Girls of Summer

by Kate Christie

  Emma nodded. “I am.”

  “Well, it looks good on you. Actually, so does she,” Trent added, and then laughed as Emma examined her fingernails before buffing them on her US Soccer warm-up top.

  “What about you? How’s Henry?”

  Henry Van Wyck was Trent’s husband, a sportswriter who had worked with Emma’s ex back in Boston.

  “Really good,” Trent said. “He says a writer can work from anywhere, so he pretty much follows me around, which is so much better than spending weeks or months apart. Although, I mean, it’s not as convenient as having him as a teammate would be,” she added, grinning.

  “You’d be surprised how inconvenient the federation can make it, actually.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that,” Trent admitted. “Though I can’t imagine why I didn’t. I swear, federation execs love coming up with new ways to torture us.”

  “It feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  A couple of other Aussie players passed them, nodding politely at Emma and giving Trent a significant look, which she rolled her eyes at. But as soon as they were out of earshot, she nodded at the Aussie team’s meal room. “Guess I should get in there.”

  “Me too. Good luck tonight,” Emma said, tugging her old friend into another hug. As she pulled away, she added jauntily, “You’re going to need it.”

  “You’re the ones who are gonna need luck,” Trent said.

  “Dream on.”

  “Back at ya.” As they started into the neighboring event rooms, Trent paused in the doorway. “Hey—you hear the news about Blatter?”

  “Totally,” Emma said, her smile wide. “His bullshit finally caught up to him. Couldn’t happen to a nicer dickweed.”

  Trent laughed. “You said it. Later, Blake.”

  “Later, Lizzie,” she replied, and headed inside to load up for the night’s main event: USA vs. Australia in their opening match of World Cup group play.

  The team had left New Jersey on June 2 in a thunder storm and arrived in Winnipeg to the news that Sepp Blatter, head of FIFA, had resigned over corruption and bribery allegations. Blatter, who had just been reelected to lead football’s international governing body, had few supporters in the women’s game. Not only was he in charge of an organization that literally scoffed at the idea of equal treatment of male and female players, but he had also made demeaning statements in the press about how women’s football could be improved by instituting more feminine clothes—for example, “tighter shorts. Female players are pretty, if you excuse me for saying so.”

  Emma didn’t excuse him in the least. In fact, his abrupt resignation on the very day many of the World Cup teams arrived in Canada seemed like an excellent omen for the tournament.

  Another good sign had been the cooler than average temperatures they’d encountered. Not only could heat exhaustion decimate a team’s ranks, but playing on synthetic turf in high temperatures could be dangerous. Without water to keep it cool, an artificial turf field could be up to 100 degrees hotter than natural grass, which was why Jenny and Phoebe had photos of melted cleats from the Kansas City turf. Cooler temperatures in Winnipeg meant they didn’t have to wait to practice until after dark, when the turf was as its coolest.

  The morning they’d arrived, the US coaches had eased them into training, starting with a weight room circuit before moving outdoors in the afternoon. They’d even given the players most of the second day off to explore the city. Day three, Friday, had seen them meeting with FIFA reps to receive their player credentials and have their head shots taken before a low-key training session in the afternoon.

  Emma didn’t feel like the lack of training was a bad thing, though. By now, Lacey had honed them into lean, mean fighting machines, and they were beyond ready to play. Emma felt confident saying that Australia felt the same. When you stayed at the same hotel, it was hard not to have a sense of your opponents’ preparations. Like having your pre-game meal in adjoining conference rooms—just another awkward moment in women’s football, one that Emma was fairly certain had never happened (and would never happen) on the men’s side.

  Jamie caught her eye from a table near the buffet, because of course she and Ellie had set up as close to the food as possible. Emma waved before focusing on the spread the team nutritionist had requested ahead of their first match. She had no doubt it would be good. At least food was one area where US Soccer didn’t discriminate between the women’s and men’s programs.

