Dangerous Play

  Liv and Nikki open the door and rush in. But I stop to look at the fockey girl on the wall, slamming that stick against that ball with everything she has.

  No matter what color I wear in college, I’ll be doing that too, because I just nailed it in front of every scout here.

  I grin at the girl.

  Then someone steps in front of her. I expect him to keep moving, but he stops. And I register his face.

  Reilly.

  “Heeeeeyyyy, where you going, my slippery salamander?”

  FORTY-FIVE

  MY FEET ARE WELDED TO the floor.

  I can hear the fans on the field, the team in the locker room, my own quick breath. All of it buzzes in my ears and his voice slithers through the fog of noise and I’m two months ago in his house, pressed against a wall.

  Heeeeeyyyy, slippery salamander.

  “What?” he asks. “You don’t have anything to say now?”

  Laughter.

  That’s when I notice the others. Two guys behind Reilly. The sour stench of beer thick on their breath. The smell of nachos snakes through the walls, and vomit clogs the base of my throat.

  Sticky chip-dip-beer breath on my skin, hot on my shoulders hands moving, shoving, pushing, smashing—

  “You li’l bitch.” His words slur and spit. “Today was a sausage party because of you, you lying slut.”

  His eyes are wet and unfocused. He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me.

  He was leaning against the hockey girl on the wall. And she looks pissed. The cut of her muscles, the set of her chin, the grip on her stick.

  I imagine her here, now, with me. I imagine the faces of all the people who have stood up and spoken out. Who voiced their pain at speakouts and online. I can feel them lining up beside me, one by one by a million, shoring me up with their courage and strength.

  I am one of many.

  “Get. Out.”

  “No.” He steps closer, thrusting his head at me like a rattlesnake. “I need you—”

  “I couldn’t care less what you need. This isn’t me and you alone in a dark hallway in your house.” I lift my stick and he inches back. Not much. But enough. “This is you invading my house. So I’ll say it again. Get. Out.”

  I clutch my stick across my body. My stick is sweaty and the tape is ragged and the foot is beat up. But it is strong and fierce and mine.

  I step toward the locker room and reach for the door handle.

  He knocks me away. Hard.

  I fall back, and my stick slides beneath me and I come down wrong, my right arm twisted under me. My stick jabs my back, but when I roll off the stick, I realize it’s not my back that really hurts, it’s my wrist. I try to reach for my stick but I can’t grab it right.

  Reilly stalks toward me, a sick smile on his face.

  Scrambling, I fling my left arm over, grab my stick, and swing it at Reilly hard, cutting his legs out from under him.

  He teeters for a second and he must be too drunk to right himself because he crashes right down on the floor.

  “What the hell?!”

  It comes from one of the guys with Reilly. Shit. He’s going to come at me too. I hold my stick tighter.

  But he’s not facing me. He’s yelling at Reilly. He looks toward me. I lift my stick.

  “You okay?” he asks, holding out his hand.

  The locker room door slams opens and Coach runs out, the rest of the team right behind her.

  “Zoe!” Coach yells. She looks at the guy standing over me. “What the hell did you do?”

  He puts his hands up and steps back.

  “It wasn’t him, Coach.” I nod at Reilly. “It was him.”

  “She attacked me with her stick!” Reilly yells.

  Some guy in a security uniform runs up, panting. “I just saw her attack this boy with her stick on my monitor,” he says to Coach. Then he turns to me. “Young lady—”

  My team loses their shit.

  “Oh, no. Not today,” Kiara says.

  “This fucking shit again?” Dylan says.

  “Sir,” Liv says, marching right up to the guard. “Thank you for doing the hard job of protecting people. But this boy”—Liv points to Reilly, the tip of her finger trembling, and I have never seen her look so angry—“has no reason to be here. We are playing a game. We are the ones you’re hired to protect.”

