Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,29
like that.’”
He passed his eyes over each one of us, and I thought his look stopped on me for longer. Two days ago, that would have made me happy, and I might have even tried to glance away coyly, like Cosmo’s sixth tip advised, but today, I just glared at him.
“Sure. That was a tough practice. And let me tell you this: We’re going to have more of them, because I’m treating you like I would want to be treated. Like an athlete. So if any of you want to put in the effort, if any of you want to claim what’s yours—the right to say you gave it your all, instead of acting like this is some kind of joke and I’m the punch line—then I’ll see you here tomorrow. Otherwise, this isn’t the team for you. And I’m not the coach for you.”
He didn’t give anyone a chance to protest, just reached for the bag of balls and slung it over his shoulder. Then he turned and strode away, like he couldn’t care less what we did.
Seven
Friday Susan decided to quit.
Well, I decided Thursday.
I got home from practice ravenous. I made and ate two boxes of mac and cheese and what was left of the Cheez Balls and a scoop of leftover hamburger casserole Mom had made on Monday for us to eat during the week because she had night classes. Then I flopped on the couch and felt every inch of every muscle I didn’t know the name of screaming at me.
For the first time in a while, I was too worn out to go to my room and get off. I wasn’t motivated to, either. I tried, for a second or two, to imagine finding Bobby alone, and how I would apologize to him, but Bobby’s anger was too radiant in my mind. And then I remembered I was angry at him, too.
I flipped on the TV, and a commercial for Charlie’s Angels was on. The Angels were so pretty when they ran. None of them looked as bad as the team did after suicides. None of them looked like they were going to puke, that was for sure. Would Coach McMann make the Angels feel like they weren’t good enough, too?
I was more than angry. I felt stupid. When I’d first seen Coach McMann, I’d felt some kind of spark, like if I could just be around him, he’d see I wasn’t a typical high school girl. Attention from him—a special kind of person—would transfer some of the same specialness to me.
I was mad, too, that I’d been so obvious in my quest for his desire that the whole team had noticed. Except him. He wasn’t going to notice me. He could barely stand me. Even though he’d made it obvious he didn’t particularly like any of us at the moment, I thought it was possible—for no exact reason other than I wanted to wallow in how differently things had gone than I’d hoped—he disliked me the most out of everyone.
My mom walked in the door, laden with her book bag and her purse, looking drained. “Did I miss the Angels?” she asked.
I perked up despite myself. “Yes and no, because it was on last night,” I said, and then, because she looked disappointed, added, “It wasn’t that good.” It had been really good.
She sat down next to me on the couch. “Are those your soccer clothes?” she asked, pointing to my sweaty T-shirt. “You don’t have a uniform?”
“No,” I said dully. “And I won’t. I’m quitting.”
A frown twitched at the corner of Mom’s lips but she corrected it before she thought I saw. “Oh, I thought you were excited about the team,” she said. “So it’s not what you imagined?”
I shrugged. “It was worth trying. But I don’t think it’s for me.”
Mom slung her arm around me. “Well, as someone who’s tried to be a few new people over the last couple years, I think it’s great you attempted to branch out.” She sounded genuinely proud. Belated or not, I’d take it.
The next morning, as people gathered in the halls to start talking about the weekend, I found Tina and Candace. We were standing at my locker when I told them, “I’m going to quit soccer.”
Candace paused. “I lost two pounds this week,” she said. “But my boobs hurt and I don’t ever want to run like we did yesterday again. I don’t want to go back, either.”