1
There were only fifteen seconds left on the clock. The thrum of my heart matched the speed of my breath as I panted from the five miles of distance I’d surely covered on this field hockey field over the last sixty minutes. Only one penalty shot stood between defeat and this game being ours. As I made my way towards the top of the penalty circle, I wiped the back of my hand across a cascade of sweat on my brow, and I thought about how each moment of my performance on this field could decide my future, and whether or not I could leave this town behind after graduation. Senior year meant scouts would be watching me play, and athletic scholarships would be for the taking. Field hockey was plan A, B, and C to get the hell out of this town.
Nobody knew what it was like to live in the shadows of my academically superior older sister, Amy. Surely it was never supposed to feel like such a burden. She had always been the golden child. It was so annoying, and it wasn’t hard to guess that she was Mom’s favorite. My Mom only cared about grades, and Amy was an ace, already having secured a full ride scholarship to the University of Virginia. Amy was sure to let everyone know it, too. Mom couldn’t have been prouder of her. Me on the other hand? All I cared about was field hockey which Mom thought was a phase. We got into screaming arguments, which always ended with her wondering when I was going to grow up and take school seriously. Amy did an extra year of preschool which meant that we were in the same grade, even though she was a year older than me. That meant that I had the pleasure of being compared to her on a daily basis by our teachers. Lucky me. Thankfully we weren’t in any of the same periods so our paths didn’t cross much throughout the day.
The only thing I ever seemed to have control of in my life was the ball at the end of this stick. I twisted my hands into the perfectly molded mint green grip as I looked up at the scoreboard, scanned the bleachers to see that once again nobody in my family had shown up, then I took a deep breath and stared their goalie down to psyche her out. As I set up the shot at the top of the circle, my teammates gathered around me, ready to rush the goal. That moment until the Ref blew the whistle always seemed to stand still. It was as if I was floating outside of myself and everything else faded away. I watched the reflection of the sun on the glossy toe of my stick, which had deep chips from hitting the ball so many times. I was determined to keep re-gripping this stick until the Ref said it was no longer safe to use for play. The whistle blew, which snapped me out of my trance. I wound up, and my stick made contact with the ball in a hard drive, sending an ear-splitting crack reverberating across the field. I would never get tired of the sound of perfect contact. I put the ball in the top right corner of the goal, and the scoreboard advanced in our favor. The game was ours. Cheers erupted from the sidelines and the bleachers as I spun to the oncoming rush of my teammates.
“Goal scored by Allie Wyatt of Country Town Prep,” blasted over the loudspeaker.
“Allie! Allie! Allie!” chanted my teammates as they poured the entire cooler of water over me, and I screamed at the bite of the ice-cold water. It never got old. I lived for the adrenaline of victory. I wasn’t known for being a graceful loser. Thankfully, I hadn’t been on the losing end of the game since the 7th grade. Still, I felt the pressure of peak performance at every practice and game. What some might consider their competitive streak was more like a lifeline for me. I thrived on it. I relied on it. I required it to survive. It was like a coping mechanism because everything else in my life was too uncertain. I hadn’t known stability for the last four years, no matter how hard my Mom tried to disguise our shambles as something that resembled normalcy. It was anything but, after my Dad ripped the rug out from under us when he left for good.
One of the last things I remember my Dad saying before he stormed out when I was 14 was, “Nobody actually makes a career out of professional field hockey. If it doesn’t work out, she can always become a secretary.” It was the last time I ever saw him. I had lived with the fear of that prophecy for the last four years of my life. Those words rattled my nerves in school when I froze on tests, or I trembled with anxiety while giving presentations. They also motivated me on the field hockey field when I had to dig deep and give it everything I had. Every time I picked up that stick, I was determined to prove him wrong.
