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  She let the shock register on Krista’s face before she continued. “But I can’t decide what position to go for. Sweeper or maybe striker—”

  “I play striker,” Krista interrupted.

  Charlie smiled. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  Krista’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Her face began to turn red.

  Charlie just turned her attention back to her dinner. Suddenly, her peas seemed more appetizing. She hadn’t really wanted to play soccer, but what the heck? Martie had scouted her, and who was Charlie Brown to argue with destiny?

  Chapter Two

  “Unbelievable!” Krista shouted as she hung up the cordless. She’d been listening in on Charlie’s phone conversation with Martie, the new soccer coach. What she’d heard was beyond comprehension.

  “I told you that you shouldn’t eavesdrop,” Brooks warned. She snuggled deeper in Krista’s papasan chair, the new issue of Us Weekly propped up in her lap.

  Dressed to go out, Brooks was her usual casual chic in size zero Paper Denim and Cloth jeans and a fitted white James Perse tank top. If anyone could make a wife beater look hot, it was Brooks; of course, the pink lacy bra you could see through the cotton fabric didn’t hurt.

  Krista grabbed a throw pillow from her bed and wrung it in her hands. Why? Why in the world would Charlie try out for her team?

  Krista had been on varsity since she was a freshman. Not only did Charlie not play soccer anymore, she didn’t even like soccer. So—why did she have to ruin senior year by dragging her dark cloud over Krista’s parade?

  Krista frowned. She knew the answer. For the last year, her sister had made it her mission in life to torture her. And what better way to stress her out than to invade the one place that was totally hers—the soccer field?

  Krista clenched her jaw. Things hadn’t always been like this. Just a year ago, she and Charlie had been close. Charlie even looked up to her. But last year, all that changed.

  Charlie started dressing differently, wearing skate punk clothes instead of the girlie fashions Krista favored. She even talked differently, her words dripping with sarcasm and bile—that was, when she talked at all.

  Yep. Charlie was now bitter and spiteful—as though the world had done her wrong—and Krista had no idea why.

  Frustrated, she hurled her pillow across the room, narrowly missing Brooks’s head.

  “Hey!” Brooks exclaimed, using her magazine to shield herself. “Watch where you throw that thing! I have an audition with McG tomorrow.”

  “Sorry,” Krista muttered as she collapsed on her bed. “It’s just that it’s my team. Now there’s this new coach and—”

  “No way.” Brooks sat up, suddenly interested.

  “It’s true,” Krista insisted. “This woman Martie. She—”

  “Paris and Stavros? Back together again?” Brooks interrupted. She shook her head at Us Weekly. “Double OC.”

  Brooks loved acronyms and used them obsessively. In Brooks’s language, OC stood for “out of control.” Whatever was out of control about Paris Hilton and Stavros Niarchos was beyond Krista.

  “Who cares about them?” Krista snapped. “Didn’t you hear me? There’s a new soccer coach, and she said that everyone has to try out again—even if you’ve been on the team before—”

  “Poor Mary-Kate.” Brooks sighed. “I think she really loved him, way back when…”

  Krista sighed. “Missy, are you even listening?”

  “Missy” was their special nickname for each other. They’d picked it up from one of Brooks’s cousins who lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

  Like Brooks’s acronyms, “Missy” was a part of their secret code—a language that only the worthy could use. And no one was ever as worthy as Krista and Brooks.

  “I’ve been on this team for three years,” Krista continued, “and now I have to earn my spot back? How unfair is that?”

  Krista knew the B-dub team wasn’t going to win any championships this year. All the other good players had graduated in June. But with even the smallest effort, Krista would end up the star of the squad. Probably the captain. And if she played as well as she had over the summer, she’d probably end up being scouted. How amazing would that look on her college applications?

  And now what? Krista wondered. Now I’m supposed to impress this new person?

  She bit her lip, worried. What if she couldn’t impress Martie? What if the new coach figured it out… ?

  Last year, at the beginning of the season, Krista had torn a ligament. As she raced to get under the ball for a header, she felt a snap in her leg and fell to the ground. The pain was excruciating. She’d spent weeks shuttling to the hospital for intense physical therapy.

