With the way the first half had gone, I didn’t know if we could get even one goal, but he was right. A single point on Ken would feel more like the ending we needed than playing the entire rest of the game only to come up with nothing.
“That’s fair. We accept,” I said to him. I said it to the real him, the worried, unsure one, and I felt less worried and more sure than I ever had. “One goal.”
I held my hand out flat, and waited while my teammates piled their hands on top of it. “On the count of three, Powell Park Pirates,” I said.
Bobby added his hand to the pile, and I counted, smiling at him.
“Powell Park Pirates,” we said in unison, and with that, halftime was over.
We made our way toward the door, if not restored, then at least united. We were still battered and bruised, but we were standing. “Think we can do it?” Wendy whispered to Dawn.
“Stranger things have happened,” Dawn replied. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
Franchesa, Lisa, and Sarah made the sign of the cross as they passed by a painting of the Virgin Mary over the light switch. I was the last one out. In the corner, Sister Anthony looked at me over the top of her book and winked.
I winked back.
One goal.
Thirty-Seven
Our fans cheered for us as we returned to the field. They must have been expecting us to quit, too. Feeling freer than I had in a while, I offered a smile to Polly and Dad, who both smiled back. Dad’s was a little faint, but there was approval in it. I would take what I could get.
By far the most satisfying thing was seeing the looks on the faces of the St. Mark’s boys. Given how stunned they were, you’d have thought we’d already scored that goal.
We had the ball to start the half—but we didn’t hang on to it long. St. Mark’s racked up three more points without even seeming to try. On the last of those goals, Marie was knocked to the ground as she came shoulder to shoulder with their biggest midfielder. I helped her up and saw that her wrist was swollen and looked worse than before. “You can’t keep playing like this,” I told her.
“I don’t want to fuck you guys over,” she said, then winced and grabbed her wrist.
“You haven’t at all,” I said. “You need to take yourself out.”
“I know,” Marie said, almost crying. “Just get the goal, please.”
“We will,” I said under my breath as she made her way to the sidelines. The score was 21–0 and we were down to ten players on the field—with no defender as good as Marie. There were twenty minutes left. At the rate the boys were going, they were going to end up with forty goals.
“How are we going to do this, again?” Tina muttered, as we watched Sarah and Arlene try to keep up with the tall blond forward who passed the ball neatly to St. Mark’s striker. Without Marie, Sarah and Arlene were even more outmatched. The striker lined up a perfect kick deep into the corner of the goal. Wendy sent her body parallel to the ground to grab it, but the low, fast shot sliced past her gloves.
“Kick off to me,” I told Joanie on the next possession. I didn’t know what I could do that would make any difference, but as Joanie’s kick soared toward my head, I nailed it with my forehead—maybe because I wished Joe was there, or maybe just to show St. Mark’s I could—and sent it flying across the field, near one of the St. Mark’s defenders. It was a flub. I’d wanted to send it toward Dana, who was wide open. I sprinted after my wrongly placed header, reaching it as it dropped, and before the St. Mark’s defender realized it, I’d hurtled the ball right to him. I chopped the ball with the outside of my foot and pushed it away from him, adrenaline coursing through me as I drove toward the scoring box.
Then a solid mass hit me in the back and I flew forward in the same direction as the ball, my chin skidding along the grass, my arms stretched in front of me, like I was body surfing across the pitch.
“Oh my God,” I heard someone gasp, my face still pressed to the ground. A patch of grass was in my mouth. Hands turned me over and I blinked up into my mom’s face. She was wearing her best suit, crouching in the grass over me. Her briefcase lay across the field like she’d abandoned it there.
“You came,” I croaked, spitting out lawn.
She wiped a small tear from her eye and sucked in a breath as if to fight back more tears. “Of course I came,” she said. “I had to see you play.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “How did the interview go?”
“I got the job,” she said, her hand still on my face.
