Girls of Summer

by Kate Christie

  Yamamoto all but wrestled the ball away from Phoebe, and the Japanese team ran back to the center circle to force a quick restart. They were only down two with forty minutes to go. Jamie doubted she was the only one thinking the once unthinkable: Japan might just be able to pull themselves back.

  The thing about momentum is that once you’ve had it, you can always find it again, even if you think you’ve lost it for good.

  As soon as the US kicked off, Ellie was a blur of motion, driving forward into the center of the Japanese defense and pulling her teammates with her. Jamie followed willingly, and soon an overlapping Ryan was in the box earning a US corner kick. They hadn’t sat back after the goal. Rather they were continuing to move forward, to press whatever advantage they could find.

  Maddie wanted the corner, so Jamie let her have it and set up instead on the six. She was glad she did because Maddie’s left-footed inswinger very nearly scored. Kimura just got a hand on it and deflected it wide, directly into Angie’s path on the corner of the six. Angie one-touched the ball across the goal mouth to where Jamie, absurdly, found herself completely unmarked. She didn’t even have time to think. She simply stuck out her near foot and redirected the ball into the back of the net. FOR A GOAL. HER GOAL.

  The ball had barely crossed the goal line when Jamie leapt into the air with an inarticulate yell and an Ellie-style fist pump. She had scored in the World Cup final. SHE HAD SCORED IN THE WORLD CUP FINAL.

  Angie rushed at her, grinning. “Dude!” she screamed. “You fucking scored!”

  Normally Jamie would have been offended by the surprise in her friend’s voice, but now she only clutched the smaller woman’s shoulders and shouted, “Dude, you fucking assisted!”

  Then they laughed and hugged and got swept up into Ellie’s arms as the captain shouted unintelligibly. Soon they were surrounded by the rest of their teammates, including Maddie who dropped a kiss on both of their heads.

  “I fucking love you guys,” she said, her voice tight with emotion.

  Jamie fucking loved everyone at that moment, especially Emma who was staring at her with tears in her eyes, her smile even wider and happier now, if that was even possible.

  “Now we just have to get you a goal,” Jamie told her as they jogged back to their end, the stadium literally shaking around them in raucous celebration.

  “That’s okay,” Emma said. But she was grinning too.

  The game continued with more of the same frantic end-to-end play with multiple chances at both ends. The Americans kept up their pressure, though, and Ellie in particular seemed like she was everywhere on the field. Phoebe stood confidently against the Japanese attack despite the sun in her eyes, and Emma and Lisa were as stalwart as they had been all tournament.

  In the sixtieth minute, Jo subbed Taylor out, replacing her with Emily Shorter’s fresh legs. Honestly, Jamie felt better having the veteran defender behind her because while they didn’t need to score again, they definitely had to make sure Japan didn’t find the net. And their best way of doing that was to press and probe, cross and shoot, the same strategy that had brought them this far.

  Jenny nearly scored on a cross from Angie in the sixty-third minute, but missed wide. Ellie and Yamamoto exchanged a series of fouls in the sixty-fifth and seventieth minutes, as if neither superstar wanted to be outdone by the other. But the fouls were the result of hard play, not dirty conduct, and each player helped the other up after the call in a show of obvious respect.

  Jamie kept checking the clock, elated each time to find that they were four or five minutes closer to the end of the match, when they would lift the troph—Focus, damn it. Finish the match.

  Japan continued to possess and press, but down by three this late in the game, most of their shots smacked of desperation. Time was winding down, and everyone could feel it. Even the crowd seemed to be holding its breath between chants of “U-S-A” and the newly reworded, “I believe that we have won.”

  Japan never gave up, Jamie had to give them that. They forced the American side to play all the way to the end, even winning a corner in extra time as the players and coaches on the US bench stood shoulder to shoulder, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, waiting for time to run out. But Phoebe and the defense shut down any and every challenge from the Japanese offense, and it was as if, Jamie thought, the American side could do no wrong. As if some sort of magic had found its way inside them and now it refused to let them lose.

