Chapter 3 #3
“Okay, now, I need both of you to turn into me just a little bit. There we go. And then go ahead and lean on each other.” He stepped back and smiled. “Perfect. We’re going to take a few. Ms. Eames, if you could hold the ball kind of in the center here to start. Perfect, thanks.”
“I can’t believe they’re marketing us like this.” Becky mumbled while the photographer set up.
“Okay,” he called out. “For the first couple, look like you hate each other.”
“Easy to do,” Becky said a little louder than necessary.
Wren let out a soft laugh. “Shit,” she whispered. “Sorry, sir,” she said, loud enough for the photographer to hear. They held still for a few flashes of light.
“Okay, now smile like you’re the best of friends.” After a few photos, the photographer stopped to look at his work.
Wren decided to fill the silence. “Oh, come on, Rebecca. Look at us. We’re famous. Who would have thought it? You and me, the Women’s National Team’s main marketing campaign.”
“Some of us don’t want our faces everywhere. We just want our skills to speak for us,” Becky bit back.
Wren turned to look at her. “What’s wrong? Is that your bad side? We can switch if you want.” She grinned again, that stupid, dimpled smirk that always got under Becky’s skin.
“You’re insufferable,” Becky snapped. “Just get back in position. I want to get this over with.”
“I’m insufferable? Me? You’re the one who started it,” Wren volleyed.
Becky flicked her off. There was a flash of a camera and both girls froze.
“Rothschild, Eames. Coach Jameson’s office. Now.” Coach T was a lot of things. One of which was very scary when mad. Becky and Wren ducked their heads and followed Coach T into their head coach's office.
The office was much like Becky had expected it to be.
A big whiteboard filled the left wall. There were set kick options drawn all over it.
There were roster lists and different combinations of players.
There was a second roll-around whiteboard near where he was seated behind his desk.
He looked simultaneously surprised and annoyed when Coach T walked them in.
“Sit,” she said, pointing at the two chairs that faced the coach’s desk. “Photographers just got a photo of them flicking each other off.”
Wren shot out of her chair. “She flicked me off. I didn’t flick her off. There is literally photographic evidence.” A familiar fire filled her voice, one that Becky had heard Wren use many times before, though in those circumstances she’d been arguing with referees, never their shared head coach.
“Eames, enough,” Coach Jameson said, his voice booming. Wren immediately dropped back into her seat.
Becky almost felt bad. She was right. Becky hated to admit it, but she had been in the wrong. This time.
“Look, you two are without a doubt in the top twenty-three players this country has to offer. Hell, you should both be on the starting lineup, but you almost weren’t selected for this exact reason.
Do you know how long we spent debating which of you we could stand to pass on and still put forward a successful roster for the World Cup?
I need this fixed, and I need this fixed now.
Whatever school-girl rivalry you two had ended when you both graduated. Do I make myself clear?”
Wren nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
Becky licked her lips. “Agreed. You’ll never have to talk to us about this again.”
He nodded and shot Coach T an annoyed glance. “You were right, T. You get to decide their punishment.”
Coach T smiled wider than Becky had ever seen her smile before. “Easy solution. You’re officially partnered up for the year. Bus rides, you’re together. Hotels, you’re together. By the end of this year, I expect you to be the best of friends.”
Becky’s eyes widened with disbelief, but she knew better than to protest. From the strain in Wren’s jaw, she knew that Wren clearly felt the same way.
“Thank you for the second chance. We won’t let you down,” Becky forced out, shooting up from her chair, desperate to get out of there before any other punishments could be levied on them.
Wren nodded. “Agreed. Thank you, both.” Wren stood uncomfortably and they stepped back into the hallway. “Well, this blows,” she muttered heading back towards the locker room.
“Eames, wait.” Becky steeled herself for the brilliant green eyes that were about to turn her way. They were filled with rage and rightfully so. “Wren, I”—
—“You just almost got me kicked off the National Team. You know, I don’t know what your problem with me has been for the past four years, but we’re on the same team now. So can you just get over it?”
“You don’t know what my problem has been?
” Rage spiked in Becky’s chest. She could feel years of frustration ready to boil over.
She grabbed Wren by the wrist and led her down the hall, searching for an empty room she could drag her into.
As soon as she found one, she slammed the door behind them. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Am I kidding? No. You’ve been a raging bitch for the past four years, and I tried to be nice to you at camp and this morning and surprise, surprise, you’re still a bitch.” Wren was practically shouting.
“Do you just honestly not remember?” Becky studied Wren’s face, waiting for realization to finally come.
Wren still looked lost. “Soccer camp? Those two weeks together when we were sixteen?” Becky hissed, lowering her voice so that even if Coach T was waiting outside the door with her ear pressed up against them, she wouldn’t be able to hear.
“Do you need more clues? How about, I dunno, you took my virginity?”
“Yeah, and you took mine. Then you proceeded to block me on every social media. And then when I saw you two years later and tried to say hey, you told me to stay the fuck away from you.” Wren looked livid, and worse, hurt.
But also like there was a good chance she might throw something.
“I texted, I called, and then you said”—Wren’s voice cracked.
She shook her head as if shaking away the memories.
Becky had never heard the story from her perspective.
“Let’s be clear about one thing,” Wren said, her voice low and fierce, “I’m here to stay.
If one of us is getting kicked off of this team for their behavior, it sure as shit won’t be me.
If it’s not travel or required for practice, how about you take your own advice and stay the fuck away from me.
Not all of us have backup plans and safety nets and wealthy mommies and daddies to call if they get kicked off the team.
Some of us kind of need this shit.” And with that, Wren spun on her heels, ripped open the door, and stomped off in the direction of the locker rooms.