by Sam Ledel
Our conversation, I guess, has come to an end when my mom sighs. “We may have to order a moving truck. What do you think, sweetie?”
Kevin kicks out his long legs and nudges my shins beneath the table in continued retaliation.
I shrug. “I don’t know. You should ask Dad.”
Then Kevin glances at me over his can of soda when he says, “Where is Dad tonight, anyway?”
“Working late, honey.”
“Again?”
My brother stops kicking, and my mom’s eyes move to me.
“Kyle, you know that your father and I both work very hard to let you kids live the way we have.”
Kevin shoves his pizza crust into his mouth as I reply, “I know, Mom.” I take a breath before willing myself to continue. “It’s just that I feel like Dad’s been gone more and more lately.” The words feel loaded as they stumble out of my mouth. But maybe that was my intention.
“You are as aware as I am that your father’s business is expanding. He’s got that new office opened up in Austin.”
“Isn’t he trying to get one out in New Mexico, too?” Kevin asks, to which my mom nods.
“Great,” I mumble.
“Kyle.”
My mom’s staring at me now. Her eyes have grown cloudy. She looks like she wants to say something. I know she wants to say something. Maybe even yell at me. But that’s not how we work. We can push buttons. But that’s as far as it goes. We don’t scream. We don’t get yelled at. Or grounded. What we get is worse. What we get is years and years of unspoken truths piled up around us in our Pottery Barn home; mountains of words that we are all too scared to speak. Words that have the potential to shatter our picturesque little family life if someone finally decides to utter them aloud.
I stare back into my mom’s honey-colored eyes and I know it kills her as much as it kills me. It would be so much easier if we could actually talk and not fill all the space around us with empty chatter and shallow commentary. I wish I could shake her and tell her to just admit it. Tell her to admit what I’ve suspected has been going on between her and my dad for a while. And I wish I could just tell her my truth. Then maybe she could tell me hers. But I can’t. And neither can she. Not yet.
The garage door grumbles open from the other side of the house. My mom gets up from the table and sets her plastic plate in the trash. “That’ll be your father,” she says.
“Mom,” I start.
“Let me know if you need anything from Griffin’s for your school supplies. I’m making a trip tomorrow.”
My shoulders fall, and I pick a pepperoni off my next slice. “I will,” I mutter before she excuses herself from the room. I reach for my napkin to clean the sauce from my hands.
It’s quiet in the kitchen, the only faint sound coming from the large wall clock ticking above us.
Kevin finally breaks the silence. “Smooth, sis. Smooth.”
Chapter Three
“You’re sure you have everything, honey?”
“Mom,” I groan, dragging out the vowel like only a tired teenager can. “That’s, like, the twenty-seventh time you’ve asked me that.”
My mother, her trim figure clad in a light green sweater over the only pair of jeans she owns, fluffs the two pillows on my dorm bed once more before looking back at me. “I know, sweetie, I just want to make sure that you’re going to be okay. And that we aren’t missing anything.”
“Karen, sweetheart, we live two hours from here. If Kyle needs anything, we’re just a short drive away.”
I mouth a thank-you to my dad as he stands up from behind my television where he’d bravely attempted to untangle the cables. His slender frame is accentuated by the salmon-colored polo shirt tucked into his khakis, and the belt around his slim waist sits a little too high, something that always reminded me of the scholastic types from TV who tried too hard to look cool. I sometimes imagine him, the successful technology consultant, as a young man. A gawky teenager who looked up to suave executive types and who—having grown up and achieved a well-paying job—dresses the way he pictured a man in his position should, even if it didn’t quite match up with his goofy personality.
