I zipped my duffel and went downstairs to wait for Tina to pick me up. When I hopped into her passenger seat, double-checking my bag, Tina said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to think straight at school today.”
“I know—I wish we could just play now,” I said. “I feel ready, but also like I might puke.”
“Yeah, it’s sort of unreal,” Tina said. “So you and Candace are okay now?”
I nodded, choosing my words carefully. Tina and I had become closer these last few weeks, and while it didn’t mean she replaced Candace, it also didn’t mean that I wanted her to feel like she was second best. “Yeah, I think we both let the fact that she has a boyfriend come between us.”
“I get it,” Tina said. “On your side and on her side, too. There’s nothing wrong with being excited about a boyfriend.”
We stopped as a little girl crossed the street near the elementary school, skipping like she didn’t give a shit about anything. I envied her. “Yeah,” I said. “I think one of the best parts of soccer has been that we don’t talk about boyfriends. Or that it gives us more to talk about than just boyfriends. The world is a big place. It’s going to be 1980!”
Tina laughed. “Well, that makes this next thing I’m gonna say kind of weird,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Todd decided to ditch school for the game. He’s coming down,” Tina said. “And afterward, I’m going to introduce him to my parents.”
“Wow, that’s big,” I said. “Are you nervous?”
“Right now, no,” she said. “But I know when I do it, I’m going to want to piss myself.”
I chucked her on the arm. “We can piss ourselves together.”
“I appreciate the offer, but let’s both try to hold it,” she said. “I’m hoping that when we destroy those guys, maybe my mom asking Todd, ‘Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?’ won’t feel as scary.”
The rest of the team was equally keyed up. Wendy said her dad had offered to buy her a car if she didn’t play in the game. “I’m turning down a car for this,” she said. “But my mom said he never keeps his promises anyway. And she told me I can get a perm if I play.”
At lunch, Dana Miller ran up to our table and said, “We have a bus! We have a bus!”
“What?” Tina looked at her. “Slow down. What do you mean, a bus?”
Dana took a deep breath and let it slowly. “I overheard Assistant Principal Lawler tell someone there was a bus budget overage from a cross-country meet that got canceled, and I asked if she could reallocate it to us!”
George, who was sitting with Candace at our table today—he and Candace had decided to alternate whether they sat with us or his friends—held up his blessedly plain turkey sandwich in victory.
“Way to go!” George said to Dana. “You guys deserve it.”
I smiled at George, even if I wanted to roll my eyes. Then I dropped my half-finished sloppy joe back onto my plate.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Is that stepping on your authority as captain?”
“No fucking way,” I said. “We have a bus! Good work!” I stood up and hugged Dana, who looked more surprised by my hug than I had been to hear a sophomore use the word “reallocate.”
“And we didn’t have to wash any cars to get it!” Franchesa said, pumping her fist.
Candace stole one of George’s fries and said, “We can’t wait to see you guys.”
“Maybe you can join back up next year?” Tina offered.
“I was thinking about badminton,” Candace said. Then she whispered to Tina and me, “I need something that requires slightly less boob taping.”
As the day went on, the rest of the team found out about the bus. Dawn in particular was really enthused by the development. “Is it true we have a bus?” she asked me when our paths crossed after fifth period. When I said it was, she grinned. “There’s going to be a scout from the college where my aunt works in Wisconsin,” she said. “The bus makes the team look a lot more established.”
“A scout?”
“Yeah, for a small college with a soccer team,” she said. “I mean, it probably won’t lead to anything, but if I can get any money for college, it would be huge. It’s the only way I’m going to get out of here.”
“Do you think they’ll be watching all of us?” I said, thinking it couldn’t hurt to get a scout interested in me early.
“I don’t see how they couldn’t,” Dawn said. “So look alive.”
I was pretty sure I could do that.
We gathered at the front of the school to meet our bus. Bobby did a head count, then said to all of us, “You look ready.” He’d been somewhat short on his speeches lately, and we also hadn’t needed them as much. But then he said, to all of us, “Whatever happens, this is your team. I got to witness it, but all of this was all of you.”
