again.
Ali walks across center field, straight over the Wildcat decal. “Is everything okay? Where are our jerseys?”
Though she’s never gone through this ritual before, it’s clear that an unexpected wrench has been thrown into Mel’s plans. Inside Kearson, something catches, a prickly little burr snagging into a soft part of her.
Coach.
Mel doesn’t appear rattled. If anything, she looks determined, closing the distance between her and them with a wide stride, the Wildcat duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Mel sits down cross-legged in the center of the Wildcat circle and rests a hand on each of her knees. The ring of players sits down too, inching closer to her.
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” she tells them, her voice steady. “We won’t be getting our varsity jerseys tonight.” She unzips the duffel bag and calmly lifts up two handfuls of limp practice pinnies.
Grace glances over at Kearson with an aching look, her eyes so wide and wet that they seem twice their normal size.
“Maybe Coach gave Mel the wrong bag,” Kearson whispers to her. “An honest mistake?” She’s aware of how hollow her voice sounds when volunteering this excuse for him, an echo reverberating in her brain, like déjà vu.
“It’s not a mistake,” Mel says. “And if you think about the things Coach said tonight, it’s also not a surprise. He doesn’t think we’re ready. And he’s giving us until nine o’clock tomorrow morning to prove to him that we are.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Phoebe asks.
Luci nervously raises her hand, but Mel rolls onto her knees, a bolt of inspiration. “Ooh. What about this? We show up at school before Coach, way earlier than our meeting. That way, we’re in the parking lot waiting for him when he pulls in.”
“But what if he beats us there?”
“We could sleep in the parking lot, I guess. To be sure.”
Kearson glances around at the tepid faces. There’s something anticlimactic about Mel’s plan. Even Mel seems to realize it now that she’s said it out loud.
Phoebe crawls across the circle over to Mel. “It’s not a bad idea, Mel. Just maybe not the best idea.”
Luci raises her hand again. Though she still looks nervous, this time, she doesn’t wait to be called on. “I know I’m new here and I don’t exactly understand how any of this works.”
“It’s fine,” Phoebe says. “You’re one of us, Luci.”
“Well, Coach was telling me tonight about his college days at Truman. I guess his field hockey team used to pull off these crazy stunts? Maybe we could do something like that.”
Ali says, “What kind of crazy stunts?”
“Umm. Let me see if I can remember …” Luci seems to grasp for words that aren’t there, don’t come.
Mel lets her off the hook. “Once his entire team ran around Truman’s campus wearing only their jockstraps.”
The girls bust up laughing. Even Mel.
Mel says, “And another time, I guess the the guys maxed out their credit cards and bought hundreds of these plastic owl statues and filled another college’s team bus up to the ceiling with them.”
More laughter.
Phoebe rubs her palms together. “Now, see … that sounds fun. Way more fun than just showing up early tomorrow to beg Coach for our jerseys.” Phoebe adds gently, “No offense, Mel.”
Mel lets go a long, low sigh. “You’re both right. My idea was actually the opposite of what a Wildcat would do.” Mel sits back down on her butt and pulls her knees into her chest.
One of the hardest parts of last season was not simply having to see Mel doubt herself, but knowing that Kearson herself helped cause it.
Kearson sees now a chance to assist Mel, rather than hinder her.
“That’s it, Mel! Our school fight song is all about what the Wildcats are. I know every other sport at West Essex sings it too, but we could bring it to life in a way that’s just about our team. Just for Coach.”
The girls’ lips move, reciting the first stanza themselves.
We are the Wildcats, the navy blue and white,
We are the Wildcats, always ready for a fight!
Kearson watches as her idea catches like the sparklers they lit earlier. Lighting up one girl after another.
Mel tries again, this time saying, “We could go over to Oak Knolls and take selfies at their field. Like that eff-you video they posted for us today.”
“Coach would probably like that swagger,” Phoebe says. “We could TP their houses. Put shaving cream on their bus.…”
Grace raises her hand. “I have an idea. But it might be