white three-ring binders. The Wildcats Varsity Field Hockey Playbook. Luci takes one into her lap, opens it with reverence.
The first page is their schedule. For the next three months, there will be games once or twice a week and nearly every Saturday afternoon.
Luci turns the page and finds the Wildcats Varsity Field Hockey Code of Conduct. Any hairbands, wristbands, or headbands must be either white or navy. Makeup and jewelry and perfume are expressly forbidden from practices and games. Varsity players are expected to dress up for school on game days. Skirts or dresses, no jeans. There is a mandatory 10 p.m. curfew imposed on nights before games. Attendance at Psych-Up Dinners is mandatory. Attendance at practices and meetings is mandatory. There are many, many more.
Centered at the bottom of the last page, in capital letters, a catchall:
TEAM FIRST, ALWAYS.
Me, Luci thinks, dumbfounded. This includes me.
The remaining pages, comprising the bulk of the binder, each depict a different chaos, Xs and Os and arrows zooming across a rectangular representation of the field. Squinting, Luci wants this section to make more sense than it does. Maybe she’s dehydrated? Her temples throb. She pinches the bridge of her nose.
If only.
She closes the binder and sees that Grace is watching her.
Luci tries to smile around the dental tray. A trickle of drool drips from the corner of her mouth.
Both girls laugh.
Grace benevolently says, “Supposedly, these custom mouth guards are amazing. You have to spit, like, significantly less. A dentist in town makes them for the varsity players every year, free of charge. His daughter got a full ride to play at Falk.” Grace swings her legs, childlike. “I’m Grace, by the way. I’m new too. I started JV last year as a freshman.”
The dental tech’s watch beeps and Luci’s mouth guard mold is popped out with more force than she was expecting. She runs her tongue across her teeth, makes sure her braces are still attached. “I’m Luci,” she says, massaging her jaw.
“So … do you know who’s taking you home yet?”
“My mom. Why?”
Grace holds up her hand to prevent the dental tech from inserting the tray into her mouth. “No, see. It’s kind of a Wildcat thing that the younger girls who can’t drive yet get adopted by the older girls with cars. You basically never have to worry about getting a ride home from practice or a game.” Grace discreetly points across the room. “Ali Park picked me,” she whispers, almost giddy, a strange show of emotion for someone projecting that much cool. “Ali was all-state goalie last year. Practically unstoppable for most of the season. Except … well. You know.”
Luci doesn’t. What happened? She’s too insecure to ask. Luckily, Grace keeps talking.
“Anyway, I bet Mel already called dibs on you. She made varsity as an incoming freshman too. Plus you’re both left forwards. Kinda makes sense she’d take you under her wing this season.”
Luci scans the classroom and finds Mel seated at a desk near the front, dutifully copying what appears to be some of Coach’s notes onto a strip of white stick tape. To Grace, she says quietly, “So I should tell my mom I’ll meet her at home? Even though Mel hasn’t said anything? I really don’t mind not getting a ride. I might be out of the way, and—”
Full of confidence, Grace explains, “That’s how it works on this team. The Wildcats look out for each other.”
“Right.” Luci digs in her bag and finds her phone is dead. She looks to the classroom clock—12:45. Her mother is likely already here. She’ll have to run outside. “Hey, thanks for clueing me in on this stuff, Grace.”
The dental tray has already been pushed into Grace’s mouth but it doesn’t stop her from answering, “That’s what teammates are for.”
Luci gingerly approaches the front of the classroom. Coach’s desk has a throne-like quality thanks to the two trophy cases glittering behind it. His baseball hat is off, his sandy hair lightened blond by summer. He’s on his laptop, typing, chewing a piece of gum fast and hard, almost compulsively. He could be a grad student cramming for an exam.
“Excuse me, Coach?”
He looks up, momentarily annoyed by the interruption. But then, in a flash, he’s smiling warmly. “Lucianna.”
“Oh. Ha. Only my grandmother calls me that.” Luci lifts her arms to fix her sagging ponytail but, realizing her armpits probably have sweat rings, lowers them. “Everyone calls me Luci.”
He leans back in his creaky teacher’s chair, old dark wood. “You’re Argentinean, am I