  Krista made it back into full uniform before the end of the season. But since then, she noticed that she played… differently. She was more cautious—a little afraid.

  No one realized, of course, because Krista’s talent made her fear easy to hide. But what if she couldn’t hide it from Martie?

  “Brooks,” she said, horrified. “What if I don’t make the team?”

  “Who cares?” Brooks smiled as she lazily flipped to another page. “If you don’t make it, you’ll have more time to hang out with me.”

  Krista shook her head. She should have known better. When it came to college, Brooks was entirely uninterested… unless, of course, it was a college in a movie script. Brooks looked so mature that she’d already played a co-ed, even if the film had gone straight to video.

  But Krista wasn’t so lucky. Without hard work, her future wasn’t straight to anything. She dreamed of following in her dad’s footsteps and going to Yale. She thought she had the grades for it, but her dad had been quick to point out that her SAT scores were “nothing to get excited about.”

  Because of that, everything else had to be perfect.

  Of course, Krista’s determination to go Ivy wasn’t only about her dad. It was about Cam too.

  Krista and Cam had been girlfriend and boyfriend, officially, for a year and three weeks. Even she had to admit, they made an amazing couple.

  Whenever she admired the picture that sat on her dresser—the one they had taken together at Christmastime—she couldn’t help but think that they looked just right. Cam was a few inches taller and as the starting quarterback for B-dub football had a strong, muscular physique. They had similar high cheekbones and a complementary sense of style, and even their blue eyes went well together.

  To the other students at Beachwood, they were a golden couple—just meant to be.

  Midway through his junior year, Cam had applied early and been accepted at Yale. If Krista had any hope of staying with him, she was going to have to get into Yale too.

  Now, as if having her future in the hands of some faraway admissions officer wasn’t bad enough, a new coach was going to decide her fate.

  “You don’t understand,” Krista moaned. “This is a disaster.”

  “You worry too much,” Brooks commented, then noticed something in the magazine. “Ooh, look—stripes are the new pink!”

  At that moment, Krista couldn’t have cared less. “Do you know what the coach told Charlie? We’re going to have to run a mile in under seven minutes or we won’t make the cut. Seven minutes! I’ve never run faster than seven thirty-one.”

  Brooks slammed down her magazine. “Missy, has anyone ever told you to relax?”

  Krista hugged a pillow to her chest. Sure, she had achieved a certain level of self-awareness, thanks to hours of Bikram yoga, but mellow was not a word in her type-A vocabulary.

  “Relaxing is not what I do best.”

  “Missy, you’re going to make it,” Brooks said, exasperated. “Come on, when have you not gotten what you want?”

  “What’re you talking about?” Krista asked, her voice muffled by the pillow. “You get what you want. I get—”

  “My sloppy seconds?” Brooks joked.

  Krista would have collapsed farther into the pil
low had it been possible, knowing of course that Brooks was referring to Cam.

  Sophomore year, Cam dated Brooks for three months before she dumped him, setting her sights on someone older. Krista had been the one Cam turned to for comfort.

  Cam told Krista repeatedly that getting dumped by Brooks was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but at times it still bothered her. She’d never liked leftovers from the fridge; she certainly didn’t like them in a boyfriend.

  “I just don’t see why we need all these changes,” Krista moaned.

  “Uh, because the team sucks beyond any reasonable amount of suckage?” Brooks offered.

  Sometimes Krista wondered if Brooks enjoyed cutting her down. Well, tonight, she was tired of it.

  “You know what else I heard on the phone?” she asked, faux innocently. “They hired a new assistant coach too.”

  Brooks closed Us Weekly and looked around, bored. “Do you have In Touch? I think Britney’s on the cover. What’s with the yo-yo dieting?”

  Krista reached for the magazine on her desk and tossed it to Brooks. “Not only did they hire a new assistant,” she continued, “they hired Noah Riley.”

  Brooks snapped to attention. “Wait—what did you say?”