The only thing good that my dad left behind was his ‘91 navy blue Jeep Cherokee, which sat in the driveway until my older sister, Amy, turned sixteen. To us, that car meant freedom. We were finally able to cruise around town without fighting about who got to sit in the front seat of Mom’s car, we could play loud music, and we could come home as late as we wanted. When Amy turned 19, Mom bought her a brand new ’98 Jeep Grand Cherokee, which meant the navy blue Jeep was finally mine.
Trailing into the locker room after the game, sweat soaking every fiber of my jersey, I headed straight for my locker to drop my stick, grab a towel, then hit the showers. As I peeled my sticky uniform from my body, which was determined to cling to my skin, the room echoed with shouts from my teammates, and I smiled at their elation. I pulled the foggy white, plastic shower curtain shut and turned to face the glossy white, tile shower stall, which was stained with soap scum begging to be cleaned. Then I turned on the water and sucked in a breath at the momentary blast of cold water, which I quietly begged to turn hot quickly. Just then, the shower curtain was yanked open.
“Isabelle!” I screamed, throwing my hands across my chest, then I pulled the curtain closed again and grabbed a handful of soap bubbles, tossing them over the shower stall divider.
“I hate you!” I yelled over the whine of the old plumbing and the sound of the water hitting the shower floor.
“You love me!” she replied.
I rinsed off and grabbed my towel, then got dressed at my locker and packed my gear, remembering that my sister would be picking me up today. My Jeep was at the mechanic. I threw my bag over my shoulder, said goodbye to some of my teammates, and headed to the front of the gym to find Amy, who was looking annoyed for keeping her waiting.
“Hey, unlock it,” I said, grabbing at the locked handle of her tailgate. She popped the lock and I threw my bags in the back, then climbed in the front seat, adjusting the air vents to blow directly on me.
“How was the game?” she asked disinterestedly. “Y’all win?”
“Yep.
“Cool. Let’s go.” She pulled away from the gym, and I leaned my head back against the seat, my wet hair sticking to my cheek, but I was too tired to care. “You want to cruise around? Mom’s in a mood.”
“Sure.”
Pulling into our neighborhood, we rolled the windows down, cranked John Denver up, and savored the new car smell as we held our arms out to feel the wind in our fingertips. I felt so alive as I lazily waved my hands through the air like those actors I saw in the movies. We drove street by street with no real destination in mind, just enjoying our independence.
That evening, as we cruised, we passed a brick house with a wrap-around porch, and Amy noticed a tan guy with a dark mop of wavy hair in the driveway, washing a lifted dark green truck. He looked about our age. When Amy saw him, she drove a little slower so she could check him out, but as soon as she slowed down, he turned to look in our direction.
“Oh my God, that’s Chris Patton!” Amy said, as she panicked and took her foot off the brake to keep moving, pretending that we were looking for an address, but I turned around and teased her that he kept watching until we were out of sight.
“Who’s that?”
“How do you not know who he is? Only the hottest guy in school. Hello? Captain of the soccer team. God, Allie, get your hockey stick out of your ass and wake up.” I shrugged and rolled up the window. I didn’t give a shit about boys. All I cared about was capturing the attention of three schools at the top of my wish list.
As the sun began to set, we headed home to get ready for the next day of school. I would have to ride with Amy again because my Jeep was still in the shop, and she hated having to take me because I had a habit of sleeping late. To speed the morning along, I picked out my clothes for the next day and packed my dark green Adidas duffel bag with my practice gear. By now, my Mom had cooled down so I knocked on Amy’s door and we crept down the back steps to the kitchen to find something for dinner. Thankfully, Mom had left plates of food for us in the fridge.
“Where have you been, girls?”
Plates in hand, we both spun around at the same time.
“Just driving around enjoying Amy’s new Jeep,” I replied as I peeled the Saran Wrap off my plate and set it in the microwave, then added three minutes to the display.
“You’ll burn it, Allie, a minute is all it will take.”
I adjusted the time, then turned around and rested my hands on the counter.
“We won today,” I said, casually, hoping to elicit a congratulatory response from my Mom.
