For the Win Read Online Free Page A

Females didn’t play the game—not where they came from, and not here. The girlfriends and wives and daughters walked around the track surrounding the field, chatting while pushing babies in strollers or playing tag by themselves.
    I tried my best, but I had no leverage — the men only let me play because I was willing to take a beating in goal. I thought I’d hate it, but day after day I showed up, getting in position. At some point it felt natural — it felt good. I felt stronger, faster. Less afraid. It was the first time since my diagnosis that I felt like my body worked for me instead of against me.
    “Bend your knees,” they would say.
    “Dive for the ball.”
    “Ah, you’re bleeding. Good, good.”
    As time went on, I began recognizing some of the faces from the field elsewhere — like back at our apartments. One was a lanky high school boy named Marcus, with dark black skin and an afro. Every day we traversed between home and the fields, Allie beside us, kicking a ball.
    “Do you play on a team?” I asked one day, keeping an eye on the sky. A heavy smudge of thunderclouds had rolled in, putting an end to the afternoon’s game. We wanted to be inside before the rain started.
    “On the school team.” He gestured back toward the middle school. I was surprised. He seemed older than that. Bigger. “You should try out.”
    I laughed, amused. “I don’t play.”
    His forehead wrinkled. “Sure you do. You’re not bad.”
    “Not bad isn’t good.” I pointed to Allie, who was bouncing the ball on her knees as she walked. “She’s the one with skills.”
    “She can join the girls’ team. They could use some help.” This time he laughed.
    “Oh, I’m trying out,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And you can address me directly. I’m right here.”
    “Okay then,” Marcus replied, a small smile on his face.
    I thought maybe Marcus could help get Allie into a game, but he didn’t carry any weight either. So we continued playing on the field while Allie worked on her skills alone, and afterward, Marcus and I would stay back to play a little with her.
    One particularly cold afternoon I took a ball to the face. The hit landed against my chapped skin like a slap, making my eyes water. My nose stung too, running and freezing as the frigid air hit it. Fighting back tears, I stumbled to the sidelines for a drink out of my plastic bottle. I looked around for my sister but she wasn’t in her typical spot—ready and waiting for her shot on the field.
    But then I heard her laughter. Spinning around, I spotted Allie with a skinny girl about our age passing the ball back and forth near the baseball field.
    “Jay! You okay?” one of the guys called from the field. They didn’t want to be left without protection. Tugging my wool cap over my head, I wiped my eyes before heading back to the goal.
    After the game, Marcus and I walked over to Allie and the new girl. She had long, black, curly hair and creamy, light brown skin, the apples of her cheeks red with cold. Her eyes were brown too, like a deer’s, with thick lashes. She looked like she was freezing, in just sweatpants and a big, blue hoodie.
    “This is my brother Julian,” Allie said. “And our friend Marcus.”
    “Hi,” the doe said. “I’m Melina.”

 
    Chapter 7
     
    Melina’s eyes, still brown and thoughtful, are no longer the innocent doe eyes they were when we were kids.  There’s wariness and skepticism, not warmth and trust, and it’s probably my fault. We watch each other for a moment.
    Okay, it’s definitely my fault.
    “What’s with the mountain man look?” she asks, gaze skittering over me.
    My hand shoots reflexively to my beard, but before I can speak my sister replies, “Hipster.”
    “Wow,” Melina says, eyes widening.
    “I’m not a hipster,” I say, scoffing.
    Allie nods, wide eyed and teasing. “Sure.”
    “So, okay. You guys drove all the way down here, four days before training, to hang out with me at the