Dangerous Play

by Emma Kress

  “In about an hour.”

  “You feeling good about it?”

  “Zoe, for once in my life, I don’t want to talk about soccer right now.”

  I love that he said that. I mean, I don’t want to talk about what I called to talk about, but I also don’t want to talk about soccer, or fockey, either.

  “I…” His voice is so close but I want it closer. I roll onto my side, holding the phone between my ear and the pillow. “I saw your post.”

  I don’t say anything for a second. Neither does he.

  “That was…”

  My rib cage is unzipped, my heart beating and bare.

  “… brave.”

  I smile slow and soft.

  “Did it—I mean, who—no.” I hear him take a breath. “Are you okay?”

  I think for a second. I think I’m better than okay. “Yeah,” I say.

  “I don’t want to pressure you to talk about it, but I also want you to know I’m here. If you want to … you know … talk about it.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He’s quiet on the other end of the phone and I realize he’s waiting for me. Waiting for me to decide.

  “It happened that night we got together. At the bonfire.”

  “Oh, Zoe,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

  I resist the urge to say It’s okay or It’s not your fault. Not that it is. But it’s not my job to take care of him around this. And it’s not his job to take care of me. Maybe our job is to just be in this together.

  “Thanks,” I say instead. “I think that’s why I got all mixed up after.”

  “That makes sense,” he says. “I completely understand. I mean—I don’t because I can’t. But I get it. I wish I could punch the shit out of whoever did this.”

  And I almost laugh. Because so did I. And when he says it, part of me feels good—like he cares, he’s on my side, and he’s angry for me. But I don’t need him—or any boy—to fight any battles for me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I felt the same way. But then I realized it took more guts to speak up, to keep it from happening to other girls.”

  “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

  I smile. “You didn’t?”

  He laughs, and I swear I could let that laugh and his voice roll across my ears forever.

  “I just want you to know,” he says, “that I will never, ever be that guy.”

  “I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I thought otherwise,” I say.

  “And if I ever do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, just tell me, okay? I mean, it shouldn’t all be on you or whatever. I’ll ask. I mean, we’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’d like that.”

  I pull my comforter closer. I like lying here, his voice so close.

  “Can we talk about tonight now?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Yeah. We can talk about whatever you want.”

  “What are you wearing?” I croon.

  He laughs again. “My very sexy school uniform that has been worn by a thousand sweaty teenagers before me.”

  “Mmmm,” I say. “You really know how to sell it.”

  “I’m excellent at selling it. I sell it better than you sell ice cream.”

  “What?” I squeal. “I am Big Bob’s number-one employee.”

  “I bet,” he says, and I can hear him smile. “You know, I used to drive past in the summer, to see if you were working. I even stopped in once because I was sure you were there, but—”

  “You did not,” I say.

  “I did!”

  “I got a—”

  “Chocolate chip Shaken Cookie,” I say.

  “Liv told you?”

  “Uhhh.” I groan. “I was there. I was hiding.”

  “I knew it! I could’ve sworn I saw you.” He pauses. “Why’d you hide?”

  “Because I had a massive crush on you and—”

  “So hiding made sense?”

  “It made total sense. At the time.”

  “I’m glad you came out of hiding,” he says, and his voice is like caramel over vanilla ice cream.

  “Me too,” I say.

  FORTY-THREE

  BALON BAY IS FROM LONG Island. I want them to be boppy surfers who shop and tan a lot. But I know they must be fierce. They’ve won States the last four years in a row.

  But we’ve beaten teams used to winning before. We can do it again.

  We sprint into the Dome, and as the door rattles shut behind us, the smell of nachos hits me and so does this: I get to play in the Dome for the second time.

  “Anywhere in the World?” Liv asks, as we jog toward the locker room.

  “Right here. Even with the nachos smell.” I grin. “You?”

  “Right here. Even with the nachos smell.”

  “Not in Yemen? Or Myanmar? Or some other nachos-free place that needs your human rights badassery?”

