Throw Like a Girl

by Sarah Henning

A knock comes at the door.

  “Liv?”

  Ryan. I instantly wonder how long he’s been standing out there, waiting for a sign of life. I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that I can’t be mad at him. None of this is his fault. It’s completely mine and mine alone.

  “Yeah?” My voice is dry and I need water. Sweaty minutes on the field, late-night pancakes, and toothpaste leaving me parched.

  “Can I come in?” The door opens a crack and he’s shoved his arm through the space, a Krispy Kreme doughnut bag tight in his fist. “I got you breakfast.”

  Oh, how the tables have turned.

  I sigh. “Ry, you didn’t have to.”

  His head pops in as the door widens. “I didn’t have to, but Heather wanted company for her cold brew, so these doughnut holes just happened to work their way into my life.”

  I smile weakly. This family’s love language is most definitely food. Ryan scoots into our room, turns to shut the door, and when he’s facing me again, I see he brought me a Pepsi, too.

  His hazel eyes meet mine and he lights up in a smile. “Yes, I’m plying you with sugar.”

  I take the bag and pop open the can. The fizz burns at my throat, and it’s exactly what I need. “Plying?”

  A shrug. “It was in my English homework this week. Seemed appropriate.”

  “My little brother, using grown-up words.”

  He grins and dumps himself onto my bed. I sit down next to him and put the Krispy Kreme bag between us.

  Just for him, I stuff an entire doughnut hole into my mouth and wash it down with more fizz. Even though all this sugar is totally going to make my headache worse. Still, I love him so hard for realizing I might need a treat.

  “What did Dad do?” he asks.

  “Told me to quit the team.”

  He blinks. “Did you tell him about Coach Kitt and being recruited by Grey? Did you tell him that you threw three freaking touchdowns?”

  “He didn’t want to hear it. He informed me that I didn’t think things through.”

  “Sounds pretty similar to the speech he gave me about placekicking. ‘What if you get hit, Ryan, what then?’”

  I nod—my brother is definitely angling for a full ride to play soccer. Circumstance gave us identical plans. “Same speech. I told him I’d already been hit, but he kept going—didn’t even acknowledge it. Had to stick to the script, I guess.”

  “What else?” Ryan stuffs three doughnut holes into his mouth before I can ask what he means, but I’m pretty sure I know.

  “No phone, no computer, no car the rest of the weekend. Grounded.”

  He swallows. “Harsh.”

  Yes, but it’s not the grounding that’s cleaved a void in my chest. Who knew eight days could leave such a wound? I didn’t know how much I’d enjoy football. I sigh.

  Ryan crams two more doughnut holes into his mouth, slamming them down before speaking again. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Homework without a computer. Like a heathen.”

  “Total heathen.”

  “Good thing I don’t have a paper due.”

  “You don’t, but I do.” He stands, and I realize he’s in workout gear but not his soccer stuff—no weekend practices for him, even on varsity. “Jesse and I are going to shoot some hoops. Paper later. Wanna watch a movie after? You aren’t grounded from that, right?”

  I haven’t been grounded in forever, so I honestly don’t know. “I don’t think so.”

  “Furious 7?”

  I grin. “It’s a date.”

  He turns at the door. “You sure you’re okay?”

  A smile is at my lips, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. That’s just not going to happen today.

  “No.” My voice cracks.

  Ryan ducks his head, takes three steps to cross the room, and crushes me in a hug. He doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes me as tight as I need.

  I haunt the edges of my room for the next few hours. I only pee and shower when everyone but Mom has left the house. Ryan to Jesse’s, Dad to work, Danielle and Heather to brunch with friends.

  At ten, I’m so hungry for something more than sugar that I have to venture to the kitchen. Mom’s there, steeping some of her mega-antioxidant matcha tea. Yoga tights gone baggy hang off what’s left of her butt; a Windsor Prep hoodie that used to fit gathers in a saggy pile at her waist. She’s got a blanket around her shoulders, clutching it with one hand while minding the tea bag with the other.

  This is when I should mention it’s already ninety degrees out, and my sister and her wife aren’t big air-conditioning people. But Mom’s shivering like she’s just traversed the Rockies.

