Outside the Lines

by Kate Christie

  Jamie’s foot tapped spasmodically as she wondered if she would be in Canada next year as a player or as a fan. The coaches had brought twenty-four to Brazil but would only take twenty-three to Canada. If she was the last player to be cut, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to show her face, especially not if the US made it to the finals.

  When the draw ended at last, the team was excused until the evening video review session. Their first game of the tournament would be against Brazil in a few days, Coach Mel reminded them, and there was much work to be done in the meantime.

  “There’s always much work to be done,” Rebecca said as they left the conference room.

  “You are correct, young grasshopper,” Lisa said, and dodged an elbow from Angie. “What? Not a David Carradine fan?”

  “You mean the white guy who thought it was okay to play a Chinese priest? Freaking Hollywood whitewashing,” Angie said, shaking her head.

  “Preaching to the choir, my dude,” Lisa agreed. She was one of two African-American players in the pool currently, and often lamented the lack of racial diversity on the team.

  Emma caught up to Jamie in the hallway, giving her a hip-bump by way of greeting. “What did you think of your first World Cup draw?”

  “I think Germany got off suspiciously lightly, as did Japan.”

  “Are you suggesting the draw might be rigged?” Emma pretended to sound scandalized.

  “It’s FIFA. Isn’t that more believable than it not being rigged?”

  “So cynical, Max.”

  “I prefer the term realistic.”

  “Mm-hmm. Feel like taking a walk later?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sweet. I’ll text you.” And with that, Emma sauntered away.

  Jamie hurried after her friends, who had moved on to LGBTQ+ representation on the big and small screen.

  “Kids’ movies are the worst,” she put in as the conversation paused. “You know what they say about Disney, don’t you?”

  “If it walks like a gay guy…” Angie said.

  “And talks like a gay guy…” Lisa added.

  “Then it must be a Disney villain,” Rebecca finished.

  Jamie regarded the small group appreciatively. “Nice.”

  Her friends laughed and pummeled her affectionately.

  “It’s good to have you back, Nerd Squad,” Angie said, slinging an arm around her neck.

  It was good to be back. Now if only she could convince the coaches to keep her around.

  #

  Her first couple of days of training went well. Her time off from the NWSL had allowed her to recover from the busy pro season, while training with Arsenal for Champions League had kept her match fit. Not everyone in the pool could say the same. For the second winter in a row, Steph Miller came into an end-of-year camp dragging from sleepless nights and the common childhood illnesses her son had managed to share with the family. Jamie was starting to think that Ellie’s plan of retiring before having babies made a lot of sense. Not that she mentioned this realization to Emma. While their relationship had grown considerably during their London holiday, they were nowhere near the point of discussing when to have their hypothetical children. For one thing, they hadn’t even told Jo they were dating.

  The night before the first match, Emma and Jamie stopped by the coaches’ table after dinner. As they’d rehearsed, Emma smiled brightly and said, “Hey guys. Do you have a second?”

  The three coaches exchanged a look, and then Jo nodded up at them. “Have a seat, ladies.”

  Jamie had once read that people tended to think more quickly on their feet than seated, but Emma was already accepting the seat Mel had pushed toward her. Reluctantly, Jamie took the other chair.

  “So,” Jo said, folding her hands on the edge of the conference table, “what can we do for you?”

  Jamie nodded at Emma, who took a breath and said, her voice impressively steady, “We wanted to let you know, in the spirit of transparency, that we’re in a relationship. A romantic one.”

  “I see.” Jo didn’t seem surprised. Neither did the other coaches.

  Mel smiled and said, “Congratulations! That’s good news.”

  “Oh.” Emma blinked a few times. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jamie added, relief flooding her system at the easy acceptance in their coaches’ eyes. “We thought about mentioning it in September, but we weren’t sure if it would be an issue, given my status with the team and everything.”

