Archenemy Read Online Free PDF Page A

shot floating toward the goal, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m too far away. In less than a second, Woodvine will be celebrating a game-winning goal.
    But then, out of nowhere, Eva swoops in and heads the ball out of harm’s way.
    It’s a great play—but Woodvine has a corner kick coming up.
    So, it’s my time to make a great play of my own. I take my station in the corner of the goalie box and think,
C’mon, Woodvine. Kick the ball nice and high.
    Which is exactly what happens.
    I watch the ball arc through the air as I get ready to launch off my feet. That’s when I feel someone’s hand tugging at my jersey. This is nothing new—opponents try to keep me grounded by grabbing my jersey all the time. Without taking my eyes off the airborne ball, I make my hand into a fist and hack away at the player’s arm. Usually, doing this is enough to get free of someone’s grasp.
    But not this time.
    The hand still has my jersey in its clutches, and I don’t have any more time to free myself. The ball has arrived, and I jump up as high as possible with somebody trying to pull me down.
    Luckily, it’s high enough. I get my forehead on the ball and redirect it away from the goal. Madison Wong, who has dropped back to help out, gets to the ball and clears it across midfield.
    We’ve dodged a bullet. I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn to see the opponent who grabbed me.
    But the player behind me isn’t an opponent.
    It’s Eva.

T
    his isn’t the first time Eva’s hand has been a problem.
    By the end of last summer, it was an area of huge concern. Not because it was grabbing my shirt, but because it was grabbing
my
hand.
    For a while, after the soccer babe picture found its way out of my bag, things seemed really cool. It was nice to have the issue out in the open. If anything, we seemed more comfortable around each other than ever. But then all of a sudden, Eva started holding my hand whenever we were alone together. And I let her—more out of surprise than anything else. I didn’t know what else to do.
    The hand-holding wasn’t the only thing that was new. She also got in the habit of writing me lots of notes that she stuck on Skittles’s collar. Each note was written on lined paper she’d torn from some notebook. Sure, she’d done the same thing on the first day we met—but these notes were different. I started to wish she’d just text me like everyone else—or stop sending the messages altogether.
    Sometimes, the notes were jokey. While we sat on the edge of her bed reading
Sports Illustrated
, Eva would giggle and plop Skittles on my lap. “I think she has a note for you,” she’d say.
    I’d take the note out of her collar and read things like
U R Awesome Blossom!
These notes were always signed
Love, Skittles,
so I’d give the dog a thank-you pat on its head and get back to my
Sports Illustrated
.
    But then, one day in late August, I got a note that wasn’t from Skittles. My parents had taken me on a weekend trip to tour some colleges in the area. As I unpacked from the trip, a balled-up piece of paper flew through my window.
    In her usual pink ink and loopy letters, Eva asked herself a question:
Did you miss Addie Williams?
    Below the question, she’d written her answer:
Whoop!
    It all would have seemed harmless enough if I could have thanked Skittles and maybe complimented the beagle’s throwing arm. But I couldn’t do that because underneath the answer, it said,
Love, Eva
.
    I poked my head out the window, and there Eva was, a huge smile across her face.
    â€œHey!” she said. “Long time no see.”
    It hadn’t been
that
long.
    â€œHey, Eva.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “are you coming?”
    â€œComing where?”
    She arched an eyebrow. “It’s a surprise. C’mon!”
    I didn’t want to go with her. She was wearing a dress