Tess's love in life is soccer. When she finds out that all sports at her school will be cut unless the community votes for a tax levy, Tess will do anything to rally votes. She's even joining forces with a cheerleader to help spread the word and raise funds. Throughout the campaign to save soccer, Tess is playing her heart out on the soccer field and struggling to make passing grades in her classes. But if the levy doesn't pass, will it all have been for nothing? Find out in Dawn FitzGerald's Soccer Chick Rules. “FitzGerald takes a serious subject--school finance problems--mixes it with plenty of action-filled sports, and frosts the whole thing with best friends and rivals. The result is just what kids, especially girl jocks, want: a fast-moving, true-to-life, amusing take on middle-grade life.” ― Booklist “Girl jocks are the natural audience for Soccer Chick Rules , but it will also appeal to a wider readership. Its hopeful, but realistic, ending sends an important message to any girl with a passion or a cause.” ― School Library Journal Getting in the Game is Dawn FitzGerald's first work of fiction. A middle school teacher, she lives with her family in Ohio, where she watches her children play sports and cheers "Good effort!" after every play. Soccer Chick Rules By Dawn Fitzgerald Holtzbrinck Publishers Copyright © 2006 Dawn FitzGerald All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-312-37662-8 CHAPTER 1 "Open in the middle!" I shout across the field to my teammate Katie. Without even glancing up, she sends a sweet lofting pass that lands just outside the penalty box. I fight past the defender to get at the ball and give it a hard kick toward the yellow net in front of me. Cling! It strikes the metal crossbar on the goal and ricochets back in front of the goalie's outstretched arms — just out of reach. Now it's a matter of who wants it bad enough as the offense and defense battle for the ball. I hear the sound of shin guards smashing together and I feel a sharp jab in my back. My friend Brittany, who's playing fullback for the red team, practically growls in frustration, fighting to get her foot on the ball and to prevent my team — green pinnies — from scoring a goal. After all, the stakes are high. Coach always makes the losing team sprint extra laps at the end of practice. The black-and-white Brine ball pops loose, and I barely get my left foot on it. The kick is weak and the goalie scoops it up in her arms with a relieved smile on her face. She cradles it for a moment, catching her breath before she has to punt it downfield. I stand next to her, panting from exhaustion and disappointment. Glaring at the ball, I'm tempted to kick it out of her arms and commit a blatant foul, but Coach blows the whistle and shouts, "That's it for today, girls! Tie score — everyone runs extra laps!" " Nooo, Coach!" Both teams groan as we take off our sweaty pinnies and head toward the bench for a quick gulp of water before the run. "And, Tess Munro, work on that left foot!" Coach shouts. "I know! It's just that I couldn't —" "No excuses!" she says with a faint smile on her face. "You make excuses in practice and you'll wind up making them in a game and then it'll carry over into your schoolwork and —" "Okay, Coach, I get it!" I say as I begin to run the figure eight, jogging the end lines and sprinting the sidelines of the field. But somehow, I can't see my science teacher, Mr. Metzer, accepting "I couldn't get a foot on it" for a late lab assignment. * * * "The universe is expanding like a huge, colossal fart stinking up the room," says Mr. Metzer. Has Metz completely flipped out? And does he expect us to write this stuff down? Everyone laughs. To prove Metzer's point, Bo Tauber lets one rip, which sets off a chain reaction of copycat farting among the boys. It sounds like we're in the trumpet section of the middle school band instead of science lab. Olivia Fletcher glares at Bo and says, "Pig!" He gives her a friendly snort and carries on. I almost tell her not to worry. With two older brothers, I'm practically an expert on farts. Bo's was loud and forceful. It's the silent ones, originating from deep bowel space, or as Metzer would say, "black holes," that are the most deadly. I say nothing to stuck-up Olivia. Instead, I doodle my name and a picture of a soccer ball with my green gel pen — Tess Munro, Tess Munro, Tess Munro . I've got the name down. It's the soccer ball that needs work. It looks like a bunch of raisins on a plate. Olivia kicks Bo's chair with her leather boots in a lame effort to make him stop. My best friend, Ibby Bloom, has one hand cupped over her mouth and nose while the other waves in the air to attract Metzer's attention. "Question, Ibby?" "Will this be on the test?" Leave it to Ibby, science geekess and germ-a-phobe,