“Jason,” my mom starts, and Kevin, who is splayed out in my chair with his feet up on my desk, shoots me a look. We both know Mom’s about to go into one of her rants she has on reserve. “Our only daughter,” she begins, adding extra effort to each word, “is about to start the next big chapter of her life. I’m just trying to be useful. Shouldn’t we help her get off on the right foot?” She turns around to face me. I want to roll my eyes at her words: a string of phrases you can hear the parent recite on any teenage drama airing every Thursday night on TV. Then I’m a little surprised when she reaches out to grab my hand. “I’m just going to miss you, sweetie, that’s all.” Then she pulls me into a hug. The snarky retort I had ready falls flat in my throat. It takes me a second, but I finally pull my arms around her. I’m trying to recall the last time we hugged when Kevin laughs from my chair.
He tosses the garnet rock paperweight on my desk between his hands as he says, “Is this what it takes to get some love around this family? Leave for four years?”
My mom releases me, then wipes quickly at her eyes. She pulls a hand mirror from her bag and adjusts her freshly cut bangs, and I feel a pang. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m suddenly anxious, standing here on my first day of college, or if I’m actually going to miss my mother. But I don’t have time to decide before she gives my brother a wave of her hand. “Oh, Kevin. You just wait for your turn.”
My brother gives a fist pump. “Two more years to go!”
I walk over to put a six-pack of Gatorade into my mini-fridge and give Kevin a punch to the shoulder on my way there.
“Yeah, maybe by then you’ll be ready for the big, scary world of books and babes,” I joke.
“Kyle,” our mom sighs.
“Speak for yourself, sis.”
His comment hits me like a soccer ball to the gut. I’m thankful my face is hidden behind the door of the mini-fridge as I wonder if my parents were paying attention. At the same time, I kick myself for teasing him; after all, he once walked in on me scanning the Lesbian Love section on Netflix. We talked about it, and he was surprisingly amazing about everything. But he’s still my little brother…a certain amount of taunting is part of the game. I can’t forget that.
“Oh, Kyle,” my mom says, pushing the conversation along. “Maybe you’ll meet a nice young man. Perhaps a member of the boys’ team.”
Just then there’s a knock on my open dorm door. A tall redheaded girl with translucent blue eyes is standing in the doorway. She sounds breathless when she says, “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but you guys haven’t seen a ferret anywhere, have you?”
I glance around and we all look at each other, a little bemused. “I didn’t think pets were allowed in the dorms,” my mother says in her polite but guarded tone. Meanwhile, I take in the girl’s tall, lean stature.
“Technically, they’re not,” the girl replies. “Hence the sense of urgency to find him.”
“Well,” says my dad, clapping his hands together. “I can give you this guy.” He moves to stand behind Kevin and tousles his hair. “He’s close enough, right?”
“Dad,” my brother mumbles.
I laugh and so does the girl still standing in the doorframe. I notice her smile: wide and bright. I continue to watch her when she steps forward into the room.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m being rude. I’m Joey. Joey Carver.”
She shakes my dad’s hand.
He glances at me. “See what would have happened if you’d eaten your Wheaties, honey?” We all chuckle at his comment while Joey moves to shake my mom’s, then my brother’s hand. Then she’s standing in front of me.
“Hi,” she says.
I smile and stick out my hand, hoping to God it’s not too sweaty. Pretty girls talking to me has, lately, had that effect on me. It’s even made me forget my own name. A
nd this girl is pretty. Her nose, featuring the most adorable bump just below the brow, sits between the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her fair skin is the color of my mom’s pearl necklace. And her hands are soft but feel strong when her long fingers grip mine. And those arms she’s sporting under a purple cotton tee: wow.
We shake hands and she nods over to the soccer ball at the foot of the bed. “Full ride, right?” I nod. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other around, then. I’m one of the goalies.” She pauses. “I’m, um, just down the hall, too, if you ever want to get together to practice before preseason starts.”
I realize then that her hand is still in mine. Joey seems to just notice this as well, and we drop them back down to our sides. She steps backward, back into the doorway.
“Well, it was great meeting you folks,” she says, nodding at my parents, who had both been busying themselves with adjusting a shelf over my bed. “Kevin,” Joey adds with a nod in his direction. “And hopefully I’ll be seeing you…”
“Kyle! Kyle Lyndsay,” I spurt out, mentally kicking myself for forgetting my own name again.
