The Stand-In Boyfriend

by Doherty, Emma

  Shelley eyes me suspiciously. “You mom would kill me if she knew I was letting you take that for breakfast.”

  I grin back at her, pulling some money out of my pocket and handing it over. “It’s not all for me, and it’s an emergency.”

  I rush out and make the ten-minute drive to Jessie’s house, hoping he hasn’t strayed from his routine and actually left to go to school early for once.

  His dad is just leaving as I pull up and he smiles and waves as he gets in his car and drives off. I make my way up the drive and let myself in like I’ve done a million times before, shoving my nerves down. It’s ridiculous; this is Jessie. We know each other better than almost anyone, and I’m not prepared to let this horrible tension go on between us. I’m fixing this now.

  His mom waves at me from the front room where she’s battling with his sisters about what they should wear today, and I make my way into the kitchen. He’s already in there, by the fridge, drinking his juice directly from the bottle.

  “Hey.”

  He whirls to see me, surprise written all over his face.

  “Well done, for yesterday,” I tell him before he can ask me why I’m here. He scored a goal in the second half that evened the score, and I screamed so loud Ms. Fountain knocked her drink over. The team then went on to win and even from my distant view, I could see how happy he was. It hurt that I couldn’t be down there to celebrate with him.

  Pride crosses his face before he tries to mask it with indifference, but he can’t because we both know how much yesterday meant to him.

  I hold out my box of treats. “This is a peace offering,” I tell him. “I hate the way things are with us and I wish we could go back to how it used to be.” He opens his mouth to say something but I keep going. “I won’t talk about Chase, and you don’t need to mention Courtney.” Even when I’m trying to make things okay between us, I still find my mouth curling in distaste at her name. “I just want my friend back.”

  His gaze levels me for a minute and I hold my breath, terrified he’s going to be as mad as he was the other day. Eventually his eyes drop to the box in my hand. “Is that stuff from your mom’s place?”

  I grin, knowing we’re okay. “Where else?”

  He narrows his eyes, but this time it’s playful. “There better be brownies in there.”

  I shrug, like I don’t know. “I mean, maybe. I thought you might like the cheesecake too.”

  He’s in front of me in a second, grabbing the box and opening it in delight. He starts eating right away, grinning with a mouthful of food before offering me a bite.

  “I missed you,” I tell him quietly.

  His eyes find mine. “I missed you, too.”

  I’M TWISTING AND PRESSING MY hands together so tightly I think I’ll have bruises, and I haven’t moved from the shower stall I’m sitting in—fully clothed—since our team bus pulled up here. It’s the day of the finals and I’m terrified. In fact, terrified is an understatement. This is everything I’ve been working toward since I was a freshman and it all comes down to this. Last year we lost in the final, the year before we didn’t make the finals, the year before that I didn’t make varsity, and next year I won’t be here. This is it. This is the only chance I have to be a high school soccer champion, and the thought of it is paralyzing.

  The stall door opens and Sophie appears, decked out in her full cheerleading outfit, makeup and all. She steps over my outstretched legs and sinks down next to me. Hallie or Tia must have gotten her; I could see them watching me on the bus. I’ve gotten nervous before, scared, but not like this. I’ve never been like this, and they must have assumed Sophie could pull me out of it. As soon as we got to the locker rooms, we all got changed, but I couldn’t say a word to anyone. Then when Coach ordered us out to do our warm-up, I thought I was going to pass out and disappeared into the stall. Coach left me to it, realizing he wasn’t being helpful by demanding I warm up, and this is where I’ve been ever since.

  “What’s going on?”

  I shrug and don’t look away from my hands. It’s hard to put into words how I’m feeling right now, how stressed and panicked I am. This is when my anxiety is at its worse. When I can’t even look at my best friend, I know it’s bad.

  She reaches out and rests her hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.

  “You’ve got this, Livs.”

  I shake my head. I don’t, I really don’t have this—too much rides on it.

  “I promise you, you do.”

  “I don’t think I can play.” My words are a whisper.

  “You can and you will,” she tells me.

  A tear streaks down my cheek. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. So much hangs on this moment. I need it. I need it in order to get to college and have a chance at a decent life and right now I can’t even get up off the bathroom floor. It’s not just a soccer match to me; it represents my future.

  The door opens again and Jessie stands there. He makes me feel marginally better, but just marginally. I don’t think even Jessie can pull me out of this. I’m in here falling apart while the rest of my team is outside warming up, not even knowing if I’m going to pull it together to play or not.

  “You’re okay, Liv,” Jessie tells me. I shake my head again. He doesn’t get it, neither does Sophie—they’ve never competed at this level—but I’m not about to say that to them because they’re my best friends. Still, they don’t understand how I’m feeling, the pressure I’m feeling—the fear of not being good enough, of not winning.

  “Talk to me,” Sophie says from beside me. “How can we help?”

  “Visualize the crowd naked,” Jessie suggests. “Would that help? You could even visualize us naked.”

  Sophie snorts next to me and I manage a small smile. I’ve visualized Jessie naked on more than one occasion, but I can’t exactly say that to him right now. Besides, that thought isn’t helpful at the moment.

