“What?”
Flossie rolls her eyes. “Seriously? You’re all over the place, you’re still hungover, and you were late to the game. Don’t expect us to give you a free pass because it was your birthday yesterday.”
“You’re the one who threw me a party last night!”
“And you’re the one who chose to get plastered.”
“You were also late to practice twice last week,” one of the girls, a tall senior named Megan, pipes up.
I look at her hard, hoping my stare will make her flinch. It doesn’t. “You all feel this way? You’re all annoyed?”
They look back and forth between one another, but nobody says anything.
I set my jaw, massively irritated. “Well, none of you are scoring, either.”
More looks.
“Okay. Whatever. Let’s just start scoring.”
We break the circle as the ref throws the ball in. I launch myself after it, dashing around the players from Norfolk, trying to play the hurt and anger away.
I run down the field, catching my cleat on a mound of grass and tripping. My head is seriously killing me. Behind me I hear somebody mutter, “Looks like Her Royal Highness is blowing it.”
“If she’s not careful, she might smear her makeup,” somebody else says.
I whip around, glaring. “What?”
I try to figure out who said it, but everybody looks at the ground innocently as we line up again for the ball.
“If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face,” I say, throwing my shoulders back and jutting out my chin. I look from person to person, but nobody says a word. One of the Norfolk players smirks at me.
I look up in the stands, where Libby, Edward, and India are all watching the game. Edward looks dismayed.
Flossie snaps her fingers at me. “C’mon, Charlotte. Shake it off.”
I run back on the pitch without responding to her.
The referee throws the ball in and I race across the field. I’m determined to take all this energy and channel it. I try my hardest to score, hoping to salvage the game, but all my passes miss, all my shots go wide.
“Weston!” Wilkinson screams at me again.
I run over to the sidelines, pulling out my mouth guard and bending over, placing my hands on my knees as I struggle to catch my breath.
“Get it together!” she yells. “You’re a disgrace out there!”
“Okay! God, I get it. Stop yelling at me!” I shout back. “I’m trying!”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?”
I open my mouth to protest, and Wilkinson yells, “Get off my field! You’re out!”
Up in the stands, everybody’s whispering and giving me disappointed looks. Libby’s face is concerned, but Edward’s face is blank. I notice a few people nearby turning and looking at him, as if to see his reaction to my temper. India puts her hand on his arm but he shakes it off.
The referee blows his whistle as my teammates run back onto the field without me. Game on.
In the locker room after the match, I stand under the hot water, letting it run off my shoulders. I stand there for what feels like hours, thinking back on the day.
My team lost. The final score was 0–5.
What’s worse, I completely lost my cool—and everybody saw it.
“What is with Charlotte? She’s a complete wreck.”
My back stiffens as I try to make out the whispered voices.
“She hasn’t been herself recently. I think Edward might be cheating on her with her sister.” That’s Flossie.
“With that new girl Libby? You think?” I can’t place the voice—maybe Megan.
“Wouldn’t you be humiliated? You land Edward and then he only wants to hang out with your sister? Cringe. How embarrassing.”
My bottle of shower gel falls from my hands and lands with a thud against the tiles. I freeze.
Neither of the girls seems fazed.
“Whatever’s going on with her, she needs to figure it out. She was wasted on the field today. And the way she yelled at Coach? It’s going to ruin her reputation. I thought she was smarter than that.” Flossie again.
“I don’t know. I feel sorry for her,” says the other girl. “It’s got to be tough.” A locker slams and the voices begin to fade.
“Tough or not, she . . .”
They exit the locker room and I can’t hear them anymore.
I stand in the shower, water pooling around my feet, looking dumbly at the opposite wall.
After I’m done getting dressed, I swallow my pride and text Edward while walking back to my residence hall. He left immediately following the game, and I didn’t have a chance to talk to him.
ME: Having the worst day. Still totally hungover. Wanna stop by Colvin? Could really use a hug after that game.
I stare at the phone, feeling a rush of relief as the ellipses start. He’s responding.
But then the ellipses stop.
After dinner, Colvin Hall comes alive. The halls hum with the sound of laughter and iPhones blaring dance music. Officially, Sussex Park has a mandatory study period from seven to nine p.m., but only the underclassmen get held to it. Instead of staying in our rooms, the girls of Colvin slide in and out of friends’ rooms and the common room, dressed down in yoga leggings and with hair messily tied in topknots.
Usually, India’s room is the hub. Tonight, my room’s the designated hangout. India left campus after the game, doing something that none of us was able to piece together. I think she might have a new girlfriend.
She’s as mysterious as Edward sometimes.
He wasn’t at dinner, and he still hasn’t responded to my text. But while I previously felt sad and confused about the past couple of weeks, being ignored by him gives me clarity.
I’m not sad anymore. Now I’m angry.
I open a bottle of white wine, hiding it in a cabinet in case Arabella or McGuire makes a surprise appearance—unlikely, but always possible. I’ve also put a pack of Camel Blues and an ashtray under the bed and have placed a fan near the door blowing toward the open window. Libby is stuck in the library, finishing up an English assignment due tomorrow.
I change out of my day clothes into something suitably loungy: a pair of black leggings and a Rolling Stones concert T-shirt I bought in London last year at a posh thrift shop. Everything was so expensive it might as well have been brand-new.
Flossie and Alice are the first to stop by, wearing shrunken Sussex Park sweatpants and T-shirts that show off their bums and tummies.
“What a weekend!” Alice says, pouring herself a huge glass of wine and sinking onto my bed. “I’m knackered!” She resembles a small hummingbird.
“What have you got to be tired about?” Flossie asks. “You’re not the one who has to wake up at the crack every day for field hockey.” She shoots me a glance but doesn’t say anything else.
“Yes, but I’ve decided to give up coffee. It’s got too many toxins, apparently.”
“That’s stupid,” Flossie says. “Coffee is good for you.”
“Coffee is not good for you. That’s a fact. Right, Charlotte?”