  Krista flipped through Brooks’s discarded Us Weekly slowly, nonchalantly, as if totally unaware of the way she’d rocked Brooks’s world. “Noah Riley’s the new volunteer coach,” she repeated.

  “Noah Riley,” Brooks stated. “As in the Noah Riley?”

  “Unless there’s another Noah Riley that didn’t give you the time of day in high school,” Krista answered half playfully.

  Noah was the senior that Brooks had dumped Cam to date. Even Brooks had to admit, things hadn’t panned out the way she’d planned.

  Brooks glared at her friend. “Shut up!” She hurled a pillow back in Krista’s direction. Krista jumped out of the way as it whapped into the wall.

  “Hey!” She laughed. “You’re retaliating now?”

  “No freaking way!” Brooks yelled. “Noah Riley’s back?”

  Noah was a bit of a legend around Beachwood, always doing the unexpected. Instead of going off to college like most nineteen-year-olds, he’d gone to Europe to play soccer. He came back a year later, when he suffered a knee injury. Rumor was he’d pretty much healed, but he’d never be the soccer star that he once was.

  BANG, BANG, BANG. A thumping came from the other side of the wall.

  “Would you guys shut up?” Charlie yelled from her bedroom. “I’m trying to sleep in here.”

  Brooks rolled her eyes.

  “Sleep?” Krista shouted back. “It’s eight thirty!”

  They paused a moment, waiting to see if Charlie would respond.

  When she didn’t, Brooks shook her head. “What a loser.”

  “I just—I don’t get her.” Krista sighed.

  Brooks popped up from her chair. “So, are we going to hang out here with your chemically imbalanced sister, or are we going to the party?”

  “Definitely party,” Krista said. She placed an index finger on her bottom lip. “I wonder if Noah will be there… ?”

  Brooks raised her eyebrows, then looked Krista up and down. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

  Krista scanned her outfit—lime green cords and a white sheer button-down. She loved this outfit. It was straight out of last week’s Seventeen, with Kirsten Dunst on the cover.

  “Oh, this?” she covered. “No way, Missy.”

  Krista headed into her walk-in closet to search for something better.

  Later, when Krista and Brooks were positive the rest of the house was asleep, they began their familiar trek—out Krista’s bedroom window, across the roof, down the trellis, and onto the driveway. It had taken a few months of dating Cam for Krista to perfect the art of sneaking out, but now that she had it down pat, Krista didn’t stress about it. She did feel a little guilty, but her parents were beyond strict when it came to curfews and boyfriends.

  Over the summer, she was only allowed to see Cam three times a week and she had to be home by eleven thirty, which was practically daytime for a self-respecting about-to-be senior. If she wanted to continue having a boyfriend and a social life, sneaking out was the only option.

  Tonight was the annual End of Summer bonfire, and since Cam was throwing it, it was Krista’s duty as his girlfriend to be there. The End of Summer bonfire was legendary at Beachwood. It was always thrown by the captain of the football team, and it usually involved a ridiculously nice beachfront house where the parents were conspicuously absent. Freshmen weren’t generally allowed unless they knew somebody, and what happened at the bonfire could make or break you for the following school year.

  Three years ago, Amy Wilkinson, a classmate of Krista’s, had been the rightful heir to the popularity throne—that was, until she made out with Hannah Jenkins’s boyfriend and got blacklisted before school even began. Last year, this total dork, Harvey Harvey (yes, that was his real name) catapulted himself to high school superstardom when he jumped off the roof into the pool… and survived.

  It was at this party that Krista and Brooks had first met, freshman year (Krista held back Brooks’s hair while she was puking up four rum and Diet Cokes). They’d been inseparable ever since.

  Cam’s parents, the Christiansons, lived in a sprawling house right on the water with their own private beach as their backyard. When the girls pulled into the long, winding driveway, the party was already in full swing. A huge bonfire lit up the beach, and at least two hundred kids were gathered around it. A few guys played beach volleyball, the moon lighting up the net. System of a Down blared from the precariously placed speakers around the deck. Through the large glass windows, Krista could see a group of juniors raiding Cam’s parents’ bar. Most of the guys didn’t bother to use the red plastic cups that Krista and Cam had picked up from Costco the day before, opting instead to drink straight out of the Christiansons’ Captain Morgan and Beefeater bottles.

