Chapter 10 #2
When we got there, I zipped into the gym, grabbed my stick from the locker room, an extra for Chris from the storage closet, and the bucket of balls by the door. I tapped both sticks on the top of the door out of habit, then headed out onto the field where he was waiting by the goal.
“You ready?” I asked.
“Do your thing,” he said.
“Here, I brought you a stick in case you want to mess around, too,” I said, tossing it to him.
“Thanks, I don’t even know how to hold it, so you’ll have to show me,” he said with a devious smile.
I set my stick down and walked behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and placed my hands over his.
“Okay, your bottom hand goes here, thumb facing down, gripping like this, and now your top hand goes here, slightly over top, gripping like this. Got it?”
“Got it,” he said, as he looked back at me over his shoulder. Then he spun around and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’ve got this,” he said sincerely. “You’re going to be great today”. Then he leaned down, kissed me, and let me go.
From the bucket, I tossed him a few balls and went to grab my stick. Then I took the rest of the bucket to the top of the penalty circle. I was certain that a few slap shots would boost my confidence.
I dropped the first ball. Stick back. Shot. Goal. Phew.
Next ball. Shot. Goal. Okay, at least I didn’t fully suck like yesterday.
I backed it up to the 25-yard line, hit it hard drive and the ball plinked off the goal bar and back out onto the field.
My eyes dropped to the ground, and I could hear footsteps running to me from behind. I spun around and looked up.
“Three balls in and I’m already blowing it. What am I going to do this afternoon?” I said with complete defeat.
“Stop. Breathe,” he said, as he brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Why don’t you let me go to the goal, and you can actually work the ball around me. Something a little more real-world. What do you think?”
“Are you sure? But you don’t even know what you’re doing. I’m going to crush you.”
“I’m banking on it. Come on, give me what ya got.” Then he turned around and headed for the goal.
Why not? At this point, I was willing to take whatever practice I could get, so I headed back to the 25-yard line and dropped the ball.
When I looked up, he was running at me full speed, looking like a real defender.
I dribbled the ball three times before dragging it out far enough that I had it right where I wanted it to take the shot, but Chris jabbed at the ball and stole it away.
Surprised by his sudden attack, he didn’t get two feet from me before I circled around him, stole it back, and in one drive, shot it into the goal.
I let out a huge sigh of relief, and Chris came running up behind me, scooped his arms under mine, and lifted me off the ground in a spin.
“See? I told you! You’ve got this.”
“WYATT! What are you doing!?” I heard someone scream from across the field, and we both spun around. Coach DeLaney was standing by the bench staring at us, and she looked pissed. Chris and I shot each other horrified looks, then both took off running towards her.
“I was just working out the kinks, Coach,” I said when I got to her.
“Put your stick up and meet me in my office,” she said, then she looked at Chris. “You. Get back to class.”
Chris and I looked at each other, he handed me his stick, then I looked at the ground and headed for the locker room with Coach DeLaney without saying a word. When I got into her office, she closed the door behind me.
“Sit down, Allie,” she said in a stern voice. “You know the rules about the field,” she said as I bravely cut in.
“—Coach, I’m sorry, I was just so rattled by yesterday that I needed to make some shots to get out of my head,” I said quickly.
“Allie, stop. I’m not mad. I’m glad to see you overcoming whatever happened yesterday, and that looked good out there.
I was just like you once, but I’m worried.
What I saw out there was passion for a sport that you love, and I know you’ll be amazing this afternoon, but you’re bringing emotions onto this field that have to be left at the sidelines.
Do you follow what I’m saying?” she said, her hands clasped together beneath her chin.
“Not really,” I said truthfully.
“I’m not sure what’s going on with you and the Patton boy, but I need you to focus.
You’ve got schools scouting you and almost any scholarship that you want for the taking.
Don’t blow it on something that’s not a sure bet.
You follow me?” she said with a look of concern on her face.
“It’s rare to have a talent like you come through my program, and I would hate to see you squander your opportunities.
Just be smart. You’re free to go,” she said, making it clear that it was time for me to leave.
I got up and headed for the door. “Oh, and one more thing.” I turned back around.
“Don’t let me catch you on my field again outside of practice again,” she said with a threatening tone.
“Yes, Coach.”
“See you this afternoon at the game,” she said, and I quickly left the office.
Once outside of her door, I stopped and let out a breath. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about who I spent my time with? I appreciated Coach’s concern, but I needed to make my own choices. I pushed the locker room door open and left the gym.
Once outside, the fall air felt good on my face after feeling suffocated by the thick, sweaty biome of the gym. I made my way back to the Upper School building to grab my backpack and head to the last period of the day.
Chris had saved me a seat at the back of the room and greeted me with a smile when I arrived. He leaned over to me as I sat down.
“Hey, everything okay? What’d she say?”
“Just to stay off the field,” I half lied without looking at him as I reached into my bag for my workbook. The other half of the truth would only upset him.
When I sat back up, I turned to him, reached across the space between our desks, ran my fingertips down his tricep, and smiled. His eyes widened quickly at my touch.
Throughout class, I tried to focus as best I could, but I was distracted by starting to visualize that afternoon’s game, when suddenly I felt something moving up my leg.
When I looked down, Chris’s arm was extended towards me, and he was running the eraser of his pencil up the outside of my leg until it met the hem of my skirt.
“Stop!” I mouthed. “The teacher is going to see us,” I mouthed again. “I can’t afford to get in trouble before the game.” He rolled his eyes but pulled his pencil away.
When the bell finally rang, I grabbed my workbook off the desk, slid it into my backpack, zipped it up, and headed for my locker without saying a word. I was laser-focused. It was time for the game.