Game Time

by Kate Christie

  That night back in their room, Ellie had echoed Emma’s sentiments, though a tad more judiciously. “You can’t afford to worry about anyone else,” she had said as they lay in the dark chatting before sleep. “You take care of you, and the rest will fall into place.”

  The captain’s words had reminded Jamie of one of Ellie’s early interviews, and it was all she could do to keep from quoting Ellie back to herself. Somehow, though, she’d managed to lie quietly in their shared hotel room and refrain from squeeing at the realization that the person whose breathing she could hear evening out in the bed beside hers was her younger self’s biggest idol. She couldn’t sleep herself. The old interview that she’d memorized as a teenager kept running through her mind: “A coach once told me that there are only three things you can control: your attitude, your work ethic, and your level of effort. Everything else is outside of your control—coaching decisions, field conditions, weather, teammates, and, of course, referees.”

  This field-level philosophy dovetailed nicely with Jamie’s own sports/life mantra: “Control the things you can and let go of the things you can’t.” That was what she’d tried to do so far in LA: focus on her own attitude, work ethic, and effort, and let go of the things she couldn’t control—Steph Miller’s apparent resentment, for one; the look in Emma’s eyes when Jamie touched her shoulder, for another. In spite of the occasional hitch, the first five days of residency camp had slipped past in a blur of hard work, afternoon naps, and meals with women she was getting to know some for the first time and others all over again.

  She had spent the most time with three of her former youth pool teammates: Angie, a fellow midfielder; Lisa, a defender (because what else would she be with a last name like Wall?); and Rebecca Perry, surprisingly tolerable for a striker. They sat together every morning at team breakfast, cheered each other on in fitness training, and generally had one another’s backs. Between practices they napped together in someone’s room, and on evenings the team didn’t have anything planned, they went out to dinner and watched Netflix until curfew. It was so much like their early days in the national pool that sometimes Jamie felt as though in addition to traveling halfway around the world, she had also managed to journey back in time.

  Despite the slightly surreal quality of being back in LA and her near-constant state of exhaustion, she was feeling good about her performance. At the start, she’d had no idea if she possessed even a slight chance at making the team. Now, almost a week in, she was starting to regain some of the blind self-faith that elite athletes usually carry in droves. The last few years hadn’t been easy, it was true, and she’d lost some of her previously unshakable confidence. But one good thing about surviving trauma was that it could provide the survivor with perspective. Even if she didn’t make the World Cup squad, she still had her health, her family, and a professional soccer career. Besides, she’d already earned a couple of caps with the national team, which was more than 99.99 percent of the soccer players in the world could say.

  Beside her, Ellie and her fellow co-captain Phoebe Banks were murmuring quietly as they stretched, slotting their sentences into the gaps in Craig’s end-of-first-week speech. On her other side, Angie and Lisa were engaged in a battle to see who could flick the other hardest without gaining the attention of the coaching staff. Jamie was almost certain Melanie, the eagle-eyed defensive coach, had already twigged their game, but Mel didn’t say anything as she and Bill, the offensive coach, stood slightly behind Craig, arms folded across their chests. Mel was Jamie’s favorite, and not only because she was family. Unlike certain other members of the coaching staff, Mel didn’t yell or rant at them. She was calm and thoughtful and had a decent sense of humor. And she seemed to like Jamie, which was always an attractive quality in another person—particularly in one with the power to make or break your biggest life goals.

  “So unless you lot have any objections,” Craig finally wrapped up, “the rest of the coaches and I think you’ve earned your day off tomorrow. And that day off begins—” he lifted his arm, pretending to squint at his watch—“right now.”

  The players immediately erupted in cheers, and if Craig had planned to say anything else, it was lost in the cacophony of thirty women discussing plans for their first day off in almost a week.

  “Up for some surfing action tomorrow?” Angie asked, leaning in.

  “Hell yes.” Jamie pulled her sweaty shin guards out of her socks. “It’s been way too long.”

