“11-10. God, I love winning.” She taps the frame and steps back. “Promise me you won’t drive on the spare for too long and you’ll drive slower than usual. No highways either.”
“I promise. Thanks for today, Eddie.”
Mallory jogs to Cade’s car and gives him a quick hug before heading into her house. I hoped Cade would leave when we pulled up, but of course he wouldn’t. He’s too busy grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat.
I smile back, but this is something I need to figure out on my own. Cade with his big heart will only try to help. If I’m going to turn Mallory from rival-enemy to rival-something-more, it’s going to be done by me and me alone.
No meddling or good-intentioned assistance from my best friend is allowed.
Chapter Twenty
Bending my knees, Ijump toward the upper left corner of the goal, successfully knocking the ball over the post with a grunt. Jo slaps her thigh and gives me a thumbs up before moving back to midfield.
Adri’s next, making her way down the field to me. Her movements are fluid, as if she’s dancing rather than dribbling. She twists and glides around Shay, our best defender, with skilled touches and her signature smirk. Once she’s right in front of me, she pulls a strong leg back and rockets the ball toward the bottom right corner.
I drop down and slide across the grass with my hands open. When I try to grab the ball, it bounces off my fingertips and rolls away.
“Keep going, Adri!” Coach Sumner shouts, and she races forward to recover the ball. I use the millisecond to reset and stand.
Her second kick is even faster, like lightning aimed at the top left corner. I leap into the air and catch it between gloved hands. With a deep sigh, I secure the ball into my chest.
Adri groans and blows me a kiss before jumping on Shay’s back, likely giving her hell for not stopping her.
My teammates have a love-hate relationship with me in the goal. They love it when I stop our opponents’ shots but hate when I stop theirs.
“Mally!” Bex’s ponytail bobs from the sideline, and I instinctively cringe, preparing myself for bad news.
Sliding off my gloves, I tuck them into the band of my shorts and meet her by the water cooler. “What’s wrong this time?”
My negativity bounces off her like she’s made of rubber. “Nope! Today, I am not the bearer of bad news. I come with good news. No! Great news!” She stops bouncing up and down to pull a sheet of paper from her back pocket and unfolds it. “You hit seventy percent time-in-range this morning.”
“Y-You’re joking,” I stutter, taking the paper. Bex has highlighted the number for me with a smiley face and note scribbled beside it.
“This is only the beginning. Remember this journey is a roller coaster and enjoy the ride. – Bex and Dr. Morand.”
The memory of setting this goal in Dr. Morand’s office with Bex and Shay one month after my diagnosis brings along a sudden appearance of tears. After a year, I thought I’d never reach my goal, but today I can say that seventy percent of the time, my blood sugar is in range.
I did it.
“All because of the pump?” I choke out.
Bex rubs my arms, blinking away her own rush of emotion. “The pump may help, but your daily efforts and working on your anxiety have been a real game changer. I’m so proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone. You look good, Mally.”
I soak up the praise like a sponge, loving the way being proud of myself feels. For so long, my diabetes seemed like something I would never be able to get a handle on. The bad days always seem to stick with me longer.
I’ll make sure this day outlasts them all.
Sharon deserves a bonus for the time and effort she puts into our sessions. She has given me the tools to find my safe place in my head. My first answer was a soccer field, the place I’ve spent my whole life.
Then out of nowhere, it changed to a place that smells of cedar, intensified by the wind. Where the sun is warm and comforting as it dries my damp skin. Where crickets and cicadas never stop chattering. And the redhead I can’t stop thinking about waves at me from the dock at Lake Anita.
I smile. “I feel good.”
Bex’s lips form a not-so-nice word when I pinch her shoulder. When she tries to retaliate, I block her hands. “Ow! What was that for?”
“No green for Saint Patrick’s Day!” I answer, showing her why she can’t pinch me back. My socks, shorts, and sports bra are all green to celebrate the holiday. I even wore my green goalkeeper gloves.
“Crap. No wonder I’ve gotten pinched five times today.”