  “Nah.” Liv smiles. “I’ll fit that in after I’m a state champ.”

  I smile. “Absofockinglutely.”

  “What do you think the home locker room is like?” Bella asks.

  “I bet it’s all riched up,” Dylan says.

  “They’ve probably got gold toilets,” Cristina says.

  “Next year,” Ava and I say together.

  Quinn rebraids our hair. Ava does the little dance she does to pump us up. And Coach is like a gumball machine that only spits out encouraging AA quotes. She runs off to check something, and I ask her to keep an eye out for the UNC scout.

  “And the SU one!” Ava calls.

  Everything’s coming together. Finally.

  Part of me has never felt so connected to my body, the other part feels as though I’m floating above, watching the whole scene from afar. It’s 5:15 p.m., and forty-five minutes feels as short as a heartbeat and as long as forever. Soon, they’ll let us onto the field to warm up.

  Ava’s lacing up her shoes for the third time. I go over and sit next to her, leaning into her with my shoulder. “Come outside for a second?” I nod toward the field door.

  She raises her eyebrows and grins. “Sure.”

  I link my elbow through hers and we push the locker room door open to the hall that leads to the field.

  “I don’t want to go up the ramp,” I say. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

  She shakes her head. “Me neither.”

  We both stand there for a second taking in the noise. It feels louder than it did last night, but maybe that’s just my insides screaming.

  “We did it,” I say.

  She turns to me. “We did.”

  I look down the orange-carpeted hall we cross to get to the field ramp. Giant pictures of athletes hang on the walls. We start to walk along it.

  “Oh wow,” I say, stopping underneath a picture of Carmelo Anthony, one of the greatest basketball players ever to play for the Orange.

  “Carmelo focking Anthony,” Ava says.

  I laugh. We turn back toward our door. Just to the right of it, there’s a photo of a field hockey player in orange. The photographer has captured her lunging for the ball, every muscle in her arms and legs straining, strong. She could be chiseled from marble she’s so cut.

  I nod at the girl. “That’s going to be you in two years.”

  She crosses herself and looks toward the ceiling. “I will never eat another quesito. At least I won’t for a whole year. Or Cheez Whiz. I’ll totally give up the Cheez Whiz.”

  “Doritos?”

  She side-eyes me. “Don’t push it.”

  I laugh. “You’re the most incredible goalie ever. Any school would be lucky to have you.”

  She knocks her shoulder into mine. “Thanks, Cap’n. You still determined to run away to North Carolina?”

  I start to say yeah, and then I wonder if I’m doing that out of habit. I wanted UNC because it has one of the best teams in the country. But I also loved that it’s five states away. Before, I thought Mom worked so hard just to avoid me and Dad. But maybe I w
anted an escape too.

  “You and me on the same team? We would kill it. SU all the way.” She tilts her head. “Besides, you love it here.”

  “I do.” I kick my shoe into the orange carpet. “I think maybe I’ve been a little hard on the place.” I smile. “But I don’t have to figure it out right now. Right now, we just—”

  “Girls!” We turn to see Coach rushing down the hall.

  Ava leans in. “They should probably check her heart before every game.”

  “Mandatory EKGs,” I whisper.

  She rushes straight for us, hustling us back into the locker room. “We’ve got scouts from SU and UNC.”

  UNC. Is here. Now. Waiting to see me.

  I sit down in front of my open locker. I look over at Ava. Right above her head, there’s something etched in her magnetic strip. I squint. It says, Trevor. Someday, I’ll have my name over a locker in a college locker room. But it won’t be scratched with a pen.

  Ava widens her eyes at me and takes a big breath. The others have stopped talking. I don’t even hear the squeak of our shoes on the floor.

  “Girls.” Coach exhales with her whole body. “I am awed by you. There’s an AA quote I love, ‘Adversity truly introduces us to ourselves.’ Adversity just may be our greatest teacher. You have all been through so much this season.” Coach looks at all of us and lands on Dylan. “Though adversity doesn’t have to mean getting arrested.” She winks at Dylan.

