Thanks to my first commenter on the Prologue, 
Shaffshire, England 190?
Three weeks later
Lisbette looked at the field in her native town of Shaffshire. The sky was gray but there were hints of whitish yellow beams streaming through, which she took as a good omen. This was where they would have the trials for the football teams later today. It had been set up just like she had imagined. At that moment, when there was no one else around, she closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to hear the people cheer. To move across the field dribbling the ball, kicking it straight into the goal, it would be heavenly. She and her father had a deal. If her grades stayed up, she could add one fun school activity. For Lisbette, it was an easy deal. She took to lessons quickly and enjoyed learning new ideas. And football would be her fun.
The signs that had been posted in school and all around Shaffshire used a word she had never really seen before:
Intramural.
She didn't exactly know what it meant, but it also said, 'All were welcome.' She counted herself as one of the "all" and had her heart set on this chance. She had loved football ever since she was seven or eight, maybe even younger, when her father had brought home books and manuals about this sport that a Scotsman introduced to a distant nation.
As her father, Patrick, was a Scot and she loved him dearly, she looked at the pictures. As she read, her mind's eye saw the positions of the players. Lisbette imagined herself on the field, how her body would move, how the ball would react as it was dribbled down the pitch towards the netted goal. She traced her fingers across the black and white sketches of players in action and relentlessly bombarded Patrick with question after question as she slowly fell in love with the sport.
According to his notes, her father was working on making modifications that allowed for play on a much smaller field, like Akers Field. Instead of the regular eleven players on each side, which would only congest the field, his strategy called for only five or six on each side with one substitute ready. Lisbette read about the penalties, the different kinds of kicks, movements and was fascinated by how simple, yet challenging the game was.
Eventually she got the courage to beg her father for a ball, not really knowing or caring about what it would take to get one. Being one who couldn't say 'no' to his little girl, Patrick found a way to fashion one. He used their meager back yard as a makeshift field and started teaching her how to implement the basics she already knew. When he was too busy with his classes and teaching, Lisbette practiced on her own. Before school, after school, weekends, her objective was to understand every step, every shift of the game and in so doing, she developed a deep love for the game.
Over the years, she had joined a group of local children and played. When they didn't follow the rules, she would let them know. She was the football sage. No one knew the rules better than Lisbette Caldwell. But as with many things in life, they change. By the time they were eleven and twelve, the girls became more interested in boys than football, and the boys thought it less than honorable to play with a girl. Much to her disappointment, her group faded and it was her father whom she turned to for comfort.
"There, there, Lass. These things happen. It's a part of growing up. They have different ways of fun now that they're older. Things change." Patrick consoled her with a kiss on the crown of her head. He rested his chin on her thick hair and listened patiently.
"But, Da," she pleaded as she leaned against her father's shoulder. "They don't have to."
"Ay, Lass, but it does." Patrick lifted his chin and looked at her apologetically, knowing she felt that things were less than fair. "You'll ken one day. That change will grab a hold of you too."
Lisbette scoffed. "Boys? They are messy, rude and smelly."
Patrick Caldwell let out a hearty laugh at Lisbette's defiant pout. His little tomboy would just as soon spit in a boy's eye as go near him. In his heart, he hoped she would be this way just as long as she could but when he looked at her, he knew it was a losing proposition. Her curly brown hair and big gray-green eyes would lure the boys soon enough. Mother Nature wouldn't be stayed or denied not even by a father's wish. After that conversation, she continued playing by herself, coming up with new tricks and ways.
Now that she was sixteen, she had a chance to be a part of a real-life team, to put her practice to use. She bubbled with excitement and breathed in her chance. As the field filled with people, lines were made at a table where they took names. Her hair was pinned back, her shapely frame was buried underneath boyish overalls. This was her normal dress and anyone not paying attention to her name, face, or even her voice, which spoke with more boldness than demure lightness, would easily have passed her onto the boy's section.
And that's exactly what happened.
It was her turn. The man hurriedly took her name, handed her a piece of paper with a number on it, and pointed blindly towards the side of the field where the boys congregated behind the coach. She walked over and like Moses, the sea parted, most with confused looks, others wryly amused.
Lisbette tapped on the coach's shoulder.
"Hold your horses, boy," he barked as he finished writing something down. He turned and jerked his head back at the sight before him. When he gathered his wits about, his posture became more rigid. "Are you lost?" he asked, annoyed.
That question aroused some snickers, which confused Lisbette. No matter. "I'm here to try out for the team." That elicited all out laughter from the crowd of boys behind her as they looked on eagerly, wondering how the coach would handle this.
"Listen, young lady, the girls cheering is on the other side. This is for the boys." He turned away from her, believing he had made his point.
Lisbette tapped him on the shoulder again. When he turned, he was genuinely surprised to see her still standing there.
"The sign said all were welcome to try out." Her tone was sure as she said simply, "I want to try out."
Technically, he couldn't deny her the chance to try out but he didn't have to add her to the team as the feminists would take issue. He probably wouldn't even need to worry about it. A bit of entertainment couldn't hurt, could it?
"Fine," the coach grunted.
He signaled to one of the boys, who came bounding over. After some whispers, the boy gave Lisbette an open look of disdain as he stepped off, shaking his head.
She tacked on her number and got on the field. While she didn't have the chance to play with others, when the whistle blew, she took off running. It didn't take her long to get possession of the ball. She bobbed, moved and dodged a lot of the cheap hits the boys were trying to make.
The coach was transfixed. "What the...?"
Some of the other players who had laughed at the audacity of this girl were now silent. In fact, many of those on the field stopped to behold the spectacle as Lisbette deftly navigated a path down the field, dodging, weaving, jumping over outstretched legs. She was within striking range of the goal, her eyes focused on the goal keeper, who was bent and ready. As she positioned herself to kick, a blunt force collided with her side, leaving her breathless as she roughly hit the cold damp grass...
