by Kellie Bean
I fill up each dog’s food and water bowls, cleaning up any messes left behind from the night before. We have a pretty good bunch right now, I expect most of their bathroom breaks are happening outside, making the cleanup a little easier for me later. While this stuff isn’t exactly my favorite part of my volunteer gig, I don’t hate it as much as I let people think I do. I’ve never been squeamish, and there are only so many piles of dog poop one person can see before becoming at least a little desensitized.
I get everyone back inside using my excited voice with a few hotdog shaped bribes, before moving onto the cat room where I admittedly go through my list of chores a little faster than usual. Most days, I don’t mind stopping to say hello to each of our feline guests, but right now, I just want to get to the back room.
By the time a flurry of excited barks stirs up from where I left Kendra, I’ve done enough to warrant checking back in with her, quickly making my way down the hall and past the shelter’s lone bird—a little blue parakeet named Monster. He’s lived at the Fairview Humane Society longer than I’ve lived in this town. He still has no interest in people at all. He won’t mind in the slightest if it takes me a little longer than usual to get to refilling his pellets and water.
“How’s it going in here?” I ask as I slip inside the examination room, quickly closing the door behind me as one of the pups barrels toward me. Each of the six looks more or less the same, with a random pattern of brown and white fur, but I could swear this was the same one who was excited to see me when I found them under the flower shop’s porch.
Kendra has two of the puppies up on the examination table, doing her best to keep one still as she examines the other.
“Want me to get him down on the floor?” I ask.
“No thanks. As soon as these two are out of sight of one another, this one starts screaming bloody murder.” My boss tilts her head toward the dog whose heartbeat she’s currently listening to. "I probably shouldn't have let them all out at the same time, but I figured they can’t go very far very fast. So far, they're proving me wrong at a mile a minute."
"How old do you think they are?"
"Somewhere between five and six weeks. Though it's hard to say for sure, since I have absolutely no background on these dogs. Mixed breed, certainly. You almost never see purebred puppies abandoned. So having these puppies here is not a surprise."
I'm about to lean over and pick up the puppy who is tugging on my shoelace, when the back door swings open after a quick double knock. Immediately, I move to corral the two puppies who are making a mad dash for the exit. I slide across the linoleum floor, kicking my legs out awkwardly to create a barrier between one puppy who is whiter and apparently far faster than the rest and the door. I'm practically sprawled out on the floor looking at an unfamiliar pair of sneakers, when I hear a deep chuckle coming from above me. Looking up, I see a guy about my age who looks vaguely familiar.
"Good, John. You're here. Did your search came up short?" Kendra asks the guy, who I now know is named John. He shuts the door behind him.
"I've looked everywhere I could think of in a four-block radius, making pretty much anyone I ran into help me look. By now, the entire town should be on watch for any escaped puppies."
I pull myself up off the ground as Kendra announces, "Reece, this is my nephew, John. I think you two are in the same grade, no?"
John smiles while I'm still standing there like an idiot trying to place his face from my memory. "We had math together last year," he says. I nod along like I knew this all along. I copy his motions while getting a little distracted by the way his shaggy brown hair moves with each bob of his head.
A moment later, recognition dawns on me. We did have a class together last semester! I never saw much more than the back of his head, since I frequently made a point of sitting at the very back of the classroom. I think he was usually at the front.
"How's it going?" I ask, mostly because it's what you say. I turn away before he answers, nudging one of the puppies with my foot as I try to hide the heat in my face. How had I not noticed how cute this guy was last year? How had I not known he was related to the very same woman I've been working with for the past few months?
It'd taken a pretty big favor for me to get this volunteer spot, and since Fairview High School requires that all of their students complete volunteer hours before graduating, I'd wanted this gig pretty badly. Realizing I had a class with Kendra’s nephew might have helped create an opening for me to get in even earlier, at least it all worked out in the end though.
"Is there anything else I can do to help before I head back home?" John asks before scooping up the puppy closest to him. "It's not often you get puppies in here, so I’m yours to command."
This guy has a soft spot for dogs. Good to know.
"John and his mom usually foster some of the more persnickety dogs we get in." Kendra explains. "I'm going to need your help with these guys too. They are far too young to be away from their mother, they’re going to be on formula for at least a few weeks. At least whoever decided to do away with these little guys did it while you were on summer vacation." The vet smirks at her nephew. He grins back, clearly excited.
"You know my mom loves the quiet older dogs who don't need much exercise and never really making much noise, but somehow I think we can get her on board with this plan. Besides, I think she could use a change of pace for a few weeks.”
Kendra nods knowingly. I’m missing something here. Obviously, I’m not about to ask to be let in on their family drama. A second later, it’s my own family dominating my thoughts. I have an idea, and I think it’s a good one.
"I didn't realize the shelter did fostering as well." I say, wanting to get back in the conversation, as images of fostering a puppy whirl through my head. For years, my parents have sworn they will never let us have any pets of our own, saying that four teenage girls are already more than enough responsibility for them. Maybe fostering a dog temporarily is an option they’d never considered. Maybe it's something they could be talked into, especially if it's a puppy. Albeit, a puppy that still needs to be bottle-fed and will probably insist on chewing up everything it can get its teeth on in our house. I will not include that in the pitch. Still, this could work.
Kendra rambles on about some of the higher maintenance dogs she's had at the shelter over the years, while I watch her nephew prepare some puppy formula that had been stored in one of the back cupboards for who knows how long. I'm about to ask what it would take for my family to be able to do what John’s does, when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. I can't remember the last time I'd gone this long without checking my text messages, but it's been a pretty eventful morning.
