Good to know.
Danny pulls out an air pump and begins making sure the balls are fully inflated. I take a deep breath and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. It’s at least 3:10 p.m., and I’m still the only player here. If the team’s first game is on Saturday, we’re losing valuable practice time. Especially if we’re supposed to be done by four o’clock.
What if I’m the only one who shows up to practice? I imagine standing in front of a goal, defending against a team of eleven other girls all by myself. Sounds like a bad sitcom.
The basketball boys start whistling again. Girls are trickling out of the gym door. Not only are they late, some of them aren’t even wearing shin guards. Coach Clark never would’ve stood for that. She benched anyone who didn’t show up prepared. One time, I accidentally forgot mine and didn’t get to play the entire game, even though Madison had an extra pair I could’ve borrowed.
My new teammates walk toward the field, gossiping and laughing. I feel a pang in my heart when I remember how I used to walk to practice with Steph and Madison. They’re probably doing that right now. Are they thinking of me?
When my new teammates see me, the chatter stops. The smiles disappear.
I recognize a few from my new classes. The tallest girl, the only one I remember from last year, steps forward. I don’t know her name, but she has big, expressive hazel eyes and long black hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. She’s also one hell of a player. She places a hand on her hip as her eyes roam over me.
“What is she doing here, Coach?”
“Taylor’s new to Hundred Oaks, and she’s joining the team. Now we have enough players to have two subs! Isn’t that great news?”
“Yeah, great news,” the girl says, staring at me like I have the plague.
I step forward and hold out my hand. “Taylor Lukens.”
“I know who you are,” she says, ignoring my handshake. “You’re the snobby rich girl who laughed in our faces last year after your team beat us.”
“I was happy we won the game. I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“You may as well have been. The other girls on your team did.”
Uneasiness settles over me when I remember how some of my teammates had laughed at Hundred Oaks after we pummeled them 6–0. But I wasn’t one of them. I was in line to be this year’s captain, so I had to be a role model. I can’t say I wasn’t laughing internally though, and thinking about that makes me feel like a terrible person.
“Are we good enough for you now?” she adds. “Did all your expensive soccer camps not pay off? Someone better take your position on the St. Andrew’s squad? Daddy couldn’t convince them to keep you?”
“Nicole, c’mon. Just drop it,” Coach Walker says, and I’m grateful. It was becoming difficult to hold my tongue. Coach adds, “Let’s get stretched out, okay?”
My new teammates sit down on the grass and begin to stretch whatever way they want. One girl fiddles with a complicated-looking metal knee brace. I feel bad for her—she must have torn her ACL or something. Not only is that painful, you always have to wear a brace while playing after that kind of injury. Another girl does splits, like a gymnast, showing off more than actually stretching. At St. Andrew’s, for the two weeks I was captain, I had my team stand in a big circle and do the same stretches together. It builds cohesiveness and camaraderie. Since I’ve already stretched and each girl is doing her own thing, I decide to use the time to juggle a ball with my feet. It’s a good way to practice control and improve balance.
I begin kicking the ball up over and over again to myself, sometimes using my head and chest to control the ball. I bounce the ball back and forth off my thighs.
“Show-off,” a girl says. It’s not even a mutter; she wanted me to hear it.
I’m tempted to call her a slacker for being late to practice, but I hold my tongue. I’m trying to be the bigger person in this situation.
“All right, let’s scrimmage!” Coach calls, handing out neon-green mesh pinnies to half of us, splitting us into two groups. Nicole ends up on the green team with me. I’m actually kind of excited to see how we play together, given how good she was last year.
“What about drills?” I ask the coach. “Are we doing them after we scrimmage?”
“Nah, we have a game Saturday. We’ll use the time to simulate real game conditions.”
“Drills are important though. Good mechanics will help us in the game.”
“Taylor,” Nicole says. “Listen to Coach. Get your butt on the field. You’re on D.”
“I play forward.”
“I said, you’re on D.”
Okaayyy. I jog out onto the grass and take left back, loving how my cleats sink into the dirt. It’s only been a week since I’ve played, but it feels like a hundred years.
I notice our net is empty. I look to the younger girl playing center defense, who must be a freshman or sophomore. She’s wearing one pink sock and one yellow. Her legs are super skinny; I bet she’s quick on her feet.
“Hey!” I call to her. “Where’s our goalie?”
“We only have one. She’s playing for the other side.”
Great. Our team doesn’t have a backup goalie? What happens if she gets hurt? Given that we only have thirteen girls, we’ll be in a rough spot if anyone is injured.
“What’s your name?” I call out to the girl with the colorful socks.
“Sydney.”
“I’m Taylor.”
“I know.” She gives me a nervous smile.
Coach blows the whistle. The other team kicks off, and I streak forward to engage them. Nicole steals the ball and dribbles straight toward the goal. Their defense chases after her. She darts left, then right, and shoots. The goalie doesn’t stand a chance. The ball sails into the upper right corner of the net.
“Woo!” Nicole yells, then accepts high fives from the other players on our team. I look at the goalie. She slaps the goalpost, looking humiliated. I’ll talk to her after practice, I think, to tell her Nicole is a formidable opponent and any goalie would have an issue defending against her.
After we get back into position, the other team kicks off. Nicole immediately steals the ball and scores again. Okay, I can handle her doing that twice, but after she does it a third time, I totally snap.
“C’mon, Nicole!” I shout. “Pass the ball. The rest of us need to practice too.”
Everyone stops.
Nicole storms my way and hovers over me. “What did you say?”
“I said pass the ball.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shocked expression on the girls’ faces. A few are laughing, but most just glare at me. I don’t regret yelling at Nicole, but it’s not the best start with the team.
“Get back on defense,” Nicole barks, then jogs to her position.
I glance over at Coach Walker. He’s shaking his head, looking distressed. When he offered me a spot on the team, I bet he didn’t think I’d be this vocal. But I have a lot riding on this team.
My future…my spirit.
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