Dangerous Play

by Emma Kress

  “Tell us what happened, honey,” Aunt Maya says, her voice soft.

  So I do. I tell them about Kups and Dylan and the dean and how we did the right thing but Dylan was the one who got punished.

  “Abuse of power.” Jacks slams her fist on her knee. “Same shit. Different decade.”

  “Hang on.” Ruth holds up her hands. “This girl did use force against the boy and—”

  “He deserved it if you ask me,” Maya says. “That said, if you react to everything some misogynistic man does, you’ll be working twenty-four-seven.” She waves her hand. “Most of the time, it’s not worth the stress.”

  “It’s almost like you have to decide not to hear it,” Mom says. “I just try to let it roll off.”

  “But this wasn’t just words, Laura. And besides, even if it were—what does that do for Zoe’s generation? We let it roll off and now they’re dealing with a landslide.”

  Ruth tilts her head at Jacks. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. I still say it takes two.”

  “Are you sure nothing happened to this Kups kid?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just—” I drag my fork through the ice cream, making tracks. I put it down. “You know what it is? It’s like what Aunt Jacks said. The dean made this assumption about Dylan. She said she was the ‘wrong crowd.’ Isn’t that messed up?”

  “Very,” Mom says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I think it says a lot about you that you’re bothered by it. I’m so proud of you.”

  The aunts all mmm-mmm as I head back to my room but I don’t feel proud of myself. I feel like I’m in an elevator and Mom thinks I’m going to the top floor but really I’m going to the basement. Because Ava didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never been called to the dean. I’ve never had someone take someone else’s side over mine—at least not with big consequences.

  Dylan Johnson is the wrong crowd. They’re the dean’s words, but they might as well have been mine. I made the same assumption based on rumors or clothes or her ISS rap sheet.

  Maybe I’d pick fights too if people always assumed the worst of me.

  NINE

  I PULL OUT MY PHONE.

  ME: Sorry. I was wrong.

  AVA: Just screenshotted that.

  ME: Very funny.

  ME: U were right. I’m not used to injustice I guess.

  The little dots appear and I fixate on them. I hope I didn’t screw up again.

  AVA: Yeah … I think I was also defensive bc Dyl was my pick u know?

  ME: Yeah. But she’s really good.

  AVA: Really good.

  ME: R we okay?

  AVA: Absofockinglutely

  ME: Sticks Chicks 4ever

  AVA: 4ever. Unless we lose Castleton tmrw and then I’ll never speak to u again.

  ME: Fair

  * * *

  When I wake, I worry that our text apologies might not translate to the field. I worry that Kups will do something else and Dylan will fight back and then we’ll be in the same place all over again. I worry that Ava thinks I’m some spoiled brat. I worry … that maybe I am. Or was. The whole day goes by without me seeing Ava, and my doubt festers.

  I want to be done thinking about Kups. He will not mess up my season. This year is about winning. Winning isn’t something I’m going to pull on and off like an outfit. It’s in my muscles. My bones. But I need Ava.

  When I reach the bus, Ava must already be on board, because I can’t see her.

  A car honks from behind. I turn.

  Uncle Bob and Eileen. Great timing.

  “Uncle Bob?” I lean in the driver’s side. “Hi, Eileen. What are you guys doing here?”

  Eileen points to the back. “Ice cream for the team. Your uncle thinks of everything.”

  “Wow. That’s really generous, Uncle Bob.”

  He pats Eileen’s knee. “I’m not the one you should be thanking. It was all Eileen.”

  Reluctantly, I turn to her. “Thanks, Eileen. That was nice of you.”

  “She used to be quite the field hockey player herself, you know.”

  I try to arrange my face to look more interested than surprised. “I had no idea.”

  Uncle Bob puts the car in drive. “I think you girls would have a lot to talk about if you took the time. Good luck today, kid.” I wave as he drives off.

  Great. Now I’m supposed to bond with Wife Four. The thing is, Uncle Bob falls fast and hard, and then poof. It’s over. I’m not sure why I should bother to get close when they all just leave. Even if this one did play field hockey once upon a Facebook post.

  I stomp up the bus steps.