“You wanted it so much,” I said. I didn’t want to get up; it was so nice to lie on the grass with my mom taking care of me.
Then the ref was hovering over my mom’s shoulder.
“Ma’am, ma’am, I can’t have you on the field,” he said. “Is the player hurt?”
“The player is my daughter,” Mom said, not taking her eyes off me. Bobby was on the field behind her and waved the ref off.
He crouched behind Mom. “Is she okay?”
She ran a hand along my chin and said, “She’s okay.” I nodded in weak affirmation of this. Everything hurt. But I was okay.
Mom helped me up, her heels sinking deeper into the grass as she ignored the ref’s growing impatience. A cheer rose up from our stands, I guessed because I’d survived. Or maybe for Mom’s surefootedness wearing three-inch pumps on the grass. She squeezed my arm. “I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“I’m so proud of you,” I said.
She nodded like she knew and pointed toward St. Mark’s goal. “Now go get ’em.”
Bobby gave me a quick look, as if to confirm I could still play, and when I nodded, he jogged ahead of Mom, retrieving her briefcase and handing it to her. She made her way to a seat near Dad and Polly. Polly clutched Dad’s arm, but Dad was the one with the worried expression. His shoulders were up near his ears as he leaned toward the field.
Then Mom said something to Dad, and he looked at me and smiled. No, he beamed. He was proud, too.
So was I. My parents, all three of them, together like that sent a warmth through me that I was 85 percent sure was not internal bleeding.
As I limp-jogged down toward our goal to help bolster our defense against what was sure to be another St. Mark’s goal, I let my eyes graze the bleachers, which had filled up even more. I saw Joe’s little sister, Rachel, wearing a homemade shirt that, even from the field, I could see read “Wipe Out St. Skidmarks! (Someone Needs To!)” Next to her, Joe was wearing the same shirt. Of course he had come up with the best slogan. He caught my eye and grinned. I managed to smirk back at him, like seeing him was no big deal and hadn’t made my heart drum “He’s here, he’s here” as if gearing up to lead a parade in Joe’s honor.
With twelve minutes left to play, St. Mark’s had already slaughtered us so badly that people in our stands were now cheering for us regardless of what was happening. Our improbable survival was as good as a victory. The St. Mark’s fans continued to shout in support of their team, too, as if they wouldn’t be satisfied until the boys had left our bodies on the field. To them, I guessed, it didn’t matter if the matchup was unfair; they wanted us punished for even wanting to play in the first place.
We had the ball again, and Tina brought it down the field, looking at me so I’d know she was sending it my way. She drilled it toward me and I began to dribble toward Ken, who, in this second half, had assumed an almost casual position in the goal, like he didn’t think us scoring was even a remote threat.
I was slowed down from my fall and, in my peripheral vision, saw two defenders coming up on me. Dana was open, and I flicked a somewhat weak pass around my defender that miraculously rolled to Dana’s toes. She took it to the top of the box, and their defenders put their attention toward her. Dana pulled back for the kick. My stomach tightened as I neared her, hopeful. Please, let her get our goal, I thought.
But she froze. She caught my eye and looked—for the first time in her studious life—like she didn’t have an answer. I stepped tow
ard her and planted my left foot between the ball and the defender. “I’m sorry,” Dana said.
“Don’t be,” I told her. I used the inside of my right foot to send the ball sideways over Dana’s foot, like we were one person or I was doing a two-player chop. I almost wished I could have watched it from the stands, and I heard Joe yell, “Fuck yeah, champ!”
I feinted back behind Dana and cut between her and another defender, who fell backward, as I took the ball. I dodged another big guy and was inside the scoring box.
I was in front of the goal. Ken was crouched, arms out, and took a step toward me.
“Go ahead, try me,” Ken said. “You’ll wish you gave up already.”
He wanted to scare me, but it wasn’t going to work. My mind was racing, but it was what Joe had said that popped into my brain.
Find his weakness.
