Chapter 2 #2
Abigail Matthews is too quick. She strikes the ball before Bea or anyone else can get there, sending it soaring toward the back post. Janae jumps, but she’s a half-second too late. She didn’t see the ball coming. Bea, out of position, had blocked her view.
The ball rises over Janae’s outstretched fingertips, not even grazing her gloves. It knocks against the post, rippling the net as it falls back to the ground.
A perfect shot.
Goal.
Cardinal Ridge hurries to restart the game and lodge an attack. But it’s too late. The sound of the final buzzer pours gasoline on my already smoldering heart.
We lose 1-0.
After slapping hands with the other team halfheartedly, I return to the bench to grab my bag.
Bea sits on the end, sobbing. I give her a hug.
“Hey. Abigail’s a senior. And I heard she’s already got offers from three D-1 schools.
So, seriously, don’t beat yourself up. You got to have short-term memory.
Forget it and move on.” I pat her on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Chloe.” Bea sniffles and stands, hefting her bag over her shoulder. “I’ve got to meet my parents. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bea saunters toward the stands. I know exactly how she feels.
My head dips lower, my eyes locked on the cracked cement underneath our bench. It’s not Bea’s fault or even Coach Dixon’s that we lost. Not really. If I had just scored the penalty kick as I was supposed to, none of it would matter. I can’t take my own advice. I can’t forget it and move on.
Not yet.
I peel off my gross socks and shin guards and exchange my cleats for flip-flops.
The metal bench doesn’t offer much comfort.
Shoving my stuff into my bag, I stand, already painfully aware of how much my legs are going to hurt tomorrow.
I fill my nose with the grassy field’s fragrance.
It’s one of my favorite smells, even after a loss.
“Great game,” Rhoads says, meeting me on the sideline as I pass by the bleachers.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Okay.”
He falls into step with me. “You’re mad.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? We lost. And it was my fault.”
“Last I checked, there were eleven players on the field for your team at any given time.”
“Oh, you can do math! How great for you.” I pick up my pace, not interested in hearing how great I played when it’s obviously a lie.
Rhoads matches me step for step. “First of all, ouch. I’m a little concerned you didn’t think I could count to eleven. Although, if that were the case, maybe I could convince you to be my econ study partner.” He nudges my shoulder.
My gaze snaps to his, and my guilt-fueled rage torches the charming smile right off his face.
“Sorry. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Losing sucks.”
A bit of my icy exterior melts. It’s not his fault we lost, so why am I taking it out on him? “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I just really hate to lose. And I hate letting my team down.”
“We all have off nights. Or off minutes. Or less-than-perfect shots. It’s not life or death.”
“I know that. Sometimes it just…”
“Feels like it?”
I nod.
Rhoads holds a brown paper sack out to me. “How about some post-game sugar?”
I peer at the bag’s contents, trying to ignore my pounding heart. It’s just residual adrenaline from the game. Nothing to do with how close we’re standing. “What do you have?”
“A bit of everything. It’s all close to expiration so the concession moms were pushing it hard. Though I’m not sure I believe anything this processed could ever truly expire.”
I select a watermelon hard candy.
“Take more than one. Please. Save me from myself. And a mouthful of cavities.”
I shake off the urge to comment on how perfect his teeth seem to me and fish out two more watermelon candies.
“I see you have a type,” he says.
Broody bad boy is not my type.
Not mine either, Charlotte.
“Hmm?” I unwrap one of the candies and pop it in my mouth. Pure, sugary goodness melts across my tongue.
Rhoads nods at my selection. “Of candy.”
“Oh.” I look at the pink sugar pieces in my palm. “I guess so. Chocolate or brown sugar Pop-Tarts and watermelon hard candies.”
Rhoads cocks his head. “Interesting distinction.”
“I’m an enigma. At least my eating habits are. Or so my friends have told me.”
“I like enigmas,” he says. He leans closer. The air between us crackles and prickles the back of my neck. Citrus and cedar replace the smell of grass and stadium popcorn. His dark brown eyes meet mine, and my knees melt like chocolate in the sun. “Keeps life exciting.”
“Chloe! Do you want me to egg their bus?” Anita rushes over and wraps me in a tight hug, saving me from myself.
“No! Do not commit a petty crime because of me. I’ll be fine. I just have to sulk for a while.” I laugh and pat Anita on the head. “Take a chill pill, Annie.”
“Unlikely,” Charlotte says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You know her.”
“Rhoads Simpson, meet my best friends, Anita and Charlotte. Best friends, this is Rhoads.”
“We’ve met,” Anita says. Right. Her twin brother plays on the boys’ soccer team, too. “Hi again.”
“Nice to meet you, Rhoads.” Charlotte raises her eyebrows at me. I pretend not to notice.
“Hi,” he says. “So, Anita’s a sports freak, huh?”
I nod. “The worst.”
“I’m standing right here.” Anita punches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m a product of my environment. Unfortunately, Kyle got all the athletic genes. I’m totally uncoordinated and have the lung capacity of an asthmatic fish on land. So, I play nothing and cheer for everything.”
“She’s a superfan,” Charlotte adds. “What’s in the bag?”
“Candy. Please, take some.” Rhoads shakes the bag at her.
Anita and Charlotte both take something chocolate.
He locks eyes with me again in silent conversation. Heat flares up in my cheeks. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just warm tonight.
“Simpson! Stop flirting and let’s go! Hash browns wait for no man.” Rhoads’s friend Dillon waves from near the concession stand.
“Apparently, I’ve got to go,” Rhoads says.
“Understood,” I say. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Especially at nine at night.”
He smirks. “Are you mocking me, Baker?”
“She’s serious, I’m afraid. Our friend here is a complete breakfast addict,” Anita says.
“She loves it almost as much as Anita loves sports-ball,” Charlotte says.
“It’s true. Breakfast is no joking matter.
You’d better go before Dillon has a heart attack.
” I point. Dillon hops up and down, sweeping his arms toward the parking lot, as if he can create a gust of wind strong enough to pick up Rhoads and transport him to the car.
“Oh, and Peggy’s has the best hash browns.
If you’re looking for an expert opinion. ”
“Thanks for the tip.” Rhoads smiles and crumples the top of the paper sack, shoving it in his bag. “You all coming to our game tomorrow?”
“I have to work,” I answer. “But I’ll try.”
“Try really, really hard.” He winks and jogs away.
When he’s reached Dillon and is out of earshot, Anita grins. “Looks like this year is shaping up to be quite fascinating indeed.”
Charlotte wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, shut up, you two.”
Rhoads and Dillon saunter toward the parking lot while I savor the sweetness of the watermelon candy. “It’s not like he asked me to breakfast.”
Charlotte beams. “Not yet.”