  Refuse to lose. Exactly.

  When injury time ran out at last and the referee finally—FINALLY—blew her whistle, those three shrill, beautiful tweets barely audible over the cries of the crowd, Jamie leapt into the air and looked around for Emma. Her girlfriend was mid-hug with Lisa, but she was looking at Jamie over her fellow defender’s shoulder.

  “We fucking won the World Cup, man!” Angie shouted, her arm forming a near choke hold around Jamie’s neck.

  “I know! We fucking rock!” Jamie replied, smiling so hard her face muscles ached.

  And then the bench was emptying and the players and coaches were meeting in an almost scrum at the center of the field, hugging and laughing in pairs and small groups while the crowd roared and photographers and videographers captured every move. Britt practically tackled Angie and Jamie, and then Lisa and Rebecca were there too, and the longtime friends were hugging each other and yelling almost unintelligibly about the incredible perfect awesomeness of this day.

  Nearby, Jo stopped in front of Ellie and held her at arm’s length for a moment, and then they hugged and Jamie heard the coach say, “I am so fucking proud of you, Ellison!”

  Ellie closed her eyes and held tight to the coach, and Jamie thought she knew exactly how she felt.

  Then Jo moved on to her, and they smiled at each other before sharing an exuberant hug. “Way to go, warrior,” Jo said in her ear. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Jamie said, her giddiness only enhanced by the tears pricking her eyes.

  When they found their way to each other, Emma grabbed Jamie in a tight hug and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around until she squealed in laughing protest. Then Emma set her down and smiled into her eyes.

  “I love you,” she said, not even trying to hide her emotions.

  “I love you, too,” Jamie said, and swept her into another hug.

  Someone draped an American flag around their shoulders, and Jamie could see flashes going off against her closed eyelids, could hear the chanting of the crowd and the sounds of the American Outlaws drums. But as she held Emma close against her, all she could think was, FINALLY. They had finally made it to this place and time, and it was even more wonderful than she ever could have dreamt.

  The moment was interrupted when she felt an elbow in her side and opened her eyes to see Angie and Britt both pointing toward the corner of the field. Jamie turned Emma slightly, and they both watched, smiling hugely, as Ellie stood on her tiptoes to reach Jodie, who was dangling over the side of the stands. Jodie’s arms came around Ellie’s head, and as the whole stadium watched on the live feed from the Jumbotron, Ellie kissed her wife proudly, passionately, happily. Because not only had they won the World Cup, but gay marriage was legal in the entirety of America.

  A moment later, Phoebe leapt into the stands to kiss her husband, but in a move that seemed entirely fitting, the cameras panned away from them to focus back on Ellie and Jodie.

  “Dudes, let’s go,” Angie said from behind Jamie.

  She glanced back to see Angie holding up an American flag and gesturing to her and Britt. What else could she do? She grabbed one corner and joined her oldest friends on the team in a victory lap, smiling and waving as the fans cheered them on. She could hardly believe this was real, and yet, at the same moment, it was so real her heart hurt.

  World Cup champions, oh my.

  Their circuit brought them back to the family section in the corner behind the US bench, and as they stood in front of the packed stands, Jamie scann
ed the rows for her parents and Meg and Todd. Wait—there they were, her mom and dad and sister and brother-in-law, smiling and waving down at her, eyes alight with love and pride. Beside them were the Professors Thompson with Becca and Rhea, out on their first baby-free date, also waving enthusiastically. Jamie waved back and blew them all kisses, and then Emma was beside her and they were waving at her mom and Tyler and Bridget, and Emma was smiling but…

  “You okay?” Jamie asked.

  “Fine,” Emma said.

  Jamie could tell she wasn’t, but Ellie picked that moment to lift her into the air from behind, and Jamie couldn’t exactly tell an American treasure to put her down, could she? By the time Ellie had moved on and Jamie refocused on her girlfriend, Emma’s eyes had cleared.