I hated him the slightest iota less with each passing day.
Since the pep rally, people had been promising to come to the game, but I hadn’t really believed many of them until we got off the bus at St. Mark’s and saw the stands were full. Or at least full enough to fill the rows about halfway up. John and the cross-country guys were actually there, and so were some of the people who’d praised us in the hallway.
Candace had shown up with George, Duane Harris, and, improbably, Keith Barnes. George held up a homemade sign with a big foot on it that read “OUR GOAL? STOMP ON ST. MARK’S!” It was extremely corny and very George, but I couldn’t help smiling.
My huge grin faded when my eyes landed on Polly and Dad in the front row. Dad pretended to be setting his watch, but Polly waved. As I passed, Polly leaned forward, exaggeratedly mouthing, He’s fine. For all I knew, “he’s fine” might only have meant that he was sitting in the stands at my soccer game and somehow not having an anger-based heart attack, not that he approved of what he was seeing, or of what he had seen at his wedding.
“Holy shit,” Tina said. “I can’t believe there are so many people. Now, whatever happens, people are going to remember.” She waved at her parents then leaned closer to me. “Todd is sitting kitty corner from them. Oh my God, I hope he doesn’t say anything during the game.”
Todd had a sign that read “POWELL PARK . . . GO, FIGHT, WIN!” and he held it up and waved it side to side until Tina smiled at him.
On the other side, St. Mark’s had its own crowd, mostly other boys from the school. Their signs weren’t as friendly. “CHICKS SHOULD BE IN THE KITCHEN, NOT KICKIN” was about as clever as they got. I didn’t see Joe, though. I’d half hoped he’d make a punk rock gesture and sit on our side of the bleachers, but he wasn’t even on his school’s side. At least if today sucked, he wouldn’t see it, I tried to tell myself. But I knew that I wanted him to see the game, good or bad.
St. Mark’s was warming up, making kicks that sounded like someone pounding bloody chunks of meat. Ken caught my eye across the field and flipped me off.
I was about to lift my finger to return the gesture when Bobby stepped in front of me. “You’re better than that. Flip them off by winning.” His jaw was stern and tight. I knew it was probably risky for him to let us play a boys’ team in front of all these people, and I wondered what it could cost him to be as serious about this game as we were. I appreciated him for it, in spite of myself.
I dropped my arm to my side. “Should I lead warm-ups, or do you want to?”
“You can handle it.” He looked past me toward the boys’ side of the field, as if to catalog their abilities. He didn’t say anything to indicate that the boys were far better than the Wisconsin team who’d beaten us, or that I’d made a mistake in getting us into this game. Both thoughts had crossed my mind, but I was still riding along on the wave of improbability that I’d gotten the rematch in the first place. I truly thought we had a chance.
With everyone watching, I called the team together, sensing my dad’s eyes on me as the rest of the girls followed me onto the pitch. I started warm-ups, feeling like how well I guided the team thro
ugh stretches, practice kicks, and jumping jacks would be what put me in my dad’s good graces again. We jogged around the perimeter, but I could sense everyone was distracted.
As we gathered near our bench just before the game was to start, the ref called over Bobby and the St. Mark’s coach—a tall, reedy man with a long face and skin so wind reddened, it matched his St. Mark’s jacket. “Are we sure we want to do this?” the ref said, with a thick Chicago accent.
He clearly meant the whole game, not the coin flip.
The St. Mark’s coach shrugged, as if the ref was asking him if he liked the weather we’d been having. “It’s really up to him,” he said. “I don’t know if his team is ready for my boys.”
“My team is ready,” Bobby said calmly. “We’re surprised you showed up in uniform this time,” he added.
The other coach flinched. Bobby winked at us.
“Here goes nothing,” I said.
“Or everything,” Dana added.
“We might not win, but we won’t have our asses handed to us,” I said, hoping I was right.