  “Well,” the guard starts, adjusting his belt. “I—”

  “Wait.” The guy speaks up. “I came here with Reilly. I thought we were just picking up more people for the Day Dri—I mean—the, uh, birthday party. But then he attacked this girl out of nowhere. She was just defending herself.”

  We all stare at this kid. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before in my life.

  “Fucking pussy,” Reilly mutters.

  The other guy with them doesn’t say a word.

  “Is that true?” the security guard asks me.

  “Yes,” I say. My voice has never felt more clear.

  “Hell, yeah it’s true,” Dylan says. She snaps a picture of Reilly on the ground.

  “Reilly has attacked her in the past. She has pictures. Now, he’s back to do it again. Just because he thinks he can.” Liv walks over until she’s standing over him, gripping her stick like she’s going to bash his face in. “Well, guess what, dickhead, you can’t. Not now. Not ever.”

  “Okay, that’s enough, young lady,” the guard says.

  “Don’t call me that,” Liv says, right at the same time Coach says, “Don’t call her that.”

  Liv stands up straight and I’ve never seen her walk so tall as when she comes over to me and holds out her hand. “C’mon, Cap. We have a championship game to win.”

  “I don’t know about that, Coach. We have firm policies against fighting. We’re going to have to get the officials out here.” The guard takes out his walkie-talkie.

  I hold out my right hand. As soon as Liv grabs it, I scream.

  “Oh no,” Coach says. She turns to the guard. “We need the athletic trainer on staff. Now. Please.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m sure I’m fine.” I push down on my left hand, still gripping my stick, and heave myself up. “I’ll just take some Advil.” I nod my head toward Reilly because I refuse to even look at him. “I am not letting him ruin my game.”

  The guard’s gripping his walkie-talkie like he doesn’t know what to do.

  “Call the official,” Coach says, impatient. “But first please do something to actually protect these girls and get some medical help.”

  His thick eyebrows come together over his nose, but he calls the trainer.

  Reilly’s silent friend pulls him up and they start to walk off.

  “Oh no,” Coach says. “You aren’t going anywhere.” She turns back to the guard. “I assume you’re going to detain him for assault. And underage drinking. And, one would presume, driving while drunk.”

  The guard gives Coach a look like he doesn’t appreciate her telling him what to do, but he walks over to Reilly, turns him around, and wraps a zip tie around his wrists.

  I could watch Coach boss this guy All Day.

  “What the fuck, man?” Reilly asks. “I’m not—”

  Dylan snaps another picture and waves her phone in the air.

  Reilly’s face whitens. “Erase that, you bitch.”

  Dylan whistles. “I would think you’d have learned to talk to women differently by now.” She looks back at me. “Wouldn’t you, Cap?”

  I finally look at him. A glob of spit is caught in the corner of his lips, and he looks unsteady with his arms wrenched behind his back. Above his head, there’s the picture of my fockey girl. My future.

  He lost one friend. He lost his party. Maybe, after tonight, he’ll lose even more.

  * * *

  “Nobody cares what you have to say,” he says to me.

  I step toward him. He flinches. He flinches. I smile. I turn to my team. “Did he speak?”

  Applause. I look over to s
ee the whole Balon Bay team clapping. I have no idea how long they’ve been standing there.

  The head ref and the lead official run down the ramp.

  “What’s going on here? Why aren’t you out on the field?” The official looks around and lands on the security guard. “What happened?”

  The guard nods at Reilly, then at me. “These two got in a fight.”

  The official snaps her head back. “A fight? Well, that’s unacceptable.” She looks at me. “You’re out the rest of the game.”

  My team erupts.

  I look back at Reilly. Because of him, I’m not going to get to play the rest of this game. I’m not going to get seen by scouts. And I’m—

  Coach puts her hands up. “This boy attacked my player out of the blue. This was not a fight. This was an attack.” She nods at the mystery boy. “This boy is a witness.”

  The official looks at the boy.

  “It’s true,” he says.

