by Lauren Kunze
Dana appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“You know the D-meister makes a good point,” Vanessa said slowly.
“Yeah,” said Callie, “where have you been before you come sneaking back in the mornings?”
Mimi looked at Dana. “Je suis désolé, mais je vais avoir de la difficulté à vous comprendre. Pourriez-vous répéter, lentement?”
“Really?” asked Vanessa. “You’re going to play the I-don’t-understand-your-English card?”
“I think she has a secret boyfriend,” said Callie. “Why else wouldn’t we have seen any strange men in the common room recently?”
“Obviously,” Vanessa interjected, “it has to do with the Lampoon. I hear their parties are, like, the most insane events at this entire school, only no one can get in other than members until their senior year. Hey!” she said suddenly, turning to Callie. “You’re funny. Why don’t you try COMP—”
“No!” said Callie. “Don’t! I’m not COMPing any more editorial boards ever again! And now if I could just have a moment to try to work on this short story….”
Instead of moving, Mimi and Vanessa seemed to settle in, rearranging the pillows on Callie’s bed. From where she still stood in the doorway, Dana cleared her throat.
Callie sighed. “Was there something that you wanted, Dana?”
“Actually, yes,” she replied, stepping into the room. “I seem to have found myself with some free time on my hands, and I was wondering if I might borrow a book. A, er, fiction book.”
“Of course,” said Callie, making a help yourself gesture at the shelves.
“Is this one any good?” Dana asked, picking up the copy of Persuasion off the nightstand and squishing next to Vanessa on Callie’s bed.
“Uh—yes,” said Callie. “It’s the last book that Austen ever wrote, and it just so happens to be my favorite.”
“What’s it about?” asked Dana, flipping to the page marked by Callie’s bookmark.
“Well,” said Callie, “it’s been criticized by some as a ‘simple’ love story or Cinderella tale, but it’s really so much more complicated than that. Austen was ill when she wrote it—in fact, it was first published after she died—and so some say it was written hastily, but I think that just makes it more honest and raw, having never been carefully revised.”
“But what is it about?” said Vanessa as Dana skimmed the pages.
“A girl—woman, I should say—named Anne who was very much in love with a naval captain, Wentworth, but was forced by her family to break off the engagement because he was too poor. But eight years later he returns a rich man, having made something of himself in the navy. Only now, to Anne’s bitter disappointment, he seems far more smitten with a pair of young ladies called ‘the Musgrove girls.’ So then she starts seeing this other guy, Mr. Elliot, who is her cousin—”
“Her cousin?” Vanessa repeated. “Ew!”
“Ce sont les times,” said Mimi with a shrug. “Continuer.”
“So Mr. Elliot is extremely good looking and charming and seems to really like Anne, who’s on the verge of marrying him when she learns about his hidden past. Of course, she decides not to marry him, only Wentworth gets the false impression that she is still with Elliot, just as Anne had the false impression that he would marry one of the Musgrove girls. But then Wentworth decides to write Anne this secret love letter anyway, pouring out his heart and saying things like ‘you pierce my soul’ and ‘I am half hope, half agony.’ Here,” said Callie reaching for the book, “if you want I can find that passage and read it to you. It’s the best part.”
“No,” said Vanessa. “I think we got it.”
“Yes, thank you for the thorough explanation,” said Dana, setting the book back on the nightstand. “I can see you really love it from all the margin notes everywhere, but it doesn’t sound like it’s for me. I think I’ll go with this one instead,” she added, standing and pulling a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment off the shelf.
Callie cringed at the mention of the margin notes—which Gregory had scrawled on nearly every page. Rereading the book, whenever she could bear to pick it up, almost made it feel like they were together again, their heads bent close as they switched off turning the pages in the New Haven hospital. Almost.
“Tell me another fairy story, Caliente,” said Mimi, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. “There are still two hours to go before dinner….”
“Wait,” said Callie, “what time is it?”
“A quarter to four,” said Vanessa, checking her phone.
“Uh-oh, time to go,” said Callie, flinging open her closet.
“Où?” asked Mimi.
“IM soccer,” said Callie, grinning as she pulled on a bright blue T-shirt over her sports bra and stepped into some shorts. Bending, she reached for her trusty shin guards, socks, and her favorite pair of cleats.
“Since when do you play IM soccer?” Vanessa demanded.
“Twice a week since the beginning of this month,” Callie answered, lacing up her shoes.
“Mais oui, have you not noticed?” Mimi asked Vanessa.
“I thought those were special treadmill shoes!” said Vanessa.
“Wow,” said Callie, “you really have never been inside a gym.”
“Harsh!” said Vanessa. “But true.”
“I didn’t realize you were playing again either,” said Dana. “Why haven’t you invited us to any of your games?”
“Um…I can’t imagine it’d be very interesting to watch: we just play the other freshman dorms and upperclassman houses, which each have their own teams—but we never practice or anything. It’s nothing like…” High school, she silently completed the thought. No point in saying it out loud, since none of them could appreciate what it had been like to play at that level, anyway. “Did you guys, uh…want to come?”
“Are there boys on the team?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes.” Callie smiled. “The teams are coed. In fact, OK is our team captain.”
