The cheerleaders sound out a victory cheer as my team smashes together, bound as one in our exhaustion and elation. I feel grounded here in the middle of a hundred heartbeats. Cocaptain Karen nudges me and we call the team into a straight line to high-five the Clinton Colonials. With each hand I slap I wonder why I’ve always wanted to leave this town so badly. Has it really been that bad? Because right now, in this moment, the thought of leaving Sudbury sits uncomfortably upon my bones.
Lizzie meets me at the end of the line, puts on her old-timey newsman voice. “You’re a star, Doyle. Front page news, see.”
I laugh and pull out my mouth guard, jiggle it in my loose fist. “Front page, huh?”
“The frontest.”
Gregg joins us. “Way to go, Five. It’s playing like that that’ll get a Boston College scout scrambling for your number.”
I scoff. “As if. I’ll be lucky if they let me sit on the sidelines to watch their games.”
Lizzie knits her eyebrows. “Maybe it’s because I know exactly nothing about college sports, but why is it such an impossibility that you could play for Boston College?”
“Because those girls are amazing. They are, like, the best of the best.”
Lizzie bursts a short laugh and looks to Gregg.
He shakes his head at me like I’m dense. “You’re a captain who just took her team to State, Five.”
And that’s when it hits me that the girls playing for the Boston College Eagles were playing for high school teams before they got to college. Hope spikes in me and it’s almost too much to want.
“Zephyr!” It’s my mom. At the bleachers, waving.
Lizzie pulls up her notepad. “I should go see how the Clinton coach spins this loss. I’m hoping for lots of expletives, but we probably both can’t get that lucky tonight.”
Gregg tosses his chin toward the corner of the field. “I’m gonna roll with Alec. Catch up with you later?”
My eyes follow his nod, find Alec. He’s alone near the net, waiting for Gregg. Watching me. He gives me a shy wave and I raise my stick casually. Like him watching me is nothing.
“Tell your moms I say hey.” Gregg pats me on the shoulder and jogs toward Alec.
I go to Mom, her face too small to hold a wider smile. “Oh Zephyr! You were amazing! I’m so proud of you, honey!”
“You should be,” Coach says from behind, catching me off-guard. “You played one hell of a game, Doyle.”
“Thanks Coach.”
She nods and asks Mom, “Does she get her athletic talents from you, Olivia?”
Mom laughs. “I’m the definition of uncoordinated. Zephyr has her father to thank for her physical skill.”
Mom hugs me to her. It’s odd how easy it seems for her to talk to Coach about Dad. Mention him in this offhanded way like he comes up casually in all our conversations lately.
Coach raps on my stick, tells Mom, “You make sure she rests up, Olivia. Tonight is only the beginning.”
Mom beams, pulls me tighter. “I will.”
“I’m grateful,” Coach says before heading over to the other players, their parents. But I’m the one who’s grateful, for Coach including Mom in our team’s success. It’s a mission Mom doesn’t take lightly. After devouring an enormous banana split at Fernalds, we head home where she tells me to shower and head to bed. “Like Coach said, you need your rest.”
I oblige her the shower, but I spend half the night texting Karen and some of the other players. We’re going to State and sleep is the last thing any of us seem capable of.
Chapter 3
The following night I go to my dresser and grab the woolen socks that are standard armor for a fall party in New Hampshire. Only days ago I would rage against the idea of attending yet another lame party at Ronnie Waxman’s, but tonight feels different.
My full-color Boston College catalog sits on my desk. I trace my finger along its spine. Like always, I imagine I’m the girl on the cover, walking the brick path to the arched entrance of an academic hall, books rested on her hip, the photographer catching her on an up-step so that she looks like she’s floating. Soon, I think. Soon.
Except . . . except . . .
Lately I’ve had a harder time imagining I can really be that girl . . . self-doubt Lizzie would attribute to parental issues.
When I sit on my bed to fasten my boots, a soft knock sounds on my bedroom door. For a dumb second I wonder whether it’s Mom or Dad.
“Come in,” I tell Mom.
She opens the door slowly, Finn forcing his wide doggie body through the crack before pushing his soft head into my shins. I feel for his ears, that sweet spot that makes his back leg flick quick as a jackrabbit.