Only one thing I want to piss off more than Clay Collins, and that’s the people who love me, relishing for me to fail. In four years, Macon has been to one of my games. One. At least I have no expectations of Clay. All he cares about is my future. Never my happiness. He never listens.
Pushing off the couch, I slip on my leather jacket, grab my keys and shoes, and slip my purse over my body.
“Liv!” Macon yells.
But I don’t look back. Racing out the front door, I see Krisjen’s mom’s Range Rover pulling down the dirt road, and I run after it, pounding on the rear window.
They stop, and I hear the door unlock.
I swing open the back door and climb in.
“I’ve got a spare toothbrush,” Krisjen says from the driver’s seat as she looks at me in her rearview mirror, smiling.
I sit down next to Ruby, Amy in the front passenger seat, and slam the door. “I’m not staying the night.”
Just for the game.
• • •
The stadium in Gibbon’s Cross is like walking into a lobster tank surrounded by butchers looking for the perfect specimen for tonight’s special. It’s small—smaller than ours—so no matter if it’s a football game or peewee soccer, the stands always seem filled with homefield advantage. Not a single empty spot on the bleachers remains, the benches overflowing with cheering parents and students, not because anyone here particularly gives a shit about girls’ lacrosse, but they do like to win against St. Carmen. Private schools brim with people used to getting what they want for a certain price, so when anything is left to chance, it’s stressful. And exciting. They show up for it.
We jog to the sidelines, everyone on the field stretching and warming up.
“You’re late!” Coach yells at Krisjen, panicked. “I’d bench you right now if I didn’t need you.”
We stop in front of Coomer, and I see Clay, in uniform, on the bench off to the left as Coomer’s eyes flash to me.
“She’s still a student,” Krisjen tells her. “I can’t keep up with this team. Please.”
Coach studies me, probably wondering about the change in heart after I’d stalked into her office Monday morning, told her I was out, and promptly left without a conversation. I hop on the balls of my feet, stretching my arms over my head, because we have no time for warm-ups before play starts.
“I’m not going to force you, Jaeger,” Coach tells me. “Do you want to be here?”
“No.”
Krisjen levels a glare at me.
“I want you to pay for victory pizza,” I say instead.
Coach smiles despite herself and turns back to the field. “Get your gear on.”
Coomer always takes us out to dinner when we win, but I never go. I go home.
But I’m going tonight, and I don’t give a shit who doesn’t want me there. We’re going to win, because of me.
Getting my shit on, I dart onto the field, Krisjen joining and taking up her position, protecting our goal. I look left and right, between the other two midfielders. “Stay sharp,” I tell them. “Watch for me!”
They nod, sticks up, and I press mine to the grass, eye to eye with the other team.
“Oh, yay,” Elle Costa from the other team snickers. “I was almost disappointed this was going to be too easy.”
“I couldn’t let you down, baby.”
“No Clay today?” she cracks, her eyes flashing to the bench.
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’ll still have your hands full.”
The ref drops the ball, and I slam into her, my legs charged with some kind of juice, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I have to admit I’ve missed this.
Completing school work at home is lonely, and the last thing I needed this week is more quality time with Macon, but I’ve kept busy even though Macon was right. In some ways, my decision to withdraw and retreat had made perfect sense, but I also felt like I’d missed an opportunity.
Marymount isn’t the only challenge I’ll have in life. What happens next time? Most people, he’d once told me, don’t do great things, because great things don’t feel great when you’re doing them. I shouldn’t have run from them. I should’ve learned from them.
I snap the ball to Rodriguez who passes it to Sinclair, and I race ahead, covering her as she passes it to Amy. Amy leaps, catches the ball and swings, hitting the post, and the ball bounces out.
“It’s okay!” I shout, taking the lead, since our captain