Two for Joy

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There I was, a starting forward in the biggest, most important soccer game of my Olympic career. With only a minute left, the game was tied. When my teammate made an awesome pass to me, the crowd began chanting my name: “Jenna! Jenna! Jenna!” I knew what I had to do. I looked up at the crowd and waved. I turned left, but there was nowhere to go. The other team had closed in all around me. They towered over me, but I was not afraid, not one bit. I pivoted right and barely squeaked through an opening that was just my size. I heard Mom in the stands screaming her lungs out: “Good job, Jenna! Good job!” All the way down the field, I zigged and zagged and ducked and turned until there was nothing and no one left between me and the biggest, grizzliest goalie I had ever seen. I looked her right in the eyes and growled, “Look out — this one might hurt.” I took a deep breath and kicked with all my might. The ball spun in midair. Then I heard a telephone ring and ring. The ringing grew louder and louder. Coach yelled, “Turn that phone off! Let’s get back to the game!” But the phone kept right on butting into the game.

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