  Two hours later, she was still burping up garlic chicken as she stood in the tunnel at Winnipeg Stadium, waiting to take the field. It wasn’t the food making her feel nauseated but rather the occasion: The 2015 World Cup was about to begin. If the US didn’t win the whole thing this time, they would have to wait four more years for another shot. That would mean Ellie and Phoebe—arguably the greatest striker and goalkeeper tandem in US Soccer history—might end their national team careers without winning a single World Cup title.

  No one in an American uniform wanted that to happen.

  “Holy crowd, Batman,” she heard Jamie murmur as the walls of the stadium around them reverberated with chants of U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! “It’s seriously just like in Miracle.”

  Given their jersey numbers, Emma was just behind Jamie in the line-up. Now she nudged her girlfriend to get her attention.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, injecting her voice with more confidence than she currently felt. Being aware of Emma’s fears at her third World Cup might make Jamie even more panicky at her first. “As soon as the whistle blows, it gets better. I promise.”

  Jamie smiled slightly, probably at the reference to the LGBTQIA+ youth support organization she’d recently agreed to endorse. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Em.”

  “Of course,” Emma said.

  Their eyes held for a long, wordless moment, emotions like fear and excitement and love and fear again flitting between them, and then the head match official received word that the broadcast was ready. It was time.

  Also, it really was like Miracle. Or it would have been if the crowd in Lake Placid had been made up of screaming schoolgirls and middle-aged soccer moms and dads. Interspersed among the cries of “U-S-A,” Emma could hear rhythmic iterations of the US Soccer slogan, “I believe that we will win!” Then the referee lifted the game ball off its stand, and the two teams streamed out of the tunnel and into the light and sound.

  And it was so much sound! Winnipeg Stadium, like Red Bull Arena in New Jersey, was a soccer-specific arena that seated around 30,000. The American Outlaws supporters’ group was out in force, along with tens of thousands of their countrymen and women clad in USWNT replica jerseys and various other red, white, and blue garb. Most of the seats in the stadium were filled, and American flags and banners covered nearly every open space. Emma almost felt sorry for Australia. The home team advantage the US players had been told to expect had materialized in force. She would have bet her left foot that the only other team that had drawn a crowd this size was Canada, the actual home team, who had played the opening match of the World Cup two days earlier before a sell-out crowd.

  Even after the success of the send-off series, the American contingent in Winnipeg was louder, more passionate, and just generally bigger than Emma had expected. During the past few days, the players had talked amongst themselves about not letting down the people who believed in them—people who somehow, incredibly, numbered in the millions.

  But not Emma’s father.

  The thought occurred to her as the team gathered at the edge of the field for their traditional pre-game, post-anthem huddle. She didn’t usually miss her dad’s presence at national team matches, not even the big ones. Maybe she did today because Canada was so close to home. Here at the World Cup surrounded by a sea of red, white, and blue, his absence stood out in a way she wasn’t accustomed to.

  Shaking her head to herself, she pushed away the momentary pang and focused on Ellie’s speech. There would be time to think about feelings later. Right no
w it was Game Time.

  “Guys, this is everything we’ve ever dreamed of.” Ellie waved around at the cheering crowd, dotted with American flags; at the stadium lights flickering to life overhead in the early summer evening; at their opponents in their colorful yellow jerseys huddled together not far away. “For all the players who came before and dreamed of this, we have to fucking bring it. Bring it on three. One, two, three, BRING IT!”

  “It has already been broughten,” Jenny Latham declared as the starters headed onto the field.

  Emma felt a laugh rise, taut and punchy, and for once at the beginning of a game, she let it come. Game one of the World Cup vs. Australia was starting now, finally, after months upon months—years, even—of planning and preparation. Years of beep tests and GPS monitoring, VO2 max testing and power lifting; years of obsessing over dietary requirements and travel arrangements; years of sacrifice and separation from the people they loved most. Finally, finally, they had made it to this field at the outskirts of Winnipeg where tens of thousands of mostly American fans had gathered to cheer them on in the first game of their World Cup campaign.

  Three stars, here we come, she thought, and followed a sprinting Jamie out onto the field.

