I don’t stop skating, but the moment is gone, Faith moving in and blocking my shot. I don’t look up. I just push my way around her, blazing past only to be closed in on by Hammie.
“Pass it!” Darcy continues, like my lack of response is her encouragement.
My gaze flicks to Indie, who’s gripping her stick like she’s scared to drop it. “Shejustpassed it,” I call back, forcing my voice to stay level. “We’ve hardly attacked.”
Coach blows the whistle, a long, sharp tone to punctuate my point.
“Alright, alright,enough!Come here, Clarke. Then we’ll run it again.”
I glide toward Coach, irritation singeing my chest from the inside out. Darcy’s climbed down from the stands, posting beside her with that stupid clipboard. She’s in that same black turtleneck, the one that hugs her chest and dips at her waist. Bailey calls it the “slutty-villain effect.” Like when an anime guy has that perfect little waist, and you justknowhe’s pure evil.
Yeah, I’m pretty surethisis what she was talking about.
“You’re forcing plays instead of reading them. You had an opening for a pass, but you didn’t take it. You’re not the only player who can score,” Darcy shoots.
My jaw tenses, and I fire back before I can think better of it. “So Friday you wanted me to follow the plan, but today you want me to abandon it? I wasgoing toshoot.”
Darcy raises a challenging brow. “So, your plan waswhat?Barrel in and hope for the best? That was a clear pass.”
“It was a cleargoal,” I say, trying my hardest to keep my tone steady. “It’s called taking a risk. I thought you liked those.”
“It’scalledbeing reckless. You can’t just do what you want with no plan, and call that a risk. You have no calculations, no backup.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head, and whatever self-control I had moments ago has completely disintegrated. “Right. Is that what they taught you in—what was it?—second grade?”
Before Darcy can fire back, Coach cuts in, her tone edged with finality. “She’s right, Clarke.”
You’vegotto be—
“We didn’t even get to—”
Coach Cole sticks her hand in the air, cutting me off, though she’s more polite about it than Darcy. “You’re more focused on scoring than communicating. This is ateameffort.”
I swallow, blood rushing to my cheeks, my nose, and the tips of my goddamn ears.
“It’s hard to communicate when she—”
“Sorry, I’m talking to theCaptain, right?”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck as an intense pressure settles in my chest. I’ve always known the significance of this title, the responsibility it carries. But right now, standing here, it feels even more suffocating. I’ve already screwed it up. The hungover teammates, the slip of my words. I don’t need anyone to remind me that I’ve let the team down. I’m already living with the bitter taste of failure, choking on it with every breath.
I wonder if my dad ever made a fool of himself as Captain like this. Probably not. That title suited him. The C on his jersey always looked like it belonged there, like it had been carved into him.
Unlike me.
I nod, jaw clenching. “Yes, Coach.”
“Then act like it. If Browne is struggling to find her place, it’s up to you to guide her. Got it?”
I nod again, the taste of metal flooding my tongue as I gnaw the inside of my cheek raw. She’s right, of course. I’m failing. I know it.
Coach sighs, her stance softening just slightly. But it feels like a concession I don’t deserve. “Look. I know this is your team as much as it is mine. We have the same goal, alright?”
It’s not you I’m worried about.
It’s unintentional, against my will, but my gaze flashes to Darcy. I correct it the moment I focus on her stupidly thick red lashes, but Coach clearly catches me, clearing her throat and straightening her posture.
“Darcy knows what she’s talking about, Clarke. She’s here to help, not step on your toes.”
