Scorched Turf

by Lilah Grey

  “Cori, please…”

  The door slammed shut, reverberating in my chest as it echoed through the dark, empty apartment.

  The final blow to a relationship that never had a chance.

  I’m not one for hyperbole, but the last month had been the worst of my life. Everything that once came effortless to me had become difficult and painful. My performances in games and practices had been abysmal, and within a few weeks after Corinne left my apartment, I lost my starting position.

  I was on the bench both on and off the field. Days that I didn’t have a game or practice were spent in front of the TV watching Seinfeld, stuffing my face with ice cream and fast food.

  “Another tough one, aye James,” Jack said, shouldering me as we walked toward the locker room.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Another tough one.”

  “Let her go,” he said, grabbing the nape of my neck. “Let her go before you let yourself go.”

  I shook my head and continued walking. When we reached the locker room, Coach Granger called out. “James, a moment please?”

  I nodded and then felt Jack’s hand on my shoulder. “Good luck.” He clapped my back, and I headed toward Coach Granger’s office.

  “You’ll want to close the door behind you for this,” Harvey said as I stepped into the office, a self-satisfied grin on his pudgy face.

  I shut the door, and before I had the chance to take a seat, Harvey spoke.

  “Care to explain what we’re seeing here?” Harvey said, spinning a laptop around.

  It was a freeze-frame from the video Rylee had recorded the month before.

  41

  Corinne

  NEW YORK - In an unexpected turn of events, the New York Stars announced the release of star striker James “The Flame” Calder in a press conference this afternoon.

  “It’s always unfortunate to part ways with one of your players, especially one as talented as James,” Harvey Waters, General Manager of the Stars, said. “But unfortunately, our professional relationship has burned out. We wish him the best in all his future endeavors.”

  When pressed for details, Mr. Waters had little to offer as explanation for James Calder’s sudden dismissal.

  “There is no relation between our dismissal and his leaving the Hawks. They’d found a permanent coach to fill his volunteer position. That’s all I can say about the matter.”

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Cori,” Chloe said, pulling my attention away from the article.

  I’d isolated myself from the rest of the team since James left. I knew Rylee had told everyone; it felt like I was under a microscope now that everyone knew what happened. No one mentioned it, but it didn’t make me feel any less like an outcast.

  I started to act the part, too. It was lonely in my self-inflicted isolation, but we’d made it to the tournament, and I was playing well. Winning the tournament and getting drafted was all that mattered to me now; it was all that I had, really. My only comfort.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Well get your ass in gear. We’ve got a team to brutalize.”

  I laughed. “Okay, Chloe. Calm down.”

  “No prisoners. No mercy.”

  “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  “You have no idea,” she said before heading back to the rest of the team.

  I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest as I saw James’s image at the top of the article. I still loved him, and I knew that would never change. I didn’t agree with his decision, but I understood it. Rumors were already circling about the circumstances of his departure from the Hawks, and now with his dismissal from the Stars, they’d only ramp up.

  He was trying to shield me from the fallout, but I wanted to take my share.

  I wanted him.

  “Where’s Rylee?”

  Chloe shrugged. “I have no idea.” She continued stretching her hamstrings.

  Rylee was on the long bus ride to the game. I’d seen her at the hotel. But now that it was game time, she’d disappeared.

  I had no time to worry about her, though. With the game about to start, I could already begin to feel my nerves rise in my gut, twisting and tightening into a thick clump. I remembered what James told me when I asked him if he ever got nervous before games.

  “All the time,” he had said, smiling at me. “They never go away. You don’t want the nerves to go away. They’re an indicator. If you’re about to head onto the field, and you’re not nervous, you no longer care. You no longer love the game, and you’re better off not stepping on the field. If you’re not nervous, you’ve already lost.”

  There was a sharp whistle behind us. “Alright bring it in,” Coach Kay called out to us.

  “Looks like this is it,” I said.

  Chloe raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t it,” she said. “We’ve only just begun.”

  “Do you think?” Chloe whispered to me as our bus rumbled down the highway toward Philadelphia.

  I poked my head into the aisle and looked back at Rylee. She was seated in the last row of the bus, feet propped up on the seat in front of her, eyes focused on her iPad as music blasted through her headphones.

  I turned back to Chloe. “I don’t know what else it could be.”

  Rylee must’ve sent the video to James’s team. It was too much of a coincidence.

  “Well, looks like I’m going to become even more of a hermit than I already am.”

  “No one else on the team cares. Hell, they all probably wish it happened to them.”

  I shrugged, leaning my head back against my seat.

  “Seriously, Cori. Everyone hates Rylee.”

  “Well, I just hope it doesn’t affect our play.”

  “It won’t,” Chloe shoved my shoulder. “You do remember what happened today, right?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

  We won our first round game, although ‘won’ doesn’t properly describe what we did. In terms Chloe would understand, we ‘brutalized’ the other team. 6-0. A complete shutout.

  “Forget about Rylee. We’re going to the finals,” Chloe said as she pulled on her headphones, belting out Ke$ha a few moments later.

  As I flipped through my music library on my phone, a text message flashed on my screen.