  Lisa, a native Southern Californian (an identity Jamie generously overlooked), chimed in along with Rebecca, and the plan was set. The water would be cold at this time of year, but that’s what wet suits were for. Jamie couldn’t wait. Even when it wasn’t the best day for waves, she loved being out on the ocean with the sea and sky all around, far from shore without a phone or any other mode of communication. Untouchable.

  Before they could leave the field, Ellie and her co-captain called everyone in for an announcement.

  “I know some of you want to spend time with friends and family,” Ellie said, “but those plans will have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight is mandatory team bonding.”

  A faint smattering of groans was silenced by a single look from Phoebe Banks, who stood at Ellie’s elbow with her hands on her hips. Angie had nicknamed Banks “The Enforcer” and claimed to find her weirdly hot. Banks was straight—or at least she was engaged to a male college soccer coach—but Jamie had always gotten a queer vibe off of her. Then again, most female keepers she knew came off as slightly butch, so probably it was an occupational hazard.

  “Don’t worry,” Ellie added. “It’s the kind of bonding that involves dinner and movies. We’ll meet in the lobby in an hour, so don’t be late.”

  The mood in the van was cheerful, despite the response to Ellie’s pronouncement. It had been a difficult week and most players were ready to chill. For the last five days they’d traveled almost exclusively from the hotel to the training center and back again. A few people had hit the beach one afternoon, but most took advantage of their few hours of free time between sessions to sleep or, in the case of the college-aged players who had been called into camp, to do homework. Jamie remembered her youth camp experiences, cramming in math tests and lab reports wherever she could and dreaming about a life that was entirely devoid of homework. She now had that life, and it was at least as awesome as she had imagined.

  An hour later, she was showered and ready to go out with the team. Ellie was ready, too, but she was out on the balcony Skyping with her fiancée. Jamie, meanwhile, had stretched out on her bed with her laptop and started an email to Clare. It was the middle of the night in the UK, so she couldn’t call. She wasn’t entirely sure Clare would answer even if she was awake. They had only spoken once since Jamie left London, and she was starting to think that Clare was avoiding her.

  “Hola, bitches,” Angie said, barging uninvited into the room. They had left the metal door latch wedged into the gap, which in camp parlance meant no one was naked and visitors were welcome. “Where’s Ellie?”

  Jamie nodded at the balcony where the striker was visible through the sliding door. “Chatting with Jodie.”

  “Aww, they’re so cute. That’s relationship goals, for real.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in monogamy anymore?”

  “It’s fine for other people.”

  Angie paused in front of the dresser, checking herself out in the mirror. Her black hair flowed loose around her shoulders, partially hidden by a gray fedora. A red skinny tie complimented her black button down and dark gray skinny jeans. Low black boots, dark red lipstick, eyeliner, and a light coat of mascara finished off the look.

  Jamie loved Angie, but the whole playuh thing she had developed since being dumped by her college girlfriend the previous winter was tiresome. So what if they had girls sending them messages daily wanting to hook up? Half the people Jamie knew outside of soccer had dating apps on their phones and could meet random hook-ups anytime they wanted,
too. She had honestly never understood the appeal of sleeping around.

  Angie launched herself onto the bed and peered over her shoulder. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Jamie minimized her email quickly—but not quickly enough.

  “Are you writing to Clare?”

  She nodded, bracing herself for Angie’s reaction. Instead of teasing her about being whipped, though, Angie only sighed and rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “That’s sweet. You guys are sweet.”

  “Hold on.” Jamie lifted her hand to Angie’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Shut up,” Angie grumbled. “Now come on, get dressed. It’s almost time to go.”

  “I am dressed.”

  Angie sat up straighter and glared at her. “James Maxwell, you are not wearing a hoodie out tonight.”

  “Why not? It’s not like I’m looking to hook up.”

  “You have a lot to learn about being on this team. It’s not about hooking up, it’s about keeping up.”

  “I actually agree with her, Max,” Ellie said, reentering the room. She was dressed in dark blue skinny jeans, a gray button down, and a black bow tie, her short hair slicked back. She even had some make-up on.