“Now that is something I am needing to see,” said Mimi, her eyes gleaming.
“He’s good—you’d be surprised,” Callie defended him. “Actually, our whole team is surprisingly…adequate. If we win this game, we get to go to the play-offs.”
“Impressive,” said Dana.
“It’s really not—” Callie started.
“I’ll get my coat,” Dana finished.
“Fetch mine, too, please, thank you!” Mimi called after her. “Vanessa?”
“Attend…a sporting event?” Vanessa wrinkled her nose. “I mean, it’s not like I have anything better to do, but…”
“There only need to be three girls out of eleven total on the field per team at any given time,” said Callie.
“Sold!” said Vanessa. “Let’s do this!”
As they all made their way out the door, she added, “What do we cheer when we’re in the stands? Does your team have a name?”
“Yes,” said Callie, pointing at her T-shirt and then spinning around so Vanessa could read the words on the back.
“The Wigglesworth…Walruses?”
“Uh-huh,” said Callie. “The Wigglesworth Walruses.”
Nothing could compare to the way that cleats felt when they first bit into grass. Callie breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of dirt and spring. A perfect calm settled over her as she jogged out onto the field.
That tranquility lasted all of thirty seconds.
“What are you—guys doing here?” she asked, stopping en route on the opposing team’s side of the field.
“We play IM soccer, and basketball, every spring,” Clint answered. “Coach says it’s the best form of cross-training to stay fit during the off-season.”
“I do it to work off the old potbelly that comes with one too many beers,” said Tyler.
“And I play,” Bryan finished, “because the Adams House Honey Badgers need someone who’s actually talented to be on the team.”
Grinning, Clint punc
hed him on the arm.
“What?” asked Bryan. “I can’t help it if water polo is a real sport.”
Clint raised his eyebrows. “As opposed to squash, which is…?”
“A type of vegetable?” offered Tyler.
“Blondie!” Callie heard OK calling to her from the other side of the field, where the rest of her team stood warming up.
“Gotta go,” said Callie, ready to sprint once she realized that, in addition to Mimi, Dana, and Vanessa, Alexis Thorndike probably sat behind her in the stands.
“Can’t wait to see your moves out there, Andrews!” Clint called after her retreating back.
“Sorry,” Callie muttered when she reached her team.
“All right, Blondie?” asked OK.
“Never better,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Grabbing her right ankle with her right hand, she stretched her quad the way her physical therapist back in California had recommended.
“Good,” said OK, lowering his voice, “because I was worried for a second there that we were going to have to play one of the real girls.”
“Am I not a real girl?” asked Callie, following his eyes over to where some of their second-string alternates stood on the sidelines, one of whom was reading a magazine.
“No,” said OK, grinning. “What you are is the best damn forward this football team’s ever seen! Now huddle up, people!” he cried, summoning the rest of the players into a circle. “Men,” he began, “and obligatory women—”
“Hey!” said one of the girls, Elizabeth, who lived on the third floor of entryway C.
“And mandatory lady guests,” he corrected himself. “Now, I’d be lying if I said this afternoon’s game was going to be easy. The Honey Badgers may look like a pack of sweater-vest-wearing sissies, but I’ve been watching their game tapes—”
“What tapes?” asked Bobby, who played forward alongside Callie.
OK rolled his eyes. “It’s a metaphor.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, in reality, much like their namesake, they are some of the most vicious, maniacal, bloodsucking creatures ever to crawl the face of this field.”
Callie laughed.
“No laughing in football!” OK barked at her. “This is the last match standing between us and the play-offs, us and infinite glory, us and gift certificates to Ben and Jerry’s. So what is it, men, and obligatory—”
“Just ‘women’ will be fine,” said Elizabeth, looking weary of the huddle.
“Will you fight?”
“Uh…go, Walruses?” their center midfielder cheered halfheartedly.
“That’s right,” said OK, “because, though they may take our lives, they may never—take—our FREEDOM!”
“Let’s just keep it mellow and play, man,” said Bobby.
“Sounds good,” OK said with a shrug.
The referee’s whistle tweeted.
“Heads or tails,” he asked Callie who, along with Bobby, would be facing off against Bryan and a tall girl from Adams House.
“Tails,” she said.
“Heads,” the ref declared after flipping the coin.
“Tough luck, Andrews,” said Bryan, giving her a smile. “We’ll try not to go too hard on you.”
“This is one area where I don’t need your charity, Jacobs!” Callie called, retreating out of the center circle. The ref placed the ball in front of Bryan on the halfway line and then backed away, blowing his whistle twice.
Game on, thought Callie.
Suddenly, as it had always been when she was on the field, everything around her seemed to be happening half a second slower. Bryan took the kick, passing to the female forward. Before Callie’s brain could respond, her legs had carried her all the way there. She stole the ball from the other girl with ease, dribbling past Tyler, who played left midfielder. Sprinting, she took the ball up the side, tangling only briefly with one of the defenders before she saw an opportunity to center it. She placed the ball directly in front of Bobby, who, after two touches, flew past the final defender to take a shot on goal—
The ball hit Clint’s hands with an audible smack as he caught it.
