Danika rises, and with a glance at Kim making her way down the stands, walks slowly toward the pitch.
Kim catches her up as she reaches the rail. “Hi.”
Danika turns and gives her a slight smile. Kim is wearing black jogging tights and a long-sleeved t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The tights show off her legs. She looks fit, as if she works out a lot, and Danika is conscious of her own too-skinny, unfit body. Kim in tights has a coiled energy about her, as if she’s looking forward to the game. And she looks good. Scratch that. She looks great. The tights highlight her muscled legs, and although the outfit would be unflattering on most people, on Kim it works. Danika’s fingers twitch with the unexpected urge to touch Kim’s forearm.
The kids run off the pitch, giggling and high-fiving each oncoming parent like it’s the World Cup.
The coach, probably assuming most parents don’t have a clue about the game, allocates them randomly to positions, and tells them just to have fun and try not to injure themselves, or anyone else. Danika and Kim are something called “midfield”, which Danika assumes is just to run around in the middle. There’s a couple of muscular fathers already trying to intimidate the other team, and three competitive-looking mothers doing high-knees in the centre of the field.
Danika raises an eyebrow at Kim. “I thought this was supposed to be fun and friendly.”
“Me too. I’m wondering if I can sneak off to the clubhouse, to be honest. But Bella would never forgive me.”
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” Danika takes what she thinks is her position and jogs on the spot doing exaggerated warm-up stretches.
The whistle blows, and what seems like one hundred kids immediately start yelling.
The centre on their team is one of the high-knees women, and she’s already dribbling down the field in a very professional manner. She passes to one of the muscular blokes, who is immediately tackled by the other team. He passes it to another of the high-knees women, and a minute later she scores the first goal.
Danika’s moved maybe ten metres. She returns to her spot feeling unnecessary. On the other side of the pitch, Kim is jogging in place. She doesn’t appear to have moved either.
But then the whistle blows again, and this time the ball shoots out her way. Danika runs, engages, gets the ball and passes. Game on. Muscle memory kicks in and she’s able to trap the ball and pass without falling flat, and if she’s puffing, well, that’s part of the enjoyment too.
Peripherally, she’s aware of Kim in those black tights that make her legs look so amazing. Kim tackles a bloke on theopposing team, and her t-shirt rises to show a strip of toned stomach. The flash of skin puts flutters in Danika’s stomach. Exertion probably, or the collywobbles, as her mother likes to say.
Kim passes the ball to the centre, who passes it to Danika. She runs forward a few paces and sees two of the opposing team bearing down on her. She makes a wild kick, and the ball happens to land at the feet of her team’s striker, who with a quick flick sends it to the back of the net.
Well, that was easy! Danika high-fives her closest teammates, and they dance in a small circle, stopping when they become puffed, which turns out to be about eight seconds.
Near the end of the match, the score is even. The kids and supporters are yelling their hearts out, and except for the fitness gals and muscle guys, the players look half-dead. Danika sees the referee looking at his watch and silently begs him to blow the final whistle. But then Kim—looking far more sparky than most of them—gets the ball and heads for goal.
Three of the opposing team close in on her, and the referee is looking at his watch. Kim passes to the striker, who draws her foot back, ready for a shot, when she’s tackled. The ball spins out of bounds.
Danika’s cheering: for Kim, for their team, for the fun of it.
The final whistle blows. It’s a draw.
Kim flops down on the grass like a beached starfish. Some of their teammates sit around her. Danika goes over, and Kim peers up at her.
“Can you pull me up?”
Danika holds out a hand and rocks back on her heels preparing to pull, but instead Kim tugs when Danika’s off-balance, and Danika stumbles forward. She ends up sitting on the ground next to Kim. Her knee rubs Kim’s thigh, and the shiny tights give her a spark of static.
“Ow!” She jerks her knee away. “You’re electric.”
“Sorry.”
Kim doesn’t look sorry. She’s loose and relaxed, as if she’s just had the best fun. Her face has fallen into a smile, and there’s a sparkle to her eyes that was missing during the week of delicately treading around each other. She smiles back with the shared achievement, and for a moment, Danika is frozen in place. She forgets Kim is the person who’s taken apart her life, piece by piece. Right now, Kim is just a happy woman squinting into the sun.
Danika gives her head a small shake, as if her ears are buzzing, and the moment when Kim is not the person who brought down her world passes. She frowns and moves away on the pretext of crossing her legs.
Shrieks fill the air, and a crowd of kids descends upon the parents. Cami drops to her knees behind Danika, wraps her arms around her neck and presses a kiss to her ear. “You were awesome! And we so nearly won.”
Opposite, Bella crash-tackles Kim and the two of them roll on the ground uncaring of the dirt. They’re laughing. Mirza and Sylvie are jumping up and down, and Sylvie pats her mother’s stomach. And then the kids leap up and race off toward the clubhouse.
“Sausages!” Cami yells. “Hurry, Mum.”
The other parents are already halfway across the pitch. Danika stands and dusts the grass from her shorts.
