Page 12 of Finding Him
You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me
Molly
September, 2007
IWAS SEVENyears old when I found my North Star: Soccer.
Dad had signed me up for this summer program that my older sister went to, and I fell in love with it from the moment my hot pink cleats made contact with my first ball. Ever since then, it’s been my life.
I’ve only hated it once. Ever. The summer of 2005, when I was fourteen years old. I wished I had never wanted to be a soccer player at all.
But I got over it.
Rory (who’s in my last class), Claire (who met me in the hallway like she’d done all day), and I all are walking down the corridor towards the exit. The hallway has these tall, picture windows that give a full view of the gray Irish sky. But even more appealing—a swarm of boys out on a pitch, a cluster of blue-and-white pixels, playing soccer.
“Is that the boys’ soccer team?” I ask Claire, pointing towards the window. I’d been meaning to ask her about the athletic department all day, but it kept slipping my mind with how overwhelmed I was by everything being so strange here.
Now was my chance, though. I needed to get back on track as soon as possible.
“Oh, yeah. They have trials tomorrow, so the lads from last year usually have a practice to get their legs back,” Claire says. “We don’t have a GAA team because we’re not a big school and there isn't a huge demand for it, so we just play regular old footie here.”
“What... does any of that even mean?” I glance her way, as the three of us push through the side exit of the school—right into a parking lot across from the soccer-playing field.
Claire launches into a long winded explanation about a bunch of Irish Sports, like hurling and Gaelic Football (which they don’t have at this school), and rugby and association football/soccer (which they do have fairly good teams for here).
Soccer, Football, Footie—whatever they want to call it, I don’t care. The goals have nets; the ball is round; it’s basically home sweet home.
“So where do the girls practice?” I ask. We’re all stopped at the bottom of the school steps, right in front of the parking lot that bridges the gap between the side entrance and the field. “Is it a different pitch?”
She had explained they had rugby and field hockey pitches on the other side of the school, so I figure the girls’ pitch must be around there somewhere. Or maybe just around back?
Claire’s brow furrows, her sunny disposition going a bit cloudy. “Girls?”
“Yeah...” I speak slowly, as if she’s suddenly lost her grasp on the English language. “Girls’ soccer. Football. Whatever. Where’stheirteam—and how do I get on it? I kinda need to try-out, like, yesterday.”
“Oh,” Claire winces, and sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “Uh, so... Molly, we don’t really have a girls team.”
I stare at her, wondering ifIwas the one who’s lost my grasp on English. Because there is absolutely no way I’m actually hearing this right now...right?“What do you mean you don’t have one?”
“It’s just... not very popularized, I guess?” Claire shrugs, looking to Rory as if for help, but she doesn’t seem to have anything else to offer. “I think there's a few bigger schools in Dublin with girls’ teams and some soccer clubs. But Morrigal’s girl sports are all about hockey.”
“So there’s no girls soccer team,” I repeat, the reality setting in.No, no, no. Of all worst case scenarios, somehow this one never crossed my mind. No girls team??? What was I supposed to do now??? Convince my mother to pick a different stupid, more inclusive town in Ireland to live in? I might as well just ask her to take us right back to Pennsylvania—which didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.
I’m gonna need a plane ticket back home, ASAP.
“I have to go—Im sorry,” Rory butts in. “I have to be home before five. Goodbye, Molly. It was really nice to meet you.”
“Oh, you too!”
“Bye, ‘Rora!” Claire calls, and we wave to her as she scurries towards the bus stops.
“So no girl at this school plays soccer,” I repeat the same thing for maybe the millionth time as Claire turns back to me. She nods patiently. I can tell she can see how upset this is making me, and the urge from this morning to lay down in traffic is returning. But I take a deep breath and put on my big girl pants.
Think think think
How would the confident and driven Molly Lockhart solve this problem?
I look from the field, and then back to Claire. “Is there a rule?”
