year Grace felt barely tolerated at team activities. The slights were small though numerous. A seat not saved. An invitation delivered at the last possible minute, if at all. An inside joke never explained.
Grace began varsity tryouts on Monday cautiously optimistic. Knowing there were two spots open on varsity defense, she played the very best she could on the field. But Grace also took it upon herself to carry the huge Gatorade cooler in and out of the athletic office each day of tryouts, and picked up any discarded stick tape or trash from the sidelines before heading home, all in the hopes Coach would notice her extra hustle. She would have done anything, honestly, to make it off JV.
When she did, Grace expected no congratulations and received no congratulations from the other JV girls. But she wonders if they will at least try to fake some happiness when they see Kearson Wagner. It wouldn’t even be hard to fool her, since fake is all she’s ever known.
Poor Kearson probably still has no idea the shit her “friends” secretly talked about her last season. They pretended to be thrilled for her, of course, when Kearson first got called up to varsity to cover for Phoebe Holt after she sprained her ACL. But when Kearson completely choked, the JV team barely concealed their glee. Grace saw it firsthand, the way they clutched each other in the locker room, grins equal parts euphoric and morbid, as a classmate who’d been at the varsity game texted all the lowlights of Kearson’s debut. It was beyond gross.
Grace wriggles in her seat. It’s a relief to leave those girls behind. The varsity squad doesn’t operate that way. Coach wouldn’t stand for it.
“Ready, Grace?” Ali asks.
“Yup.” Grace’s smile widens, as if controlled by the stereo volume dial, which Ali turns up even louder. And feeling as much glee as relief, she discreetly watches in the side-view mirror as the JV girls crane their necks, tracking the Jeep until it’s gone from the parking lot.
“You said you live on Dormont Road?” Ali shouts over her music.
“Dorchester.”
“Right, sorry.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Ali reaches into the center console and unzips a small makeup bag. Inside are a package of Korean face wipes, the same ones Chuck swears by, and she uses a sheet to blot her forehead and the sides of her nose. “Grace? Remember the girl you elbowed yesterday? What was her name?”
“Marissa Szabo.”
“Is she the one who went to prom with Ryan Durst?”
“I … I’m not sure.”
“Yeah. I think she did. I remember her dress was cute.” Ali wrinkles her nose. “Wait. Except the back was weird. It had these crisscrossing straps.”
“Just so you know, I didn’t elbow Marissa on purpose,” Grace clarifies. Even though Marissa’s been a total bitch to her since basically kindergarten, Grace still felt bad about the accidental contact, especially when Marissa made a big show of rubbing her jaw and wincing afterward.
Ali waves away Grace’s concern. “Oh. Without a doubt. I mean, if Marissa still hasn’t figured out that she needs to look at who’s coming at her and not down at the ball after a year of playing JV …” She pauses and shrugs half-heartedly. “She’s kind of a lost cause, you know?”
Grace presses her palms lightly to her warm cheeks. Everything Ali said is the truth, and yet this conversation feels surreal. Though Marissa and Grace are the same age, Marissa has already dated a senior and gone to prom and gotten a solo during the holiday concert. In any normally functioning high school social universe, Marissa would be the one in Ali’s Jeep, forging a friendship, not her.
And yet, Grace had barely stepped inside Coach’s classroom before Ali made a beeline for her, as if she’d already picked Grace out from the other new girls who’d made the team, the scrappy mutt puppy she was set on adopting. It had to be for how hard Grace had played this week. Any time that Coach had put Grace on the same team as Ali for a scrimmage, Grace busted her butt to clear every single ball she possibly could before it ever reached Ali in the goalie crease.
This is the magic of the Wildcats. The comradery of the West Essex varsity field hockey girls obliterates all other high school social hierarchies. In fact, while other sports teams at West Essex wear the same school colors and share the same mascot, it is only the varsity field hockey