Saturdays take the Pain away
Molly
IHAVE ALWAYS believed that life is a rollercoaster, and that what goes up, must come down.
The philosophy has served me well, acting as a shield against the inevitable disappointments and heartbreaks of the world.
But I don’t see anything bad happening between Niall and I. At least not any time soon.
Next week is going to be fairly eventful. My birthday’s on Monday, the dance is on Friday. And Niall’s promised me at least one date between now and next Friday, before our grand night to come at the ball.
Today, though, is our last game before the break.
After the last game, I’m a bit on edge. I spent the whole bus ride to the opposing school—St. Andrews—biting my nails and trying to focus on the music Niall put on for me.
We’ve been trying to swap music tastes for the last couple days, since he said we should make each other song mixes for before winter break, since I’ll be away until after New Years.
It’s a sweet, thoughtful gesture, but right now, not even The Script can drown out the anxious chatter in my head.
Mom and Dad surprised Lorraine and I yesterday morning by telling us (with Dad on the phone) that we could spend winter break with him in Pennsylvania, since he’ll have two whole weeks off with us. It means seeing Dad—but it also means two weeks away from Niall.
Danny O’Donoghue is just getting started with the second chorus when Niall taps my knee, pulling one earbud out. His touch is gentle, but it still makes me jump, my nerves stretched taut as a piano wire.
“We’re here.”
I glance out the window at St. Andrews’ soccer field. It’s huge—much bigger than ours—and the stands are already packed with students.
“Great,” I mutter, shoving my earbud back in.
Niall frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He knows I’ve been nervous. He just squeezes my knee reassuringly before standing up to grab his bag from the overhead compartment.
As I usually do at the visiting schools, I have to go to a different building to use the girls’ locker room, an isolated space that reminds me of my otherness.
I try to hurry so I’m not straggling behind the others to get on the field.
I don’t want to be the last one out there, a lone girl in a sea of boisterous, confident boys.
I end up being one of the first ones in the tunnel, the concrete corridor cool and echoey. O’Shea calls me over. He’s waiting at the other end, his arms crossed over his chest, a rare smile on his face. For a minute I thought maybe I missed everybody else, but I know that can’t be true.
“What is it?” I ask, jogging up to him.
“You have a visitor,” he says, sounding amused. I’m about to ask him what he means when Coach Rourke comes into view.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. I run towards him, my cleats skidding on the concrete, and throw my arms around him, a desperate, joyful hug that I’ve been dreaming of for months.
We’ve communicated through email since I’ve been here, a constant stream of updates on my stats and videos of my games when I can.
And I know he’s been in contact with my dad, to
“Are you surprised?” he asks in his usual jolly voice, and I nod.
“How did you even get here?” I ask.
“Plane,” he jokes, then adds. “Your dad might’ve helped out a little with your schedule.”
Of course he did. No doubt I would have to thank him later tonight, my heart swelling with a love so big it feels like it might burst right out of my chest. I worked with Coach Rourke for all of my high-school soccer career, and he’s always been one of my biggest cheerleaders, the one who made me believe in myself and my talent when I was full of doubt and insecurity.
And his wife was like, the best math teacher ever in sophomore year.
Having him come to see me play has already boosted my confidence through the roof. All the doubts I was having on the bus ride here feel like they’re flying out, and up into the air, drifting away with the wind.
“I’ve been wanting to see how you play with the guys, and I’m not the only one,” Rourke says, still grinning. “Can you imagine it? Every scout I’ve talked to is floored when I tell ‘em.”
“College scouts?”
“Them, yes, but the NWSL and some European teams have been asking questions too.”
Now, my jaw drops. There’s no way. That’s crazy. That’s insane. That’s everything I’ve ever worked for, every early morning practice, every scraped knee, every sacrifice, every nightmare, all distilled into this one moment.
It’s not just a dream anymore. It’s a possibility.
“Are you kidding?” I finally manage to choke out.
“Would I joke about something like this?” he asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. “But I've got something else here for you, too. Someone.”
I’m in such pure, unadulterated bliss that I can only imagine the best possible scenarios. Was my dad here? Did he manage to get a last-minute flight, a scout with him, a whole entourage of American supporters ready to cheer me on? My heart soars, butterflies swarming against my ribs.
But then Coach Rourke moves aside, and the world stops spinning.
“He wanted to surprise you too.”
Every good feeling that was here just a second ago skirts away like leaves in the breeze, wind whipping me in the face like I've just been caught in a hurricane.
“There’s our superstar!”