  “I like to keep you on your toes, Coach.” Dylan smiles.

  “You are the best at that. And”—Coach gives her a warm smile—“at so many other things.

  “My point is that you’ve grown not only as athletes, but as humans. You’ve grown not just as individuals, but as a team. You’ve grown not only as teammates, but as friends. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

  Ava stands and swings her arms around Coach and Coach lets out an “Oof” as she squeezes the air out. Then we all pile on. A great group hug with Coach at the center.

  “I think that’s enough,” she chokes.

  We let go.

  She looks at us, tears brimming. “It’s time.”

  We push out of the locker room and clump on the orange-carpeted hallway before the ramp. Balon Bay gathers to our right in their crisp navy and white.

  We glare at each other.

  Kiara yells, “Go ’Cuse!”

  Which isn’t quite the same as screaming Northridge, but it lets them know that while they may have scored the home locker room, this is our house.

  We get the all clear and run up the ramp, onto the field.

  This time, Grove and the soccer team won’t be here. Still, I know my parents, the Rebels, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Eileen will. But when we race out onto the field and I look up into the stands, I can’t find them.

  Because there are too many people. Which has never happened in the history of field hockey.

  They call the Dome “the Loud House.” It seats fifty thousand, and when all fifty thousand fans stomp and scream, it rocks the roof. We’re not at fifty thousand but we’re not at fifty either. Last night, I was surprised to see a couple hundred. But tonight, there are even more. The noise is thick and real.

  I turn to Ava. “Are all these people from Balon Bay?”

  Ava studies the stands. “No. Look. I recognize a lot of them. They’re from school.”

  I squint. She’s right. The stands are filled with kids from Northridge.

  And then I hear the cheers—they’re yelling for Northridge.

  Ava busts out laughing. “You know what happened?”

  “What?”

  “We happened.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “I didn’t want to distract you, and I swear I didn’t look, but someone texted me. Tons of people ditched Reilly’s thing.” She looks across the stands. “They must be here instead.”

  “Fockity fock,” I say, taking in the crowd.

  They’re cheering for us. No, screaming for us. Pounding their feet for us. This is so much better than any school pep rally.

  And then I catch sight of someone else. Dean Eldrich. She’s standing and howling and screaming with everyone else.

  “Fockin’ nuts,” Dylan says.

  I laugh. “Fockin’ nuts.”

  We do our warm-ups, we do our coin toss, we do our handshake.

  We stand in a row, Ava on my left, Liv on my right. I put my hand on Ava’s shoulder. Liv puts hers on mine. We each do the same, right down the line, linking ourselves.

  We are a chain of iron.

  The national anthem plays and for the first time, I sing out. Ava’s voice and Liv’s voice and everyone’s blend together and all our voices fill me up.

  We huddle at midfield. We scream, “Sticks Chicks!” We race to our places.

  Ava crosses herself and hops twice. The announcer counts down: “Ten … nine…” The crowd joins in. “Six…” I chop my feet. “Four…” Liv jumps with the crowd. “Three…” Their shouts fill my chest. “One!”

  At the whistle, we ignite. We flame. We explode.

  Quinn wicks the ball to Bella who zips it to me. Balon Bay presses hard and I pass back to Kiara who knocks it to Dylan who passes to Michaela who kicks it to Liv who passes to Sasha.

  They press again and it’s back to Liv who flicks it to me.

  Balon Bay is a wall of navy so I pass back to Nikki.

  Maintaining possession is key but so is making a focking goal.

  We keep it but they’re just waiting for us to mess up, for the pass to veer a touch off course, for the ball to slow at just the right moment so they can snap it up with their stick like a frog snaps a fly.

  Each team is good. Too good. This game will be won on a mistake.

  I just hope it’s not ours.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ON A PASS FROM SASHA to Liv, their number 23 darts in and takes the ball. She skates around Bella then Liv then Nikki but Dylan’s there ready to stop her, and I’m there when she passes.