  “Captain, my captain!” yells Ava.

  And just like that, I bust out laughing. We’re okay.

  In my seat, I put in my earbuds and turn up the music. I imagine us on the field. I see my stick slam the ball, and the ball slam the goal. Again and again, all the way to Castleton.

  I wrap my turf burn, then take the bandage off. I’ll be faster without it, and it’s mostly healed anyway. I run in place. I shake out my hands. I stretch my neck, my legs, my wrists.

  “Use it.” Coach grips my shoulders. “It’s your fuel, your fire, and it’s going to propel you all over their field.” She claps her hands. “Girls!” We gather. “Will Durant said: ‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.’ Let those words sink in. Excellence can be a habit.” She looks at each of us. “In these last weeks, I’ve seen more potential and better habits from this team than I have in my entire coaching career. We can make it a habit to win. To persevere. To succeed. It’s our choice.” She looks at us. “Anyone have anything else to say?”

  After every pregame talk, she invites us to speak. We never do. Today, I raise my hand.

  If I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that being a team is harder when real stuff is on the line, and yet being a team is the only way to get through it.

  Coach nods, and I stand, gripping my stick. It’s one thing to know I should speak up and another to actually do it.

  I glance at Ava. “Sticks Chicks,” she whispers, smiling at me.

  “I don’t feel right anymore without this stick in my hand. After this summer, I don’t feel right when all of you aren’t by my side.” I look at Dylan, who flushes. “My stick, and you, have become an extension of me. Of who I am.” I squeeze the stick tighter. “And I’m making the choice to win.” I turn around to the whiteboard. Coach had written BEAT CASTLETON on the board above her drawing of our positions. I erase it and write: WIN STATES. As soon as I do, the girls—my team—thump their sticks against the hard concrete, a rattling, chaotic applause.

  “Fock yeah!” Dylan shouts.

  “Storm the castle!” Ava yells, and we roar out of the locker room, our cleats clattering against the floor, our sticks keeping time against the air.

  Ava and I run to the center circle with the refs and call heads. The coin flips over itself in the air before landing on the ref’s hand, heads up. We choose sides.

  I love the national anthem: the loudness, the sureness. I don’t really sing, but it shuts everything else out. I close my eyes, and I’m in the Olympics. Ready to win it all.

  When we huddle, we ask Dylan to pick the cheer. She picks “Grind.” So we crash our sticks in the air and scream it.

  We do our superstitions: Ava crosses herself and hops twice as soon as she steps over the line into the goal. Cristina does a little spin when she gets to the wing. Bella touches the top of her stick to each shoulder.

  Back when Dad came to games, he’d yell, “Chop your feet!” before the whistle. So I grip my stick, pretend I hear his voice, and run in place.

  At the first clack of the stick, I know it. I can sense the ball’s movement. Ava and I direct the action like a single conductor. Every time I pass, someone’s there. Our sticks kiss the ball, and it flies. We jab, drive, push around the field in a strange ballet. We snatch the ball from Castleton so often I lose c
ount. We weave around and between them like they’re rocks and we’re the river. We’re fast. We’re smooth. We’re good. Hell, we’re grace and strength in kilts.

  We win. And we like it.

  TEN

  THERE IS SOMETHING UNIVERSALLY SEXY about boys in soccer shorts. It’s a fact. I’m sure there are scientists studying why soccer boys are way cuter than the boys of just about any other sport.

  Even watching them huddle before the game Tuesday afternoon is perfect. I can watch the way the 8 on Grove’s jersey lies between his back muscles, and he’s too focused on the game to notice.

  Liv worked it out with her boyfriend, Jake, that our team will watch their game against Queens Falls if they watch our Queens Falls game too. I’m terrified about the second half of that deal, but for now, I’ll watch Grove from the safety of the back bleachers tucked beside my teammates.

  He looks up at us. Possibly at me. And smiles. Fockity fock.

  I squeeze Liv’s hand. Hard.

  “Yes,” she says, shaking out her hand. “I saw. Thanks to you I’ll be lucky if I can hold my stick tomorrow.” Turning back to the field, she screams, “Come on, Ridgebacks!”

