it, too, since they “Omigoded” over each other no less than fifteen times, crescendoing with each one.

  “So . . . is he single?” Jenny asked Steinberg, her lips pursed over her braces.

  “Wiener? Yeah.” Of course he’s single. He’s Wiener.

  “Ew, no. The one in the goal.”

  “Melvin? I dunno.” Steinberg wondered who the J-squad wanted to set Melvin up with, and if that would be confusing later, when he was back to being Melman. Also, did they know Melvin was Melman? If yes, did they know Steinberg knew Melvin was Melman?

  “Melvin, you’re a sexy, hot BEAST!” Jamie shouted.

  Jenny giggled so hard, Steinberg thought to offer his inhaler. “I love you, Melvin!” she shouted.

  The ball skimmed Melvin’s fingertips and bounced backward into the net. His first missed goal.

  TJ tossed his arms up. Not at Melvin, but at the girls. “Jenny Nolan and Jamie Nederbauer, aren’t you two supposed to be at the pool?”

  “Omigod, he’s psychic,” Jamie whispered, clinging to the hacked piece of cloth that Jenny was trying to pass off as a T-shirt.

  “Adios!” TJ called, which even Steinberg knew was a big, fat social clue for Get lost. They got the drift.

  “Bye, Melvin!!!” the J-squad cheered over their shoulders.

  TJ hustled over to Steinberg and shrugged, keeping his eye on Melvin. “I mean, she’s great . . . ,” he said.

  Steinberg’s heart sank. So TJ had known all along that Melvin was Melman. The real question, though, was would he let the soccer star play? Steinberg eyeballed the goal. Of the forty-two players trying out, there was plenty of talent, but only one who was off the charts. With Melvin Evans on their team, Steinberg was sure he’d get his fair share of Moo-Moo’s.

  “I made the team, my Faithers!” Melman shouted as she flung open the door of Faith Hill Cabin and greeted Slimey with a chest bump.

  “You did?!” Slimey giggled, crisscrossing her arms over her chest.

  “Yup, Steinberg told me! But they’ll put up the official roster tonight at Free Play!”

  Melman ripped off Scottie’s bandana and let her wild, dirty blond hair spill down her back. She pulled her oversize T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. She rolled up her socks and kicked off her cleats and slid off her shin guards. She raised her arms high and spun as Slimey unraveled the Ace bandages wrapped around her chest. I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it! she sang in her head, 360 after 360, until she collapsed onto the cabin floor in her sports bra and soccer shorts. She felt dizzy and giddy and free and pumped full of adrenaline.

  Missi stood over her with her arm outstretched. Melman clung to it and pul
led herself up.

  “So, that’s what my bandana was used for, oi?” Scottie said. Melman wondered if Scottie felt bad that she’d borrowed it to disguise herself as a guy. “You looked mighty fresh!”

  Melman smiled. She thinks I looked . . . fresh? That probably means cool! She threw her hair back into a ponytail, imagining how much fresher she’d look with Scottie’s spiky hair. “And you two . . .” She lowered her eyes at the J-squad. “I nearly lost it!”

  “Well, you kind of did,” Jenny said. “That dweeby Wawel Hiller scored on you. Even Jamie could’ve saved that one.”

  “Yeah. I could’ve saved that one.”

  Melman couldn’t tell if they were joking.

  “But seriously,” Jenny continued, “you were hotter than most of the Highgate Hillers. And they’re, like—”

  “Stupid hot,” Sophie interrupted, hot-gluing a googly eye onto her robot.

  “Yeah . . .” Jenny agreed, like she didn’t know if she should be impressed that Sophie had read her mind or mad that she’d stolen her thoughts. “Anyway, Wiener thought so. He’s obsessed with you, even when you’re a guy.”

  “Thanks!” Melman had found that pretty amusing, too.

  “It’s not that you don’t have the potential to be pretty as a girl,” Jenny continued, “but you have way more potential as a guy. Like, besides Wiener, you might not get a BF, but as Melvin you’d get so many GFs.”

  Melman felt a pang in her heart. Weird. It’s just Jenny being Jenny. Since when do I care about stuff like that?