  “You’ve got this,” Sophie tells me. “You’re going to have a great game and you’re going to impress everyone out there and you’re going to win this. I know it.”

  Fresh tears fall down my face. I can’t. I’m going to let everyone down. My mom and Ray are out there and they’ll be so disappointed when I mess up. I know my dad doesn’t give my mom much money for me, certainly not enough to cover college tuition, and Ray doesn’t have much money, not really. My mom’s bakery is successful and getting more so all the time, but not college tuition successful, not yet, and they should be saving for Scotty’s future. They’d never say it to me but I know they need me to impress today. I know this is my only shot at getting a scholarship and I’m already messing it up. I’m already messing it up before I’ve even kicked a ball.

  “Don’t cry,” Jessie says, panic creeping into his voice. He glances over at Sophie and she shrugs helplessly. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen me like this. I haven’t been this anxious since the year my dad left.

  “I’m messing everything up,” I whisper.

  “Should I go get your mom?”

  “No! No, please don’t tell her.” I don’t want her to know about this. It will only worry her, will only stress her out.

  “What can we do?” Jessie pleads. If I wasn’t feeling so low, I’d probably feel happy that he’s showing he genuinely cares about me. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better, Liv.”

  Nothing. They can’t do anything. They don’t get it. They’ll never get the pressure of knowing the whole team is counting on you to be at your best in such an important game. Only my teammates will know that, only my teammates, who need to focus on their own game right now, and the boys—wait.

  “Is Chase here yet?”

  Jessie stiffens slightly before nodding his head. Of course he’s here. He said he would be, and I’m coming to understand that when Chase says he’ll do something, he does it. He’s here to support me and I know it’s not just because he’s pretending to be my boyfriend. He’s here because he wants to be. He’s genuinely been crazy e
xcited about this game.

  “Can you get him?” My voice is so low that if it weren’t for the way Jessie’s face shifts, I wouldn’t know he heard me. I don’t have time to decipher what that means right now, to figure out if he’s jealous or not, to even be pleased that Jessie clearly doesn’t like the idea of me needing Chase to help me right now.

  “Go,” Sophie hisses, and he turns without another word while she continues rubbing circles on my knee, trying to comfort me while all I can focus on is trying to control my breathing and halt this overwhelming sense of failure that’s consuming me.

  The door to the locker room slams open and footsteps hit the tile. Chase rounds the corner to the showers a moment later and halts when he sees me on the floor. His face softens and he offers me a weak smile. He walks over cautiously and when he’s right in front of me, he holds out his hand.

  There’s something about the look on his face that makes me take it despite the fact that only a second ago I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get up off the ground. It’s because he’s not telling me to. It’s because he expects me to get up because it’s a perfectly reasonable request for me to get off the ground of the empty shower stall I’ve been hiding in, and of course it is. He hauls me to my feet but doesn’t let go of my hand. He tugs me closer to him then backs up toward the opposite wall, sits down on the wooden bench parallel to the showers, and then pulls me down onto his lap while Sophie disappears out of the room.

  His arms wrap around me, securing me against his chest, locking me in close to him, and he doesn’t say anything, not for quite a while. He just sits there and lets me know he’s here for me. He breathes in and out, big heavy exaggerated breaths that are easy to follow, and soon my breathing is under control. Soon my breaths are in sync with his and I feel like I can lift my head from his shoulder. After another few minutes pass, his eyes meet mine.

  “I’m telling you, Chapman, you’ve got this.” I like that he doesn’t ask me what’s going on or even if I’m okay. He knows I’m not and he knows why even without asking.

  “But what if I don’t?”

  “There’s not a chance you’re not going to dominate out there.”

  “But the scouts, Chase. What if I…I mean, I have to—”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can,” he cuts me off again.

  “You don’t get it.”

  “I do.”

  “The other team—one of them was saying I’m shit and I shouldn’t be on the team and I won’t be able to get past them. She posted it online.” I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about her words.

  Chase chuckles. “You know that’s just some psychological crap they’re trying to use to psych you out. They know you’re the one they need to stop and they’re so scared they’ve had to resort to badmouthing you. You should take it as a compliment.”

  “But what if they’re right?”

  “They’re not right, Livy. Even they know that.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to know how I know you’re going to go out there and prove anyone who might doubt you wrong?”

  My eyes find his.

  “Back when we were freshmen, we had gym class together—remember?”

  “What?” What is he talking about? I need to focus on the here and now, not something that happened years ago.

  “The first class of the year, we were all in the gym, right? And we had that old gym teacher? The one who thought girls shouldn’t be with us boys and it was a waste of our time to have to compete with you?”

  I nod my head slowly. I hated that guy. He looked older than my grandpa and after twenty minutes, it was obvious he still had the views about women that were around when he was born. He actually told us we should be in home economics rather than gym.

  Chase grins at me. “You remember the suicides?”