  James: Congrats, Cori.

  My heart sank. I wanted to respond, but I knew I shouldn’t.

  James: I’ll always love you.

  A lump formed in my throat as I fought back tears; I slid my phone back in my bag without responding. It was better this way, I told myself.

  The stabbing pain in my chest called my bluff.

  I inhaled, holding my breath for a count of three, and then exhaled, calming my nerves as I prepared for the penalty kick. The din from the crowd faded; my pulse slowed; the keeper, the net, and the ball in front of me were the only things in focus.

  It had been a hard-fought game, our most challenging yet. At the end of stoppage time, the game was tied, so we moved on to penalty kicks. Melissa had just blocked the last penalty kick, so we were tied. If I scored here, we’d all but clinch the victory. We only needed Chloe to make her penalty kick or the last player for the other team to miss hers and we’d win.

  The goalie bounced on her toes along the goal line, anticipating the direction I’d choose. There’s very little a goalkeeper can do in these situations—the striking player has the advantage. It’s their goal to lose. Some prefer trick shots—telegraph one way, shoot another. When done properly, it works, but there’s alway a chance the goalkeeper guesses correctly.

  I preferred simplicity over trickery. Smart, direct, powerful shots that even if the goalkeeper guessed correctly, the ball moved so fast that they never had a chance to deflect it.

  One, two, three, four steps backward.

  I lined up my shot.

  Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.

  My vision narrowed as everything around me faded. A few quick steps, and as I bro
ught my leg through the final downswing, a sharp, splitting pain surged through my leg. My laces hardly connected with the ball, shanking it far off target.

  I collapsed onto the field as the sound of the crowd faded back in; whistles and cheers mixed with gasps and whispers. My eyes burned with tears as I clutched my knee, rocking on the ground.

  The referee rushed over to me. “Are you okay?”

  I let out a pained laugh, opening my eyes just wide enough to see her bending over me. How could I even begin to respond to that? Am I okay? I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do.

  After the team physician looked me over, she along with a few of my teammates, helped me off the field. She tried to take me back to the locker room, but I refused. I couldn’t leave the field now. Not after that.

  I lay on the grass, watching a player from the opposing team take the field preparing for their penalty kick. A few minutes later, they sunk the ball in the net. Even though we still had another penalty kick to go, I couldn’t help the sick feeling rising inside me: I lost us the season. Again.

  I hadn’t had a single issue with my leg for months, but for some reason when our season hung in the balance, it happened. I wanted to scream, but instead I lay there, watching as our entire season unraveled before my eyes.

  Chloe was up next. Even though she was a defender, Chloe was one of our most accomplished penalty kickers.

  There was still hope.

  She backed up, nodded toward the ref, and took her shot. Moments later, Chloe was on her knees, her hands cradling her face as she fell forward onto the ground.

  Blocked.

  The shot was blocked, and my dream of getting drafted along with it.

  42

  James

  Photo - Corinne Crosley clutching knee, moments after missing her penalty kick.

  I couldn’t see Corinne’s face in the photograph, but I knew the pained, dejected expression that would be on it all too well. It had been engrained in my mind since she left my apartment. There wasn’t an empty moment that I didn’t think of that night. Everything in my life had fallen to pieces since then.

  I thought leaving her would be for the best. I thought that it would shield her from anymore unnecessary pain. Now though, I’m not so sure. I should’ve asked for her input, laid everything out, and then came to a decision together. We were a team.

  But not anymore.

  “—Flight 1594 to London is now boarding at Gate 27A. We would like to invite—”

  I closed down the browser on my phone. Corinne smiled at me from the home screen. I traced her face on the screen with my fingertips as I tried to remember the feeling of her soft skin, the taste of her lips, and the sweet smell of her hair.

  I’d lost her.

  I looked one more time into those eyes as the screen faded to black. A moment later Corinne’s face disappeared, and I hardly recognized my face reflecting back at me. I slid my phone back into my pocket, grabbed my pack, and slung it over my shoulder as I stood up and headed toward the gate.

  I needed to start picking up the pieces of my shattered life and stop shuffling them around to hide the pain.

  CORINNE

  “Well, that’s good news right?” Violet said, looking up from the stack of books and papers strewn across the kitchen table. “There’s nothing wrong with your knee.”

  “Yeah, but it means that there’s something wrong with my head.”

  The MRI came back negative. Everything was fine, but it didn’t explain what caused the sharp pain in my leg during my missed penalty kick. I’d imagined it, apparently. I didn’t want to accept it because it felt so real.

  “How’s the paper going?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Violet jutted out her chin and blew a tuft of hair away from her face. “Terribly.”

  I laughed and pulled out the empty chair across from her.

  “I doubt that,” I said, grabbing an open book and flipping through it.

  I’d hardly touched it before Violet snatched it out of my hands. “Eh eh eh eh. No. Do not touch.” She set it back down in the same position, pushed her glasses back up her nose, and resumed her scribbling on the legal pad in front of her.

  I sighed and Violet eyed me over her glasses.

  “Sorry, jeez. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “You should be joining me. We both have the same due date for our papers after all.”

