Bex’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push the subject any further. “Just so you know, your blood sugar was trending up. There’s no need to pull you out right now. I wanted to give you a quick break.”
Breathe.
My eyes burn as frustrated tears threaten to fall. My brain tries to remind me that diabetes is complex, but that does little to quell the frustration buried deep in my gut as shame fills my vision.
Dammit. Breathe, Mallory.
I can’t lose soccer too. It’s the last thing I have connecting me with my dad. My first coach. The person who took me to get goalie gloves so I could try out for the club team. The only parent who never missed a game, always screaming in the stands. Even on the hard days.
“Hey.” Bex’s sharp tone slaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Don’t shut down on me. I tell you this every time we meet. You can strive for perfection, but I promise you, it willnevercome. Today you’re high, sure. Do you remember yesterday? Yesterday was one of those great days! And the practice before break? You were lower than I’d seen in months. The trainers asked if it was within their job description to force feed you gummy bears.”
I chuckle and the shame seems a little less blinding.
“This journey is not a straight shot.” Her finger wiggles like a worm. “It’s a roller coaster. You’ve got to strap in and give yourself grace or you’ll never be happy. Failure is okay.” I start to refute her last sentence, but she beats me to it. “Failurehasto be okay, Mally.”
Over Bex’s shoulder, my teammates are gathered outside the penalty box. Laughter and labored breathing overpower the blood pumping inmy ears. This team has been incredibly patient over the past year, giving me an extra minute to scarf down applesauce or rehydrate.
The only way I know how to repay them is to do my job and stop goals.
It hasn’t been the easiest transition. The uneasy looks, endless check-ins, and constant worry from my friends, teammates, and family. Soccer is the only thing right now that makes me feel like me.
I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I want to finish practice.” It might not be physiologically possible, but as my shoulders fall, I feel my blood sugar do the same. “I need to.”
“Good. Finish strong.” Bex pats my shoulder. “Forget about everything that isn’t on this field and play.”
With renewed energy, I stare down the familiar black-and-white ball and take my position: a few steps in front of the goal line, feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, hands ready, and eyes on the prize.
“There she is,” Coach Sumner yells, blowing his whistle twice. “Adri! You’re up!”
“Yes sir!” Adri steps up to the ball and winks. “Kick some ass, Cap.”
I push open the front door, letting the heater wrap me with warmth as I slip off my tennis shoes. Shay heads to her bedroom to shower, and I shuffle into the kitchen. Standing over the sink, I spy a deep red lipstick mark in my reflection. Only Jane, Sunshine Junction’s best waitress, kisses my cheek hard enough to leave a mark.
During midterms freshman year, I fell asleep in a bright yellow booth at Sunshine Junction with my head in a textbook. Instead of kicking me out, Jane threatened to ban anyone who disturbed me. Since then, she comes to every home game, memorizes my class schedule, and brings overwarm meals and big hugs on bad days. In exchange for her kindness, I babysit her seven-year-old twins, Jaxon and Julie.
Behind me, Shay steps out of the bathroom and lets out a long yawn commingled with a scream. “Morning classes should be a crime. I’m thinking about skipping sports marketing at ten.”
“Ten is hardly considered a morning class. Don’t make me storm in at nine with bells and whistles.”
Thanks to the reflection in the window over the sink, I’m able to dodge the cat toy she launches at my head. “Not everyone can get up at the ass crack of dawn like you, Mal.”
“Nine is not the ass crack of dawn, you whiny crybaby.”
While Shay drones on about morning people being vile, I admire our little home. Pale blue walls are adorned with photos and records of my favorite albums, with a plant in every corner. Winry, my black cat, snores quietly on the large sectional. I drag a finger across the kitchen’s textured, floral wallpaper that I can’t seem to hate no matter how much I try.
“Wow. Ignoring me? You know how to make a girl feel special,” Shay deadpans. “If I don’t skip class, do you want to meet for brunch after?”
I pop a pod into the dishwasher. “I’ve heard your morning-people rant too many times and didn’t feel like being judged for being able to wake up before the sun is out. And yes, brunch sounds great. Sunshine Junction?”
“Sunshine Junction,” she says, turning off the lights.
The thunderous ringtone I set for The Quartet group message stops me from heading to my room. I look at Shay, whose stank face is already illuminated with white light as she stares at the screen.
“Stop holding in your farts or you’ll explode, Shaylene.”
“Shut up and check your phone.”
I click the lights back on and scroll to the first text from Adri in our group message.
