else was taking the field for the second half. “Listen, you’ve got everything you need. Speed, footwork. Go out there and put the ball in the back of the net.”
“I’ll try, Coach.”
“Don’t try. Just do it.”
Rachel nodded and jogged out onto the field.
“You’re mixing your Star Wars with your Nike slogans,” Vicky observed.
“Shut up. I’m new at this rah rah shit.”
The ref blew the whistle, and the second half began. Twenty seconds in, one of our midfielders stripped the ball from a Blue Jay and fired it up the line to Rachel.
Vicky and I grabbed each other and started shouting. “Go!”
Rachel took off, her little feet a blur as she drove down the field. “TAKE THE SHOT!” I screamed. I was going to need to drink a jar of honey after every game to soothe my throat.
In slow motion, Rachel cranked her right leg back and fired away.
Vicky and I held our breath with the rest of the team and the five or six people in the stands who were paying attention.
The ball soared through the air. The Blue Jay goalie dove for it. I swear, even from fifty yards away, I could still hear the victorious swish of ball meeting net.
I was screaming. Vicky was screaming. The JV team was on its feet. The varsity players were pounding the bleachers. And Rachel was standing on the field frozen as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. And then her teammates tackled her.
“My daughter taught her to do that,” my dad howled from the stands.
We won 3-2. Rachel had two goals and an assist and couldn’t wipe the dazed smile off her face. I wanted to cry happy tears and eat celebratory chicken corn soup and nachos. But I still had an entire varsity game to get through.
“Yo, Coach!”
I turned my attention away from the varsity’s warm-up on the field. Floyd waved from behind the field’s fence. Guidance counselor Andrea and French teacher Haruko Smith were decked out in Barn Owl gear next to him. I waved back, grateful for their support and hoping they weren’t going to witness anything humiliating.
They took their seats near the JV team that was busy squealing and giggling their way through a recap of their first victory of the season.
“Not much of a crowd, Coach.” I heard another voice call. This one immediately raised my hackles.
Coach Vince, flanked by a couple of his players, stood behind my bench, smugly taking in the empty bleachers. The red had faded to a dull pink on their hair and complexions. Now they just looked sunburned.
“Nice of you to show your support,” I said dryly.
“Support?” he scoffed. “I’m here to witness your humiliation.”
Nice job, universe, bringing my greatest secret fears to life.
“Be sure to buy some soup and hot chocolate to support the Booster Club,” I said, rubbing my eye with my middle finger. Like a toddler with a temper tantrum, he kicked gravel in my direction and stormed off.
“Good luck tonight, ladies,” Milton said to Angela and Ruby.
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or just a dumbass. But I collared both girls and pushed them back toward the field just in case they were feeling particularly blood-thirsty tonight.
I sent Vicky to round up the team to go through the lineup and snagged Libby from the circle. The field lights banged on overhead.
“You ready?” I asked her.
“Relax, Coach. It’s just a game.”
I heard a wolf whistle and turned around. Jake—looking studly in jeans, a thermal, and a down vest—waved from the middle of most of the cross-country team. “Lookin’ good, Cicero,” he called.
I sent him a weak wave before turning back to Libby. My heart had kicked up a notch, and I couldn’t tell if it was pre-game jitters or “Jake Weston looks fine” hormones.
“I really want to win,” I confessed to Libby.
“Then tell the team that,” she suggested.
I huddled everyone up on the field and eyed the clock. “Okay, guys. This is where I’m supposed to tell you to play hard and have fun and be proud of yourselves.”
They looked at me skeptically.
“This is also the part where I’m going to tell you I really, really want a win tonight. Coach Vince and half of the boys team is here ready to watch us implode. I don’t want to give them the pleasure. So I’m asking you, selfishly, unfairly, to do your very best out there tonight so I can rub this in his face. Make me look good tonight, and I won’t make