  #

  Admittedly, the game wasn’t quite the start they were looking for. In the fifth minute, one of Australia’s talented young strikers nailed a shot from the top of the eighteen that Phoebe had to lay out fully to deflect, and even then it crashed off the crossbar and narrowly avoided the back of the net. Phoebe sprang up afterward clapping her hands and barking orders at the team, and Emma knew that she, for one, was psyched to have gotten her first save of the tournament out of the way. That it had been one for the highlights reel would only help Phoebe’s confidence moving forward.

  Seven minutes later, the US team’s good luck continued when Maddie took a potentially ill-advised, long-range shot through traffic that clipped an Australian player on its way toward the goal. The wrong-footed keeper didn’t have a chance to correct her approach, and the crowd erupted as the ball found the net and Maddie leapt into the air, swinging her fist in triumph.

  The team, naturally, went crazy, too, swarming Maddie who grinned a tad sheepishly at the lucky goal.

  “Never met a shot I didn’t like,” she joked as they jogged back to their end of the field.

  “You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” Ellie countered, clapping her on the back.

  The breathing room felt almost as good as their luck, but Australia continued to play better than Emma had anticipated, with quick forays and counterattacks into US territory that left the defense scrambling to catch up. A team was always most vulnerable in the first few minutes after they scored, but Phoebe lived up to her reputation, making key save after key save—all in the first 25 minutes. Team USA’s luck finally ran out in the 27th minute, when Bella Chapman, Australia’s veteran striker known for her speed, slammed the ball into the corner of the US goal just out of Phoebe’s reach. The few non-American fans in the stands cheered, but the quiet before the kickoff—yeah, that didn’t feel so good.

  At halftime, with the score tied 1-1, the US team filed into the locker room and dropped onto benches. While the training staff re-taped ankles and massaged sore muscles, Jo went through the stats. Australia had more shots on goal currently as well as more corner kicks and longer time of possession. In other words, they were out-playing the Americans.

  “I know how you feel,” she said, turning away from the white board to level her gaze at the fidgeting players. “I’ve been where you are now, felt that same pressure on my shoulders, the eyes of the world on me and my teammates to see if we had what it takes. Those fans out there are wondering the same thing. They’re wondering if you’re going to show up.

  “The good news is, the first half is over, and we aren’t losing thanks to Maddie’s confidence and Phoebe’s general unstoppability.” A hoot went up around the room, and Jo let it go for a moment. Then she raised her hand, gazing at each of them in turn. “But now you need to tell yourselves that’s it. You’ve allowed your nerves to dictate play for forty-five minutes, and now it’s time to play the way I know you can. Those fans out there traveled hundreds, possibly even thousands of miles just to be here, right now. Don’t you think they deserve to see you play at the top of your game?”

  Emma nodded with the rest of the team, feeling a pulse of determination surge through her. Jo was right. Those fans out there deserved to see the best US team possible, as did the fans watching at home. With Fox broadcasting every American game live, the number of people watching today’s match would probably number in the hundreds of thousands. Possibly, even, in the millions.

  “Soccer is a game of two halves,” Jo said, her voice picking up in urgency. “Now, let’s go out there and show the world that we’re better than that first half!”

  “Boo-yah!” Ellie said commandingly, rising to her feet.

  “Boo-yah!” the team repeated, the chorus echoing against the concrete walls of the locker room.

  Less than a minute later, Emma emerged from the dim tunnel into the stadium lights as the crowd began to chant, “I believe that we will win!”

  She nodded over at Maddie, the next closest player. Maddie nodded back, her features set. They weren’t going to let their fans down. Not today, and not on Friday when they would face Sweden in this same stadium. Definitely not next week when they played Nigeria for the final group match all the way over in Vancouver. They might have landed in the Group of Death, but for the US, there would be no early exit, only a steady progression to the final match three weeks and six days from now.

  I believe that we will win, Emma thought as she warmed up for the second half. I believe that we will win. I BELIEVE THAT WE WILL WIN.

  I BELIEVE.