  Cancer sucks.

  SUCKS.

  Worse, it’s triple-negative breast cancer. Which means it doesn’t respond to many of the treatments available. Even worse, it reoccurs more often than others. Which is where we’re at now. Mom was first diagnosed four years ago. But last year it came back, more aggressive this time. Stage three, not stage four, but it’s been bad enough all the same. This go-around it was a full mastectomy and chemo, paid for with money we don’t have because we’re still paying off the last round.

  Mom looks up from her tea, blue eyes lighting up her thin face. Cancer has made her a husk of what she was even a year ago, but it hasn’t taken her sparkle. It will never take that.

  “If it isn’t Peyton Manning,” she says.

  Jeez, Mom, burn. “Funny. Because he’s retired.”

  She frowns. “I didn’t know that. I thought he was still playing.”

  I laugh and lean into the counter, fiddling with the tea box. “Wait, so that’s supposed to be a compliment?”

  Mom places a hand on my wrist, and my fingers immediately freeze. I meet her eyes and there’s a strength there that isn’t in her grip. “Your father is upset because he’s afraid you’ll get hurt. And he’s hurt that you lied to Danielle and to us by omission.”

  There’s suddenly a lump in my throat, and never mind food because I’m going to throw up.

  I’m usually so open with my family. It’s what we’re good at.

  Mom catches my chin with a finger. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you. You’ve always been fearless and loyal, and I have no doubt you led that team like… who’s a good quarterback who isn’t retired?”

  I laugh again—clearly Mom has completely tuned out Dad on the Sunday afternoons he’s parked in front of the TV yelling at the Chiefs. “Let’s go with Marcus Mariota.”

  She brings her tea to her lips and cocks a brow. “That answer was quick enough that I assume he must be cute.”

  “Mom.”

  Undeterred, she whips her phone out of her hoodie pocket and starts googling. “How do you spell Mari—oh, wait, there it is. He is cute! Who else is cute?”

  “MOM.”

  “What? Indulge me. I know you didn’t join that team without doing your research. You probably spent hours watching YouTube videos. Wait, does Marcus have a YouTube channel? Let’s look. And don’t you dare ‘MOM’ me again—this is bonding.” She grabs her tea. “Let’s go sit on the deck.”

  I follow her outside. She melts into an Adirondack chair made of sun-bent plastic, her weight barely registering on its cracking facade. I know the other one will wobble on three legs, so I snag Heather’s yoga mat from the corner and roll it out alongside Mom. Then I lie back and shut my eyes to the sun and to the corner of Grey’s house I can see over the trees.

  I think Mom is just messing around on her phone, but then I hear her swallow a sip of tea. “So, how cute is the boy?”

  “You saw him—Mariota isn’t bad.”

  “I meant the coach’s son.”

  My eyes spring open and I sit up. “Mom, I did not join the team because Grey’s cute.”

  “I know my youngest daughter well enough to know that.” She finally takes a sip. “But, still, is he?”

  My cheeks are giving me away. And besides, I’m not into lying to my mom about stupid sh
it like this. So, after a moment, I finally say, “Yes.”

  19

  AROUND TWELVE THIRTY, I HEAR A KNOCK AT THE front door. Mom’s taking her postlunch nap, so I tiptoe to the door before whoever it is starts with the doorbell and disturbs her. When I look through the peephole, steely gray eyes stare back.

  My heart immediately begins a manic drumbeat. I don’t want to tell him I have to quit the team. I don’t want to tell him that Cop Dad thinks he coerced me. I don’t want to do anything but go back to exactly the way things were when he kissed me.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I pull open the door.

  His freshly washed hair is curling at the edges, sunglasses atop his head. A polo, khaki shorts, and boat shoes round out the look.

  “Hey.” He kicks up a half smile when he says it, but immediately I see his eyes aren’t in it.

  “Hey.” I force myself not to glance away. If I can look a fire-breathing coach in the eye, I can look this boy in the eye after kissing him and then vanishing behind a wall of absence and silence.