  “She could get a boyfriend if she wanted,” Slimey said, fingering her silver locket. “She just doesn’t want one. Right?”

  “Yeah.” RIGHT. Melman didn’t want a boyfriend. She didn’t get why she should. What was the point? So she could go on awkward double dates with Jenny and Christopher or gab on Skype with Slimey about how . . . she didn’t know . . . they both had boyfriends? And Wiener still counted for something, even if the thought of kissing him—the thought of kissing any of them, really—made her gag. Why in the world would she want a Hamburger Hiller’s tongue swooshing around in her mouth? How was that fun?

  Melman bent down to collect the gear she’d thrown on the floor.

  Slimey handed her a shin guard that had landed under Missi’s bed. “So, when’s your first game?” she asked.

  Melman sighed. It felt good to clear her head. And even better to fill it back up with soccer. “Um, I think next week we play Sparrow Lake.” Melman hoped it was a home game so that the Faith Hillers could watch. Well, minus the J-squad. Melman wouldn’t mind if they were too busy making matching friendship bracelets or braiding each other’s hair or something.

  “Are you gonna tell your coach?” Smiley asked, all smiles.

  Melman cocked her chin in thought. She figured each week she’d get one, two . . . six hours of practice with the fourteen-and-up boys, plus two-ish with her cabin, and maybe a few more during Electives with Slimey. On average . . . just short of two hours a day! She couldn’t believe she’d actually be able to keep her promise to Sully after all. “Definitely!” She grabbed Slimey’s stack of stationary and roll of stamps, eager to spread the news to London.

  Three warped taps blasted over the mic. The girls held their palms over their ears. Ever since Jenny’s grand plan to douse the speaker with water (so they could avoid reveille and sleep in), the Captain had sounded like she was drowning.

  Captain: Bethany Melman to the HC. I repeat, Bethany Melman to the HC.

  Melman felt her chest tighten even tighter than it had with the Ace bandage on.

  “Who’s Bethany Melman?” Jamie asked. Warped as the speaker may have been, the announcement was crystal clear.

  Sophie gave an Are you serious? head bang on her dresser.

  “It’s Melman, silly!” Jenny said. Jamie’s face lit up like she’d just remembered it was her half birthday.

  Melman took a shallow breath, rolled her shoulders back, and waited for the laughter that always followed the mention of her stupid first name. It had gotten so unbearable at school, she’d begged her parents for a legal name change.

  “But Bethany is such a beautiful name,” her mom had said.

  “Mara’s shih tzu is named Bethany.”

  “Well, then Mara’s family must think it’s a beautiful name, too.”

  Yeah, Mom. For a lapdog. Melman had never met another Bethany, but she had an idea of who she would be. Bethany used glitter pens to write essays. Bethany carried a Chihuahua as an accessory. Bethany sucked in her stomach for pictures she wasn’t even in. What did Bethany NOT do? Eat, sleep, and breathe soccer.

  “That’s the prettiest name ever!” Jamie cried in her delayed Jamie sort of way.

  “Yeah, that’s such a pretty name,” Missi repeated. “It’s just, like, so pretty.”

  Melman exhaled, but her chest didn’t loosen. Sure, the J-squad hadn’t called her Buffany or erupted into a fit of mean giggles. But still, their liking it was kinda worse.

  Scottie mimed like she was fishing, fixed her eyes on Melman, and pretended to reel her in. Normally, Melman would have flopped on the floor and gone all spastastic, but she didn’t have it in her at the moment. Scottie tried a more direct approach—she put her arm around Melman and led her toward the front door. “Captain called, oi? Better make waves . . .”

  “I bet you got a package,” Slimey said, all hopeful. “If it’s your dad’s cookies, I want at least two. Even if they’re hidden in his socks like last summer.”

  “Cross your toes for me,” Melman said with a half smile.

  She threw on a T-shirt and dribbled her soccer ball up and down four hills to the HC. She had a tick of nervousness in her chest, but at least she’d logged eight more minutes of drills for Sully. The Captain can call me Bethany all day, she thought. I’ve got Melvin now. And Melvin eats Bethany for breakfast.