  #

  They beat Australia on another goal from Maddie and a classic finish by Ellie, but the win definitely didn’t count as pretty. Phoebe saved their asses, as the stats sheet showed—Australia placed more shots on goal than the US, and without Phoebe’s acrobatics, the game may well have turned out differently. But as everyone who plays soccer knows, ugly earns just as many points as pretty. This result was important, especially given that Sweden and Nigeria had played earlier in the day and tied 3-3. With the only win so far in Group D, the US was in first place.

  The following day, the players who’d seen significant minutes spent the day recovering with the training staff while the rest of the team trained on the pitch. In yet another awkward turn of events, the Australian starters were in the pool when the US players arrived, engaged in their own post-match recovery. Although awkward might be the wrong word. Emma didn’t mind the tattoo porn or Maddie’s jokes about the view down under while they waited their turn. But when she caught one of the Aussie team’s strikers sending Jamie a particularly bright smile, she had to force herself to breathe deeply and turn away. It didn’t help that her girlfriend caught her eye as she did so, clearly biting back a smile.

  Whatever. Emma was almost thirty. She was mature, damn it. Besides, they’d won the night before and Emma was the last person Jamie had kissed.

  “My raspberry is better than yours,” Jamie said a little while later as they paced through the pool workout Lacey had drawn up.

  “I don’t know,” Emma said, lifting the edge of her compression shorts to show off her own gruesome abrasion caused by the artificial turf. As Jamie blinked and looked away, her ears turning red, Emma felt mildly mollified. At least she wasn’t the only one who was human.

  “You know what’s irritating about this?” Maddie asked, gesturing toward the raw flesh on her elbow.

  “That it stings like a bitch in chlorine?” Angie offered. She’d come in and played the second half after Gabe had earned a yellow card just before half time. The coaches weren’t taking any risks with cards and ejections at this stage of the tournament.

  “Well, yes,” Maddie admitted. “But I was referring to how the under-20 b
oys’ World Cup is going on right now in New Zealand, but on GRASS.”

  Typical, they all agreed. The good ole boys at FIFA had made it abundantly clear over the years that they cared more about the boys’ junior international championship—which, incidentally, was being played to miniscule crowds while the women’s tournament was receiving historic levels of fan engagement—than they did about the “pinnacle event of women’s football,” as FIFA’s own marketing team called it.

  But focusing on crappy FIFA and their crappy crappiness was not worth their time or energy, the players decided. Mary Kate had them under strict instructions to spend their off-the-field energy on positive things like eating their favorite healthy foods, spending time with friends and family, and visualizing themselves on the podium in Vancouver. Their frustration over the turf issue was justified, Ellie pointed out. Just, maybe not particularly useful at this juncture.

  For a while, the conversation shifted to the latest season of Game of Thrones, everyone’s favorite series currently—except Jamie and Britt, who had both refused to watch past the first beheading in the first episode of the first season. Which, the group agreed, wasn’t even that bad of a beheading for GoT, all things considered. For example, there was—

  “Seriously, you guys, can we not talk about beheadings?” Jamie interrupted.

  “Seriously,” Emma echoed, glaring around at their friends, who had the grace to look abashed.

  They exercised in silence for a few minutes, and then Angie asked, “Did you guys hear about Ecuador?”

  The players in the wading pool gave a collective wince. Cameroon—not exactly a global powerhouse themselves—had demolished Ecuador 6-0. But that wasn’t even the worst scoring discrepancy so far. Germany, the odds-on favorite behind the Americans to win the whole thing, had defeated Ivory Coast 10-0 on the second day of the tournament.

  “I heard Jo telling Mel that it’s FIFA’s responsibility for expanding the World Cup field without ensuring parity,” Ryan said.

  Which, yes, completely true. But in Emma’s view, the German coaches and players could have shown compassion to their competitors if they’d wanted to. Scoring in the double digits against an inferior side like Ivory Coast, who hadn’t even been expected to qualify for Canada, felt gauche to Emma. She was a defender, though, so that probably explained her perspective.