Game Time

by Kate Christie

  “Hola, Jamestown company,” Angie said, settling onto the empty bed. “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

  Jamie scowled at her as Emma and Ellie snickered at the newest nickname. “Because the game got good right at the end. Anyway, when have you ever shown up on time in your life?”

  “Dude! That offends my delicate Asian sensibilities,” Angie said, holding a hand to her chest.

  “Does this offend your delicate Asian sensibilities, dude?” Jamie asked, flipping her off.

  “Always with the clever comeback.”

  “Shut it, Wang,” Jamie said, purposely mispronouncing her surname the way most stadium announcers did.

  “Whatever, Maxi Pad.”

  At that, Jamie launched herself onto the other bed and pinned Angie to the comforter. “Take it back,” she ordered, kneeling on the smaller woman’s waist and tickling her mercilessly. “Take it back, you little shit!”

  The door opened again and Maddie stepped into the room, eyebrows rising as she took in the scene. “I don’t know if I should be relieved or insulted that I wasn’t invited.”

  Emma’s gaze flew back to the other bed as Jamie let out a startled squeak and hit the floor. Somehow Angie had bucked her off and was now sitting up, trying to catch her breath and fix her hair at the same time. “’Sup,” she said, her voice suddenly half an octave lower as she smiled up at Maddie in a manner clearly meant to be seductive.

  Emma glanced back at her roommate to see her smiling almost shyly back at the younger player. Which made no sense because Maddie didn’t do anything shyly, ever. Oh, god. Emma knew that look.

  “Thanks for the game,” she said suddenly, rising to her feet. “Have a great day off everyone!” And she reached for Maddie’s arm, tugging her toward the door.

  But Maddie, apparently, wasn’t ready to leave. As Jamie picked herself off the floor and moved to the dresser, grumbling about pint-sized jackasses, Maddie lingered near the foot of the bed, eyes still on Angie. “So, what are you up to today?”

  “You know, a little surfing, maybe catch some rays by the pool. You?”

  “Spa day,” Emma said, answering for her roommate. “Which we’re going to be late for if we don’t get going. Bye!”

  Jamie threw her a quizzical look as she pulled Maddie from the room, but Emma didn’t pause to explain. She propelled her roommate across the hall and waited until the door was completely closed behind them to demand, “What the hell was that?”

  “What?” Maddie asked, folding her arms over her sizable—for a pro soccer player—chest.

  “You know what.”

  She shrugged. “Nothing, probably.”

  “Seriously? Did you just say, ‘Nothing, probably’ about Angie Wang?”

  “She’s kind of cute, okay?” As Emma gasped, Maddie turned away, reaching for her purse on the dresser. “Please don’t freak out. Honestly, it doesn’t mean anything. You know what a flirt she is.”

  “Flirt? I heard her telling Lisa she’s going through a ‘slutty’ stage.”

  Maddie turned back, frowning. “When was that?”

  “At the last residency camp.”

  “Emma, that was six months ago.”

  “You still have to be careful. The last thing this team needs is relationship drama before the World Cup.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious. I was there for the Tori Parker debacle, remember? If ever there was a prophylactic against teammate romance it was you two.”

  Stupidly, Emma and Tori had tried to make a go of it her first year of college, but Tori’s problem was that she couldn’t say no to anyone who wanted to sleep with her. Or maybe she didn’t want to say no. It had taken them months to be civil after Emma walked in on her making out with a random sorority girl, and their mutual antagonism—Emma for being played, Tori for being dumped—had put a strain on both of the teams they played on.

  “Anyway, don’t think I haven’t seen you and Jamie eye-fucking,” Maddie added.

  A native Chicagoan whose grandparents had been Polish immigrants, Maddie was not known for her subtlety. But she was as loyal as Dani and, as a plus, significantly less prone to pseudo-gangster posturing.

  “Nice try at changing the subject, but that is not even close to being a thing.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.”

  “I’m serious, Maddie,” Emma said, staring her friend down. “She has a girlfriend. And even if she didn’t, I wouldn’t go there. Drop it, okay?”