  I hop it over one stick, then I run.

  The crowd goes nuts. “North-ridge. North-ridge. North-ridge.” They clap on the beat, and the beat pounds into my run, my stick, my chest.

  Two of theirs come in from the side and I flick it over their sticks and keep flying. The crowd is screaming, slamming their feet. I fake right then when their sweeper lashes out her stick, I send it flying underneath. Right in the back corner.

  Goal.

  I howl at the dome, and Liv flies at me and lifts me off the ground. Kiara and Cristina and the others race up and we’re howling and the crowd’s howling and stomping and it is perfection.

  We rush back to position.

  Balon Bay drives hard right off the top. All their passes are tight. Every time we try to snap it up with our sticks, they spin away. Cornered, one of them drives hard against Michaela’s stick so the ball goes out and they get the call. Michaela hates that.

  She plants right in front, and when the girl tries to fly the ball over her stick, Michaela lifts just right and the ball drops at her feet.

  Michaela drives to me and I run. Balon Bay is there and I look at Quinn.

  She nods.

  I run hard at their forwards like I’m going to crash through while Quinn breaks in from the left. I fake and knock it to Quinn, my energy still propelling me forward so Balon Bay loses sight of the ball for a second, giving Quinn a chance to break away. She takes a shot.

  But the goalie’s there.

  They take a run. But Ava lunges and bats it out of goal.

  We get another breakaway—Cristina this time—but their sweeper traps it.

  Then they get a run. Ava stops it again.

  They’re everywhere—my shoulder, my side, and no matter where I spin, they’re there.

  We get possession, we lose it. They get possession, they lose it.

  Cristina has the ball but she can’t press forward. Bella’s open but Cristina can’t reach her without me. I call for it. Fast so they can
’t steal it, I flick it to Bella.

  But they’re there. They intercept.

  Shit, I should’ve paused. Should’ve held the ball. Should’ve passed back.

  They race downfield and Liv lunges but they skate around her and the girl drives hard. Right under Dylan’s stick. Right under Ava’s pads.

  It’s 1 to 1.

  Balon Bay scored off my mistake.

  I look at Coach on the sidelines. She looks down, shakes her head. Then she lifts her chin to me. It’s okay, Zo, she mouths. It’s okay.

  Which only tells me for sure that it was my fault.

  I squeeze my stick. I chop my feet. I have made a thousand mistakes this season. I’m not going to let this one be the one that wrecks everything.

  The whistle blows.

  Quinn and Bella pass it back and forth, spinning, twisting, flicking. Cristina drives up and Bella gets it to her but Balon Bay presses hard again. She knocks it back to me. I spin around one of theirs and send a clear shot to Sasha. She sprints hard up the sideline but she’s cornered. Balon Bay swings their stick and Sasha trips and flies.

  She pops up, thank goodness. And we just landed a penalty.

  We line up around the circle. They cram the goal.

  I drive it to Quinn. She pulls it back to me. I flick it to the goal but the goalie is there and it bounces off her pads to me. I slam it again. The goalie is there. I drag it, keep pulling it back and to the left while Bella and Cristina crowd in to give me space and then, I reverse it. Slam it.

  Goal.

  The crowd goes nuts when the ref makes the goal sign.

  We scream back to our spots. And we hold it … till the half.

  We head back to the locker room.

  Our shoes clatter against the concrete ramp, and our laughs and squeals bounce back to us from the walls and sloped ceiling.

  Coach leads the way, laughing, Kiara, Sasha, and Ava by her side.

  “Wait.” I grab Nikki and Liv. “Let’s grab one more look.”

  We race back to the opening, see the bright green turf, the white dome above, and our giant, screaming, beautiful home crowd there for us in between.

  “You guys, we’re going to do this.”

  They squeal.

  “I know!” Liv says.

  We turn and run down the ramp. The rest of the team is already in the locker room.