  “Well, thank you for your transparency, and for your continued professionalism on and off the field,” Jo said. “I don’t believe that either of you will have any trouble putting the team first, no matter what.”

  “Absolutely,” Emma agreed. “I’ve been around this team for a while. I wouldn’t want to do anything to negatively impact our dynamics.”

  “Same,” Jamie put in. “Or, I guess I haven’t been around this team for a super long time, not like Emma, but I am definitely committed to keeping any relationship issues away from the team. Not that there are any! Issues, I mean. Everything is hunky dory!” Jamie’s teeth clicked as she closed her mouth to prevent any more words from escaping. Hunky dory? What century did she think they were living in?

  Jo pressed her lips together and Mel glanced at the other assistant, Henry, while Emma gave Jamie a slightly exasperated head shake. Jamie shrugged back. It was hardly her fault that in tense situations, her mind spat out gobbledy-gook, was it?

  “Uh-huh,” Jo said. “Anyway, this reminds me of a conversation I was planning to raise with you two. I’ve been seeing some of your online posts recently—fantastic luck you two, by the way, getting to meet both Ilunga and Evans. That was quite the feat.”

  “It was lucky,” Jamie agreed, though she’d pulled every string she had ever possessed to make that meeting happen.

  “Jamie’s being modest,” Emma said. “The Arsenal organization loves her.”

  “You did social media work for some of the players, didn’t you?” Jo asked.

  Jamie nodded.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I noticed some things recently and—”

  “Actually, Jo,” Emma said, “is this something I could talk to you about in private?”

  Jamie glanced at her, startled. Why had Emma interrupted their coach mid-sentence?

  After a slight hesitation, Jo nodded. “Of course. Why don’t you come by my room later?”

  Emma agreed and thanked their coach, and then the meeting was over. Successful, if a bit mysterious. But that summed Emma up quite nicely, didn’t it?

  As they walked back to their own table, Jamie murmured, “What was that about?”

  “Fitzy sent me an email letting me know that the federation doesn’t think I’m ‘utilizing social media as well as I could be,’” Emma admitted, invoking air quotes. “I just didn’t want to have that conversation in front of the whole team. Or, for that matter, you.”

  Jamie started to say that the federation was full of it, but then she realized she couldn’t actually remember the last time Emma had posted anything on her public social media accounts. And Ellie had said their contracts specified a certain amount of online engagement… “Well, let me know if I can help. That is kind of my thing. Or it used to be, anyway.”

  “I will,” Emma said, her smile a little off. “Thanks, Jamie.”

  “What are girlfriends for?” she said sassily, pleased when Emma’s smile turned more genuine.

  “So?” Maddie asked as they neared the table.

  Jamie gave their waiting friends a thumbs-up.

  “Awesome!” Angie elbowed her as she slid back into her seat. “Blakewell lives, huh?”

  “And breathes,” Jamie agreed.

  Emma slapped Maddie’s extended hand as she took her own seat. “All good.”

  “Told you it would be,” Angie said. “They were super cool when we told them.”

  “This from the one who barely slept the night before the big re
veal,” Maddie said. But her eye-roll was as indulgent as ever.

  “On to more crucial matters,” Emma announced, staring around the table. “Who snagged the last chocolate chip cookie?”

  The conversation moved on, and soon Jamie did too. The coaches knew about them—officially, because apparently they weren’t as subtle as Jamie had believed—and now they would just have to wait and see what kind of consequences, if any, their revelation would bring. In the meantime, they were playing China tomorrow, and then they would play Brazil. In Brazil. Games like these didn’t come along every day. She intended to enjoy every moment.

  #

  Good thing games like this one were few and far between, Jamie thought a few days later as Emma stalked past her and dropped onto the end of the bench.

  The tournament was not going well. They’d come out of the gates against China rusty and slow, yielding a 1-1 tie after a decidedly lackluster performance. Now, after going up 2-0 in the first ten minutes of the match against Brazil, they had somehow allowed the home team to score three unanswered goals. With twenty minutes left in the game, they were down a goal and a player, thanks to Steph Miller’s second yellow card. With Marisol busting through the defense left and right and the US playing ten versus eleven for the rest of the match, the odds of drawing even were not high.

