want it. “I would rather try for one next season.” If Coach didn’t flat out cut her, which would be completely in his right to do after her dreadful performance.
But again, Coach and the AD were perplexed. The AD cleared his throat, that way smokers do, deep and phlegmy. “So you don’t know why I called you down here today, Kearson.”
“No,” she said softly. “I guess I don’t.”
Coach actually laughed then, tension uncapped, as if he saw through some magic trick or sleight of hand that was being pulled on him. His eyes pinned on Kearson, he said to the AD, “Now do you believe me?” The AD glanced over at Coach, wholly sympathetic, and drummed his pen on a blank notebook page.
Now Kearson imagines herself in that chair across the office, what the two of them saw, a too-tall freshman, wringing her bony hands in her lap, wide-eyed and looking back and forth between the two men, afraid to breathe, wondering which of them was going to tell her what this was about.
Kearson wonders now if looking so completely clueless actually helped her case. As soon as the AD said, “I received a call from your mother this morning, Kearson,” the office became a vortex, a hole opening up directly underneath her chair, pulling her down down down. It hadn’t begun as a performance, but it became one very quickly. Kearson needed to take control of her story. She was no victim. And this was an opportunity to do something heroic.
Which isn’t all that different from what she’s doing back here tonight, come to think of it.
“Hey! Kears!” the girls whisper from outside. “Is the coast clear?”
She hurries back to the window. “Yup! Who’s next?” She smiles, reaching out her hand.
The high school has a fresh, clean smell. Almost antiseptic, but not entirely unpleasant. It’s dark, but with the emergency lights and Mel’s phone, they can see pretty well. And inside they are lit up with excitement. The girls tiptoe together in a cluster, padding silently down one hall, then a stairwell, toward the gym.
The floors are buffed to a reflective shine. The bulletin boards feature cheery back-to-school scenes, glued-down announcements on construction-paper backings, ruby-red apples, perfectly sharpened pencils, fall foliage that’s yet to appear IRL. Everything is pressed in tight with pushpins and staples. Every locker is opened wide, a hallway of gaping metallic mouths. The desks inside classrooms sit in perfectly straight rows.
Kearson is reminded of the possibility the new school year brings. Forget New Year’s Eve. The first day is when real resolutions are made. Earnest pledges fill their hearts, promises they fully intend to keep. This year, I won’t be late on homework I’ll keep my locker clean. I’ll study for tests, not just cram. I’ll get better sleep. I’ll dress up more than just game days. Shower every morning. Wake up early enough to do my hair.
But Kearson has a feeling that her teammates all share a single dream tonight as they step inside the darkened gym. Whatever it takes, this season, the Wildcats will be winners again.
The gym is a dark cave of shellacked wood. Retractable bleachers folded up tight against the walls. Basketball hoops cranked up and out of the way. Navy blue mats Velcroed to the walls. An equipment closet with all kinds of sports paraphernalia in the midst of being reorganized.
And above their heads, rows and rows of championship banners, rectangles of thick navy wool and hand-stitched white letters. It makes Kearson so proud to look up and see the five this team has won, the only banners in the gym that haven’t faded or collected dust over the years. This is their history, but in the scope of time, it is the here and now.
Mel passes the first three, championships won before Mel’s freshman season, and stops under the fourth. The girls crowd around her.
“I was talking with Luci before about captains, and it occurred to me that some of you girls might be interested in a mini Wildcat history lesson.”
She points up at the fourth banner.
“Joli Sands was team captain my freshman season.” Mel’s voice takes on a godlike echo. “Joli was all-state midfielder, leader in assists and penalty shots, and she got a full ride to Quayle University. When we won states that year, Joli’s parents rented three limousines to take our team to the varsity banquet dinner and afterward drove us all down to her parents’ beach house. It was one of the most fun nights