it. She heads for the powder room off the kitchen, knowing Mrs. Gingrich keeps Advil in the medicine cabinet. But it’s not there. She hobbles back into the kitchen empty-handed and gets a glass of water.
Out the window she sees Mel’s parents together on the patio, drinking coffee, sunglasses on, the missing bottle of Advil between them. No sense of what happened last night. It’s for the best.
Phoebe could walk out and get herself some, but she doesn’t want to take the extra steps.
Halfway to the front door, she stops, unzips her duffel, and straps on her much bigger and bulkier knee brace, the one that’s hinged and made of hard plastic. The one she hates to wear.
“Hey. You okay?” Mel asks, hanging back to rub Phoebe’s back.
“Yup,” she says. “Just a precaution.”
Mel looks concerned. “Promise me you’ll take it easy until you get checked out by a doctor.”
“I promise.”
Phoebe fiddles with the straps, allowing Mel the chance to get ahead of her. Mel doesn’t bother closing the front door, leaves it open for Phoebe. Outside, the girls have already gathered on Mel’s front lawn, while Mel opens up her trunk and grabs the duffel bag full of pinnies and the bag where she’d placed all their confiscated phones.
Phoebe joins the circle without her teammates realizing the pain she’s in. But this small victory only makes her future defeat inevitable. No matter what Mel has planned, Phoebe won’t be part of it. She is a broken piece of this team that will never be fixed.
Mel passes out everyone’s phones. Ali grabs hers first, turns it on, and squeals, “John-John picked the ball! John-John picked the ball!” and then explains the significance while showing off a picture of her nephew in a brightly colored outfit.
But more texts come in, rapid fire.
It happens to all the girls. As soon as someone powers a phone on, it dings with a stream of newly received messages, like they are inside a pinball machine.
COACH: You’re all late.
COACH: This is not a good look.
COACH: Okay now I’m worried.
COACH: Hope you girls are getting some rest.
COACH: We’ll just have a quick chat on the field before the game.
“He knows something’s up,” Ali tells them. “You can see where he suddenly switches from pissed off to concerned.”
Luci laughs dryly. “Now all he wants is a ‘quick chat’ with us.”
“What are we going to say to him?” Grace scratches her leg.
Mel answers calmly. “Nothing.”
Kearson holds her stomach and asks Mel, “Okay, but … what do you think he’s going to say to us?”
“He’s either going to try and manipulate us or intimidate us.” Mel smiles. “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”
Phoebe immediately recognizes the look on Mel’s face, though it feels like she hasn’t seen it in forever. That confident, strong, capable girl. She’s got this. She’s one step ahead of all of them, and Phoebe’s the first to catch her. Phoebe chimes in. “He’s not our coach anymore.”
Mel beams. “Exactly. We won’t even have time to talk. We’ve got a game to play.” She bends down and unzips the duffel bag with the pinnies inside. “But at some point, I will thank him for inspiring us. If he hadn’t tried to take last night away from us, we would have never thought we could take our team back from him.”
The girls grin, enthusiasm building.
“Okay. So. I’ve got a pinny for each of you. They are not nearly as glamorous as our varsity jerseys. Some of them are ripped.” Mel lifts one to her nose and winces. “None of them have been washed. But we sure as hell earned them. And I’m giving the first one to Phoebe Holt, because she truly embodies what it means to be a Wildcat, putting her team first, always.”
The girls all applaud as Mel slips it over Phoebe’s head.
Phoebe pretends to fix her ponytail. She takes it out, pulls it back, smooths the sides, then pulls out the elastic and starts it all over again. Only then does Mel, and the rest of her team, realize that Phoebe’s fighting back tears.
“I can’t come to the field with you.” Phoebe abandons her ponytail with a groan, opting instead to wipe her eyes, as if she might grind the tears away with her palms. “Ugh. I’m sorry. It’s just … this is so hard. I have to quit.”
The whole circle collapses around her. Voices urging her, No, Phoebe! Wait! Don’t quit! Please!
But her mind is made up. “It’ll be too hard for me. I’ll just be