Chapter 9
Nine
Leaning against the headboard of my bed, I set my fingers to my laptop keyboard and type “Maggie McCrae.”
My screen fills with photos and information that makes me sit up a little straighter. I honestly didn’t know what this search would produce. There’s a photo of Maggie in her official referee uniform, but also one of her in a jersey. A U.S. soccer jersey.
“I knew it,” I say to myself. Of course the woman has experience with soccer. That’s a given. But until I saw her in action, I had no idea what level. That’s when I knew there was more to her story.
I scan through each word, top to bottom, left to right.
Maggie McCrae
Referee
American U.S. soccer player
28 years
5’8”
Forward for four years at UCLA Bruins.
Forward for the U-23 U.S. National Team for three years; referee for top-level minor leagues for four years.
I linger on photos of Maggie in uniform, playing, hair back, eyes bright, legs taut, then scroll on to the Wikipedia blurb.
Margaret (Maggie) McCrae, a retired American soccer player and now professional referee, led her team in goals for three years straight.
McCrae was considered one of the most promising young players to come out of the Bruins program, as well as the U.S.
developmental system. She received a call-up to the Women’s National Team but did not accept; instead, McCrae announced her retirement from competitive play.
Following retirement, McCrae pursued certification through the U.S. Soccer Referee Program and has been officiating for the minor leagues ever since.
“Why would she do that?” I say to myself. She quit just when things were starting to get good. She was going places.
I scroll down, past links to more players on the U-23 team, to a set of three videos.
Two hours later, I’m deep in the rabbit hole of Maggie’s soccer career. Every video brings up a new set of links, and I end up watching video after video of Maggie McCrae in action.
By the time I shut my computer, I am mesmerized, as well as utterly confused by her career decisions.
Why would she quit playing? Why would she give so much up?
To become an official. It’s not that I don’t respect the job—they have to be fit and knowledgeable—but she had the chance to play professional soccer.
She wasn’t injured—nothing in any of the information provided indicated an injury.
In fact, the press seemed as baffled by her sudden retirement as I am right now.
Twenty-three years old, her whole life ahead of her, and she decides she’s done.
I’ve had to work so hard to get where I am. Vovó sacrificed and worked to get me here. It isn’t easy to make a national team, a professional team, and she just gave it up.
Callum peers down at his phone. Sweat drips from his hair, and he pushes it back and out of his eyes, his focus still on the screen.
I pull my device from my locker, still in my practice jersey, my teammates bustling around me.
Me: How did McCrae get in contact with you about the Little League mentoring day?
My friend glances up from his phone, his eyes scanning the group until they find me. His brow raises—yep, I’m six feet away and texting him.
I nod toward his phone, motioning for him to answer me.
“You still have clothes on?” Zev says, standing in front of me.
I set my phone face down on my leg. “Huh?”
“You’re usually the first one out of your jersey and the last one in actual clothes. Some of the guys wanted to create a petition. The Lucca Must Wear Clothes petition.”
I smirk and lift the bottom of my jersey, smacking my abs once. “Jealous?”
“More like scarred.”
I laugh like I have all day, though I’m waiting for my phone to buzz with a reply from Cal.
Zev’s waiting for me to respond, so I peel my shirt from my back and bare my chest. I’m more comfortable without the sweaty garment anyway.
I give my friend a classic grin. “Yeah. I’m thinking you’re green with envy. ”
Zev shakes his head, scoffing at my unabashed display of skin.
My phone vibrates, and I give Zev eight more seconds to turn away from me before reading the message.
Callum: She texted me. Why?
Me: I’m gonna need that number.
Callum: Yeah, I don’t think so.
Me: How’d she get your number anyway?
Callum: She asked for it.
Me: But you aren’t sharing? Does Franny know about this?
Callum: Yes, Fran knows about this. Fran and Maggie have met. They like each other. You still aren’t getting her number.
Callum: Why do you want it anyway?
Me: I have questions.
Callum: Then ask your questions on the field.
Me: During a match? Bro. Are you crazy?
Callum: Are you? You’ve hated on this woman for years, and now you want me to pass her number over? I don’t think so. If you have a question, you ask her before or after a match. Preferably with a witness present in case a fight breaks out.