  “We’re okay with her playing,” says a girl’s voice. We all turn toward it. She’s one of the Balon Bay captains. She stands tall, both hands on the stick in front of her. Her team stands beside her, same pose. And they look so focking fierce.

  The official looks between the boy and Balon Bay and me. She throws up her hands. “Fine. The clock is ticking. Let’s get out there.”

  I look at the Balon Bay captain and she just nods at me before they turn and walk up the ramp.

  I feel like laughing. I feel like screaming. I feel like hugging the official and the ref and even Balon Bay, right before kicking their ass all over the field.

  The athletic trainer runs up.

  Coach sends Ava to run quick warm-ups with the team. Just Coach and Liv remain.

  “You, Zoe Alamandar, give me heart palpitations.”

  “Well, that’s a—ow!” The trainer’s manipulating my wrist.

  “I take it that hurts?” she asks. She shakes her head. “There’s no way you can play with this.”

  “No,” I say. “Of course I can.”

  “What if she just babies it?” Coach asks.

  “I just need an Advil. I have some in my bag. It’s really no big—”

  “I’m afraid not.” She bends down to get a bandage out of her case. “No babying or Advil will fix a broken wrist.”

  FORTY-SIX

  “YOU SHOULD GO TO A hospital for imaging,” the trainer says. She turns to Coach. “You want to call her parents?”

  Coach gives me this look filled with sad, then takes out her phone.

  “No,” I say. “I want to stay.”

  “I have to call your mom, Zo,” Coach says.

  “I’ll go to the hospital right after the game,” I say. “I promise.”

  The trainer wraps a splint onto my wrist while Coach fills Mom in.

  “I’m giving you a sling too,” the trainer says. “To keep it above your heart. That’ll reduce the swelling and pain.”

  Coach puts the phone to my ear.

  “Mom?”

  “What in the—”

  “Mom,” I say, and I’m surprised by how level my voice is. “The thing I want most in the world is to be here to finish this game. Right now. The trainer wrapped my wrist really well and we can go to the hospital as soon as the game’s over. I promise. It doesn’t even hurt.”

  Mom’s silent but I hear people near her in the stands.

  “Mom,” I say. “Please. I need this.”

  I hear her sigh into the phone. “Fine. Have the trainer give you a sling.”

  “She already did.”

  “And take some Advil. Because it’ll hurt like hell when the shock wears off.”

  “Yes, Mom. Thank you. I love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Do not hurt yourself further. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

  I smile. “Okay, Mom.”

  She hangs up. I ask Liv to run and get me some Advil from my bag.

  “You sure about this?” Coach asks. “I mean, I’d love you to stay, but your—”

  “I’m very sure,” I say.

  “Well, you can leave your stick,” Coach says.

  I look down at my stick, the stick I’m still clutching so tightly. This beautiful stick with its worn grip and ratty wrapping, with its scuffed toe and big lettering. Mine.

  “No way,” I say. “It’s coming too.”

  Coach shakes her head. Liv runs up and I take the Advil, then we head up the ramp.

  I turn to Liv and whisper, “You taking on that guard was a thing of beauty.”

  She squeezes my left arm.

  “I’m serious. You were a legit human rights lawyer. You should just skip college.”

  She laughs.

  The other girls rush over.

  “Yes!” Ava says. “I knew—” She takes in my sling.

  I shake my head. And seeing Ava’s face drop undoes me all over again. This isn’t just about my championship game, my chances in front of the scouts. This is her shot too.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “Ava,” I say, my voice coming out harder than I mean. “Team. We got here together. And we will win together. Just like when Sasha was out, and we felt her strength with us, I am going to be with you out on that field. You are not only capable of crushing these guys, you will crush them. We are winning. All we have to do is hold it. And I’m going to cheer every hit, push, flick, slap you got.”

  Dylan screams, “We got sticks!”

  “We got balls!” Ava hollers back.

  “Don’t you call us baby dolls!” we yell.

  Call us sugar?

  Call us honey?

  Just don’t cry when you get muddy!

  Hit ’em high.

