It was true. Well, her absurd truth. She’d convinced herself she needed at least ten goals to stamp her name and number on the scout’s brain.
Casey walked to the exit, then paused. She turned around.
“Did you wrap your boobs?” she asked softly.
“Jesus, Casey!” Regan cried, hands automatically going to her chest.
“Sorry. Sheer curiosity.”
“You’re a terrible friend right now!” Regan snapped.
“I know! I know!”
“Please, go away.”
“I’m going. I swear. It’s just—” Casey thought for a moment. “Hey.”
“Hey what?” Regan barked.
Casey smiled. “I believe in you. You’re gonna be great today. No no, fantastic. You’re gonna blow everyone’s minds.”
Regan scanned the bleachers even as her brain screamed for her to look away. But she wasn’t looking for the scout. She was looking for her best friend, who finally said something right! She needed encouragement, and she knew Casey would say it all over again: “I believe in you.”
“Well well well, if it isn’t the golden goddess herself,” Sydney teased, approaching Regan. Rival center forwards. Almost mirror images of one another.
Regan’s entire demeanor changed. She inhaled deeply, puffing her chest and trying hard to look down her nose at her opponent.
“I’m glowing, I know,” Regan replied in her most contemptuous voice. “Wanna know why?”
“’Cause you’re Katniss?”
“That’s right. I’m Katniss. And I’m about to set this field on fire,” Regan replied.
“You’re forgetting I’m from District 1, and we’re pretty much unstoppable,” Sydney argued.
“You’re good. I’ll give you that. But I’m the rogue bitch out here gonna start shit,” Regan said.
The girls stared each other down.
“You’re such a dork,” Sydney said finally, and they both burst out laughing.
“Stop talking to her!” Number 17 called to Sydney. “She’s the enemy and can’t be trusted!”
“Oh my God, your teammates are lunatics,” Regan observed.
“Hey, that’s what gets us our wins,” Sydney replied.
“You know I’m beating you today, right?” Regan asked.
“Single-handedly?”
“Well, if I have to.”
Sydney turned toward the bleachers and shaded her eyes from the sun. “Scout?”
“How the hell could you not know?”
“I maybe knew. And I couldn’t care less.”
“Bull. Shit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” Sydney argued. “I don’t wanna go to some lame ass all girls’ college. Hello. I wanna have sex with guys in my dorm room.”
“Well, I plan to have sex with guys in my dorm room at Berkshire,” Regan said.
Sydney snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And this game.”
“You, too,” Regan replied. “I’ll try not to hurt your feelings too much.”
The girls shook hands as Regan’s coach yelled for a huddle.
She managed to forget about her birthday night with Jeremy until she was smashed between two teammates in a tight, perfume-spiked circle. Coach Allan walked away momentarily, and the girls started their ritual: divulge a secret—illegal or otherwise—and don’t judge. Or tell. They did it before every game, and it proved to be the best teambuilding exercise out of any they tried. The secrets built trust, making the girls unstoppable on the field.
“Got wasted at Regan’s birthday party and made out with Chad.”
Some girls snickered.
“Hey, no judgment!” And the snickering subsided.
“Stole money out of Dad’s wallet for a shopping trip. Swear to God I’m replacing it when I get paid tomorrow!”
“My life is so freaking boring right now because I’m grounded. Next.”
“Now don’t freak out. I would never do this to you guys, but I shared a secret about my friend to this chick in my neighborhood. Honestly, I don’t even know how she got me to reveal it, but now Kelsey hates my guts.”
Everyone stared.
“The girl doesn’t go here!”
More staring.
“She goes to a private school! The secret’s safe. I think. I don’t know. I’m a shitty friend, okay?”
“You’re off the team is what you are,” Tara snapped.
“Oh, come on. One little secret. And I swear to God I’d never do that to this group!”
“You better not,” Ashley threatened. “Or we’ll tell the entire universe about that time. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Enough!” Regan cried. “We don’t have time for this. Next.” She looked to her right.
“Me? Jeez, okay. Those weren’t stitches on my forehead last week. That bandage was covering a huge pimple—like a big ass cyst. I had to go to the dermatologist to have it worked on. So embarrassing, so I just lied about it.”
All eyes on Regan.
A boy wrote about shooting up the school in the springtime. He told me it was just a fantasy, and I believe him. I think. I mean, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would do something like that. I think, anyway.
“Regan? Hello?”
I wanna date this boy! I wanna be his girlfriend! I want to be the killer’s girlfriend! What’s wrong with me?
“Bitch, hurry up. They’re about to call for the coin toss!”
“I . . . I hung out with a person this weekend I never thought I would. And it was the best time ever.”
“Do we get a name?” Tara asked.
“Not yet,” Regan replied. “But soon.”
Secrets shared. Pep talk over. Coin tossed.
Game on.
The girls moved into position, ready to defend against River Run’s possession, as they won the coin toss. The game was brutal just as everyone anticipated—flags thrown at both teams, multiple fouls, one stretcher, a near fistfight, and lots and lots of filthy language . . . behind the backs of the referees, of course.
Well into the second half, with no score by either team, Regan made a decision. She was scoring a goal. If it killed her, she would push down the field again—clocking close to seven miles by then—and slam the ball into the goal.
“I’m knocking her hands off,” she huffed aloud, dribbling the ball around her opponent.
“Whose hands?” the opponent asked, chasing after her.
“Your goalie’s.”