  Maddie blinked at her, the teasing glint in her eyes fading. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine.” She released a breath, willing herself to relax. Maddie clearly hadn’t guessed that Jamie was The Girl from High SchoolTM, which was how Emma wanted to keep it. The past could still give Jamie panic attacks as the previous night had attested—not something Emma particularly wanted to witness (or trigger?) again. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

  Maddie only nodded and followed her from the room. She was quiet as they made their way down to the hotel conference room to meet Jenny and Ryan; reserved throughout the ensuing meal and their Uber ride to Beverly Hills; untalkative even as the foursome checked into their favorite day spa in Larchmont Village. While Ryan and Jenny had signed up for hot and cold stone massages, Maddie and Emma had selected a detoxifying mud wrap followed by a hydrotherapy soak in matching copper tubs.

  Emma couldn’t quite believe it, but Maddie’s silence persisted through most of their treatment regimen. Finally, halfway through the hydrotherapy soak, Maddie set her phone aside and looked at Emma. “Can I ask you something?”

  Emma lowered her copy of Self magazine. “Can I stop you?”

  “Jamie’s the girl from high school, isn’t she? The one before Tori?”

  Damn it. If she hadn’t over-reacted earlier, Maddie probably wouldn’t have figured it out. So much for no one knowing. “I don’t think I can answer that.”

  Maddie frowned. “You know I wouldn’t tell anyone, right?”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t.”

  “Ah. Gotcha.” She paused. “Is it strange to be around her after so long?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “But it’s been a really long time, so it’s not like either of us is the same person.”

  And yet, Jamie didn’t seem all that different. From Emma’s low-key social media stalking, she had thought Jamie might have grown into someone more like Angie. But while she was admittedly more put together and less naïve than her teenage self, from what Emma had seen so far Jamie was still the same intelligent, thoughtful, occasionally goofy girl Emma had fallen in l—No. Nope. Not okay.

  “Did she invite you over to their room this morning?” Maddie asked.

  “No, Ellie did.” Technically that was true, if only because Jamie didn’t have her number.

  “Huh.”

  Emma waited, but Maddie closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the tub. “Huh what, Mads?”

  “Nothing.”

  She knew there was something else on Maddie’s mind, but she also knew her friend couldn’t be made to speak before she was ready—a trait that drove Emma crazy, but there it was. Instead of dwelling on that which she couldn’t change, she tried to focus on generally relaxing in the tub. When that failed, she set her mind to one of the calming exercises the team psychologist had taken them through earlier in the week.

  Not even two minutes later, Maddie’s phone vibrated. Emma watched as she reached for it, careful to hold it away from the water. Soon a silly smile spread across her face, and she glanced up at Emma, eyes practically glowing.

  Before the blonde could say anything, Emma shook her head. “No way. We are not meeting Angie and her little friends at the beach.”

  “It wouldn’t be at the beach. They’re heading back to the hotel after lunch to hang out by the pool.”

  “I’m serious, Maddie. Tell her no.”

  “Are you sure? You know what swimsuits mean: tattoo porn, babe.”

  The realization made E
mma pause momentarily. She’d seen Angie’s and Lisa’s tats a few hundred times by now, but not Jamie’s. At least, not in real life. From Tumblr, she knew that in addition to her arm bands, Jamie had a black tribal tattoo of a bird in the middle of her back between her shoulder blades. The faintly Celtic-looking design featured wings that fanned out across her shoulders along with tail feathers that trailed down her spine, their arrow-shaped tips pointing away from her heart. Seeing the elegant black lines up close in person would be…

  Emma stopped the thought and reached across the narrow space between the tubs to flick Maddie’s bare shoulder. Hard.

  “Something better, Miss Novak,” she said, channeling one of their assistant coaches from college.

  The midfielder sighed noisily. “Fine. Sometimes I hate that you’re such a control freak.”

  “Not my fault one of us has to be mature.”

