“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat,” he whispered to me. He had come out of his chair and to the sideline.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded. “I never plan to lose.”
“Then maybe you should start trying to actually win,” Sam whispered as he backed up to the line of other spectators.
I had always told myself that winning wasn’t everything. That I would be fine not coming in first place. I always wanted to try my hardest, but there were times when I really didn’t care. Like today. If I won today, I wouldn’t be able to go to the art competition I entered next weekend. The competition my father didn’t knew about because I knew he wouldn’t let me go. How could I get out of this soccer game with my plan intact? Without my father knowing I didn’t really want to win?
I knew that soccer wasn’t going to take me anywhere, but I was beginning to get an idea that maybe art would. Mrs. Thompson let me keep all my projects and supplies in the art room after I told her enough of my home life to understand what life was like for me. I had to go next weekend, it might be my only chance for a college scholarship. I ran down the field toward the goal, and not for the first time, I wished I would actually break my leg.