When it was time for kickoff, we charged onto the field like we had nothing to fear.
“Let’s fucking go,” Wendy muttered under her breath as she strode onto the field and pulled on her goalie gloves.
We didn’t crush them. We were entirely outmatched. I would have rather been handed my actual ass than endure the trouncing we got, starting from the ref’s first whistle.
St. Mark’s won the coin toss and got to start the game with the kickoff. When their forward stepped into the circle and made a kick that seemed almost aimed for Dawn, I think we all felt like our first goal was going to be easy. But as Dawn brought the ball toward the goal where Ken was stationed, St. Mark’s largest defender zeroed in on her, ripping the ball away and almost toppling Dawn. He sent the ball hurtling in the direction of one of their forwards, who took control and easily wove through our defenders before he gave the ball a solid kick. It rocketed toward the goal and was headed right for Wendy’s face. She lost her balance trying to deflect it, and was left sprawled on her butt less than one minute into the game. St. Mark’s got the goal.
“They meant to do that,” I huffed to Tina as we ran back to the middle of the field. Sarah kicked off and Franchesa at forward had it, glancing at me to signal that she was going to pass it. I moved into position, clocking Franchesa’s progress as she evaded St. Mark’s players. Screw them, I thought. They’d practiced for that humiliating goal, but we wouldn’t let the rest be so easy.
But as Franchesa got closer, weaving expertly around her opponent, another defender approached on her opposite side and rammed her shoulder. Franchesa’s foot rolled over the top of the ball, and she slid twelve feet across the field. A St. Mark’s midfielder got possession, not even waiting to see if she stood up. In the stands, Franchesa’s brothers were on their feet—their shoulders together formed one broad set—as if they intended to storm the field, but Franchesa, wobbling slightly, managed to stand.
“We have to get meaner,” Marie huffed. “I want us to have the ball. Be ready.” On their next possession, as a lanky forward moved closer to scoring position, Marie, Dawn, and Sarah made a V and closed in on him. The guy twisted his body toward the goal as if aiming for it, but then, with a swiping kick, sent the ball sideways toward another forward. Marie, who’d been closest to him, took a hit to her shoulder and flew backward to the ground, landing awkwardly on her wrist. Even from across the field, I could hear as she let out a high wheezing noise, and I knew she was hurt.
A few of us kept after the boys’ team, but two others and I circled Marie to see if she was okay. “You should take yourself out,” I told her as she held her wrist tenderly.
She grimaced, flicked her head like she was trying to dodge an annoying fly. “Just a bruise,” she said. “Let’s get them.”
But that’s when the ref blew his whistle, calling a penalty on the play and awarding St. Mark’s a free kick on our goal, claiming Marie charged the St. Mark’s jerk. There’d been no penalty kick when Franchesa was sent flying.
“I should say something,” I huffed.
“No, don’t,” Tina said. “At least we get a minute to breathe.”
They didn’t make a goal on the free kick, but they got possession quickly and scored right after it.
It went on like that, almost as if St. Mark’s had planned to give us hope on each possession, only to take the hope away. Worse, they were playing pretty rough, and the ref wasn’t calling them for anything, like he believed he’d shown us mercy at the coin toss and now wanted to make us beg to quit. I got a free kick when a St. Mark’s defender openly pushed me right next to their goal. But that was more humiliating than anything else, because I had to look right into Ken’s smug face as he blocked it.
It went on like that for the entire first half, which finally ended with a score of 17–0.
As we limped off the field to go to the locker room, our fans, if we could call them that, were silent in the bleachers. They pitied us, or maybe feared for our lives. Polly and Dad were the only people who looked directly at me, but I was so embarrassed, I turned away.
Thirty-Six
Bobby didn’t say anything except to tell us we’d be going to the women’s lounge at St. Mark’s, where nuns took their breaks between classes. Since it was a boys’ school, there was no girls’ locker room, and the only reason we even had this space was that one of the nuns had insisted to Bobby that we be afforded the same hospitality as a boys’ team. As we made our way into the school, I hoped that they had also prayed for us, even though I normally didn’t buy into that kind of thing.