  “But I like this sweatshirt.”

  The other two ignored her as they ransacked her side of the closet, hauling out black skinny jeans, her favorite red and gray flannel, and her black high tops. Once she was dressed, they dragged her into the bathroom and set to work on her hair and face, brushing aside her protests that she didn’t “do” make-up.

  When they were done, she stared at her reflection. It didn’t even look like her. The deep red lipstick matched her shirt while the mascara emphasized her long lashes, and the concealer they’d brushed on was so light she could barely tell it was there. The extra pomade they had rubbed into her hair made it look shiny but not crusty, and added body while keeping the longer strands out of her eyes.

  “Damn, James,” Angie said, holding her hand up to Ellie. “You look so good I’d almost do you.”

  “Totally,” Ellie agreed, slapping her palm.

  In the mirror, Jamie shot them the bird.

  By the time they reached the lobby, most of the other players were already waiting. Jamie glanced around until she found Emma standing between Maddie Novak and Jenny Latham. She looked beautiful in blue jeans, a loose gray sweater that fell to mid-thigh, and ankle boots, her long hair falling about her shoulders in a cascade of shiny curls. Her eyes caught Jamie’s, and all at once Jamie had the strangest feeling, almost like she was about to lose her balance.

  Ellie’s elbow connected with Jamie’s ribs, and she sucked in a breath. “The hell, Ellie?”

  “Watch yourself,” the older woman said, her voice low. “There are people and cameras everywhere, and you drooling over Maddie is not something you want to have end up online.”

  “No, I wasn’t—it wasn’t…” Jamie trailed off. What did it matter if Ellie had picked the wrong teammate? Either way, she was totally off-base. Well, not totally. Emma was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. But Jamie didn’t have those feelings for her, not anymore.

  Ellie slung an arm across Jamie’s shoulders. “Residency camp is like being at a women’s college. Jodie went to Smith in Massachusetts, and she said some of the dorms there were lesbian sexcapades twenty-four seven.”

  Angie leaned in. “Where are these lesbian sexcapades of which you speak?”

  “Other than in your pants?” Jamie quipped, and slapped the hand Ellie offered.

  At the restaurant, a warehouse-sized Americana place where the staff had set aside half the dining room for their party, Ellie pointed at her own eyes and then at Jamie, with a subtle nod toward Maddie. Jamie resolved to sit as far from the team captain as possible. This meant she ended up at a table with some of the new recruits, residency camp rookies who, unlike her, had arrived not knowing many of the rostered players. These girls seemed to group her in with the veterans, and she tried not to let that go to her head as she sipped red wine and asked them about themselves. Making everyone else talk was pretty much her go-to move in any potentially awkward social situation.

  At one point, Emma and Maddie visited their table on the way back from the restroom.

  “Hey, Jamie,” Emma said, smiling.

  “Hey.” Jamie smiled back, hoping her expression was suitably casual. From across the room she could feel the press of Ellie’s gaze.

  “You all doing okay over here?” Maddie asked.

  While the other women at the table rushed to assure the veterans they were doing splendidly, Jamie sipped more wine, Ellie’s words echoing in her head. The idea of her drooling over Maddie was kind of funny. The blonde may have left her tongue-tied on more than one occasion, but it wasn’t like Jamie was attracted to her.

  As if to mock her, an image of Maddie from the previous year’s ESPN Magazine Body Issue floated into her mind. Naked. What the hell? Freaking Ellie and her obsession with lesbian sexcapades.

  The fly-by didn’t last long. As soon as the two starters were out of earshot, one of the newbies declared, “They are so nice! I thought maybe the publicity photos were air-brushed or whatnot, but now I don’t think they are.”

  “They’re totally prettier in person,” another player agreed. “Did I tell you guys Emma stayed after practice yesterday to help me with my one v. one defending? I thought for sure camp would be cutthroat, but the older players seem really supportive so far.”