But Joey just smiles. “Kyle. I’ll see you.” Then she disappears out into the bustling hallway.
“She seems nice,” my dad says.
I nod.
Then my mom chimes in. “Looks like you made your first friend, honey.”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes lingering where Joey had been just moments before. “Looks like I did.”
Chapter Four
“Ah yes, the party duo is here,” says Emily.
Two girls wearing our practice jerseys are strolling up to the field from the parking lot. One is brunette with olive-toned skin, the other a slightly taller blonde who is laughing loudly. Her laugh is one of those that I imagine always turns heads, making you want to know what could be so funny. Like you’re missing out. Her ponytail is set high, and her stride exudes confidence.
I finally tear my gaze away from her to concentrate on pulling on my socks. “Party duo?” I ask, hoping I sound only vaguely interested.
“Yeah. The brunette is ‘T.’ Theresa, that is.” She makes the “re” sound like “ray” as she pronounces it. “She’s a junior. The blonde with the legs and wrist tape is Jackie. Or Jax. She’s a sophomore.” Emily takes a swig from her water bottle.
“Apparently, I need to shorten my name to be on this team. Instead of Kyle, from now on, you may call me K. Or maybe just kuh.”
Emily gives me her “All right, smart-ass” glare as she tugs on her cleats. Jax and T. have made their way over to us and drop their stuff on the bleachers below Emily and me. While pulling my socks over my shin guards, I pretend to take in the rolling hills behind our soccer fields and not Jax’s midriff, which peeks out below her top as she stretches.
“Who’s this?” T. asks.
Emily nudges me. “Kyle. Fresh meat on her first day at practice. Be gentle,” she adds with a wink.
“Not too gentle, I hope.”
The grin on Jax’s face following her comment makes the heat rush to my own. I bow my head and stare hard at my suddenly very interesting shoelaces.
“Geez Jax, don’t scare all the newbies away. I hear this one’s good, too,” T. says.
“That so?” Jax asks. I quickly look up. Her ice-blue eyes are set on mine. Finally, I recall the fact that I do actually have the ability to speak.
“All-State captain for two years in a row,” I add with a shrug and hope this helps me look cool and collected.
The eyebrow she raises says she’s impressed but also makes my stomach shoot into my chest.
“See,” T. starts, “we need this one. So, play nice, will you?” Then she takes off for the group of girls already standing in the center of the soccer field. Emily quickly follows after giving me a brief calm down knee pat.
I make sure that my laces are secure, then stand up from the bleacher. Jax reaches out her hand, her polished black nails glistening in the afternoon sun. “Hey, just messing with you. Welcome to the team.”
I take her hand, and she helps me down.
* * *
Once we huddle around the top of the goalie box, Coach blows her whistle to get our attention. I’d met Coach Gandy several times during my high school recruitment games the year before. Of the handful of coaches who had come to scout me during my senior year, she was the one who actually treated me as if I had a say in my future. Most of the coaches from the Division I schools had all but ignored me during postgame chats with my high school coach and conference calls with my parents, but Coach Gandy had actually scheduled one-on-one time with me. Over a lunch in a café a few blocks from my house, she had asked me about my history, why I wanted to pursue collegiate sports, and really wanted to get to the why behind my reasons for playing the game. And even though I was pretty intimidated by her at first—she’d been a member of the National U-18 team ten years ago, and her tall, fit stature alone will make a girl do a double take—she won me over, and I signed on for the next four years as a Meadowbrook University Mockingbird.
Now Coach Gandy lifts her sunglasses up onto her head, and her dark eyes peer around the huddle. A hint of a smile graces her lips, but her square jaw is set firmly. One hand holds a brown clipboard, while the other sits on her sweatpants-clad hip.
