carefully, like I was going off to war and the things I brought could mean a difference between life or death. In a way, they could. My entire life felt tied up in this game. Whereas before, I would have wanted to play well to prove something: to show my father that he’d been wrong to act like soccer was silly; to show Candace that I was good and make her regret quitting the team; to prove to all my classmates who made fun of the soccer team, as if we didn’t deserve their respect or even acknowledgment, that we were worth their attention. All my visions of victory included their amazed expressions, their admiration or awe. And they all included Bobby, as if my playing well could make anything possible between us.
My new vision was of me and my team, dirt-covered and tired but victorious. I was happy to imagine the awed faces of a crowd, but I didn’t care what that crowd thought. We were free from the judgment of an audience wondering if we should be playing soccer in the first place, if we were allowed, if it was good for us. It only mattered that we knew it was good.
I zipped my duffel and went downstairs to wait for Tina to pick me up. When I hopped into her passenger seat, double-checking my bag, Tina said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to think straight at school today.”
“I know—I wish we could just play now,” I said. “I feel ready, but also like I might puke.”
“Yeah, it’s sort of unreal,” Tina said. “So you and Candace are okay now?”
I nodded, choosing my words carefully. Tina and I had become closer these last few weeks, and while it didn’t mean she replaced Candace, it also didn’t mean that I wanted her to feel like she was second best. “Yeah, I think we both let the fact that she has a boyfriend come between us.”
“I get it,” Tina said. “On your side and on her side, too. There’s nothing wrong with being excited about a boyfriend.”
We stopped as a little girl crossed the street near the elementary school, skipping like she didn’t give a shit about anything. I envied her. “Yeah,” I said. “I think one of the best parts of soccer has been that we don’t talk about boyfriends. Or that it gives us more to talk about than just boyfriends. The world is a big place. It’s going to be 1980!”
Tina laughed. “Well, that makes this next thing I’m gonna say kind of weird,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Todd decided to ditch school for the game. He’s coming down,” Tina said. “And afterward, I’m going to introduce him to my parents.”
“Wow, that’s big,” I said. “Are you nervous?”
“Right now, no,” she said. “But I know when I do it, I’m going to want to piss myself.”
I chucked her on the arm. “We can piss ourselves together.”
“I appreciate the offer, but let’s both try to hold it,” she said. “I’m hoping that when we destroy those guys, maybe my mom asking Todd, ‘Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?’ won’t feel as scary.”
The rest of the team was equally keyed up. Wendy said her dad had offered to buy her a car if she didn’t play in the game. “I’m turning down a car for this,” she said. “But my mom said he never keeps his promises anyway. And she told me I can get a perm if I play.”
At lunch, Dana Miller ran up to our table and said, “We have a bus! We have a bus!”
“What?” Tina looked at her. “Slow down. What do you mean, a bus?”
Dana took a deep breath and let it slowly. “I overheard Assistant Principal Lawler tell someone there was a bus budget overage from a cross-country meet that got canceled, and I asked if she could reallocate it to us!”
George, who was sitting with Candace at our table today—he and Candace had decided to alternate whether they sat with us or his friends—held up his blessedly plain turkey sandwich in victory.
“Way to go!” George said to Dana. “You guys deserve it.”
I smiled at George, even if I wanted to roll my eyes. Then I dropped my half-finished sloppy joe back onto my plate.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Is that stepping on your authority as captain?”
“No fucking way,” I said. “We have a bus! Good work!” I stood up and hugged Dana, who looked more surprised by my hug