  “But do we? I mean, we get paid good money to play a game, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Emma stared at her friend until she huffed in irritation and typed out a satisfactory reply. Still staring at her phone, Maddie muttered something that Emma’s mind unhelpfully translated to, Ham sandwich.

  “What?”

  “I said, you’re a clam jammer. You know, a female cock blocker?” Maddie held up her phone. “I looked it up on Urban Dictionary.”

  “You’re such a nerd.”

  “You’re such a dork.” She paused. “Love you, Ems.”

  “Love you too, Mads.”

  #

  On the last day of residency camp, Jamie awoke to the sound of soft voices and louder cheering. Blinking groggily, she rolled over to see Emma and Ellie sitting on the other bed, pillows at their backs, to-go cups from a nearby coffee shop clutched in their hands. The television volume was set to low, but even so the crowd sounds grated against Jamie’s sleep-sensitive eardrums.

  She glanced at the digital clock between the beds. “For fuck’s sake you guys, it’s barely five.”

  “You can sleep when you’re dead,” Ellie said, not looking away from the game.

  “Sorry,” Emma offered. “I brought you tea, if that helps.”

  Jamie squinted at the cup beside the clock. Maneuvering herself reluctantly into a sitting position—she was probably the fittest she’d ever been, but after two weeks of two-a-days she was sore—she lifted the cup and inhaled the reviving scent of black tea. English Breakfast, her favorite.

  “It helps a little. Thanks,” she added, smiling at Emma.

  Emma smiled back, her gaze seeming to linger on Jamie’s briefly before she glanced back at the television. “You’re welcome.”

  After a few sips of the still-hot beverage, Jamie finally focused on the game. Manchester United was playing Aston Villa on the road, trying to recover from their uncharacteristic losing streak. They were already up—the goal celebration by the away fans was what had awakened her. As she blinked at the TV, registering the score, another cry went up from the corner pocket of red-clad spectators. Danny Welbeck had scored his second goal in three minutes.

  Emma leapt off the bed and danced around the room, coffee held above her head. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about. Way to go, Danny boy!”

  With her arms upraised, Emma’s UNC hoodie crept up and Jamie caught a glimpse of red jersey underneath. She frowned. It almost looked like Emma had on the old school United jersey Jamie had sent her for her seventeenth birthday. But no. Surely it was a completely different shirt. She wouldn’t have kept it all this time, would she?

  The cameras focused on the Aston Villa keeper during the replay, and Jamie couldn’t resist saying, “What happened to national team solidarity? Or do you like Howard better than Guzan?”

  “Priorities, James,” Emma said. “No offense to Brad, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Emma took her seat next to Ellie, and Jamie closed her eyes, drifting off again to the disgruntled roar of the home crowd and the quiet murmur of her would-be teammates’ voices. She dozed on and off throughout the rest of the game, only sitting up again at the end when Emma got up to leave and paused beside her bed, hand lightly brushing her shoulder.

  “See you at breakfast?” she asked, a soft smile curling her lips.

  “Okay,” Jamie agreed, still struggling to wake up fully.

  As she watched Emma leave the room, Jamie felt Ellie’s eyes on her. But when she looked over at the national team captain, the older woman was already pushing herself off her bed with a tired groan.

  “Get moving, kid. Our last day at camp is upon us.”

  Our last day at camp. Jamie chewed over the phrase as she got ready for breakfast. Would today be her last day ever with the national team? She hoped not. She didn’t think it was—she’d played well, she knew she had. The coaching staff had given her plenty of opportunities to prove herself, and even though she was hardly objective, she had a sense that she had done better than most of the other new recruits. Still, she had yet to hear a word about January camp. Would they wait until everyone had gone home to make phone calls? They had to let people know soon, if only to get the best deal on flights.

  She and Ellie were leaving their room when the door across the hall opened. Maddie waved at them, yawning. Jamie caught a flash of red behind her and looked closer. Sure enough, Emma was pulling a national team warm-up on over the jersey Jamie’s father had helped her buy on eBay a decade earlier.

