Page 78 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

I don’t focus on the chants themselves so much as the swell of love and support and competition they bring to the stadium. The way the sound relaxes my muscles just as much as warm-ups.

The referee calls over the captains, and Coach Dixon reminds us of the starting lineup he told us when we first arrived. I’ll be in my usual position at left back. And I’ll be defending against the giraffe of a girl who beat me back at the beginning of the season. No mistakes tonight, I vow to myself. I will mark her as if my life depends on it. And I will not let her even get one shot. If I have to fling my body in front of the ball, that’s what I’ll do.

After warm-ups, we crowd together in the locker room around Coach Dixon. He clears his throat and claps his hands once, the sign that he’s ready to make his speech.

“Oh boy,” I say, rolling my eyes at Piper. “Here we go.” Coach Dixon is known for being unflappable. So, when he starts getting sentimental, his throat thick with emotion, I have to pinch myself to keep from reacting.

“I’ve coached a lot of great teams over the years, some of them even at Cardinal Ridge. But this team right here, I think you may just be the most talented group of young women I’ve ever had the honor of coaching. Whatever happens out on that field tonight is up to you. You control the game. You decide the tempo. You step up and make the big plays. Communicate, trust each other, and leave it all on the field. You’ve worked hard this season. Win or lose, I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

When coach Dixon finishes, there’s a single beat of silence before Bailey stands up and says, “That’s great, Coach, but we’re going to win.”

The whole team cheers and claps, hyping each other up. This is the kind of energy I live for. This is part of the reason why I go all out for this team in every practice, at every game, and at six a.m. training sessions. These girls are my family. I may not have siblings by blood, but I have seventeen sisters in this room with me right now. And I love each of them with my whole heart.

Outside, we all take our positions, and the ref signals to start the game. The other team won the coin toss, so they get to kick off. The shrill tweet of the whistle fills my ears, and everything else goes silent, even though I know the crowd is screaming at the top of their lungs.

I am focused. I am here. I’m going to help my team win.

We battle for a full forty-five minutes. Each team has a few shots. For my part, number ten doesn’t even get close. Every time she touches the ball, I’m on her and stripping it away before she can even decide what move she wants to try. Her fakes never work on me. And even though she’s learned a few tricks since our last meeting, I’m quick to adapt. I’ve learned a thing or two myself.

Her tells are as clear as if they’re inked on her jersey. As if she’s shouting exactly what she’s going to do before she does it, with the slight flick of her fingers or tilt of her head. There is nothing this girl can do to get by me. When the ref signals for halftime, the score is tied zero-zero.

Now that play has ended, I sneak a look at the stands. The bleachers are packed. There’s no open seat anywhere, which makes me smile. My parents are in the middle, halfway up, where my dad usually likes to sit. Charlotte and Anita are in the student section like always, my constants. And then a few people over I spot the boys’ soccer team.

All of them except Rhoads.

I bury the pang of disappointment so deep I’ll need an excavator to find it.

Coach Dixon gives a speech during halftime correcting some of the mistakes we’ve been making or areas of weakness. But overall, we’re playing great. We just need to find one opening, one well-timed shot. One brilliant pass.

One Big Moment that will change everything.

Thirty-Eight

CHLOE

“Chloe, tighten up your mark on number seventeen. She’s blowing by you every time.” Teagan tightens her ponytail. If she pulls it any tighter, her head might burst. She’s reamed the entire team one by one since Coach Dixon gave her the floor. The pressure is already getting to some of the team, especially the younger members.

“On it,” I say. I learned a long time ago just to let Teagan say what she needs to say and not to argue, even if she’s wrong. I’m not even marking number seventeen. That’s Bailey’s job. I meet Bailey’s eyes across the bench and she nods. She knows the comment is for her.

I jog back onto the field, taking my place at the top of the eighteen-yard box and jump three times, bringing my knees to my chest, my ritual before kickoff. I shake my wrists and imagine my nerves wicking away like droplets of sweat.

A large group of Cardinal Ridge students huddle together in the front row of the stands. Half their faces are painted cobalt blue and the other half yellow. They chant the last names of the starting eleven and then break into a round of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”

The Harrison crowd cheers a rebuttal, some school cheer I can’t make out the words to. I tune them out.

Focus.

The whistle blows, rendering everyone but the players on the field silent and invisible to me. Game on.

We war. Janae makes two brilliant saves, plucking the ball out of the air at near-impossible angles. In the final five minutes, Kendry wins the ball in the middle of the field and streaks toward the goal. She cuts past two defenders and spins her way down the field. My heart pounds as I push my team forward. Seconds tick by. Why isn’t Kendry shooting? She’s had a couple good looks, but the goalkeeper is closing in now, cutting off the angles, and the defense is recovering.

“Shoot!” Coach Dixon bellows.

The keeper is out of position.

A few weeks ago, I would have hung back. But now, attacking instinct surges forward within me. I sprint toward the open space out wide. The defenders are out of position and watching Kendry. They don’t expect me to fill the space.

“Ball!” I call, as I raise my hand.