Lay-ups and Long Shots by David Lubar Read Free Book Online Page A

making the high school varsity team in a few years, but I need lots of play time with my club team. I want to tell this to my mother, but I don’t know how to make her understand. I don’t even know Korean word for varsity.
    “There,” my mother says, spooning the cabbage mixture into a large jar. “In a few days’ time we have kim chi.”
    “In one day’s time I have soccer practice.”
    “When?”
    “Four o’clock.”
    She lowers a lid onto the jar. “Not done with errands by four o’clock.”
    I lower my eyes to the floor.
    In English I say, “Thank you, thank you very much.” I say it in a way that Americans call sarcastic, but I say it very soft, under my breath, so far under that I know the words will not rise to my mother’s ears.
    I do not want to disobey my mother, but if I don’t go to practice today, there is no hope of me playing in the game and that would break my heart. So I do a very disobedient thing. When I leave for school the next day, I slip my cleats and shin guards into my backpack along with my books.
    After school I go to the field and wait for everyone else to show up. Coach says, “Well Miss Song, I see you’ve finally decided to make a commitment to the team.”
    “Yes,” I say. There’s a note of that American sarcasm in his voice, but I pretend I don’t hear it.
    I practice hard. It is a hot day, the air sticky like fresh steamed rice. Sweat clings to my face. We practice drills for over an hour—foot skill drills, sprinting drills, give-and-go passing drills. Coach announces one last drill. I pass the ball, wipe the hot, salty sweat from my eyes and see my mother at the edge of the field, umbrella held high to keep the sun off her face. Even from this distance, I can’t miss the scowl etched deep into the corners of her mouth. I run up the field to receive a pass, kick with the inside of my foot, but my timing is off. The ball boomerangs off my cleat and lands out of bounds.
    Coach calls us off the field and divides us into two groups for a scrimmage. He nods his head toward where my mother stands. I don’t look like my mother, but I am the only Korean girl on the team. It is easy for Coach to figure out whose mother she is.
    Coach says, “She here to pick you up?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    “Okay, fifteen more minutes and you can go.”
    But after the scrimmage, Coach decides we need to run. He tells us to do four laps around the field. I run hard as I can, pumping my legs so fast and hard they hurt, breathing even faster and harder until my lungs seem to gasp for air all on their own and my chest doesn’t seem big enough to hold them. I run through all that pain. In a game it will be hot and tiring too, and I don’t want to let my team down. I don’t want to let my mother down either, but it is too late. I already have. I see the disappointment in her face each time I run past where she is standing behind the goal line.
    When I finish the last lap, I see Coach walking toward my mother. I run over and beat him to her, still breathing hard, the sweat wet on my skin. My mother gives me a hard look, her lips held in a tight line, but then her face grows softer, eyes appearing again, as the Coach catches up to us.
    Coach says, “So you’re Tina’s mom. It’s good to meet you.” He offers his hand.
    My mother knows this American custom. She places her hand in his and shakes.
    “Hello,” she says, the big, toothy smile fixed on her mouth like it was painted on. I welcome a slight breeze, feel it dry the sweat on me, cooling my skin.
    Coach says, “I’m glad to have Tina on my team. She’s strong and fast and not afraid of the ball. And can she ever kick!”
    My mother nods her head, teeth still showing. She is all white, like a soccer ball, with her pale skin the sun never shines on and her light teeth. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
    “Now we have to see about getting her to practice more,” Coach says.
    My mother nods again. The smile on her face