  He unhooks a hand and pushes a lock of hair from my face. I am so glad I showered.

  “When you didn’t show up for weights, I texted you. And when you didn’t text back and never showed, I bribed Rogers to find out where you lived. But it turns out he has the wrong address.”

  Oh shit. We hadn’t moved into Danielle’s yet when Jake and I were still a thing.

  My mouth drops open, but Grey’s not done. “But I’m buddies with the varsity soccer captain, so no worries.”

  A smile twitches at the corners of my mouth. “You’re persistent.”

  “You weren’t answering. And after last night, I just wanted to make sure nothing weird happened.”

  There’s a lack of certainty in his eyes for the first time since we met, and before I know it, my arms loop his neck, lips to his. The sharp scent of boy soap hugs my body, and for a split second, I feel like maybe the last twelve hours didn’t happen.

  “So… not weird?” he says when I pull away.

  “The new normal?” I suggest.

  “I like that.” Grey smiles, light reaching his eyes, the serious lines disappearing in a flash and bang.

  But then we fall silent. The rest of the new normal needs to be discussed—but I don’t want to start.

  Grey touches my face. “I ran into Ryan on my walk over.” He motions down the street to Jesse’s house. “He told me why you weren’t at practice.”

  “Everything?”

  He sort of pulls away. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

  “I don’t know. What’s everything?”

  I frown out onto the street. I want to take him inside, but I know that won’t go over well if someone comes home or Mom wakes up. Better they see us on the stoop, as if I’m turning him away.

  “My parents didn’t know about football. I was going to tell them, but I chickened out. And, well, the news got to them before I did.”

  “That happens when you’re a badass who throws three touchdowns in twenty minutes.” He knocks me on the shoulder and I almost smile again. But the truth keeps the frown steady.

  “Yeah, well… I’m paying for that badassery. Grounded—no phone, no computer, no car—for the rest of the weekend.” I raise my eyes to his. “And no more team.”

  Grey’s mouth sets into a line. If Ryan told him this part, he probably didn’t believe it. “That’s bullshit.”

  “It’s reality.” I suck in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter that I was good or that I enjoyed it or that the team needed me—”

  “Needs you, Liv. Present tense.”

  I shake my head. “You’ll be back next week. The team will be fine.”

  “No. We need you.” He places both hands on my shoulders. “I’ll admit I didn’t think much about your effect on the team when I dropped your name to Coach Shanks. But now that I’ve seen how hard you work and witnessed how that work motivates the other players, I know we need you. You have to be there.”

  When I hesitate, his big hands gently squeeze my shoulders.

  “You need this,” he says. “We both know why you signed on to begin with—”

  “Yeah, for softball. Which is exactly why Dad doesn’t want me to play.” Dad’s line of questions runs straight through my heart as each echoes in my ears yet again.

  What if you get a concussion? Tear your ACL? Smash your collarbone in two like this Grey kid?

  I blink at him. “How’d you break your collarbone?”

  “Not playing football, so your dad can chill on that if he’s worried the same thing will happen to you.” He brushes another lock of hair behind my ear. “Look, I know what it’s like to have pressure on you to be the best. What do you think it’s like to be the only child of a softball ace and a college football star?”

  Probably not that much different from needing a college scholarship to do more than work for minimum wage after high school. Same pressure, completely different reasons to crave success.

  But still.

  “Look, my dad said no football. The Pope wouldn’t be able to convince him I should play.” Which is completely accurate. “He’s worried about me getting hurt, because then where would I be? No softball, no college.”

  “Maybe I can talk to him. Or Shanks can. Or even Coach Lee—” When I shake my head, Grey throws his own head back and reads the sky, sunglasses bobbing. “What about my mom? What if she sat down with him? Told him her concerns?”

  I figured he’d overheard some of my conversation with his mother that day in her office because of how he pitched joining the team. But now I’m staring at him, trying to figure out what else he’s said. He startles when he sees the look on my face, so I just decide to go for it. “Did you talk about me to her?”

  “What—no, I… Wait, the whole point of you joining the team was for me to talk about you. I mean, right?”