  A slow grin spreads across my face. I do remember the suicides. He told us we were going to run suicides as a warm-up before breaking into teams for basketball. We started off and I was determined to prove his views about girls wrong. In my mind I was adamant that I would be the last one running, no matter what it cost me. I didn’t have a clue what the fitness of those boys was like—or any of the other girls in the class, for that matter—but I didn’t care. I had to prove to that misogynistic, chauvinistic old man that girls could compete just as well as boys. We started running and as expected, a lot of girls dropped out quite quickly. That was fine—suicides are awful and not everyone is sporty—but after another fifteen minutes, a bunch of boys had dropped out too and were watching from the sides. I almost expected the old guy to blow the whistle and stop us, but every time I glanced his way, he was watching me, and I knew he was waiting for me to drop out. He wasn’t going to stop until it was only the boys left. Hallie was in that class too and kept pace with me for a while, but she didn’t have the fitness level she has now and eventually she dropped out too.

  Then it was just me, Chase, and another guy. My legs were burning and my breathing had become difficult, but I was determined not to stop, determined to show this old pig what I could do. Finally it was just me and Chase left, slowed down significantly but still running. I remember feeling physically sick at that point, like I needed to vomit and my body was ready to shut down on me. I was almost ready to collapse on the floor when Chase bent down to touch the ground then collapsed, moaning in agony as he rolled onto his back. I kept on going, determined to try to make it look like I could do more and make sure it was abundantly clear to him that I was just as good an athlete as any of the boys in that class. Eventually he blew his whistle, his face like thunder, and the class started cheering for me. We didn’t have time for basketball, having taken up the whole class period running suicides, but after that he never made a derogatory comment about female abilities again, at least not near me, and he retired at the end of that year.

  “Did you let me win?” I ask. I’ve wondered about that ever since it happened.

  Chase scoffs. “Not a chance. I tried my hardest and you destroyed me.” There’s something like awe in his voice. “You made me up my game, and after that I started running every day.”

  I smile. It’s good to think back and remember when I proved that old man wrong—but that was then. “This is different, Chase. This isn’t running suicides in gym class.”

  “You’re just going to prove whoever is talking shit about you wrong, just like you proved that teacher wrong.”

  “But what if I can’t?”

  “Look, why do you play soccer?”

  I don’t say anything. He knows why—for the same reason he plays.

  “Liv,” he coaxes, and I realize he wants an answer.

  “Because I love it,” I tell him.

  His face breaks out into a grin. “And that’s why you’re here, Liv. That’s all you have to remember.”

  “But I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “I know you can.”

  “It’s hard, Chase.”

  “I know. I get it.” I actually believe him; he’d get it over anyone else. “But it’ll only be tough until you get out there. As soon as the whistle blows and you kick that ball for the first time, everything else will fade away.”

  I stare into his vivid green eyes, full of warmth and concern, and I realize he’s right. He’s completely right.

  “Thanks, Chase.” I smile at him.

  He leans his forehead against mine just as a wave of noise hits us and the sound of multiple pairs of feet hitting the tiles fills the space.

  “Jeez, Chapman, if you wanted to skip warm-up and make out with your boyfriend, you should have just said.”

  I manage a small smile and turn to face Tia, who has a huge smirk on her face. Hallie nudges her in the arm. “You okay?” she asks me.

  I nod my head. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  Two hours later, I’m exhausted. I have run every inch of this pitch at least ten times and have the scars t
o prove I’m leaving it all out here. My knees are scraped from the tackles I’ve made to the ground, I have what will surely develop into a black eye after taking an elbow to the face from a defender, and my once white shirt is now coated in mud, but I don’t care. I don’t care because this is why I play soccer. This is why I’ve worked my ass off for the last three years and why I insisted on those extra morning practices. This, because now in extra time with the score tied at two goals apiece and only minutes left, it’s our team that has the edge. We’re not cramping up or running out of speed. We’re still taking shots and hunting down the ball. We have this because we’re ready.

  It hasn’t been an easy game, not by any stretch of the imagination. The opposing team is good. They’re fearless and strong, and they take their chances when they appear, but we’re better. I have no doubt in my mind that we’re better than them, and I just know we can do this.

  I hear a shout and turn my body to see Tia dashing away from a midfielder, the ball at her feet. I start to run, gritting my teeth and ignoring the burning in my legs. We’ve practiced this so many times in training that I know exactly where she’s going to put it. I need to get closer to the goal. The ball drops inches in front of me and I’m now within shooting distance. A defender is on me instantly and I arch my upper body, trying to protect myself and keep my balance as she tries to hack at my legs from behind. Another of her teammates joins her and I’m outnumbered, but I know this is it. The roar of the crowd tells me it is. They know this is our chance. The whistle is about to be blown and if we don’t score again, we’re going to penalties, and I’m not having that. Penalties are no way to settle this. You can just get lucky or unlucky when scoring penalties, and I’m not willing to let the championship come down to luck. We deserve this. My teammates and I deserve this. We deserve to be the state champions so we’re going to be the state champions, and not so I can get into college and not for a scholarship, not for anyone else. I’m going to do this because I love soccer and I’m going to make sure we win.