Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

goals. Team three, recently dubbed Los Tacos, and team
four, Los Cocos, had the other field for practice.
Bridget sat on the sidelines, watching Eric discuss
strategy with Marci and a couple of his players.
She laced up her cleats. Some famous old actor, she
couldn’t think of which one, had said he began his character
with his shoes. Bridget was her favorite self with
her cleats on, whether she was clicking through locker
rooms with her extra three quarters of an inch of height
or tearing through soft grass on the field. Her cleats were
beat up and muddy, molded perfectly to her feet. They
made her walk like a jock, but she liked that too.
She looked at Eric till he glanced back. She smiled; he
didn’t. You guys are toast, she vowed to whomever besides
her happened to be listening to her thoughts.
Her team’s coach, Molly Brevin, called them all over.
Bridget put on her shin guards and pulled her hair back
in an elastic. Ollie and Emily slapped her hands as she
joined the group. It was their first time playing as a team.
Molly read out the starting positions, even though
they all knew them. Bridget jumped up and down to keep
her blood flowing.
“Yo, Tacos. Listen up. All I care about is passing,”
Molly proclaimed. “I mean it. I don’t care what else you
do in this scrimmage. You hog the ball, and you come
out.” Why did she look at Bridget when she said that?
The teams assembled on the field. Bridget passed by
Diana and gave her a quick squeeze around her waist.
Diana jumped in surprise. “You are so de-ad,” Bridget
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