DURING HALFTIME, WHEN the stands thin out with people venturing toward popcorn and porta-potties, I catch Cassie’s annoyed voice. “Let’s get out of here. They’re gonna win. I need sleep.”
“You’ll be fine,” Juliana says. “You can nap on me.”
“You don’t even like soccer.”
“True,” Juliana agrees. “But if we leave, I’m never gonna hear the end of it from Andreas.”
I’m still riding the warmth of the crowd’s energy. If Cass can make other friends, so can I. So what if any time I’d tried to talk to Juliana during work breaks over the summer, she’d looked straight over me and laughed at everything Cassie said? Perhaps we can come to a new understanding. “Why?” I say. “Are you guys dating?”
Both Juliana and Cassie turn to stare at me. That united look is like ice on Mt. Everest. It’s something I can’t scale.
Or…not.
Juliana seems slightly perplexed, as though she forgot I was here. It’s true that I haven’t stumbled over anything in the past forty-five minutes. Cassie, on the other hand, frowns at me. You don’t know anything, that look says.
It’s like when she slammed her bedroom door shut in my face when we were nine and I’d made fun of her glittery sneakers. That had been warranted. What the hell did I do now?
Marcos laughs uncomfortably, just in case I thought that things couldn’t become more awkward. “That’d violate the bro code, right?”
After a beat, my too-slow mind catches up. Oh. He means that he and Juliana dated. Adorable. That’s probably why Juliana’s looking at me with confusion; she’s wondering why the hell I asked her if she was dating her ex-boyfriend’s best friend.
Well, here are the facts. I don’t care about any code. I don’t give any shits about Juliana’s love life. And I wish Cassie hadn’t looked at me like that because I sure as hell would love to not feel like an idiot.
Then Cass slaps Juliana’s arm and says, “I could totally see it!” and Juliana shoves back, saying, “Shut up–you say that about everyone.” She’s fighting back a grin, which explodes into a laugh when Cass continues, “You and that guy from Anthony’s Pizza had chemistry!”
“Not like you and gas station guy,” Juliana retorts, causing Cass to tip her head back and laugh.
“Who’s gas station guy?” I can’t help asking.
Cassie’s eyes stay on Juliana. “Hey, he gave me ten cents off per gallon.”
“Got us to Montauk and back,” Juliana agrees.
“When?” Apparently I’m a glutton for feeling like an idiot.
Cass shrugs. “Time flies.” Those two words inexplicably send Juliana into a fit of laughter. Inside joke, I guess.
Marcos raises an eyebrow at me, expecting me to clue him in. I can’t. The longer their exchange goes on, the more moments are checked off the list of you weren’t there. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I should have chosen my father’s second option instead of opting to be grounded. Cass would have called me instead to go to Montauk, the tip of Long Island. We would have had our own jokes from the day.
I shouldn’t care. I should count down the seconds until the players run out under the lights again. At the end of the year, I’m the one she’s moving to the city with.
Heck, I used to have other friends. When I’d wake up before dawn for a competition, a group message would be underway between my teammates.
May throw up on the runway today. Emery, our unspoken leader, always kept it real.
Can someone bring bobby pins? This is out of control. Monica sent a photo of her dark brown curls, all of which were perfectly tamed.
Mom’s stopping for snacks–who wants what? Ally had her priorities straight.
Their texts after my surgery–Visit soon plz! Jess got her blind change to Jaegar! OMG Emery got an email from Nebraska!–hurt too much. They were flipping, swinging, learning new skills while I was figuring out how to roll out of my bed, grab my crutches, and hobble to the bathroom with the least amount of pain.
So I’d stopped answering, and after a while, they’d stopped sending.
I exhale and watch my breath turn to smoke.
“How’s your knee?” Marcos says.
I turn to him in surprise. “It’s okay. Why?”
His own knee starts bouncing. “Your presence has been sorely missed on the Olympic team, I’m sure.”
This guy has the uncanny ability to make me smile against my will. “Pretty sure the Olympians are getting by without me.”
“Are you cleared to get back in the gym?” He folds his hands over his knee. A slender scar winds around his middle finger. I have one like that, too, straight down the front of my knee.
“There is no ‘back in the gym’. I’m done.”
Marcos actually looks concerned by my response. His thick eyebrows shoot up and he places his hand on top of mine, like he hopes to reason with me, only to hastily rescind it. “Why?”
I’m sick of defending my decision. I’m also confused by the residual tingles that shoot through my fingers upon Marcos pulling his hand away. Cassie’s right. My relationship with gymnastics is done, and it’s time for everyone else to accept that and move on, too. “Too many injuries. The ACL was the icing on the cake.”
“ACL tears are common in soccer,” he says earnestly, like he’s a team doctor or something. “Plenty of players make a full recovery.”
Congratulations. My ACL was the grand finale in a career littered with pain. Not doing gymnastics is the only way to ensure I’ll fully recover. Thanks, but no thanks, Marcos Castillo.
He mistakes my silence as me considering his words. “You see what I mean?”
“You’re friends with all the soccer guys,” I counter. “Why aren’t you on the team?”
That strikes a nerve. His shoulders stiffen and his gaze turns back to the field. “It’s not my thing.”
I should feel glad that I shook him off. Instead, guilt washes over me. Whatever’s up with not being on the team clearly bothers him.
“Oh,” I say. One round syllable.
The whistle blows for the second half.
WHEN ANDREAS DEMOLISHES Galway Beach’s defense for the decisive goal, the slamming of feet to metal rattles my teeth. “What the crap is going on?” Cassie calls over the ruckus.