Paul Hoblin - Archenemy

Text copyright 2013 by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

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Main body text set in Janson Text 12/17.5.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publications Data

Hoblin, Paul.

Arch enemy / by Paul Hoblin.

p. cm. (Counterattack)

ISBN: 9781467703062 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)

[1. SoccerFiction. 2. TolerationFiction. 3. LesbiansFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.H653Ar 2013

[Fic]dc23

2012022445

Manufactured in the United States of America

1 BP 12/31/12

eISBN: 978-1-4677-0961-3 (pdf)

eISBN: 978-1-4677-6766-8 (ePub)

eISBN: 978-1-4677-3126-3 (mobi)

...

FOR MY FRIENDS. AND, IT GOES

WITHOUT SAYING, FOR MKTK.

I

f you ask me, the hardest part about playing high school soccer is not playing high school soccer.

Honestly, if I had a choice, Id never leave the soccer field. Id roll out a sleeping bag and snooze right on the grass. If it rained, Id move the bag under the bleachers.

But thats the thing: I dont have a choice. Everyone else chooses for me. The state athletic association. My teachers. Coach Berg. Even my awesome parents and supersweet teammates. Ever since last year, when Mr. Lenders caught me juggling a ball while I was supposed to be in class so many times that he suspended me for a whole school week, everyone has kept a really close eye on me.

You been going to all your classes, Williams? Coach Berg will say. (Thats meWilliams. Addie Williams.)

Need help studying for your Algebra II test, Addie? a teammate will ask.

Remember, Addie, my parents like to remind me, youre a student first, an athlete second.

Theyre all worried that Im going to get suspended a second timebut they shouldnt be. Because of the suspension, I missed two games last year, and theres no way Im ever letting that happen again.

Still, its not easy sitting in a desk when I could be galloping across the soccer fieldespecially on days like today.

Game days.

Today is Fraser Highs fourth game of the season, which means Ive spent the entire school day waiting for the final bell to ring. When it does, I practically leap out from my desk and bolt for the hallway. As I weave through the crowd, I imagine its filled with my opponents. I pretend theres a ball at my feet as I sidestep a sophomore and juke out a junior. The kids moving in the same direction as me are my teammates, and I guide the invisible ball toward one of them as I open the door to the locker room. Soon Ill be in my uniform and headed for the field.

Except when I open my locker, I find a note on top of my uniform shorts:

Dear Addie,

You suck at soccer and life. Do us all a favor and quit.

Sincerely,

Coach Berg

I

would feel more freaked about the letter if it were actually from Coach Berg.

But it obviously isnt.

For one thing, its written in pink ink. The letters are loopy. Theres no way Coach Bergs handwriting looks like this.

Besides, I already know who wrote the letter. Its the same girl who wrote me dozens of letters last springthe same girl who used to call me her best friend.

Eva Riley.

Clearly, she wants me to know she sent the letter. If she didnt, she would have disguised her handwriting or used a different pen.

She may have signed Coach Berg, but she knew Id figure it out. Because over the last few weeks, its become clear that shes no longer wants to be my best friend.

She wants to be my archenemy.

T

he first note I ever got from Eva was during the last day of my suspension. It just so happened to be the last game of the season. Thats rightI got suspended during the playoffs. Id been cutting class all spring. But Mr. Lenders, hall monitor extraordinaire, didnt do anything about it until I was preparing to play the most important games of my career.

While my team was losing on a neutral field, I was standing on our home field, passing the ball back and forth with Belle.

Belle, by the way, is my dog. Shes a Brittany spaniel, and shes way better than your average dog. Remember Air Bud, the sports star-slash-retriever? Belles like a real-life version of him. Whenever I kick the ball to her, she kicks it right back to me.

Okay, kicks might be a stretch. More like nudges. She pushes the ball forward, inch by inch, with her nose. Pretty impressive, I think, for a dog.

Still, it takes forever for Belle to return my pass, and my mind tends to wander. As I watched her nudging the ball that day, I thought about the game I was missing and couldnt help feeling sorry for myself. I looked at the empty bleachers and imagined all the fans who were probably cheering Fraser High at that very moment. I looked across the empty field and imagined all my Copperheads teammates racing from one end to the other.

My gaze returned to Belle. She stood perfectly still, one paw raised. Her head was turned up and away from me. A growl came from deep in her throat.

I turned my own head just in time to see another doga beaglecharging toward us. It looked like it was coming straight for me with its tongue flopping out of its mouth. But when it was only a few feet away, Belle started yelping at it, and it changed course. As the beagle veered toward Belle, a piece of paper flew out of its collar and fluttered to the ground.

Belle yelped in alarm, then flipped around and pounced on the beagle. They continued growling and yelping as they rolled around with their teeth bared. I closed the gap and started yelling, No! Get away! Bad dog! Get away!

By then, I was in front of Belle. I lifted my right leg and got ready to stomp on the beagle. Did I mention I was wearing my cleats? My entire uniform, in fact. If I couldnt play on the team, at least I could dress like my teammates. One good stomp, I thought, would send this maniac dog running.