Page 5 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

A defender catches her ankle. She falls, and from the way she’s clutching her foot, I can’t tell whether she played up the contact or if the other girl really hit her that hard. I hope she’s just acting. We can’t afford to lose her, and definitely not in the first game of the season.

The referee blows her whistle and signals a penalty kick.

The crowd holds its breath.

Teagan helps Ji-woo up. She wobbles but manages to walk, limping slightly. She gives Coach Dixon and the trainer a thumbs-up to say she doesn’t need a sub. Then she yells for me.

I jog toward her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her ankle, testing it. “But I want you to take it.”

“The penalty? Me? Are you sure?”

“You burned her last time. You got this.” Ji-woo slaps me on the back.

I nod, setting my jaw. I did score on this goalkeeper once before, during a spring club game. Not like this. Not a penalty kick. Honestly, it was kind of a lucky accident aided by a very fortunate gust of wind.

But I can do this.

Two deep breaths steady my nerves. I place the ball on the spot, careful not to look at the keeper. I don’t want her psyching me out, and I don’t want to give her any indication of which direction I’m going. The stadium is either completely silent or deafeningly loud.

This is what I’ve been searching for ever since that first big play back in first grade. A Big Moment in a rivalry game. My chance to impress my coach and solidify my position on the starting squad.

Blood pumps hot and wild through my arms all the way to my fingertips.

The referee nods at me.

I position myself, and on the whistle, I strike the ball, looking up only after I’ve made contact. The white sphere rolls toward the corner, glowing in the stadium lights. The keeper dives, arms outstretched. I keep my body ready in case there’s a deflection. At the last second, her gloves make contact with the ball and send it wide of the goal and out of bounds.

Harrison’s fans explode in cheers.

I stare at the goal for another second. My shoulders hunch forward, trying to get close enough to my chest to protect my heart from breaking. Too late, shoulders. It’s already cracked in half.

My teammates offer me a high-five, anyway, shouting encouragements. A feeble attempt at support when I know what they’re thinking. That was the moment. The one shot that could have sealed our victory.

And I blew it.

My eyes flick up to the stands again. Ever the cheerleader, my dad still wears his signature “go get ‘em” face. In my mind, he says what he always does when I make a mistake. You've got to have short-term memory, Baker. Forget it and move on. He’s right. I can’t dwell on it now. All I can do is make sure Harrison doesn’t score.

Which I do until there are four minutes left in the game and Coach Dixon benches me.

“What the heck, Coach?” I force a yellow pinny over the top of my jersey. It’s tangled. I don’t bother fixing it.

“Have a seat.”

Yeah, right. I remain standing. “You’re seriously benching me with four minutes left when we’re playing Harrison? Are you insane?”

“You played a good game.” He frowns at his clipboard.

“Is this about the PK?”

“Let it go, Chloe.”

“I work my butt off for this team. I think I deserve to know why I’m getting pulled in the final minutes.”

He sighs. “We need a goal. Bea’s more offensive-minded. She’s more comfortable pushing forward on the attack, more comfortable with the ball at her feet and going at defenders one-on-one. That’s it.”

“But—”