  Krista spied Cam near the bar. She waved and started to head inside, but Brooks grabbed her arm.

  “Missy,” she instructed. “Make him come to you, remember? ABC.”

  Krista frowned. ABC. Translation: always be cool.

  This year, Krista planned to play it cool with Cam. He’d called her “a little clingy” toward the end of junior year, and she’d spent the summer perfecting the art of seeming slightly aloof. She bit her lip nervously—a trait she shared with Charlie—and waited to see if he would actually approach her. In the meantime, a dozen sophomore girls descended upon Brooks.

  “Oh my God, you’re Brooks Sheridan!” one of them squealed. “I loved you in Girl for Sale. That’s like my favorite movie ever!”

  Brooks forced a smile. She’d made that movie for Disney years ago. It was about a girl who put herself up for adoption on eBay in order to get a new family. Krista knew it was hardly one of Brooks’s favorite credits.

  Another girl, Regan Holder, turned to Krista. “That skirt is killer.”

  Krista looked down at her cute Bebe skirt and Anthropologie top. Yes, she’d changed eight times under Brooks’s watchful eye. But no one needed to know that.

  “Thanks.” Krista smiled at Regan’s compliment. “It’s just something I threw together….”

  Krista had known Regan forever—long before Regan ditched Charlie to scale the popularity ladder. Krista couldn’t blame her. She would ditch Charlie too if they weren’t related.

  “Ow!” Krista exclaimed. She felt a stinging sensation on her back. “Who snapped my bra?” she asked, annoyed.

  She spun around and found Cam grinning mischievously, showing off his deep dimples. He held a red plastic cup in his hand.

  “Beverage?” he offered.

  “No thanks,” she said, smiling. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. He smelled like Speed Stick deodorant, Polo, and pepperoni pizza.

  “I missed you,” he whispered playfully into her ear. “I’m glad you
finally made it.”

  Krista smiled. “What have you been drinking?” Unlike Cam and his friends, she rarely even took a sip of alcohol.

  “Just beer,” he replied. “I want to stay sober. I might have to do another run soon.”

  Harvey walked up, overhearing Cam. “Don’t worry, bro. Noah’s sober. He offered to go.”

  Brooks perked up. “Noah’s here?” she asked Harvey innocently.

  Cam turned his attention back to Krista. “So what took you so long? I thought you’d never get here….”

  “My parents were watching Leno,” she explained. “Didn’t you get my text?”

  “They probably just used the TV to drown out the sex,” Harvey joked.

  Krista turned to him. “That is completely disgusting.” As far as she was concerned, Harvey could jump off every roof into every pool in Malibu—it still wouldn’t make him cool or even tolerable.

  “Whatever.” Cam shrugged, pulling Krista close. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” He kissed her, and she melted in his arms. “You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured.

  Harvey rolled his eyes at the tender moment. “Get a room, dudes.”

  Cam and Krista pulled apart. Cam smiled, light from the bonfire dancing behind him. “Want to?”

  Krista nodded. As they turned to make their way up to the house, she saw Brooks stalk off in search of her prey—Noah Riley.

  Two minutes later, Brooks burst into Cam’s bedroom. “Missy!” she called, throwing open the door without knocking.

  “What’re you doing?” Krista exclaimed, breaking away from Cam.

  “OMG,” Brooks said hurriedly. “I need the number for the new soccer coach—Martie, right?”

  Krista looked at her friend as if she was insane. “Now? Why?”

  “Because,” Brooks stated matter-of-factly, “Operation Noah is in full effect.”

  Both Krista and Cam stared blankly at Brooks. “Huh?” Krista asked.

  Brooks took a deep breath and dramatically paused to emphasize the gravity of what she was about to say.

  “Missy, meet your new teammate. I’m trying out for varsity soccer!”

  Chapter Three