Chapter 37
Tessa
"Hello?"
A car horn beeps in the background, and I hear Jo yell some sort of profanity on the other side of the phone before acknowledging me back. "Hey, hi, sorry. I'm here."
"Where's here exactly?" I ask, glancing around the soccer field as voices mill about in the background of our call.
"That new coffee shop I told you about. I was gonna go home and crash, but I'm wired now. You'll never guess what just happened."
"Tell me," I say, spotting Kenzie and her mom step out of the car.
Elle is wearing black biker shorts that match her daughter's but are entirely too short for a soccer game.
Her hair is the opposite of Kenzie's high ponytail, flowing in big loopy curls past her shoulders, held back by only a hot pink athletic headband.
Her makeup looks like she's ready for a runway rather than a soccer field, and I'm pretty sure she just pulled those sneakers fresh out of the box.
"There's a big digital media convention happening in Ashford. It's super exclusive, and only a handful of new people get added every year. Anyway, I guess someone dropped out last minute. They called me and asked if I'd speak on their Rising Voices panel."
"Wow," I say, genuinely surprised. "That sounds…"
"Incredible? Impressive? Incredibly impressive?"
I laugh. "Very unlike you, honestly."
She scoffs. "I know, but you heard me say it was exclusive, right?"
"Oh, so that excuses the fact that it's for mainstream influencers?"
A brief silence follows as if she's contemplating her answer. "Pretty much," she eventually says.
I roll my eyes, partly at her and partly at the group of moms gathered together, whispering while the girls stretch on the field.
"Anyway," Jo sings. "It's tomorrow night. Come with me."
I snap back to the conversation. "Oh, no, I can't. I'm with Ruthie this weekend." I spot her bending down to touch her toes and wave when our eyes meet.
"Fine," Jo groans. The sounds on the other end fade from street noise to the low hum of jazz music and clinking glasses. "How's that going by the way?"
"Good," I say, spotting Grandma Birdie as she crosses the parking lot. "We're about to kick some ass in a parent-player game."
"Aw, that's adorable," Jo sings sarcastically. "And we'll unpack the parent part later, but I meant how's the whole boning your boss thing."
"Jo," I warn, turning my back to the team as if they can hear me. "I told you, Liam and I are not—"
"You're lying," she blurts. "And that's fine. But if you want to, you know… unpack that too, I'm here."
I shake my head in disbelief. "You want to unpack something? How about the fact that my phone went off yesterday with a SweetCheck notification—again."
I can almost hear Jo's eyes fly to the back of her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Tessie. Maybe as my popularity rises, my glucose levels drop. It's not my fault I'm so important now."
"And humble," I add, my patience wearing thin. "And apparently stupid." Irritation rips through me, and I know the moms cackling in the background are partially to blame. "Jo, this is serious. It's been a few months now, and I'm still getting alerts. You have to watch your numbers."
"I know," she says, but I can hear the laugh behind it.
"Do you?" I scan the field, reading Ruthie's body language—her shoulders tense, lips pressed together. "Because you literally have an app that alerts you when they go too far on either side of normal, and it still keeps happening."
"Well, I fix it once I hear the bell."
"Okay, well maybe you can learn to fix it before it gets to that point. How's that sound?"
"Annoying," she jokes, and at that moment, the coach blows the whistle.
"Jo, I'm serious," I snap, watching the moms finally break apart. "Would it kill you to take a little responsibility for your own health?"
The girls head toward the sidelines to grab their waters, and the coach waves the adults over.
"Jesus, Tess, okay. You don't have to be so—"
"So what, Jo? Caring? Attentive? Responsible?" The girls rush toward their moms, and Ruthie paints a smile as she heads toward me. Something about the way she went from being so excited before we got here to slinking over now adds fuel to the fire my sister started. "Maybe you should try it."
There's a silence that follows that speaks volumes, but most of my concern is with the way Ruthie's face has gone white.
"Listen, I have to go," I mutter to Jo, moving to meet her. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Yeah," she says, her tone clipped. "Sure."
With that, I end the call—ignoring the fact that I now have an argument-with-Jo-sized concern added to my plate—and jog to meet Ruthie. "You ready?" I ask, putting on my biggest smile and running my hand over her braid.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asks, her voice weak.
I bend down to meet her, tossing my matching braid behind me. "Hey," I say sternly. "The whole point of this is to play with someone who cares about you. And I, Ruthie Montgomery, care a lot about you."
The corners of her lips curl up slowly as color returns to her cheeks.
"We're gonna crush this," I continue. "And then we'll call your dad and tell him, and he'll be so proud of you. He already is."
She takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, you're right."
I stand back up, stretching side-to-side. "Now, that being said… if you want to dip out and go get cinnamon rolls instead, we can totally—"
"No," she blurts. "I wanna play."
I tip my chin down and wink, nodding toward the field. "You ready then?"
She glances behind her—all the players lining up with their moms or dads on either side of the midfield line. There's a gap where we should be, right across from Elle and Kenzie. And when Ruthie spots it, she turns back toward me, confidence coating her expression.
"Let's do this."
"Tess! Tess!"
I peer up to find Ruthie standing by the crease, Kenzie coming up behind her. I haven't quite nailed the whole not looking at my feet thing, but other than that—and the fact that we're tied—the game is going much better than expected.