  Hit ’em low.

  You can’t stop our savage flow.

  Ava throws her arm across my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “I’m going to pretend we can win this without you.”

  I smile and try like hell to keep the tears from leaking. “You can. Absofockinglutely.”

  Coach and I walk back to the bench.

  “I am petrified about this second half, Cap. But I’ll tell you, I’ve never been prouder of you than I am right now.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. Because if I say thanks, there’s going to be a flood.

  I find Mom and Dad in the stands and smile at them so they see I’m okay. They blow me a kiss. I take the bench.

  I try not to think about the UNC scout who’s watching other girls instead of me. I try not to think about my parents and the Rebels and Big Bob and Aunt Eileen who came to watch me play, and instead they’re stuck watching me warm a bench. I try not to think about the stick in my hand that won’t see another game for ten months. I try not to think about the way my muscles ache to run out and join my team, my friends.

  And then I stand.

  I refuse to sit this game out.

  At the whistle, I scream. I scream so loud Coach steps a few feet away.

  From here, everything looks different. I can see the way Sasha still hesitates when another player’s stick comes off the ground. The way Bella plows through and forgets to pass. The way Quinn does everything to avoid a reverse hit. The way Cristina’s so fast she overruns into the corner. The way Liv defers to everyone. The way Nikki crowds space. The way Kiara’s so busy watching the ball she forgets to keep an eye on the player. The way Michaela sometimes hides from the ball. The way Dylan rushes in. And the way Ava rushes out.

  But I also see all the things that make them great. And I realize that it’s not really about the individual flaws or strengths. It doesn’t matter that Liv is the fastest or that Dylan is the fiercest. What matters is that together, we’re faster and fiercer. And that’s what makes us better than every team we’ve played this year—win or lose.

  The game goes back and forth, nobody scoring. It’s tight. Balon Bay has some great strengths, but I still think we’re better. They dance it, but I don’t think they feel it.

  Then Dylan rushes out too soon and there’s a t
angle and … a foul. They get a penalty corner.

  We crowd the box and Ava jumps twice and we can do this we can do this we can do this.

  Balon Bay scores: 2 to 2.

  Ava looks out at me and I run around to the back of her goal. “Don’t let it psych you out, Cap’n. You are the most talented fockey goalie this dome has ever seen and this dome wants you to come back. It needs you to come back. Don’t give up!”

  She doesn’t turn around but I know her well enough to know she’s grinning. She crosses herself and hops up and down twice. Like she does.

  I run back to the bench. Six minutes. Six minutes to make a change. “Bella! Pass back! Liv! Don’t give it up. That ball is a human rights violation and you’re the one it needs! Sasha! Play angry, girl! Michaela! Don’t you dare hide. Play like Harvard’s watching!”

  I catch Coach staring at me.

  “Sorry, Coach. I got carried away.”

  She lifts her eyebrows. “You can get carried away like that all day long.”

  I turn to the crowd. “Let’s go, Northridge.” I pump my free hand in the air and the Rebels and my folks start to clap. Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap. Soon everyone’s in on it. “Let’s go, Northridge!” Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap.

  I turn around to see Liv jab and force the Balon Bay player right into Nikki who steals it. Liv runs ahead and Nikki slams it to her. Sasha and Liv pass back and forth and knock it to Quinn who gets it to Cristina.

  I can’t see from here and Balon Bay blue seems to be everywhere but then I hear that beautiful smack against the board.

  GOAL.

  I scream. I jump up and down. Coach goes to grab my shoulders then she remembers my wrist and she grabs my left fist and raises it high and it’s mad awkward but I don’t even care and all of us on the bench are jumping and yelling and whistling.

  Because we won.

  After everything. We focking won.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  IT’S A LONG NIGHT IN the ER, and I am beyond beat when I get home. The next morning, I sleep in. My body aches all over, in places I didn’t even know could hurt. My hips and back like always, but also my hands, my cheeks, my throat, my wrist.