  “Okay, yeah, but I… It’s weird,” I finish, not sure why it bothers me, even if it was him just living up to his end of the deal. But considering we’ve made out and I’d love to do it again rightthehellnow, the thought of our deal suddenly makes me feel sort of… cheap.

  His lips pull up in the corners, and though the smile is subtle, it meets his eyes with a shine and a sigh. Which makes me feel cheaper. Or, I don’t know, something. “Look, she knows I think you’re a super addition to the team, and she saw the evidence for herself Friday night. She was there; she saw you enter the game. She knows you’re kicking ass.”

  My head is already shaking. “She’s not worried about my athletic talents, Grey. She’s worried I’m a bitch whose mere presence will suddenly blow up the girls’ batting averages and tank Kelly’s ERA.”

  “Well, you’re not a bitch. And if either of those things happen, it’ll be their own damn fault.”

  I smirk, the ick from five seconds ago already dissolving with the fire of his clenched jaw. “Yeah, well, that’s what she’s worried about. That’s the whole point. I need to prove I’m a great teammate. And even though I had a good game, I’m off the team now. So that’s all the collateral I have. I’m not getting any more unless I join cross-country or something.”

  A little pang hits me in the chest when I think about how I really did lie to Danielle. God, I hate that.

  “While I do love the idea of you in those little shorts,” he says, and smiles wide enough that I want to kiss him again. Like, now. But I don’t, because the thumping of a basketball on the sidewalk is too close to ignore, which means Ryan is probably making his way down the street, most likely with a full view of the stoop. “I really would rather see you in pads next to me under the lights.”

  My chin is caught in his fingers, rough from the day’s practice. He tips my face up, and the light haloing down behind his head makes those eyes almost look blue.

  “I didn’t get to ask you this last night…” The memory of his mother watching from the window passes between us. “But at the risk of complicating things with the team… would you go out with me
?”

  My heart thuds to a melty stop. God, yes. I answer him with a kiss. Hard and full and undeniable from literally any vantage point on Danielle’s street. And it’s totally worth whatever the hell Ryan is going to say to me the second he rolls up.

  But instead of Ryan’s voice echoing toward me, I hear one come from behind me.

  “Liv?”

  I jerk apart from Grey so violently, the back of my head bonks off the doorframe.

  “Mom! Grey was just leaving—he knows I’m grounded,” I blurt, hoping to hell she didn’t see that kiss.

  “Wait, this is Grey? Coach Kitt’s son?”

  Mom may just have been napping, but damn if her eyes don’t light up like the Fourth of July. The inflection in her voice hides exactly nothing, and if he hadn’t just kissed me and had no idea how I felt about him, I’d be about ten thousand times more embarrassed right now. Though I’m already pretty good and embarrassed as it is, and it appears Grey might be a little bit, too, a light blush crawling across his cheeks as he realizes we’ve clearly discussed him before.

  I’m about to formally introduce Grey, but he’s already taken a step inside, charm going full force toward my very receptive mother. “Mrs. Rodinsky, my name is Grey Worthington, and it’s completely my fault that Liv joined the team.”

  “Oh, it is, is it?” Mom cocks a downy brow, amused grin still plastered across her face.

  “Yes. It is. And I can explain.”

  Mom waves him off. “I know my daughter takes an opportunity when she sees it.” Mom reaches out and pats him on the shoulder, and… oh my God. I watch her hand flex, fingers squeezing. And I’m the one who seizes opportunity?

  Grey flushes some more, my cheeks burn, and I’m now 100 percent sure my mom just saw us kissing. Our embarrassment is so palpable, we’re about to register on the Richter scale. I seriously want to melt into the floor. But then Mom decides she hasn’t claimed every opportunity this little conversation has given her. “But I do want you to tell me exactly how Liv’s predicament is your fault. At dinner, tomorrow night?”

  Oh. God. The last boy invited to Sunday dinner was Jake. He survived the Rodinsky family full-court press of scrutiny, but he didn’t do anything wrong. Not that I think Grey did, but Dad sure does. If Danielle and Heather side with Dad and not Mom, he’s toast.