While waiting for the Hundred Oaks squad, I lean against my car and sip my latte, trying to take my mind off how I have nothing to write about for my college essay. Does that mean I’m a loser? Does that mean I haven’t lived? The only real risk I’ve taken is covering for Ben, and it turned out badly. Besides, I can’t write about that on my application. People would find out the truth, and I’d get in more trouble for lying, and he’d get kicked out of school. Which he deserves.
But then I think about his home life. Ben grew up on the outskirts of Birmingham. His mom works at the Piggly Wiggly, a small grocery store. His father is a coal miner. Ben has an older brother and three little sisters, and his parents can barely afford to support them. Ben hasn’t been to the doctor or dentist in years because it’s just not an option for him. I’ve always admired that he applied for a St. Andrew’s scholarship. It will take him far. I can’t be the person responsible for taking that away from him, even if he was the one in the wrong.
I’ll never forget the time his family drove up from Alabama to watch him play basketball. His mother was so proud, she cried, and his father clapped the entire game.
My parents never had time to come to my games at St. Andrew’s…
I shake the sad thoughts from my head.
Dad always says that if I can’t figure out a problem, I should think about something else entirely. Just get my mind off it. So I push essays to the side and concentrate on enjoying the warm sun on my face. It’s mid-September. Fall starts next week. It won’t be warm much longer.
About a minute before the team is supposed to leave—where is everybody?!—a dusty truck creaks into the parking lot, shaking and shuddering to a stop. An old man hobbles out and makes his way to the school bus, unlocking it.
Oh no. I’m alone with an elderly bus driver.
I reach behind me and open the driver’s side door. I’m trying to sneak back into my car when he speaks.
“Hi there.”
“Hi.”
“Ready for the game? Lynchburg’s pretty good, right?”
I pause, surprised that somebody actually brought this up. At practice the other day, Coach Walker devoted absolutely no time to discussing strategy or the other team’s strengths.
“Yeah, they’re tough.”
The bus driver unlocks the door and opens it, then begins to hobble up the stairs. “Well, c’mon then.”
I shut my Buick’s door and follow him, choosing a seat in the middle of the bus. I slide onto the ripped, green vinyl and pull out my phone.
Jenna sent me a text: Kick some motherfucking ass today!
Well. That was blunt. But my sister makes me smile.
I also find a short email from my father:
I hope your game goes well.
—Dad
At least that hasn’t changed. Between his work and travel schedule, he never shows up to games, but he’s always wished me luck. It makes me smile.
I feel the bus shake and glance up to find other players getting aboard. Finally. I smile at them. Nobody smiles back except for Sydney, the freshman with colorful socks who was nice to me at practice the other day.
Nicole appears in front of me, filling my vision. “Get your ass to the front. We sit based on seniority.”
We did that at my school too. As captain, I would’ve sat at the very back of the bus this year. Whatever. It’s just a bus seat. I pull my bag onto my shoulder and edge up the aisle to the front until I’m sitting behind the coach and across the aisle from Danny, Soccer Manager Pervert Extraordinaire.
Did he just lick his lips at me?
Ugh.
I slip in my earbuds so I can listen to music to get pumped for the game. Then, while all the other girls are braiding each other’s hair and gossiping, I dig into my chemistry homework, which is due Monday.
By the time we reach Murfreesboro about half an hour later, I’m itching to play. The fields are filled with players passing balls back and forth. The smell of coffee and fried egg sandwiches wafts from the concession stand. I can’t wait to start running.
We don’t play until 10:00 a.m., so the team spends time getting camped out in a field where other teams have set up tents to shield players from the blazing sun. Fall may only be a few days away, but it’s still freaking hot outside.
I sit down cross-legged and pull my Adidas cleats from my bag. Two girls sit down across from me. I think their names are Brittany and Chloe. Chloe’s the one who hurt her knee and has to wear the robotic-looking brace. I like her super short blond hair; it’s trendy and mature. I’m opening my mouth to ask about her knee when they start chatting with each other.
“How’d it go with Jamie last night?” Chloe asks, adjusting the strap on her brace. “Did you hook up?”
The other girl—Brittany—squeals in response. I guess that’s a yes.
“Was it good?”
“No, it was great.” She grins. “His parents were out at a movie, so we had time to go up to his room.”
“Did you do it?”
Brittany shakes her head and giggles. “Not yet, but he was plenty satisfied, Chlo.”
“I’m surprised y’all aren’t already going at it like rabbits. You’ve wanted him long enough.”
“I’m thinking about it,” Brittany says, blushing. “Maybe next time.”
I smile to myself, remembering a very similar conversation I had with Steph when I was trying to decide whether to sleep with Ben.
That’s when Brittany notices I’m listening. “Mind your own damned business, traitor.”
Traitor?
Chloe shrugs at me, but it means nothing, because she doesn’t say a thing. I change my mind about wanting to join their conversation. I look around at the other girls. All of them are talking and playing on their phones. It’s like I’m not even here. I hug my legs to my chest, not meeting anyone’s eyes until it’s time to warm up.
Coach calls out, “Pair up for passing drills.”
Everyone quickly finds a partner except for me. I’m unlucky player number thirteen. It reminds me of recess in elementary school, when inevitably one kid is always picked last.
“Can I get with you and Chloe?” I ask Nicole, still anxious to see how we might play together.
“Didn’t you hear Coach Walker?” Nicole snaps. “He said pairs. Not threesomes. Is that the kind of shit you’re into? Two guys at once?”
I put a hand on my hip. “Sounds great to me. Who wouldn’t want two hot guys?”
Chloe and a few other girls snicker, and Nicole sneers when she sees the team’s giving me attention.
Sydney edges closer to me and whispers, “You shouldn’t antagonize her. It’s just making it worse.”
I shrug. Nicole doesn’t scare me.
Since I don’t have anyone to pass with, and I’m not going to start a threesome, I juggle the ball like I did at practice the other day.
After drills, Coach Walker and Nicole lead the team to field four, where we will play Lynchburg. We sit down on the sidelines and stretch as Coach goes through the lineup. “We’ve got Nicole at center forward. Alyson in goal. Chloe on right forward. Brittany—halfback. Taylor—center back.”
“You’re starting her?” Nicole blurts. “Are you sure about that, Coach? She just joined the team.”
“Taylor’s good, Nicole. She’ll help us win.”
I can’t help but grin, even though I hate playing defense. It’s not that I’m bad at it. I just like leading the charge.
The ref blows her whistle, letting us know it’s time to take the field.