  Jamie wanted to say that it was the coaches you had to look out for and not the other players, but she kept the thought to herself. Steph Miller had proven her wrong with her mind games earlier in the week, and anyway, Jamie was competing with these women for a spot on the team. While she wanted to believe she was basically a good person, she knew the fact that she was older and had already crashed and burned on two previous tries meant that she would have to work that much harder to stand out. There was another residency camp in mid-January and a three-match road trip two weeks later to open the team’s 2014 schedule, followed by the annual Algarve Cup in Portugal in early March. At this point, her main goal was to be invited to the January camp so that she would have a shot at making the roster for the February matches. Then if she did well in the friendlies, she might make the Algarve Cup roster, something she’d always dreamed of.

  Choosing not to share insight born of experience with her rivals didn’t necessarily make her evil. It made her smart, didn’t it? Right. She reached for her wine again.

  By the end of dinner, she was feeling tipsier than she had intended. Combining utter physical exhaustion with social awkwardness and a general inability to hold her liquor had probably not been the wisest of choices. Wait, did wine count as liquor, or was the term reserved solely for hard alcohol? In addition to being a lightweight, she knew practically nothing about booze. She had her reasons for avoiding alcohol, but hanging out with other athletes meant fielding more than the occasional run-in with beer pressure. In high school she’d managed to stay mostly sober most of the time, barring the incident that had started her down the straight edge path. But in college she’d found it significantly harder to avoid drunkenness, especially as a varsity soccer player at an NCAA Division I university. Still, she didn’t like to lose control. Tipsy was usually as far as she went.

  Even after using the restroom, where she peed for what felt like a full two minutes, possibly longer, her tongue still felt heavy and her head was fuzzy in a mostly pleasant way. When she collided with Angie on the semi-lit sidewalk outside the restaurant, she threw her arms around the smaller woman’s shoulders and tugged her closer.

  “Hey there, little buddy,” she nearly crooned. She loved Angie so much. She had missed Angie, like, totally.

  Angie grinned up at her. “Aw, drunk Max is in the house! My favorite!”

  “I’m not drunk. I’m just so happy to be here with you guys, you know? I just love you guys.”

  “We love you too, Max. Group hug!”


  Angie slipped her arm around Jamie’s waist while Lisa and Rebecca crowded in, laughing and mussing Jamie’s hair while she stood in the middle, smiling so widely her face hurt. Over Lisa’s shoulder she caught Emma staring at her from a few feet away, a smile teasing her lips even as her eyebrows arched heavenward. Wait, was “heavenward” even a word? Jamie smiled back at Emma. She was just so genuinely happy. She hoped Emma was, too. Everyone should be, especially people who were as pretty as Emma was.

  When Ellie pulled one of the team vans around, Jamie and her friends hustled aboard, smushing into the front row behind the driver’s seat. The other three made sure she had the center seat so that she could see out the front window.

  “We don’t want you getting car sick on us, Max,” Angie said, her arm loose around Jamie’s shoulders.

  “Like in Mexico,” Rebecca added.

  “Oh my god, that was so gross.” Lisa made a face. “You totally puked in your shopping bag.”

  “I took the clothes out first,” Jamie protested. “Anyway, like you remember—you were passed out in the back row.”

  “To be fair, no one except Britt even knew what happened until we got back to the hotel,” Rebecca said, flipping her long, blonde hair from one shoulder to the other.

  Why were all strikers blonde? Jamie frowned a little in concentration. Or was it that all blondes were strikers? Whoah. That was too much for her brain to parse. If only Britt were here right now. Even at her drunkest, the keeper maintained a calm exterior and clear mind that allowed her to answer life’s great questions. Missing her friend, Jamie closed her eyes and then opened them quickly, focusing on the road ahead as Ellie guided the van onto the freeway.

  They were back at the hotel in a matter of minutes. But instead of retiring to her room alone to potentially drunk—ahem, tipsy dial her girlfriend, Jamie found the entire team piling into their room, where Ellie and Phoebe had arranged for a DVD player to be brought up. Right—movie night was happening in their room. In fact, Ellie had asked to commandeer the sleeve of DVD favorites she liked to travel with. Crap. She had totally forgotten.