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stiffened.
    “I’m the starting quarterback for the Hidden Spring Eagles,” he shot at her. “When my hand’s not broken.”
    “Never heard of you. And real men keep playing, even with broken bones. I read that Chase played with fractured ribs and busted organs.”
    “We already have a kicker next year. Thanks for playing. You’re dismissed,” he sneered.
    “I just watched your boy kick,” she bit off the words. “And that’s what he is. A boy. I can kick farther in my sleep.”
    “Yeah right,” Andy laughed, hands on hips. “Who are you anyway? A nobody.”
    “I just moved here from Oklahoma, where I own the state record for long distance field goal. And if you weren’t so fat I could kick
you
through the uprights,” she said, and then she grabbed my jersey. “Follow me, Chase.”
    I let her draw me away from a fuming Babington. I obediently followed because she was fascinating. Who has that kind of guts? That kind of confidence?
    “I thought you were bigger than this,” she said, scanning me from shoes to hair. She appeared disappointed. “You look taller and broader in the pictures.”
    “I get that a lot.”
    “Time for you and your coach to watch me kick,” she said. “And you could have backed me up, you know. With what’s-his-name, the second string quarterback,” she said, and she backhanded me in the gut. Hard.
    “I don’t even know you,” I grunted, rubbing my stomach. “And I already forgot your name.”
    “But you think I’m hot.”
    “Uh…” I stammered.
    “It’s okay. I’m used to it. Besides, I’m in your math class. We met in pre-calc yesterday.”
    “We did?”
    “Yes,” she rolled her eyes. “Now introduce me to your coach.”
    She pulled me towards Coach Garrett, a tall, ramrod straight man under a baseball cap and sunglasses.
    “Coach,” I said as she shoved me from behind. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
    “I’m Samantha Gear,” she interrupted me and shook his hand. “My former football coach called you yesterday, I hope?”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Garrett said. “That’s right. The girl kicker with the state record.”
    “That’s me,” she confirmed. “I’d like permission to work out with your team.”
    “Well this is a first,” he grinned, chomping on his gum.
    “Not really. Happens all the time. Babington is already trying to get rid of me, but Chase Jackson wants to see me kick. See if I’m any good,” she said, lying smoothly.
    Before I could deny this, Coach said, “Knock yourself out. Field goal unit is warming up.”
    “Great!” She jogged on to the field.
    Coach Garrett and I stood silently as she introduced herself to the long-snapper, the holder and our current kicker. I didn’t even know our kicker’s name. Embarrassing. I need to get better with names, apparently. The four of them kept stretching; the three guys did their best not to stare at her but they failed. Coach Todd Keith, our offensive coordinator, walked up to watch the recent developments.
    “I’ll be damned,” Garrett said.
    “Can she kick?” Coach Todd Keith asked.
    “Guess we’ll find out,” Coach Garrett said.
    I said, “She’s like a whirlwind.”
    “She’s got moxie, I’ll give her that.”
    “What’s moxie?”
    “Stones, Ballerina,” he said, referring to me by my hated nickname. “Sand. Guts. She’s got guts. This is going to be trouble,” he said, gum smacking. “A lot of damn trouble. But she’s the best looking thing I’ve ever seen in pads. Eh, Chase?”
    “Are you allowed to say that, Coach?”
    “Just make sure you keep your hands off her,” he ordered.
    “Coach, I…”
    “I’ll never forgive you if you blow it with that cheerleader,” he barked. “Hands off.”
    “Yeah, definitely, no sweat,” I said. “Hands off.” Assistant Coach Todd Keith laughed.
    Our kicker lined up and kicked a forty-yard field goal, which was pretty good in high school. He stood aside, nodding his head smugly, confident in his