12. Eden
EDEN
The shrill of the ref’s whistle pierces through the air.
“Offside,” she declares.
April shakes her head at me, mouthing, “Sorry, Cap.”
A junior, she absolutely should know better in her second year starting.
Not to mention, the University of Florida defenders have been using predictable traps to make us offside—that is, a violation where you’re closer to the goal than any defender other than the goalie as you’re passed the ball.
The UF players have been inching up toward the midfield once we’re near them, so that it’s only the goalie between us and the net.
It’s also her fourth error of the game. I don’t want her to get in her head about that, though. So I just give her a quick smile and a dismissive wave.
Making sure she’s not feeling down doesn’t change the fact that, at this point, I need to put this win firmly on my shoulders if I want it to happen. I’ve already scored our first two goals, anyway.
Every great striker in history, woman or man, has always shown up when it counted. Our job is to convert opportunities into scores.
If I want to be great, if I want to prove I deserve a major place on the US team, if I want Tolliver to finally win the College Cup my last season—this is exactly the type of moment I need to deliver.
I push out a breath and monitor the action in the midfield.
Two more minutes go by as the UF players slow the game by making safe passes and controlling possession instead of attacking.
A tie, or a “draw,” over us would be considered a victory, given our ranking.
Unlike during the postseason, there is no overtime.
Finally, Bree, our center mid, makes a move, probably as tired of the keepaway as I am. She cuts off one of the passes, anticipating it early, and steals the ball.
Heck yes.
She quickly dumps it to Alondra, our left back, who’s playing up, even though her position is technically a type of defender.
Because we need to score.
Bree and I make eye contact as she gets a pass back from Alondra. She’s twenty feet away near the halfway line, but I still recognize the look on her face. Years of playing together at the highest levels—I can tell exactly what’s in her head.
It’s you and me, let’s fucking go.
She doesn’t require a response, because my body language does the talking. Twisting around toward the goal, I quickly filter the position of every player around me, and then sprint out toward the right side, giving her space to dribble the ball up.
After Bree passes it back and forth with our left winger, Chloe, the ball is in her control again as she reaches the goalie box.
The UF defender tries to play me tight, so I fake going right, and then run around her on the left, creating clear space to the goal, just as Bree sends me a through ball.
A move we’ve done countless times over the years, and the experience pays off. As soon as the ball touches my foot, I boot it. But in a split-second decision, I aim for the right corner of the net, a fast low shot. The more predictable angle would have been to the left side.
My strategy succeeds when the UF goalie is flat-footed for a moment, before reaching for my shot too late, as it smashes into the back of the net.
“Tolliver, three to two. Goal by Eden Larsson, assist by Bree Rogers,” calls out the announcer as my teammates crowd around me in a quick celebration.
“Great job, Cap” and “Nice assist, Bree” are repeated refrains from the group.
“Stay focused, we’re not done yet,” I instruct, as everyone breaks up.
Five minutes later, we are done, though—with the win. Still undefeated for the season.
“A tough fight out there today, but we found a way to prevail,” Coach Brenner says to the team once we’ve showered and dressed. “Proud of all of you. We’ve spotted some areas of improvement, which we’ll work on next week.”
April dips her head at that last statement.
“In the meantime, a hat trick for Eden.” The locker room fills with “whoops” and “hell yeahs.” “Do you want to say anything, Captain?”
I know the answer has to be yes, even as I feel my adrenaline crashing. So I stand and push as much energy through my voice as I can.
“This is our year. We’re going all the way, together. I’m so excited for what’s to come.”
“Yes ma’am…” Bree shouts.
“We’re going to show them what Tolliver soccer is about,” I continue. “On three…”
“ONE, TWO, THREE…CHAMPIONS!” the group yells, using our chosen callout for the year.
The noise drops to its normal buzz as players pack up to leave. Despite my exhaustion, I take the opportunity to head to April. I don’t want her going home in a down mood that could fester.
“Hey,” I say as I plop on the bench beside her. “You okay?”
To her credit, she doesn’t hide her emotions. “I’m so upset at myself. I was a mess out there.”
“It’s okay to have a bad game.” I don’t pretend like she didn’t, because that would be transparently false, and not really help her. “We’ve all been there.”
“Even you, Miss Hat Trick Superstar?” She smiles, and I know from our three years together that she’s teasing me to deflect her own emotions.
“Even me,” I affirm. “It’s early in the season, and it’s normal to be rusty. You’re the same April who scored the winning goal three times last year.”
She leans back against the frame of her stall. “To be honest, I’ve been off all week.”
“Oh yeah? Is there a reason why?”