  “Please don’t remind me.”

  I was hoping to make it further in the tournament, that way I’d actually have an excuse when I asked Dr. Collins for an extension. But that idea burst into flames…

  “Tomorrow,” I said, pushing away from the table. “I have a date with Netflix and my depression tonight.”

  Violet’s lips vibrated as she forcefully exhaled a breath. “Jesus, Corinne.” She stared at me.

  “Kidding.” After a short pause I added, “About the Netflix. I’m watching Hulu.”

  Violet sighed and waved a hand at me, dismissing me.

  I pulled out my phone and found a message from my mother.

  Nina: So sad about the game, right? Have you sent in your applications to Harvard and Yale yet?

  I laughed. Sad? I didn’t even know how to process that throwaway message. She didn’t care that we lost. All she cared about was that the loss forced me closer to her goal.

  I replied with a single no.

  There was still a chance for me—the draft—and I was going to cling to it.

  James Calder on the hunt for a new team?

  Photo - James Calder leaving Manchester United headquarters.

  London - James Calder was spotted outside the offices of Manchester United with his agent Pete Baker this past weekend. Sources close to Mr. Calder tell ESPN that this is one of many scheduled meetings with potential teams…

  My heart sank as I scanned the rest of the article. I’d always thought that, eventually, after everything blew over, James and I would be together again. That’s what I thought he meant by a break, but I guess I was wrong.

  I could feel the tears beginning to form as a lump formed in my throat. Another silly mistake.

  “Did you do it?” Violet asked, eyeing me over her laptop.

  I closed the tab with James’s article, switched to my Harvard application, and clicked the submit button.

  “Just did it,” I said after clearing my throat.

  Violet vibrated with excitement. “Me too!”

  I did the same with every other application, and each time I hit the button, I felt a piece of me break away. This wasn’t what I wanted, but it felt like the universe was guiding me toward it, no matter how hard I fought otherwise.

  Violet reached over and snapped my laptop shut. “Now let’s go! We need to get ready, or we’re going to be late.”

  I groaned.

  “Don’t give me that look. You promised me you’d go.”

  I groaned again.

  “Corinne…”

  “Ugghhhh.”

  “Corinne!”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I’d promised Violet I’d go with her to the Art History Department’s end of the year Christmas party. It was the last thing I wanted to do. We’d never gone to it before, but Dr. Collins had never thrown the party before, either.

  “Yowza…” was all I could muster when Violet finally walked out of her bedroom.

  She blushed as she ran her hands down her black bodycon dress. It had long sleeves, a scoop neck, and an open back. “It’s not too much is it?”

  “Fabric?” I blurted out, eyeing the vibrant pearls that dangled across her chest. “Not at all.”

  “It’s too much. I knew it,” Violet said, turning around.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said, grabbing her before she had the chance to duck back into her bedroom. “You are not changing out of that dress.”

  “But look at you.”

  I was wearing a heather gray sweater dress with a white collar. Nothing flashy, but unlike Violet, I wasn’t trying
to grab anyone’s attention.

  I held Violet by her wrists and looked into her eyes. “You look amazing, Vi. I mean it. It’s not too much.”

  She smiled. “Okay, then.”

  “Dr. Collins is going to love it.”

  Violet broke away. “It’s not for Dr. Collins!”

  I laughed as Violet disappeared into her bedroom and then returned with a brand new Michael Kors clutch that I knew she could not afford. I almost blurted out as much but was shut down as she said, “It’s not,” trotting by me on her way out the door.

  “Let’s go,” Violet called out to me from outside.

  “I’m coming,” I muttered, grabbing my jacket and following after her.

  I was not looking forward to this party whatsoever, but if Violet wanted me to tag along, I’d be more than happy to. She’d done enough for me throughout this year, and the previous, that it was the least I could do.

  I leaned into Violet and whispered, “You’re fidgeting again.”

  “Am I?” she said.

  “Yes, and if you keep doing that,” I said, pointing to her fingers, “you’re going to be left with leather scraps instead of a clutch by the end of the night. Gimme!” I snatched the bag from Violet.

  “I don’t know what to do with my hands now. I feel naked. Give it back,” she lunged for the clutch, but I hid it behind my back.

  “You’ll get it back later. Now,” I said, brushing a stray tangle of hair out of my face, “I’ll go get you a drink.” I eyed Violet. “You need one.”

  “Don’t leave me,” Violet pleaded. “I don’t want to stand here alone. It will look like I don’t have any friends.”

  I grabbed Violet’s shoulder and leaned in. “Violet, you spend all your time with your nose in a book. Besides me and those books, I don’t think you have any friends. And,” I said, scanning the rest of the party, “I’m pretty sure everyone here is in the same boat.”

  I couldn’t really call this a party. There was music and drinks and food, sure, but everyone milled around awkwardly, talking in small groups about random periods of art, art theorists, and who knew what else.

  Violet laughed, finally relaxing a little. “You’re right, but I’m still coming with you.”

  “Fine.”

  We weaved through a group of corduroy-clad men, past color-clashing outfits that made my eyes burn, until finally we reached the refreshments.