With my left foot planted next to the ball, I pulled back and hammered a direct kick. At Ken’s balls.
Ken spewed out an involuntary and high-pitched keening sound as the ball hit him between his thighs with a loud SLAP. But it didn’t go in the goal. Instead, it bounced off Ken’s crotch and came sailing at my head. With Ken still bent over, I neatly headed the ball into the corner of the goal.
Into. The. Corner. Of. The. Goal.
Off my head. I shot a look at Joe; he and Rachel were jumping up and down wildly.
“Holy shit!” I screamed, forgetting we were playing in front of a crowd of parents at a Catholic school.
Behind me, my teammates had burst into frenzied cheers, and even though we still had seven minutes to play, everyone poured onto the field, surrounding me and screaming.
“You did it!” Tina said.
“We did it!” I said, hugging her.
“We won!” Joanie yelled.
“Did they just say they won?” I heard a St. Mark’s defender ask one of their forwards.
“I think they did,” the forward said.
Dana threw herself at me and I grabbed her under the shoulders and tried to lift her, even though she was much taller than me and it was virtually impossible.
“I’m sorry I froze out there,” she said. “I can’t believe you kicked it at his balls.”
“It was a good play,” I told her. “I mean, I think we could work on it a bit.”
Bobby was making his way through the rest of our players, giving hugs and praise to each girl as he went. And then he was hugging me. We were at the center of the team and the world fell away and his arms were around me and he said, “I know amazing potential when I see it.”
His arms were strong and his voice was low and meaningful and I couldn’t hate him if I wanted to. I wouldn’t have felt as good as I did at that moment if it hadn’t been for him. If, back in September, I hadn’t been as horny as I was and he hadn’t been as hot, this team playing this game and having this moment right now would not exist.
I’d like to say that scoring that goal and the surge of pride and camaraderie it inspired had also elevated me to a new level of consciousness, one where desire to reach ever higher accomplishments and serve my team in new ways somehow usurped my desire to get off, or to imagine undressing Bobby. But in fact, in the crush of people, I thought how easy it would be to grab his butt, how satisfying it would be to feel it in my hands just this once. But I savored the daydream and then placed myself back in reality. Maybe his butt, like Bobby himself, was better to enjoy in my head.
“How do you feel?” Bobby asked me, holding me at arm’s length.
Like I’m still thinking about how hot you are, I thought. Like I’m so happy I got that goal, but I’m even happier I get to share it with the team, and Tina and Candace and Polly and my mom and dad. Like I plan to be horny and daydream a lot of the time but also like I want to commit to my real life more than my fantasy one. Like my mom was right, and hurt and disappointment are survivable, and risking them only makes winning feel fucking amazing—orgasmic, even. Like I wonder what Joe’s doing later. Like I’m really grateful guys like you and him exist, if only to help cancel out some Kens.
I didn’t say any of that. Instead I smiled and said, “I’m thinking that I can’t wait for next season.”
Bobby beamed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Thirty-Eight
Once the team finally calmed down, we realized that everyone in the stands and all of St. Mark’s team were waiting on us, entirely befuddled by our celebration. The score was 24–1, and there was still time left on the clock.
But we’d made our decision at halftime, and once we had the goal, we walked off the field.
Most of us, anyway. Ken limped away from the goal, eyes shooting daggers at me. I smiled and shrugged, like “What can you do?” For once, he had nothing to say.
Mom, Polly, and Dad rushed from the bleachers to entrench me in a group hug, and it was Dad who spoke first. “Man, you’re tough,” he said. “That’s my girl.”
“I might cry,” Polly said. “Watching you girls out there was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t you think, Dierdre?”
Mom nodded. “I can’t wait for the next game.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Candace. “You were great,” she said, hugging me.
“That was amazing,” George said. “It was way better than any of our football games.”
“Thanks for saying that, George,” I said. I smiled gratefully at him, and Candace squeezed his arm and mine.