“Brandon and I broke up—well, he broke up with me.” Ah, that’s her boyfriend of over a year. Apparently, ex-boyfriend now. “That’s not why though, not directly. It’s more that I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“That sucks, I’m sorry.” I spend the next several minutes letting her share what happened with Brandon, interjecting encouragement when it feels right. By the time we’re done chatting, the locker room is half empty.
“Thanks, Eden. I really appreciate you listening to all of that.” Her expression is more relaxed, like she needed someone to talk to.
It’s what captains do. No matter how much they are dealing with themselves.
“Anything you need, I’m here.”
As I stand up, Coach Brenner pops out of her office. “Hey, Eden—can you come see me?”
Her forehead lacks the little lines she gets when she’s stressed, so that’s a solid indicator nothing serious is on her mind. “Sure.”
When I take a seat in her office, she has a smile on her face. Another good sign.
“That was a nice win today. How are you feeling about everything?”
A non-specific question, to which I give a matching answer. “So far so good. Can’t complain about an undefeated start.”
She gives a small laugh. “No, we can’t. Well, I wanted to say, I can see a difference in you since last season.
” She taps the base of her pen against her desk.
“I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, but your footwork, your reactions—they’re some of the best I’ve ever seen at the collegiate level, Eden. ”
My chest warms from praise. “Oh, thank you. Having all these camps with the U23 squad, and then the international games—the experiences have pushed me. Everyone is so talented.”
Three of the U23 training camps have happened since the end of our last Tolliver season in December. It’s gratifying that all the hard work and intense pressure is paying off in Coach’s perception of my skills.
“There’s nothing like playing against the best to bring the best out of you. I’m glad they’re finally seeing what you’re capable of, and starting you.”
She gives me a knowing look. Even someone not well-versed in soccer may be able to guess that starting at the U23 level is the next step to getting called up to the senior team. I’m a long way from that happening—but progress is progress.
“Thanks, Coach.”
She rests the pen back on her desk. “I called you in here for a more immediate reason too. There are a couple of players I’m hoping you can talk to, as captain. Give them some encouragement.”
“Of course.” My automatic reaction.
She gives me the two names, explaining the context. One is a fitness issue; our center back is struggling with conditioning coming off summer break. The other is an academic one–Coach is concerned that our backup goalie stays eligible.
As she lays out the details, I only hear one thing: two more items for my to-do list.
But I agree to offer support to the two ladies, as a captain should.
I’m dying to rest my brain when I stumble back into my dorm room.
Bree and I had the pick of suites as seniors. We each have our own bedroom, flanked on opposite ends of a common room just for the two of us. Basically a living room, furnished with a used couch and love seat from her parents.
I’m grateful for the space and privacy. The pressure of the game, the chats with April and Coach, knowing how much I have to do over the next week—they all settle on me once the door is closed.
But what do I do in classic me fashion? Instead of resting for a second, I crack open my emails. And there are three things that pull my stress up more.
First, an email from a producer of an upcoming sports podcast, Simply Sports. They cover women’s teams as much as men’s, which is awesome.
Dear Eden,
We are planning a series on the top collegiate athletes for this coming academic year. We hope you would be willing to join us for an interview and represent college soccer. As the best player in D1 Women’s Soccer this year, there’s no one we’d rather feature.
It would involve a fifteen-minute interview, and we’d provide the questions in advance…
I stop reading and let myself take the opportunity in. Simply Sports would be the biggest media interview of my career so far. But yeah, I’d need to squeeze in a time to actually do it, as well as prep before.
The second is an email from Feetlix, a shoe company, one of my NIL sponsors.
Dear Eden,
As you know, our commitment to women’s soccer is long-standing, and we are excited to watch you and the Tolliver team this year. We’d like to discuss increasing our NIL deal, and having you be part of our holiday season campaign. It would…
I skim the rest—the campaign would include two other players who’ll almost certainly join me as top collegiate signings for the NWSL next year. We’ll make content separately and then Feetlix will cut them together.
They’re probably getting their ducks in a row for when we all go pro. It’d make sense.
One more thing to schedule and organize.
The third is a request to speak at an annual dinner Tolliver hosts in November to fundraise for its scholarships.
Holy smokes. My brain is overloaded.
What doesn’t help matters is a text from Mom.
MOM: Hey sweetheart! Just seeing how it’s going with the medical school applications?
Nice timing, Mom.
There’s a million things to figure out, but I have no brain space to do it.
So instead I slide into my bed, flip my phone face down on my dresser, and pull the blanket over my head.
April may feel like a mess, but so do I.