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of her OCD teammates. But she
     wasn’t standing beside her OCD teammates. She was standing
under
the Soccer Sisters—by at least three inches. She wasn’t with the rest of her OCD teammates anymore—she was with the Soccer
     Sisters. Suddenly she felt very much like she imagined Justin Long had when he dated Drew Barrymore: totally out of her league.
    “
Trap, dribble, kick,! Trap, dribble, kick!
” As Coach Blake barked out orders and the girls in front of her in line attacked the ball, Kristen surrendered. Maybe she
     would never have to break the news to the Pretty Committee. Maybe she wouldn’t last past the Cleat & Greet. Maybe she was
     meant to be thebig fish in the small OCD pond, rather than a small fish who was about to be gobbled up by a killer shark named Andrea.
    Peep! Peeeeep!
    Coach Blake’s whistle pierced through the air again. “Gregory!”
    It was her turn. As she faced Andrea, who stood in the makeshift goal, Kristen’s brain shut down and her body took over, doing
     what it had been trained to do for the last nine years. As the black-and-white soccer ball left Coach Blake’s hands and arced
     through the air, her green eyes narrowed. Time slowed. The honks of passing cars on the street below muted. The whoosh of
     the ball and the thump of her heartbeat were all she heard.
Somebody blot my face because it’s time to shine!
    Her foot met the ball at the perfect angle, with just the right amount of strength, and sent it sailing across the rooftop.
     Her ponytail swished out behind her, her Soccer Sisters windbreaker crinkled, her skin buzzed. Kristen kept her eyes on the
     ball, anticipating the applause her teammates would give her when the ball shot into the net.
    WHACK.
    A collective gasp filled the rooftop.
    Uh-oh.
    Andrea gripped the ball against her stomach and doubled over. She fell to her knees. A sound more piercing that the coach’s
     whistle rang through Kristen’s ears.
Now what?
Remove her shin guards? Fold up her windbreaker? Pray that Andrea didn’t buy into the whole eye-for-an-eye thing? Nomatter how risky, an apology was definitely in order.
    Andrea wobble-stood and stomp-marched over to Kristen. The other girls stepped out of the way and formed a tight circle around
     them. Coach Blake took a passive step back.
Was he seriously going to let nature take its course? Because things die in nature all the time?
    “Gregory?” Andrea’s voice boomed.
    Kristen checked the roof for her mother. She wasn’t there.
    Andrea’s blue eyes widened as she approached. She held out her hand and Kristen braced herself for a punch. Instead she got
     a slap on the back. A… friendly one. “Nice kick!”
    “Really?” Kristen said, relaxing her shoulders.
    “With Kristen, there’s no way we can lose this season!” Jennifer shouted, and a cheer rose up. Even Coach Blake joined in.
     After a group hug, the coach demanded everyone get back to work.
    The sharp wind bit at Kristen’s nose. Coach’s shrill whistle poked her eardrums like someone was stabbing her with an icicle.
     And her body was trembling with hunger.
    Yet Kristen had never felt better.

THE BLOCK ESTATE
MASSIE’S BEDROOM
Sunday, December 26th
3:49 P.M.
    Massie surveyed her bedroom, trying to remember what it looked like before it was littered with half-filled boxes, messy piles
     of tunics, and last season’s skinny jeans. She squinted, ignoring Kendra’s wrinkle-prevention mantra—“a squint at thirteen
     makes a grown woman scream”
—
but it was no use. No matter how much she tried to trick her eyes, she couldn’t block out the events of the past two weeks.
     The destruction of her life stood before her like the torn-apart Macy’s juniors section during its Day-After-Christmas Sale.
    Bean was comfortably perched in a Barneys boot box awaiting the big move across the backyard. She was wearing a festive red-and-silver
     outfit that Landon’s pug, Bark Obama, had sent her as a Christmas gift.
    “Should we