  “Come on,” Emma said, nodding toward the rest of the team. “Official ceremony first, family selfies on the field later.”

  Family selfies on the field? Jamie hadn’t even known that was a thing.

  #

  Later, after the two teams had shaken hands and the portable stage had been wheeled out onto the field, after the fans had booed the procession of FIFA officials and Jamie had barely held back an unprofessional smirk, after Phoebe had received her Golden Glove award, Ellie had been given both the Golden Boot and Golden Ball awards, and Japan had claimed their runners-up medals, Jamie followed her teammates up the stairs and onto the stage. This was the hardest part of winning any tournament, she knew from previous experience: slogging through the official awards ceremony when all you wanted to do was celebrate your ass off. But this time, Rob Muñoz, US Soccer’s president, was standing there waiting to drape the gold medal around her neck. This time, the most coveted trophy in the game was sitting on a table off-center stage just waiting for the American players.

  Time dragged just as it had throughout the second half, until, at last, Ellie and Phoebe grinned at each other and lifted the trophy high into the air while gold ticker tape drifted around them and the crowd, which had slogged through the ceremony themselves, roared in approval and chanted, once again, “U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!” The day was complete, and as she danced around the stage with Angie and Britt, flashes going off all around them, Jamie forgot about the incompetence of FIFA. She forgot about the raspberries that still stung her legs. She forgot about the exhaustion of traveling thousands of miles in a little over a month. She forgot her bruises and sore muscles and sunburn, and simply cheered herself hoarse.

  When it came, she took her turn with the golden trophy, smiling sheepishly as she pressed her lips to the cool, smooth metal. There were individual kisses and group kisses, and even pairs—Maddie and Angie, Emma and Jamie, and Gabe and Rebecca, as well as BFFs like Ellie and Phoebe, Emma and Maddie, and Jamie, Angie, and Britt. Finally, the team clomped down from the stage to pose en masse before a banner that read, “World Cup Champions!” Those images, Jamie knew, would decorate posters licensed by US Soccer and sold in limited editions across the country to diehard USWNT fans.

  This part of the celebration felt staged—literally—not to mention cliché-ish, but Jamie went through the motions anyway, feeling slightly surreal as she took her place in the relatively short line of athletes who had lifted this particular trophy in victory. The US had just become the only women’s team in history to win the World Cup three times. Germany was next with two, and Japan and Norway each had a single title to their name. Jamie smiled harder as she remembered that this win combined with their defeat of Germany in the semis meant they were also back on top of the international rankings. The US was number one in the world again—first in FIFA’s rankings and official champions of the world.

  Nice.

  Ceremony complete, it was finally time to start the real party. As non-VIP fans filtered out of the stadium, players’ families came down to the field. As did a few others—the American Vice President and his family, for one. And—Jamie tried not to gasp as she turned around and came face to face with her childhood hero: Mia Hamm.

  “Hey, Jamie,” Mia said, smiling at her and holding up her palm. “Great game today.”

  “Um, thanks,” Jamie blurted as she gave Mia Hamm—Mia freaking Hamm—a high five.

  “Your goal was the nail in the coffin,” Mia continued, seemingly unperturbed by Jamie’s fish mouth impression. “When you came right back after that second goal and scored on that combination with Wang—”

  “It’s Wang,” Jamie interrupted, correcting—oh shit—Mia Hamm’s incorrect pronunciation. “Rhymes with wrong, because she usually is, ha ha.” She said the last bit almost desperately, her grin a tad manic.

  “Oh, sorry. Wang. Anyway,” Mia went on, her smile relaxed, “that was the moment I knew without a doubt you guys would win.”

  “Really? I mean, thanks, Mia. Can I call you Mia? Is that okay?” Vaguely, Jamie was aware of Angie and Britt snickering in the background, but she ignored them. After all, Mia Hamm had sought her out, not them. Suck on that, losers.

  “Actually, it’s Miss Hamm,” Mia said, and then burst into laughter and clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Kidding. Ellie told me to keep an eye out for you. Obviously, she was right.” And she winked and moved on to congratulate Angie and Britt.

