The Girl Who Fell(4)
Her smile winks. “But you weren’t paying attention, right?”
“I guess some might say he’s cute.”
“ ‘Cute’ does not a headline make, Zee. Rumor has it he got expelled from his posh school for having a girl in his room.”
“I met him for, like, two seconds. It didn’t really come up.”
Lizzie stretches out along the table. I envy the way she’s always seemed so comfortable in her own skin. “But he’s nice?”
“Like I said, our conversation wasn’t deep. He could be a total player for all I know.”
“News flash: All guys are players. It’s called having a Y chromosome.” Lizzie arches her neck toward the sun in a way I never could. Not without feeling everyone’s eyes critiquing me. “Perhaps we should investigate. See if this boy is crush-worthy.”
“Not interested.”
“In him or any crush?”
“Come on, Lizzie. I’ve got, like, zero time for any of that. All that matters is getting my ass to Boston next year.”
She turns to narrow her eyes, study me. “Maybe. I mean, I get it. But we’re here now and he might be an attractive prospect. He could help keep your mind off some things.”
I shoot her a look, one that warns she’s going too far.
“I’m on your side, Zee.” She throws up her hands. “I just don’t want you to shut out opportunity now because you’re thinking a thousand steps ahead about how your heart might get hurt.”
Lizzie’s been dating Jason since sophomore year. He’s a year older and attends NYU. He comes home a lot, or she goes to New York. Each time they meet up it’s like no time has passed between visits. I can’t imagine getting lucky enough to share that depth of trust with another person. “And how is Alec an opportunity?”
“I’m not talking about Alec, Zee. I’m talking about taking chances. Making this year a little more than doing time.” Her voice softens. “It’s our senior year, our last chance to do whatever we want without consequences. Promise me you’ll at least be open to different. Whatever form it takes.”
I cringe at the thread of pity I hear in Lizzie’s voice.
And her words don’t leave me for the rest of the day. All through the grueling sprints of field hockey practice I can’t wrestle free of Lizzie’s advice: embrace different. But she doesn’t get how hard different has been without Dad. I’ve kind of had my fill of different for a while.
Ugh. Maybe I have turned into a sad abandonment cliché.
Chapter 2
By the end of the week nothing matters except winning our game. There’s no room to think about crushes or Dad disappearing or Mom trying to hide how her world has detonated into a thousand shards.
“Huddle up!” Coach’s sharpened-knife voice slices through the locker room, and we quickly round into one. I breathe in the scent of lemons and too much bleach, and the adrenaline skulking about, readying to be set free. The room smells like I feel. Bottled, reined in. I need air. And the space to run.
And then Coach’s speech: “This is it, ladies. An entire season—an entire career for some of you—is waiting for its punctuation mark. Will it be a period? That small dot at the end of a sentence that the reader glazes over? Or will you leave this season with an exclamation mark? A long streak of ink that proclaims you as victors, unbeatable!” Coach doubles as Sudbury’s freshman English teacher.
We bang the butts of our sticks against the concrete floor until Coach’s hands quiet us.
“Focus hard. Feel your youth. Use it.”
It’s her mantra. We all know it by heart and I am suddenly thankful for the things I can count on.
As if she knows what I’m thinking, she scans the room and I watch her trying to stamp this moment into her memory, fix it there like a photograph. Or maybe that’s me.
Coach’s face reddens then in the way I’m used to, all the blood rushing to her rallying call. “The word ‘lose’ does not exist! Not in your wheelhouse! Do you understand?” Her words ricochet off the cement walls, their echo washing away the bleach and the lemons. Leaving room only for the pulsing adrenaline. “Get out there and win!” My heart resets, beating with the pregame intensity I’ve known in all of my four years at Sudbury. When we raise a collective cheer, our pooled enthusiasm climbs into me, shares my skin. It feels familiar and safe.
The room thunders with the beat of a thousand sticks smashing against the cement floor. I gather my gear and slam my locker, the sound of its tinny, hollow screech singular amid the noise. A sound I won’t hear again after tonight. Unless we win. Unless we make it to the playoffs. And in this moment I realize I’m not willing to let go of Sudbury. Not yet. No part of me wants tonight to be my last night in this uniform. I tuck my mouth guard under the strap of my sports bra, feel the weight of a hand patting me on the back. Then another. I grab my cleats and in a terrifying flash I realize I’m not even sure who I’ll be without my teammates—without field hockey. I draw that fear down, deep into my core.