Page 4 of Lucky Shot

“Why?”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs subtly. “The family you’re with and the house you’re in—you’re safe there? No one, uh—does anything to you that makes you uncomfortable?”

I study him and his kind eyes. I process the point he’s making and the question he’s asking. “They’re all right,” I mutter. “What’s it to you?”

“Because I want to make a deal with you.”

“Nah, mister. I’m not making any deals to give you anything.” Creep. Just when I thought maybe I’d made a friend. I stand up and start to step away.

“No. God, no. Not—that’s not what I mean.” He laughs nervously, his eyes wide and head shaking back and forth.

I eye him cautiously. “Then what exactly do you mean when you say a deal?”

“If you go back to your house—so long as it’s safe there—then I’ll give you a scholarship to play here.”

I fight the excitement that bubbles up at the mere thought of it. Doesn’t he know his offer is like candy to a baby?

Nothing’s ever free, Whitney.

If there’s one lesson my mom taught me in the short time I remember being with her, that one was it.

“Nah. It’s okay. Thanks though.” I try as hard as I can to keep the disappointment from my voice.

“No? You sure about that?” He angles his head to the side, and his stare unnerves me but only because he knows I’m lying. “Some time away from your house doing something you love. Access to the field whenever you want. Some coaching to go with it. I’m not understanding why you’d say no to that.”

“Just because.”

“Okay. I mean, no skin off my back.” He starts to rise. “Then I’m going to have to ask you to head out. I can’t have non-members playing here for insurance purposes.”

Panic tickles up the back of my neck. I can’t come here then? “What’s in it for you?” I blurt out.

He laughs, but it quiets slowly. I don’t know whether he sees the trepidation in my eyes or just assumes I’m cautious.

“My problem is I have trouble keeping assistant coaches around for the little ones. I was thinking that you get to train with the academy teams we have, and in turn, you help me with the little kids—after your homework, of course.”

“You’re serious.” It’s more of a statement than a question and reflects how confused I feel. “I don’t understand why you’d ask me.”

“There’s no hidden agenda. Clearly you have talent and could benefit from some better training. I am out of pee-wee coaches and could use some help. An even trade. That’s all there is to it.”

An even trade? Not hardly. I’d get ten times more out of it than he would.

“I get that—but why me?” I dare to hope he’s really offering me what it sounds like he’s offering me. Solace.

“Because I was once in your shoes, Lucky Shot. And I would have given anything for this—a place to go to escape, to play, to forget everything that came before stepping on the pitch. To have something of my own.”

Tears burn in my eyes. I don’t cry. Ever. Years of new beginnings and crushed endings have done that to me. Have made me numb. But right now, my ears are buzzing with something I can’t remember feeling in forever—hope.

“If you agree, that means this field is here any time you might need it. Morning. Night. Even if it’s just because you don’t want to hear a baby crying anymore or you need a break from the chaos. In turn though, you need to stay put at your house. No packed bags and thoughts of running away. You need to go to school. You need to try hard to make it work.”

“But why—”

“Stability is important. Belonging even more so. They can give you the first. This here?” He points to the fields around us and the small sets of bleachers lining them. “This will give you the second.”

Belonging. Something to call my own.

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. As much as I want to say yes, I’m hesitant. No one ever does anything nice for me.

“I also know you’re going to tell me, no, you don’t want this, because it’s easier being a loner. Less attachments means it’s easier when you move on to the next family.” He pauses and that pause is so loud it’s deafening. “But I’m not going to let you say no. No one is alone here at Prestige Soccer Academy.”