Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to force you, Jaeger,” Coach tells me. “Do you want to be here?”
“No.”
Krisjen levels a glare at me.
“I want you to pay for victory pizza,” I say instead.
Coach smiles despite herself and turns back to the field. “Get your gear on.”
Coomer always takes us out to dinner when we win, but I never go. I go home.
But I’m going tonight, and I don’t give a shit who doesn’t want me there. We’re going to win, because of me.
Getting my shit on, I dart onto the field, Krisjen joining and taking up her position, protecting our goal. I look left and right, between the other two midfielders. “Stay sharp,” I tell them. “Watch for me!”
They nod, sticks up, and I press mine to the grass, eye to eye with the other team.
“Oh, yay,” Elle Costa from the other team snickers. “I was almost disappointed this was going to be too easy.”
“I couldn’t let you down, baby.”
“No Clay today?” she cracks, her eyes flashing to the bench.
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’ll still have your hands full.”
The ref drops the ball, and I slam into her, my legs charged with some kind of juice, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I have to admit I’ve missed this.
Completing school work at home is lonely, and the last thing I needed this week is more quality time with Macon, but I’ve kept busy even though Macon was right. In some ways, my decision to withdraw and retreat had made perfect sense, but I also felt like I’d missed an opportunity.
Marymount isn’t the only challenge I’ll have in life. What happens next time? Most people, he’d once told me, don’t do great things, because great things don’t feel great when you’re doing them. I shouldn’t have run from them. I should’ve learned from them.
I snap the ball to Rodriguez who passes it to Sinclair, and I race ahead, covering her as she passes it to Amy. Amy leaps, catches the ball and swings, hitting the post, and the ball bounces out.
“It’s okay!” I shout, taking the lead, since our captain is busy warming her ass.
Play continues, Clay’s presence heavy on my right, but I refuse to look. I’m surprised she even showed up, but I suppose she had to in case someone gets injured. What the hell got her benched?
Dinah Leister from Gibbon’s Cross catches the ball and races toward our goal, but I dive in and snatch it, firing it over to Amy, running ahead just in time for her to shoot it back, and I snap it, holding my breath and watching as it rolls right into their goal.
“Yeah!” Krisjen shouts, our team celebrating.
Amy flips her stick around like a baton, all smiles, and I spare two seconds to feel the glow before I run back to get in play again.
Time moves fast, Gibbon’s Cross scoring one, and us scoring two more in the second.
I bang my stick on the ground. “Amy!” I shout.
She flashes her eyes to me, hits the ball just as someone knocks her to the ground, elbowing her head. I grab the ball, shooting it into the net, and more boos erupt from the stands.
I smile, but I don’t celebrate, running over and not thinking. I slam Costa in the shoulder while everyone is distracted, watching her land on the ground next to Amy and getting her comeuppance. This is the third time she’s done that to one of us, and the refs aren’t seeing it. Or pretending they’re not seeing it.
I pull Amy back to her feet. “Thanks,” she says.
I jog back down the field, throwing out my hands at the ref. “You gonna call something at some point?” I yell.
“Jaeger!” Coach yells, because I’m getting smart with the ref.
Fuck it. They’re throwing cheap shots. We win nothing taking the high road.
I look over, seeing Clay standing now, her arms folded over her chest, concern or tension etched across her brow.
I get back in the game, Ruby passing the ball to Krisjen and Krisjen passing it back quickly. “Liv!” she shouts, shooting it to me.
Second and third period passes, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead, hair loose from my ponytail tickling my neck. We’re up two goals, but everyone is exhausted and Gibbon’s Cross doesn’t always play their best players first. They’re about to get a second wind.
I debate for a moment and then walk over to Coach. “Bring Clay in,” I tell her. “Ruby’s exhausted.”
But Coach shakes her head. “I’ll make the decisions. Get back in the game.”
I hesitate, ready to argue, but they’re teeing off.
Running backward onto the field again, I growl at Clay, “So you just gonna sit there the whole night?”
Make her put you in the game. You can make anyone do anything, right?
But Clay just sits, her elbows on her knees, watching me. Making no move, like she’s given up.