  Downstairs, the four players went through the breakfast buffet line together.

  “Nice jersey,” Jamie said casually, pretending to focus on the pancakes stacked in the nearest chafing dish.

  “Thanks,” Emma answered, loading fresh fruit onto her plate. “An old friend gave it to me. It’s always been one of my favorites.”

  Jamie checked the sentimental “aww” that tried to escape her lips. Emma keeping the jersey probably had more to do with her devotion to the United than it did with their friendship. Still, she didn’t have to bring it to residency camp, especially not when she knew Jamie would be there. Unless… had she wanted Jamie to see her wearing it?

  “Anyway,” Emma added as they carried their laden plates to a nearby table, “at least my team won this weekend. That’s more than you can say.”

  Jamie shrugged, sitting down across from Emma. “I’m not worried.”

  “Why, are you a fair weather fan?”

  “The weather’s pretty fair in North London currently, to be honest.”

  Emma’s brow quirked as Maddie and Ellie joined them. “I guess if you consider being blown out by Man City fair…”

  “Top of the league, Blake. Numero uno, chiquita. What are your boys again?” She touched her hand to her chin and tilted her head sideways, pretending to think. “Is it ninth or tenth?”

  “Eighth after today,” Emma corrected her immediately. “And we’re only ten points behind your boys. Besides, there’s still a lot of season left.”

  “Sure there is. You keep telling yourself that.”

  Maddie looked between them, her eyes narrowed. “You can’t possibly be that interested in English football, can you? It’s played by hulking brutes whose idea of tactics is wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

  Of all the things Jamie had expected to come out of the midfielder’s mouth, that had not been it. “You do know the English invented modern football, right?”

  “Maybe, but the Brazilians perfected it. I hardly need a history lesson from you, Rook,” Maddie added, invoking the nickname Jenny Latham had christened her with during their brief time together on the Bay Area WPS team.

  “Be nice,” Emma chided, frowning at Maddie. To Jamie she added, “Ignore her. She needs at least two cups of coffee in the morning before she can be trusted to interact responsibly with other human beings.”

  “You say that like it’s a problem,” Maddie commented, gripping her mug.

  “Only for your future spouse—assuming anyone could be convinced to take your cranky ass in lawful matrimony.”

&nb
sp; Jamie couldn’t help but notice Emma’s word choice—spouse, not husband; and anyone, instead of any guy. Was Maddie not as straight as she seemed? Then again, nothing surprised Jamie anymore when it came to female athletes and sexuality. The whole jock-dyke stereotype existed for a reason, although she would rather kiss a frat boy than admit as much publicly.

  Maddie shook her head. “Totally uncalled for, Blake.”

  “Uncalled for how?” Ellie asked. “Like you’d ever want to get married.”

  Maddie shrugged. “I haven’t ruled out the institution completely. It’s the whole rug rat thing I could probably do without.”

  “Really? I can’t wait to have babies with Jodie. That’s one of the first things on my post-soccer bucket list.”

  “Aren’t all those nieces and nephews enough for you?” Maddie commented. “I know mine are.”

  “It’s the opposite for me—the Ellison baby arms race only makes me want my own kids more. How many are there in your family now?”

  As they compared their large extended families, Jamie felt a foot nudge hers under the table. She glanced up to find Emma watching her.

  “You know,” she said, leaning closer, “I still can’t believe you’re such a hardcore Pitch Perfect fan.”

  At dinner the night before, Jamie had somehow found herself confessing that the movie soundtrack was one of the most played albums on her phone. She had also admitted that it was possible her Kindle library contained fan fiction featuring Bechloe, the PP fandom’s most popular femslash couple. Emma had asked what femslash was, a question that had caused more than one person at their table to nearly spew out their food.

  “What?” Jamie said now. “I told you, some fan fiction is better than traditional novels.”

  “Not that. A capella just doesn’t seem like it would be your thing.”

  “My sister was in a group at Stanford, and I dated their pitch my sophomore year. She was my first serious girlfriend—and for the record, she was nothing like Aubrey.”