He grinned at Callie as he ambled forward, almost lazily, and then drop-kicked the ball clear across to the other side of the field.
Callie cursed under her breath. Their defense may have had a few holes—or were maybe just off to a slow start—but Clint appeared to be an irritatingly competent goalie.
Callie hustled to the halfway line, waiting for the Walruses to take back possession.
A few minutes later their defenders had cleared it, with Elizabeth chipping the ball to OK in a manner that might just inspire him to stop referring to her as an “obligatory” member of the team. He trapped the ball with his chest and then took it back onto the Honey Badgers’ half. Callie crisscrossed behind him in an overlap as the other forward followed up from the side.
“Man on!” Callie yelled as Tyler started gaining on OK.
Looking up, OK kicked the ball to Callie. Attacking once again from the left, she waited until OK was in position and then passed it back. He fired it toward the goal.
The ball ricocheted off the goalpost (which, as far as Callie was concerned, was the most frustrating sound in the world). Callie raced for it, but Clint beat her there, scooping up the ball and then throwing it to one of his defenders.
After twenty more minutes of solid, even play back and forth, Callie was coated with a fine layer of sweat. This, she thought, running for the ball, is better than anything. Better than getting an A on a test, better than any of her favorite foods, and way better than hooking up with a certain goalkeeper—
“Dammit,” Callie muttered under her breath. Clint had just blocked her first shot on goal. Granted she had kicked it as hard as she could directly at his head, making the ball much easier to catch than if she’d aimed anywhere else, but still.
Only a few minutes left before the halftime whistle would sound. The score remained zero-zero.
Callie fell back as the ball soared onto their side of the field. Performing some fancy footwork, Bryan outmaneuvered Elizabeth. Callie stared in horror, watching the ball soar into the upper left-hand corner of the—
“GOAL!” Tyler screamed, enveloping Bryan in a hug along with some of their other teammates.
OK looked just as awful as she felt, screaming at their team to get back in position. It paid off—in a matter of seconds, Callie and Bobby were back inside the Honey Badgers’ penalty box. Dribbling toward the center, Callie found herself facing two oncoming defenders. At the last second she back passed to OK, who stood just outside the box.
“YES!” she screamed a moment later, running over to OK and jumping into his arms.
Clint stooped to retrieve the ball from inside the goal net.
The halftime whistle cut through the air.
“Wow,” said Vanessa breathlessly after running over to the sidelines from the bleachers. “You guys are good.”
“Really good,” Dana agreed, handing Callie a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” said Callie, drinking some and squirting a little over her forehead.
“You are ohh-kaay,” Mimi informed OK, laughing. “But Callie is better.”
“Ha!” said Callie, redoing her ponytail. “I guess all of that running I’ve been doing hasn’t hurt.”
“I’ll say,” remarked Vanessa. “You know, I was nervous at first because a lot of those boys out there…” She watched one of said boys pour water all over his head and then shake out his hair like a shaggy dog. “Um…oh yeah! A lot of those boys are—bigger than you—but you just seemed so much faster. You really were like one of the guys!”
OK’s head shot forward. “See!” he said to Callie. “See?”
Mimi pouted, looking at Callie. “I only wish,” she started, speaking softly, “that you had hit you-are-knowing-who in the face!”
“You mean scored,” said OK. “You wish she had scored.”
“Non,” said Mimi. “I mean wh
at I have said. I want to see a face-SMACK!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Callie, laughing.
“Um,” Dana piped up. “I wouldn’t do anything…untoward if I were you. Some sports reporters from the Harvard Crimson are sitting directly behind us, and they brought cameras.”
“For IM soccer?” asked Callie. “Really? Are our varsity teams that bad this year?”
Dana shrugged.
“I told you, Blondie,” said OK. “I told you that this was an important match!”
“Yeah,” echoed Vanessa, “don’t you want to beat Cli—the Honey Badgers?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” said Callie, taking one final sip of water.
The players started to take the field.
“Let’s go, Walruses!” Mimi and Dana cheered.
“And see if you can’t knock Tyler down for me,” Vanessa whispered in Callie’s ear.
Callie giggled. “Thanks for being here, you guys!” she called over her shoulder, running back to the center circle.
Twenty-five minutes into the second half, the score was still tied, one to one, and Callie started to hit a wall. Her knee felt fine, but her quads ached as she dribbled the ball time and time again up the side, only to find herself blocked and forced to center it to Bobby or one of the attacking midfielders, who could not seem to get past Clint.
Groaning in frustration, Callie watched the other team’s offense regain possession. From way outside the box Bryan took a speculative shot that soared about ten feet wide of the goal. The Wigglesworth goalie drop-kicked the ball, and it flew through the air toward Callie, who jumped—but Bryan, far taller, beat her there, trapping the ball with his head.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Callie mumbled, looping around him to face off from the front. Bryan tried to fake left, but Callie saw it coming, throwing all her weight toward the ball as it went right.
Suddenly she was flat on her back, pain shooting through her shin. Bryan must have accidentally kicked her instead of the ball. She tried to stand, but the pain was too intense. The whistle shrieked as she rolled onto her side.