It helps that I'm way less worried about getting my sneakers dirty than some of the moms. My hair doesn't get in front of my eyes or caught in my mouth every time I take off either. But I also think a lot of it has to do with the way Ruthie and I are just having fun together.
Now, next goal wins, and we didn't come this far not to take home the title.
With the ball at my feet, and defenders coming at me, I scan the field.
Aiming for Ruthie by the corner, I turn my foot and smack the ball with the inside of my sneaker.
It flies toward her, but not close enough.
She stretches for it, but it still sails out of bounds.
The ref—the girls' coach—blows his whistle, and we all fall back so that Kenzie can take the throw-in for the other team. Backing up, I almost trip over Elle, who I somehow didn't see behind me.
"Sorry," I say, still out of breath.
She smiles almost authentically and steps to the side.
"It's nice to see that Ruthie still had someone to play with today," she whispers as the coach jogs after the ball. "I know the Gators are away this weekend."
Her words hit me, and surprisingly, I can't decide if they're sincere or underhanded. "I'm just the lucky one she picked," I say back. "The girl has a whole village."
She presses her lips into a grin—one that, if I didn't know better, is tinged with jealousy. "Well, she really likes you, I can tell."
I find Ruthie laughing with another teammate as she waits for Kenzie to get set on the sideline.
I take in Elle's words—genuine or not—and allow them to soothe a part of me still filled with worry over my situation with Jo.
At least someone does. "I hope so," I mutter more to myself. "Because I really like her too."
She doesn't say anything back right away, and for a second, I think maybe that's it. Maybe she chose kindness today.
"And her dad?" she asks, without looking at me.
I stop short. There it is.
"What about him?" I throw back, attempting to keep my tone neutral.
The whistle blows, and Kenzie raises the ball over her head.
"Do you really like him too?"
Elle's tone comes out exactly as she intended—pointed and obvious. I shoot her a look—one I hope says That's none of your damn business, and you have some nerve to even ask. She keeps her eyes on her daughter, and before I can respond—or do something worse—a dull thud bounces off of the ground.
Game on.
Elle spins around, and I follow, finding the ball just a few feet behind us. I race toward it, easily catching up to her. Kenzie runs past us, expecting her mom to send it toward the goal.
Over my dead body.
I take one more step further before twisting my body to face Elle head-on. Her eyes meet mine for half a second before she winds up to kick the ball as hard as she can.
"Go Tess!" I hear from down the field, and as if I needed more of a reason to win this battle, I have it now.
Elle starts her follow through, but instead of meeting her foot like she thought I would, I plant my toe on top of the ball and yank it back toward me. She whiffs it completely, and with nothing to counter her momentum, she slides on her back heel and drops to the ground.
I hesitate for just a second, contemplating if I should help her up. But then I see Ruthie jumping up and down by the goal, and decide—nope. I'm not choosing kindness today either.
I keep moving instead, dodging another mom like it's nothing—the one with the slingbacks. But when one of the girls on the other team comes at me, I pass the ball to a dad up the field. The parents don't scare me—it's the preteens I'm afraid of.
The dad, Roger I think his name is, dribbles a few feet before two of the boys double-team him.
Ruthie strides toward the middle to help him out, receiving his pass and turning on her heel with confidence.
She weaves through two players, earning her a Nice work!
from who I assume is Grandma Birdie on the sidelines.
A whoosh passes by me as Kenzie darts toward Ruthie like she's on a mission.
"On you!" I yell as I race toward the net.
Ruthie glances back, picking up speed as she bee-lines it up the middle. I rush to the corner to be there for her—visual support, a pass, whatever she needs. She dodges another dad, then sends it my way, cutting in the opposite direction and losing Kenzie all in one motion.
The mini-Elle turns toward me as I catch the ball at my feet and Ruthie sprints in front of the net. "Tess!" she yells, wide-open and ready, her arm above her head calling for a pass. Her eyes grow as she notices Kenzie growing closer.
Without hesitation, I wind up and send it to her with every ounce of hope and athleticism I can muster. Thanks to luck—or karma, I don't know or care—the ball ends up right at Ruthie's feet. She pulls back, then kicks forward, tapping it into the corner of the net.
The ref blows the whistle as the sidelines—and the rest of our team—erupts into cheers. Voices grow louder, which I assume means our teammates are headed our way, but I don't see them at all.
My vision tunnels as Ruthie runs right to me, her face beaming. I meet her, and she jumps into my arms, knocking the wind out of me in the best possible way. I stumble back to keep us upright, and we both break out in laughter.
"You did it!" I cheer, swinging her around. I catch sight of Elle from the corner of my eye, still dusting off her biker shorts, Kenzie close by with her arms across her chest.
Setting Ruthie down, my eyes find hers glazed with excitement, her cheeks flushed with heat and pride. "We did it," she says, her voice bright and endearing.
The rest of our team circles around us, even some from the other side joining in the huddle.
They clap our shoulders and congratulate us, kids laughing and parents already holding their backs.
I smile at them, but when I look down at Ruthie, still tucked against me, that's when my heart really beams.
Winning is sweet. Beating Elle might be sweeter. But getting to be on Ruthie's team… that might be the best part of all.