  Jamie made faces at them over the soccer legend’s shoulder because, yes, she was that mature. She couldn’t help that meeting a genuine soccer goddess turned her into a fourteen-year-old stuttering mess. Surely that was only natural.

  A little while later, when the stands were almost empty and even the field was beginning to clear, Jamie found Emma standing near the US bench, fingering her gold medal.

  “Ready to go crack some champagne?” Jamie asked. But when Emma looked up at her, the slightly bruised look from earlier was back. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  Emma shook her head, glancing down at the confetti-strewn turf. “No, of course not. I’m just being ridiculous.” As she blinked rapidly, Jamie could see tears glistening on her eyelashes. Plenty of other players had been crying in the last half hour, but Jamie could tell Emma’s tears weren’t the happy kind.

  “I doubt that,” she said, one hand on Emma’s shoulder.

  Emma didn’t reply, though, simply kept staring down as her fingers worried the World Cup medal.

  “Are you hurt?” Jamie asked. “Did you get hit in the head? Seriously, how many fingers am I holding up?”

  But her exaggerated concern didn’t get the eye-roll she expected. Instead, Emma looked up at her, gray-green eyes awash in tears, and said, “I wish my dad were here.”

  So that was it. Jamie sighed and tugged Emma into her arms, kissing her brow gently. “Of course you do. I’m so sorry he isn’t, Em.”

  Emma pressed her face against Jamie’s shoulder and said, her voice muffled, “My entire life has been leading up to this moment. And now that I’m here and he isn’t, I don’t know what to do next. What do I do next, Jamie?”

  “You celebrate,” Jamie said, pulling away to peer at her. “Just like you would do if he really was here.”

  Emma gazed up at her, eyes so full of pain Jamie almost forgot they’d just won the World Cup. “Really? Just like that?”

  She nodded. “Just like that. Only, make sure you keep him in your heart while you do. He’s always in there, isn’t he?”

  Emma nodded, her eyes clearing a little. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” Emma echoed. She lifted her hand and touched Jamie’s cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  She winked jauntily. “That’s what Mia Hamm said, too.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Gee, how did I get so lucky?”

  “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”

  “Are you guys talking about getting lucky tonight?” Angie asked as she passed by on her way to the tunnel. “Because hells yes!”

  “Fuck off,” Jamie said, laughing, and then, as Angie waggled her eyebrows, added, “I know, that’s what she said.”

  In the locker room, bottles of champag
ne were passed around along with the instructions that they were only allowed to spray them in one corner where some enterprising staff member had erected a plastic barrier, which elicited snorts of derision from the team.

  “What the hell?” Angie said, rolling her eyes. And then she promptly shook a bottle of bubbly and popped its cork in the designated champagne-spraying zone. “We’re world champions, baby!”

  Soon they were all drinking and dancing to the brand new post-game cool-down playlist that Jenny had mixed the night before when she couldn’t sleep. Even Jamie took a few gulps of champagne, ignoring Angie’s hoot of approval. You only won the World Cup once. Or maybe twice, if you were lucky.

  Squad goals, for real.

  Caroline, the PR rep, wanted photos for the USWNT twitter account before they stripped out of their uniforms, so they obliged, raising their champagne bottles and shouting for the picture. Emma knelt near the front, tears apparently forgotten as she flexed her impressive biceps for the camera, while Britt had one arm around Jamie and the other around Angie. For a moment, it was as if Jamie was outside of herself, seeing the group as Caroline might, sweaty and bubbly and freaking HAPPY.

  Winning felt fucking good. No, scratch that. It felt incredible. And it wasn’t just because as an American, winning was in her DNA. It was that she had stood shoulder to shoulder with this amazing group of women and shown that when it counted, they could rise above. They could do anything, she thought as she cheered for the federation’s official photo.

  The freaking incompetents at FIFA had better look out. That much was certain.

  Chapter Eighteen