  “Down with the monarchy!” Our chants against Queens Falls beat out every other school.

  Grove’s feet speak a language that the other team can’t translate.

  He shoots, and his whole body is in the kick: The swing of his leg powers through his hips, and the ball slings into the back right corner of the net. First goal of the game, and it’s Grove’s. His teammates clap him on the back. And, oh my, he lifts his jersey to wipe his face.

  “What was that?” Liv elbows me in the side, ready to laugh.

  “What?”

  She leans in. “You basically sex-sighed.”

  “I did not.”

  “You totally did. You sex-sighed.”

  I shake my head. I can’t possibly sex-sigh when I’ve never even had sex. Or a boyfriend. I squeeze the edge of the bleachers.

  To distract myself, I turn from Liv to Nikki, but she’s looking pale. “Are you okay?”

  She nods. I follow her gaze to number 12, Brett Jamison. I look back at her. Her elbows are locked, her knuckles white. I remember Kups saying something about Jamison.

  “If you could be anywhere else in the world right now, where would you be?”

  “Easy,” says Liv, thinking I’m talking to her because this is our go-to game. “Maybe Myanmar or Russia. They’ve got enough political prisoners to tire out Mother Teresa.”

  “For real?” Cristina asks, eyebrows arched. “That’s where you’d go? Out of anywhere?”

  “Liv is destined to be a human rights superhero,” I say. Liv elbows me.

  “Shit,” says Dyl. “I’ll go to Florida and sit my ass on a hammock. You in, Ki?”

  “Hells yes.” Kiara leans for a beat against Dyl’s shoulder. “Just us and the alligators.”

  I nudge Nikki. “How about you?”

  A slow smile spreads. “Italy. Rome. For the art, the statues. I’ve always wanted to see a Bernini there of Apollo and Daphne. He’s chasing her, hounding her, so she escapes by turning into a tree.”

  “That’s messed up,” Dylan says. “Does she change back?”

  “No. But I like the contradiction—change caught in marble, that turning into a tree isn’t an escape at all.” She chews her cuticles, then tucks her hands under her thighs. “I don’t know.”

  “I repeat,” Dyl says. “I’d take the hammock by the water. You weirdos—”

  We’re interrupted by everyone screaming again. I turn to see Jamison steal the ball from Queens Falls. “Go Ridgebacks!” I scream.

  When I turn back to Nikki, her face has gone white again. “Hey, you sure you’re okay?”

  She crosses her hands over her chest. “I thought I could—I think—” She looks at the field before pivoting back to me. “I think I’ll go. I might be coming down with something.”

  “Go home and rest up,” Ava says. “We want you all set for tomorrow’s game.”

  Nikki forces a smile, nods at Ava, then picks her way down the bleachers.

  I look back to the field, at Jamison elbowing his way past Queens Falls’ defense.

  I turn to Liv. “Did Brett Jamison and Nikki ever go out?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t even know Nikki until this year.”

  “Same.” I’d never even seen Nikki before she stumbled onto our beach that night.

  Liv jumps to her feet screaming for Jake, who must’ve scored a goal. “Off with their heads! Down with the monarchy!” our side chants.

  All the guys clap Jake on the back, including Grove. And when Jake looks up at Liv, Grove’s eyes follow. For a second, I think he looks at me and I freeze, my hands in midair.

  Ava slaps me on the back. “Okay, Cap’n?”

  I nod. I’m sure I imagined it. I’m sure he wasn’t looking right at me.

  “Maybe we should do this more. You know, come to soccer games?”

  Liv gives me a sly look while Ava nods and screams: “Go Ridgebacks! Off with their heads!”

  * * *

  The next day, the boys’ soccer team shows. I’m pretty sure now will be the moment I completely forget how to play field hockey. Now I have to worry not only about States and my scholarship, but Grove too. I liked it better when I was invisible.

  I need to think about something else. Anything else. I pan the stands. Ava’s family whistles and cheers. Cristina’s three little sisters bounce like Ping-Pong balls between their parents. And then I see Uncle Bob. Again. Uncle Bob never came to my games last year, and now he’s two for three. Of course, Eileen is right there next to him waving with one hand, a video camera in the other. Great. Just what I need. Photographic evidence of my epic fail. In front of Grove.

