Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
CHLOE
“Chloe, tighten up your mark on number seventeen. She’s blowing by you every time.
” Teagan tightens her ponytail. If she pulls it any tighter, her head might burst. She’s reamed the entire team one by one since Coach Dixon gave her the floor.
The pressure is already getting to some of the team, especially the younger members.
“On it,” I say. I learned a long time ago just to let Teagan say what she needs to say and not to argue, even if she’s wrong. I’m not even marking number seventeen. That’s Bailey’s job. I meet Bailey’s eyes across the bench and she nods. She knows the comment is for her.
I jog back onto the field, taking my place at the top of the eighteen-yard box and jump three times, bringing my knees to my chest, my ritual before kickoff. I shake my wrists and imagine my nerves wicking away like droplets of sweat.
A large group of Cardinal Ridge students huddle together in the front row of the stands. Half their faces are painted cobalt blue and the other half yellow. They chant the last names of the starting eleven and then break into a round of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”
The Harrison crowd cheers a rebuttal, some school cheer I can’t make out the words to. I tune them out.
Focus.
The whistle blows, rendering everyone but the players on the field silent and invisible to me. Game on.
We war. Janae makes two brilliant saves, plucking the ball out of the air at near-impossible angles.
In the final five minutes, Kendry wins the ball in the middle of the field and streaks toward the goal.
She cuts past two defenders and spins her way down the field.
My heart pounds as I push my team forward.
Seconds tick by. Why isn’t Kendry shooting?
She’s had a couple good looks, but the goalkeeper is closing in now, cutting off the angles, and the defense is recovering.
“Shoot!” Coach Dixon bellows.
The keeper is out of position.
A few weeks ago, I would have hung back. But now, attacking instinct surges forward within me. I sprint toward the open space out wide. The defenders are out of position and watching Kendry. They don’t expect me to fill the space.
“Ball!” I call, as I raise my hand.
Kendry steals a peek at me and lets a cross rip. It floats in a perfect arc, and I trap it down with my chest.
Now what? My brain wants me to analyze, but my feet have another plan.
Rhoads’s voice rings between my ears. Don’t over think it. Trust your instincts.
I fake out the defender in front of me, then take a quick peek at the corner of the goal. The keeper is a step too far off her line.
My right laces connect with the ball, and I concentrate on leaning over it to keep it on the ground. I look up after I’ve struck it and smile.
The keeper dives, but it doesn’t matter.
I have the element of surprise, and she’s out of position. I’ve trained enough with Janae to know.
The ball whooshes against the net in the back corner. The Cardinal Ridge fan section erupts. My team piles on top of me. Though I can’t see him in the sea of bodies, in my mind I hear my dad screaming, “Atta girl, CB!” at the top of his lungs.
Immediately after, Rhoads’s ecstatic face after I beat him the first time in our training session surfaces in my mind.
That prickling feeling—that Big Moment energy—tickles the back of my neck. I look up.
There, in the front row where he hadn’t been before, stands Rhoads Simpson, grinning at me like I’ve won the World Cup.
My whole body turns to jelly. I almost look away, but something stops me. I only have room for positive emotions today, and whatever this thing is between us, I’m going to enjoy this moment.
Instead of shutting him out, I smile back.
* * *
Cardinal Ridge holds on for the win, 1-0.
After the final whistle, I cheer with the rest of the team all the way to the bus.
And if my eyes are sweating as much as my forehead, well, I’m not ashamed.
My team just won the state title for our school for the first time ever. Let the tears of joy loose.
I sit down next to Janae on the bus. She ties a white scarf around her braids.
“You, my friend, are a rock star. I know it, the team knows it, and, from what I hear, Rhoads Simpson knows it, too.” She gives me a playful nudge with her elbow.
I offer a half-smile. “I don’t know.” I mean, I definitely know how I feel around him, despite my better judgment.
And now that I’ve reached this goal, I wouldn’t be sacrificing my game for a boy.
But I would be putting my heart on the chopping block.
Which, of course, I’ve realized has been my fear this whole time.
“Girl. Are you Egyptian?”
I stare at her. “Umm?”
“Because you are in de-nial. That boy digs you so hard he’s about to hit China.”
A genuine laugh escapes my lips. Janae always cracks me up. I roll my eyes.
“You can try to deny it all you want, but you’re only hurting yourself. You forget I have the insider scoop.” She tosses her microbraids over her shoulder.
“I’m stoked for you, J.”
She beams. “Yes, Dillon is fine, and I am all. About. That. But you deserve love, too.” Janae nudges my shoulder with hers and wiggles her full eyebrows suggestively. “Give Hotty McStriker a chance already!”
Is everyone calling him that now?
“Slow down, matchmaker.”
“Chloe. We won State. What’s the next excuse?
Club ball tournaments? Winning state again next year?
Getting into college? You don’t have to put your love life on the backburner just because you have dreams. You can date and be a baller boss at the same time.
Exhibit A.” She gestures to herself. “Just sit back and watch me work my magic.” She holds her hands up, palms out. “It is said, and it shall be done.”
Then she digs around in her bag and offers me a velvet pouch that looks suspiciously familiar.
“What’s this?”
Janae rolls her eyes. “Girl. Just open it. And let yourself have nice things. And by ‘things’ I mean people. Certain people. You deserve to be happy.”
I spread the cinched bag open and grab the snow globe. Fake coins and tiny books tumble through emerald glitter. My heart squeezes at the memory of studying for economics at Rhoads’s house.
I don’t have the energy to tell Janae that, even though our season is done, the only moves I’m comfortable making right now are on the soccer field.
Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, she’s right. I have been using soccer as an excuse. The truth? I’m scared of getting hurt again.