We followed a nun who introduced herself as Sister Anthony down the hall. She was as tall as the St. Mark’s coach, with an equally long face, and I wondered if they were related. She wore a men’s-style suit with her nun headpiece, so that from the back she looked like the Grim Reaper if he stuck around and changed for your funeral. The thoughts of death felt appropriate at that moment.
The hallways smelled like a mix of church and boy: incense and dust plus BO and fried food. Our feet squeaked against the clean linoleum.
I thought of things to say. Captain-y things. But if I pointed out the few good moves we’d made in the first half (and to call them good would be a stretch), it would sound hollow and phony.
Dawn punched one of the lockers as she passed it. “Fuck, we shouldn’t be out there.”
“Get some water,” Dana urged her as they passed a fountain.
“I need hemlock, not water,” Dawn snarled.
Sister Anthony opened a dark wood door and flipped on the light switch. We followed her into the lounge, a wood-paneled room with some old furniture and a noisy fridge running in one corner.
“There’s some water,” she said. “If anyone needs a bandage, there’s a kit.” She gestured to a first-aid box on the wall. Then she retreated to a corner of the room and fired up a cigarette. There were ashtrays stuffed with cigarette butts scattered everywhere. Nuns liked Marlboros, apparently. I suspected Sister Anthony was one of the nuns Joe liked.
We fell onto the couches and chairs, all of them overstuffed, comfortable traps. Maybe Sister Anthony just wanted us to fall asleep here.
Bobby stood at the center of us and walked the circle, peering at Marie’s wrist, which she shielded with her other hand, and Franchesa’s scuffed-up legs. He was silent amid our groans and sighs, as if trying to interpret what they meant.
“You’ve done a great job,” he finally said. “You might not see it that way, but you’ve challenged every possession, and you’ve kept up with them every step of the way.” He looked from girl to girl. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a team work so hard on the field,” he added. “You should be proud.”
His remarks were the kind of thing I had debated saying, but if I’d said them, they wouldn’t have been in past tense. I leaned forward in my seat, hanging on his every word, but not in the way I used to. It sounded like he was g
iving us a pep talk so that we’d be okay with bailing on the second half.
And I was right.
“I think you’ve really proven yourselves today, but there’s no harm in letting this game go.”
I almost jumped from my seat. “What is this? A funeral? We’re not dead yet,” I said, facing off with Bobby. I gestured to my teammates, who did, admittedly, look a touch dead.
Bobby’s jaw clenched. “Susan, you might want to go back out there, but what about your team?” Looking right at me, and only me, he added, “There will be other games.”
“I don’t think we’ll feel like we gave it our personal best if we quit now,” I said, like I was explaining a simple concept to a stubborn child. I looked around the room to see if someone, anyone, was on my side.
Dana Miller was the first to speak, and I braced myself. But she just said, “Susan’s right. We have to finish this game.” She came and stood next to me.
“We can finish,” Tina said, also rising. “It will be ugly, but we’ll survive.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to give them the satisfaction,” Marie said, and joined us. She didn’t give any sense she was in pain, but I saw her touch her hurt wrist as if checking to make sure it was intact.
Slowly, the rest of the team got up and stood next to us. Bobby’s eyes were still on me, his expression fretful. He looked around the room, waiting for someone to take his side, but the only one left was Sister Anthony, whose face was now hidden behind a paperback mystery novel.
Maybe it was being surrounded by so much holy stuff, but realizing that Bobby not only had flaws but also fears was an epiphany. Then and there, I forgave him entirely for not being who I’d wanted him to be. He was my coach, and he could get things wrong.
When it was clear we wouldn’t back down, I could almost see an idea form in his head as he nodded to himself. “Okay, your captain has spoken,” he said. “You’ve all spoken. But I’m not sending you back out there without a path to victory. So here’s the deal: We just need one goal. If you can score one goal, that’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.”
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