  As Melman went to open the door of the HC, Steinberg came out.

  “Oh, hey, Steinberg. What’s up?”

  “Oh, you know, just pitching ideas to TJ and the Captain. I took the liberty of writing a judging rubric for the robotics contest. I want the winning robot to co-emcee Miss Rolling Hills with me.”

  “Cool.”

  Steinberg nodded in agreement. “Awesome playing, by the way.”

  “Shhh!” Melman whispered. “The Captain’s inside.”

  “Oh yeah, about that . . .” Melman’s heart drop-kicked to her gut. “I didn’t say anything, I swear. TJ just knew.”

  “But you said I made the team. I’m still on the team, right?”

  Steinberg shrugged. “That’s what TJ said, but . . .”

  Melman heard someone inside the HC shuffling toward the door. It was the Captain. She peeked her head out. “Come on in, Melman.”

  TJ said I’m on the team, so I’m on the team, Melman reassured herself. She nodded good-bye to Steinberg and followed the Captain inside. The Captain sat on her desk. Melman settled in a wooden chair. She rolled back her shoulders and sat up straight. Her heart was racing. Maybe she’s called me here to congratulate me, being the only girl who’s ever made the boys’ team. No need to freak out! But her speeding heart wasn’t convinced, and the Captain’s serious expression wasn’t helping.

  “Let’s just cut to the chase.” Uh-oh. “You’re a girl. You can’t play on the boys’ team.”

  Melman slumped down and focused on the dead fly on the floor in between her muddy cleats. She’d been so happy, and just like that, it was gone. Turned out, she hadn’t fooled anyone but herself. If TJ had known all along, the guys were probably back in their cabins, laughing about her, too. She was so embarrassed, she couldn’t meet the Captain’s eyes. “I saved almost every goal,” Melman said meekly. “I only missed one.”

  “TJ told me you played great. He wants you on the team.”

  Melman cocked her eyebrow in confusion. “Then why can’t I play? Who cares if I’m a girl on the boys’ team?”

  “It’s just the rules. We’d be
disqualified if the league found out.”

  “Maybe they won’t find out!”

  The Captain sighed. “We value honesty here at Rolling Hills. There’s a fourteen-and-up girls’ team you’re welcome to play on.”

  Melman finally lifted her eyes to meet the Captain’s. The Captain had to know that wasn’t a compromise worth mentioning. “No thanks.”

  “Maybe they’ll do better this summer,” the Captain said with a shrug. Melman looked back to the fly. “Listen, I’m sure you’ll be a part of the rotation.”

  Melman rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands so that the Captain didn’t have to see her rolling them. Part of the rotation? The girls’ team would only squeeze her in, but the boys’ team, had she been more convincing as a guy, would’ve played her the full game. How did that make any sense? “The girls’ team doesn’t play to win,” Melman explained, trying extra hard to keep her voice steady. “The boys’ team does.”

  “All of our teams play with the hope they’ll win, but it’s the experience and opportunity that matters here.” Really? I’d love for TJ to say that to my face. The Captain clasped her hands and leaned in. “Trust me, I know where you’re coming from. I was in the navy for three years. Do you know what it’s like being a woman in the navy?” Melman shook her head, but she could imagine where this was going. “Unfair. But there’s nothing you can do about it. Rules are rules. You break ’em, everyone suffers. You live with them, you make it work.”

  Melman felt her forehead get hot and her hands start to sweat. Who made these rules, anyway? Boys, that’s who.

  “You understand?” the Captain asked gently.

  Melman gave a quick nod. Nope. No way. Never. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt, picked up her ball, hugged it to her chest, and left the HC. All she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and sleep. She dragged herself up and down two hills at half the pace she’d dribbled the ball on the way there.

  “Melman!” a deepish voice called.

  Melman turned around toward Hamburger Hill, where a tall figure stood dressed in white. She used her hand as a visor to block the glaring sun. As the figure moved closer, she realized it was Totle, and that he wasn’t dressed in white—he was carrying ten rolls of toilet paper.