  But twenty minutes was a long time, Jamie reminded herself. Anything could happen on any given day. That was the beauty—and spectacle—of sport.

  She glanced down the bench at Emma, watching as her girlfriend angrily released her hair from its customary game day braid and then tied it back up in a ponytail. She wished she could say something helpful, but Emma looked like she wanted to be left alone. She hadn’t played that well today or against China. She was struggling, and it made sense that Jo would sub her out. Still, to put Taylor O’Brien in her place? O’Brien was an attacking midfielder with next to no experience anchoring a back line. Jamie’s least favorite thing about her former youth coach was how Jo insisted on converting offensive players to defense. Not everyone understood how to defend, as Jenny Latham had proven more than once.

  The game ended 2-3, with the home team picking up three points and the US emerging with no points—and, thanks to her cumulative red card, no Steph Miller for the next game. Jamie tried not to think it, but she couldn’t stop herself: With Steph out, would she maybe, possibly, get a chance to play in the final group match? She didn’t linger on the question. Line-ups were beyond her control. The only things she could do in the coming days was be a team player and train hard.

  Emma still hadn’t made eye contact with her. Jamie watched from a distance as the team moved through the post-game handshakes and Lacey’s cool-down exercises. When they were done, Emma started off by herself, head down. Jamie was about to go after her when she heard a voice call, “Maximillian!”

  She turned back, quick smile nearly slipping as she realized Isabela, her Thorns teammate, was approaching with none other than Marisol, arguably the greatest player of all time—other than Ellie and Mia Hamm, of course.

  “Hey, Isa,” she said, giving a lame half-wave.

  Isa kissed her on both cheeks like she always did, and then Jamie’s heart almost stuttered to a stop as Marisol put her hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek soundly.

  “Jamie Maxwell,” the international star said, offering a dazzling smile that Jamie recognized from photos showcasing FIFA’s picks for World Player of the Year. “I remember you! Rio, wasn’t it? The Pan American Games final?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah,” Jamie said. “That was me. I remember you too. Three goals, wasn’t it?” She couldn’t believe her mind had managed to come up with a semi-coherent reply. Usually when attractive women smiled at her she immediately forgot her own name. But this attractive woman was also one of her idols. By all accounts she should have been on the ground by now.

  “I don’t remember how many goals,” Marisol said, waving a hand. “I always felt bad about that match. It was unfair. But anyhoo, how are you finding our capital?”

  They were chatting about the city’s layout when Jamie felt an arm slip around her waist and squeeze possessively. Emma.

  “Hello, Mari. Isabela.” She nodded at the Brazilian players, the lines on her forehead belying her professional smile.

  What was she…? And then Jamie understood. Emma was staking her claim. On Jamie. To Marisol and Isa, of all people. If it hadn’t been such a ridiculous notion, Jamie would have been irritated. As it was, she shifted slightly, arranging her hip to put space between Emma’s body and her own. She was no one’s possession. Emma, more than anyone, should know that.

  Marisol—Mari—stepped forward and grasped Emma’s face, laughing as she kissed her cheeks. “Emma!” she exclaimed. “It is wonderful to see you! How is that giant little brother of yours? He must be out of school by now.”

  Back in the early days of the WPS, Jamie remembered, Marisol had done a stint as the leading scorer with the Boston Breakers, Emma’s first pro club. Jamie listened as they talked about the old days, and then Ellie joined the group and Jamie felt like she used to when she first got called up—a star-struck interloper who definitely didn’t belong in such exalted company. When Angie elbowed her on her way toward the sideline, Jamie seized the opportunity to escape.

  “Holy soccer stars, Batman,” she said as she planted herself in the grass beside Angie, their backs to the visitor’s bench.