“Come Sunday for Lasagna Night, okay?” Candace said. “Tell Tina.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for being here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Candace said.
My own family started to talk about dinner—Polly wanted to celebrate my goal and Mom’s job. Dad said I should get to pick where we went after how hard I’d played, and they began again to recount highlights from the game. I let their talk about how great the team was and how great I was wash over me, and a few feet away, I saw Tina being hugged by her parents as, on the edge of her circle, Todd took a tentative step toward her. She stretched out her hand and took his. She peered at me over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “I’m so nervous.”
I gave her a thumbs-up. She was brave. I made the signal with my hand to indicate she should call me later and she nodded. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but from Tina’s mom’s open expression, I thought Tina and Todd were going to be okay.
Wendy’s face was covered in dirt, but I could see her beaming as both her parents hugged her. Clearly, they at least agreed on how proud they were of her.
Dawn was talking to a man with a clipboard—the scout?—and she had the expression of a lottery winner who couldn’t believe her luck. She pointed at me and mouthed, You’re next, and my heart flipped.
Franchesa’s brothers were carrying her on their shoulders and only put her down so that she could accept congratulations from a few of the girls on the badminton team, who’d shown up to watch. Lynn Bandis was tenderly examining Marie’s wrist, as Len Tenley stood to one side, perhaps realizing that he was being ignored by both girls. Marie beamed at me.
“So what’s it going to be, Susan?” my dad asked.
“Pizza?” I suggested, and saying the name of a food out loud made my stomach growl.
People were leaving the field in groups. Dana, who was talking to the cross-country captain, called to me, “Are you taking the bus back?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m going home with my family.”
“Got it,” she said. “See you on Monday. Captain.”
Walking toward the chain-link gate that separated the field from the school grounds were Joe and his sister. “Can you give me one minute?” I asked my family. Not waiting for an answer, I jogged toward Joe.
“Hey.” I tapped him on the shoulder. He and Rachel spun around.
“Susan, you were way cool out there,” Rachel said. She was looking at me so worshipfully, I almost forgot why I’d come over.
; “I love your shirt,” I said to her.
“Thanks. Joe’s idea,” she said. “I’ll wait in the car,” she added with a knowing smirk. Joe handed her the keys, then turned to me.
“I didn’t see you at first,” I said.
Joe shrugged and glanced down at his feet almost like he was shy. Shy was not a quality I associated with him. “We wouldn’t miss it,” he said, and then, lifting his head so he looked right into my eyes. “And I heard you told off Ken in front of the whole team. About that . . . thing he did. Thanks for that.”
I smiled. “It was no big deal,” I said. “He deserved it.” Where were my funny comments and replies? Had I sweated out the amusing portion of my personality? The blood was pumping in my veins harder than it had during the game. I’d always been at ease around Joe before, and I’d been putting off thinking about him—or him and me—until after this game was over. But now I knew something for sure. I really liked him. I wanted to see what could happen between us, even if I was a little scared.
“So, um, I wanted to ask you something,” he said.
“Sure,” I said.
I was not sure. I braced myself for a question about the night at the wedding. I thought I’d covered that when I went to his house. He grinned, though, and his mischievous smile put me at ease.
“Why did you go for the direct kick on Ken? Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”
I gave him a long, appreciative look. God, he was cute. Like, ridiculously cute to the point where I couldn’t believe I hadn’t filled my skull with thoughts of him from the first second I met him. “Someone really smart told me to go for a goalie’s weak spot, and since he’s a huge dick, I figured it was his balls.”
Joe laughed, his grateful, unrestrained laugh. “Solid thinking, Pelé,” he said. He cocked his head to the side and pointed to my shoulder. “You’ve got some dirt . . .” He lightly brushed a clump of grass off my jersey, and his touch warmed me like a torch that fired from my belly out.
“Thanks,” I said.
“So if you’re still up for a practice sometime, you can call me. Or whatever.”
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