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other girls on the team seemed to defer to Willa and Kennedy, but once Ramsey started leading warm-ups, it was clear she was the leader. Even without the right equipment, and even with the bad juju between the players on her team, Ramsey managed to run a pretty tight ship. We did sprints up and down the field, squats, push-ups, and then what I thought might be a never-ending set of jumping jacks. By the time we’d finished warming up, I was so tired I’d almost forgotten we had an audience.
    Almost, but not quite.
    It was so obvious that all the girls were consumed by not wanting to look awkward and unathletic in front of the boys. The only thing more obvious wasthat the Frisbee the boys had brought with them was just a decoy so they could watch us all run around the increasingly windy field in skirts.
    And sure enough, Camille was a little klutzy. She tripped over her own feet a couple times, and each time, I’d glance over at Xander to see what his reaction was. Willa may have been snickering, but the look on Xander’s face was so genuinely concerned that I knew Camille could fall a hundred times, and he would only find her more and more adorable.
    When we split into two-on-two scrimmages, Ramsey paired Camille and me up with Willa and Kennedy. At first, it made me a little nervous, but once I got going, I realized that all that time I’d spent playing roller hockey with Patch during the summer wasn’t for nothing, and that I was actually pretty good at this whole field hockey thing.
    â€œFlan, you are totally kicking butt out there,” Ramsey called out to me, and I couldn’t help but look over to see whether maybe Alex had heard. Our eyes met and he gave me a thumbs-up.
    Wham!
    Something hard and cold had collided with my shoulder. It was Willa’s bony body edging past me toward the goal.
    â€œWay to have your eyes on the prize, Flood,” shecalled out, her long blond ponytail blowing in the wind.
    â€œHey,” Ramsey said, jogging over to the spot where I’d landed on the ground. She put her arm on my shoulder, and I thought about what a great coach she’d make someday. “Listen,” she said, “Willa’s tough on the field, and I’m not saying everyone should play like her. But it doesn’t hurt to have a couple of offensive plays up your sleeve.” I knew Ramsey was all about the sport and not at all invested in the social drama going down, but I figured any little offensive tip could help. “Let me show you how to hip check,” she said.
    Ramsey positioned herself in front of me, and as I dribbled the ball past her, she lightly bumped my hip with hers and used her momentum to gain possession of the ball.
    â€œHey,” I called, “nice play.”
    Once I got it down, I was eager to try out my new offensive moves on Willa and on Kennedy. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait too long.
    The next time I got the ball, both of them were on me like glue. While Camille lagged behind, I could feel them both narrowing in on me—Kennedy implementing her powerful death glare on my right, Willa baring her designer orthodontic fangs on my left.
    And to think—all this time, I’d been under the impression that the games at Stuyvesant were intense. I felt myself moving faster and even sort of
growling
. Hopefully in a cute way, but still, I was deeply into it.
    Sticks flashed, ponytails flipped, and our three sets of cleats pounded down the field. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep dribbling the ball under this sort of pressure when suddenly, without thinking, I tried out the double hip check.
    â€œOww!” Kennedy bellowed.
    â€œArgh,” Willa growled, and amazingly, my one-two punch knocked both of them out of my field of view. Before I knew it, I’d blown past them, and I went on to score the goal.
    When I looked behind me, Kennedy was fuming. She definitely wasn’t a pretty sight when she was angry.