  “No kidding,” her friend answered, stripping off her socks and shin guards. “Popular much?”

  “Whatever.” Jamie flicked her before reaching for her bag. At least she wouldn’t have to shower. The wind off the high plains had picked up that morning, and her uniform had barely gotten sweaty during warm-up.

  She was stowing her cleats when she overheard Emma’s name. Jessica North, her Utah camp roommate—though not this trip, thank god—was saying to O’Brien behind them, “Did you see when Jo subbed her? Slamming around the bench like the rest of us didn’t even exist. Everything has always been easy for her. No wonder she doesn’t lose well.”

  “None of us do,” Taylor pointed out. “That’s how we all got here, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but there’s refusing to lose and then there’s being a poor sport. I bet that’s how she acted when the Reign lost to KC, too.”

  Jamie knew she should take a breath and walk away. It wasn’t like Jess North’s opinion mattered. But the only breath she took was to gather the air needed to ground out, her voice withering, “Maybe you shouldn’t talk shit about your teammates, especially when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jess looked over her shoulder, her mouth twisting unpleasantly as she saw Jamie and Angie behind her. “Really, Maxwell? You’re actually going to sit there and defend your girlfriend to me? Kind of seems like the opposite of professionalism. Maybe we should see what the coaches think of that.”

  “Oh, no she didn’t,” Angie muttered, throwing down her shoe.

  But before she could rise, another voice chimed in. “This coach thinks it’s unprofessional to tear your teammates down behind their backs. Or, say, threaten them to their faces.” Mel narrowed her eyes at Jessica. “Maybe you should think on that, North, preferably somewhere far away from me.” As the defender stared up at the coach, frozen in place, Mel added in a dangerous voice, “Now.”

  Thank god for family, Jamie thought as the two newbies scrambled away, Taylor muttering furiously to her petulant friend.

  “Thanks,” she offered to Mel, and then immediately second-guessed herself. Should she apologize? Had she acted unprofessionally, defending Emma like that? But no, she would have defended any of her friends in that situation. Some of her not-so-friendly teammates, too.

  “You’re welcome,” Mel said, a frown still marring her sharp features. “You two okay?”

  Jamie only nodded, but Angie made an impatient sound as she removed her soccer sandals from her bag. “She’s lucky you came along when you did. That’s all I’m
gonna say.”

  Did Mel’s lips twitch at that?

  “Just so you know,” Jamie said, “that was all North. Taylor was sitting with her, but she tried to shut her down.”

  The coach’s brow lifted incrementally. “Duly noted. Chalk talk in the locker room in ten.” She gave a sort of salute—not gay at all—and turned away.

  “What’s up with the noble shit?” Angie asked. “You and Taylor are competing for a spot on the World Cup roster. The World Cup, Jamieson!”

  “What, I should have let Mel think Taylor was out of line when she wasn’t?” She shook her head, remembering the oily feeling under her skin when she’d hidden her injury at January camp, the disappointment in her father’s eyes when he realized she hadn’t told her coaches. “That’s not my style. I can’t believe it’s yours, either.”

  Angie shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to say it isn’t, but I’m not sure anymore. You have to take care of yourself, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. There’s no ‘I’ in team, Wang,” she said, barely managing to keep a straight face.

  Angie laughed and stood up, holding out a hand. “I love you, man. You know that, right?”

  Jamie let herself be pulled up. “Love you too.”

  Ten minutes later, the team sat in the visitor’s locker room, the sounds of the home crowd celebration still echoing from the parking lot beside the stadium. For three thousand people, they sure made a racket. Today’s attendance had dwarfed their game against China, listed at a measly 300. Rumor had it that figure included both teams and their entire staffs.

  Jo stood near the dry erase board, hands on her hips. “Are you satisfied with today’s outcome?” she asked, her voice unreadable, eyes lingering on each player in turn.

  “No,” Ellie said, voice vibrating with frustration.