  I let the national anthem focus me. Forget the camera. Forget Grove. I’m here to win.

  At the whistle, we move.

  The crowd stomps their feet on the bleachers, and their energy channels into my thighs, pushing me down the field. They shout Off with their heads! every time we steal the ball, and their strength is in my arms as I drive the ball hard. I dodge the other team like they’re cones, still and squat, my feet and stick moving in rhythm around them. I pass to Bella, and she scores. We run screaming back to center field.

  I bend down, stick in position. The whistle sounds, and Quinn steals the ball. We pass it back and forth, skirting the feet and sticks of the Queens Falls players, and this time, I score, right in the back left corner. The goalie looks crushed. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

  It’s like that the whole game, against one of our biggest rivals. They can’t get a shot on us. Ava and I rotate the ball to the right girl every time. And in the yelling from the stands, I hear my name now and then. Most of the time, I think it’s the JV players or the other parents. Or Uncle Bob. But once, at least once, I’m almost positive it’s Grove.

  Here’s a thing I know for sure: Every time I look up at the stands, he’s watching. And not just the game, but me. And I don’t hide, don’t run, don’t blush, don’t cower. I just play like me.

  * * *

  The next week, we play Tuscaroga. Away games mean a sparse cheering section. Cristina’s dad and Mrs. Dobson, the triplets’ mom, for sure, with maybe a few others if they can escape work. But when I run out onto their field, Uncle Bob and Eileen are parked right in the middle of our near-empty section, complete with video camera and cooler. Right next to them: a handful of soccer boys.

  Grove. Is. Here. This isn’t next-door Queens Falls. This is forty-minutes-away Tuscaroga.

  When we run out, and he sees me see him, he nods. At me.

  I stop. Sasha runs into me.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I—I got distracted.”

  What does it mean that this is the second game in a row he’s watched? What does it mean when half the team comes too? What does it mean if—

  “Cap’n?” Ava knocks into my hip.

  Fockity fock
. Have I just been staring at him all this time? I should not be allowed in public.

  “Are you okay?”

  Clearly, I am not okay. Clearly, I am unhinged. “I’m fine!”

  “Good,” she says. “We need this. We need you.”

  I grip my stick so hard I feel it in my feet. I jog in place, lifting my stick into the air.

  “What are you doing?” Ava looks at me, half worried and half amused.

  “Getting focused?” I ask-answer. But it’s working. If my body is busy, it shuts up my mind. And right now, my mind needs some serious shushing. So it doesn’t matter—all that much—that I look like a freak. Besides, as long as he’s all the way up there, I can play like me.

  We run to the center for the coin toss. Ava calls heads, and we win. We play with the sunset at our backs. In half an hour when we switch sides, the sun will be completely down, and we’ll play under the stadium’s lights. I see the resignation in Tuscaroga’s eyes. Like they already know they’re going to lose. And it’s all the invitation I need.

  I crouch down, my back and knees bent, my stick inches from the ground. My shadow looks lean and long before me. At that first tap of the ball, I sprint.

  Tuscaroga squints against the sunset, and I imagine they see our silhouettes tangled with our shadows—our bodies stretching impossibly tall, spanning the field. They can’t stop us.

  We win: 3 to1.

  * * *

  Our football team is a joke. But that doesn’t stop our school from hosting a pep rally before the first football game of the year. We’ve already had four fockey games. This is their first. But they get a pep rally.

  Liv, the team, and I crush into the gym, which I’m fairly sure cannot legally hold all of us. With every new addition to the bleachers, we squeeze closer.

  “If one more person pushes into this row,” Quinn says, her shoulders up by her ears, “I swear I’m going to pop like a zit.”

  Liv scrunches up her face. “Ew. I call foul. Unnecessary image.”

  “Sooooo,” Bella begins, “I was thinking about asking Chloe Turner if she’s going to be at Reilly’s bonfire after the game tonight.” She raises her eyebrows. “What do you think?”