“Welcome, ladies,” she says. “Today we begin the new season. I want to welcome those of you who are new to the team this year. We have five fresh recruits, including a new keeper.” At this, she nods toward Joey, and most of the circle turns to face her. I follow suit, and Joey gives the crowd a small wave. She catches my gaze and throws me a smile as everyone turns back to Coach.
“Now, we did well last year, ladies. We had a solid record and even made a run in the playoffs. Semifinals were good. I could taste that division trophy. And it tasted sweet. But Greenhill snatched it off our plates before we could get our hands on it. So, let’s stay focused. Let’s work hard. And let’s get ready to see them again in a few weeks in our first road game and—eventually—in the Division I finals. What do you say?” We give a cheer, and the whistle blows again. “All right then. Let’s get started.” The group shifts, and I can feel the energy in the air as everyone is eager to move. Coach shifts the clipboard to read off it. “I almost forgot. Before we get going, a quick update. Since Masters is out for another month with her knee, Carver will be with us in goal to start off.”
Joey gets a congratulatory pat on the back from a few players. Jax, who had been standing with her arms crossed next to T., speaks up.
“Coach, Haley’s been our starting goalie since I got here.” One of my teammates—Haley, I assume, who has a knee brace snaking down her tan left leg—grimaces a little at the comment but doesn’t say anything.
“I am aware of that,” Coach replies. “But she also tore her ACL over the summer. And until I get a clear bill of health from her doctor and the trainer, she’ll be here as a leader on this team and a model of solid goalkeeping. From the sideline.”
Haley nods like she already accepted this news before we stepped on the field. But Jax doesn’t seem to be on the same page. “I understand that, Coach, but shouldn’t seniority have a little bit of say in this?”
Emily looks like she’s about to say something, but Coach beats her to it. “Jax, let’s not start the first week off like last year, all right? You, T., and Madeline are still the defensive line on this team. The three of you will work together just like you have before. I suggest you meet with Joey and talk with Haley to work through any adjustments. We will see how things progress. But in the meantime, Haley rests, and Joey’s in the box. Got it?”
After a moment, Jax finally speaks. “Sure, Coach.”
The whistle sounds again. “Okay. Warm up, ladies. Get to it.”
* * *
An hour later, we’re about to start a four-versus-four drill. The tension from earlier has quelled, thankfully. I was anxious to join a new team for the next four years of my career, after growing up and playing
with the Tornadoes since I was ten. Team chemistry is important, and I’d been spoiled with my select team; we could practically read each other’s minds on the field once we reached high school. But Emily had spoken highly of her Meadowbrook team since before I signed on, making me optimistic and hopeful that the transition won’t be too rough. It does help that I have Emily here with me, who is a Who’s Who of my new teammates.
“Remember that Katie is a lefty, so feed her from the opposite side you would normally,” she tells me quickly while I tug on a blue pinnie. Coach hands out three more to Katie, a senior named Allie, and Mary, a fellow freshman.
“I see why they gave you captain this year,” I reply with a grin.
She shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’m good with people. Blame it on having to keep up with my seven tías and tíos. Plus their kids.”
I nod. “Having twenty cousins has finally come in handy.”
Emily swats at me, and I laugh. “Okay, got it, got it.” I glance behind me at Jax and T., who are huddled with Madeline and Sarah a few feet away. “And the defense duo? Any suggestions on getting around them?”
Emily stands with her hands on her hips on the outside of the box Coach has made with four orange cones just inside the goalie box. Wiping some sweat off her brow, she says, “Madeline is low D, and she’s tough. She anticipates well and almost always knows when I’m going to fake. With her you have to be one step ahead. I don’t know about Sarah—she’s your group—but I hear she’s more of a midfielder, so she will probably float higher.” Coach blows the whistle then, signaling for the four of us with pennies to get ready to start on attack. “As for Jax and T.: together they’re hard to beat. Try to split them up. T. is a wall, but you can get by her. She’s slower on her left side. And Jax is handsy. She’s a notorious jersey puller. Watch for fouls. And she’s fast. Use your teammates to get around them, and you’ll be fine.”