While Kendra has never been particularly warm toward me, she's also been pretty easy-going when it comes to cell phones while I'm on shift. Maybe it's because I'm not actually getting paid. Or quite possibly because the dogs don't care if I'm texting someone else while throwing the ball for them in the back.
Rhiannon: Okay, if you're still in the locker room, the least you can do is tell us. We have been waiting here for half an hour to cheer you on and there’s still no sign of you. Aren't they starting in like twenty minutes?
My heart stops as my eyes dart up to the clock in the corner of my screen. It's already just after ten thirty, an hour past when my shift was supposed to end. My morning visit had only really been intended as a quick stop over to feed and water the animals before the shelter officially opened for the day.
I have somewhere else I'm supposed to be. Somewhere else I've been imagining for almost a year now. When my family and I first moved to Fairview, I missed the tryouts for the school soccer team, because I hadn't known they were happening before the school year even started. Today is supposed to be my do-over.
Now, I'm minutes away from my second chance, and I am about to miss it all over again!
Except, I still have time to get there, but only if I start moving pretty much now. So much for taking time to
prep myself, focus or stretch or any of it.
"Crap, I'm sorry. I really gotta go. I didn't realize how late it was getting."
"Right. Soccer tryout." Kendra says, surprising me that she'd been listening to my ramblings these past few months. "Good luck!"
I nod, already moving toward the door. The little brown dog is after me, still tugging at my now completely untied shoelace. Before I can distract her long enough for me to make my escape, John moves to grab her from the ground, picking up the other puppy currently peeing right beside the door in the same motion.
His green eyes lock onto mine in the same moment my hand hits the back door handle. "Thanks." I say, forcing myself not to look away. Usually this kind of thing, guys, comes pretty easily, but something about today has me completely off balance. This is the exact opposite of where I need to be by the time I get to the school's soccer field, starting to try out. I need to get my head on straight again, and fast.
John shrugs and turns away before I can say anything else. I don't have any more time to think about him, puppies, or anything else other than soccer.
I feel a little silly as I sprint down Main Street toward the high school, but nobody gives me a second look since I probably look like I'm just out for a jog. As I’m pressed for time, I push myself to move a little faster.
I guess this is as much of a warm up as I'm going to get.
Chapter 3
Someone screams my name from the bleachers, but I do my best to stay focused on the drill I’m working through. Any other day, I would have no problem zoning out to focus entirely on the ball, on the other players around me and on the coach’s every signal and mood. Today, all I can hear are three voices nearly identical to my own, cheering me on from the stands. Thankfully, it's more encouraging than distracting.
I watched a lot of the girls’ soccer games last year, somewhat to prepare myself for today and somewhat just because I missed the game. Even though I recognize most of the other girls here today, every single one of them is playing better than I would've guessed. Last year I would've said this team was okay at best, but this year's group is looking like a force to be reckoned with. They might even be as good as my team back in Richmond. I reach the end of the course I'd been maneuvering the ball through and swiftly kick it off to the next person waiting in line, a girl named Emma who everyone seems to think will be captain next year. She, like everyone else on the team, has to try out again with each new school year at the coach’s orders. She connects with the ball like a pro before moving forward, seemingly twice as fast as I was. I'll be the first person to tell you that when it comes to handling a ball, I'm good. Very good. However, there's no question that she's better.
The coach has us move on to a scrimmage not long after, I'm lucky enough to get put into a defense spot. I can play more than one position, especially if I want to show off, which today I really do, then this is exactly where I need to be.
Somewhere on the sideline, my sisters have started a rhyming chant, working my name in to rhyme with everything from geese, to fleece to beast. It’s a little weird hearing Reagan and Rhiannon make this much noise, but they do it because they know I love it.
The opposing team's center player loses control of the ball, giving me a chance to swoop in and redirect it to our own offensive players. Just like that, I'm back in the game. One hundred percent. The rest of the world falls away, I focus on everything around me that could affect the outcome of what I'm doing right now.
The scrimmage only lasts for about ten minutes before Coach Wasserman blows her whistle, signaling the end of the day's activities. I'm a little winded but feeling more alert and alive than I have all summer. Maybe even for the last year. God, I've missed this.
I glance over at the coach, whose silver hair is pulled back into a ponytail, I wish I could figure out what she’s thinking. Did she even notice me out there? It doesn’t matter how well I played, if the coach didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.
Now I’ll have to wait until Monday to learn if I made the team.
As we all shuffle off the field, most of the girls clump together in groups and start playing back over everything that just happened. I hold up a finger to a few of the girls I ate lunch with during my first semester last year, jogging over to my sisters. I’m dying to rehash every moment, but it can wait a few more minutes while I thank my devoted cheering section.
“You did great.” Reilly says, raising her hand for a high-five once I’m close enough to lean in, slapping her hand with my own. “I say that as someone who knows almost nothing about soccer, so you know you can trust me.”
“To be fair...” Rhiannon chimes in, “...we’ve been watching you play for so many years now, we aren’t completely clueless about what good soccer is supposed to look like, and that was good soccer. I thought you said this school team kind of sucked?”
My jaw clenches in frustration as I look around, silently praying that no one overheard her. Thankfully, there’s no one close enough by that might have caught what she said. “Don’t say that. Not here, not anywhere. Especially if I make the team.” I keep my scolding to a minimum, hoping the conversation will drop away before any of my sisters can draw any unwanted attention.
Even now as the four of us stand together in a semicircle, each of my sisters trying to top each other with their soccer knowledge as they talk over one another, so many people on the field are watching us. Most at least, are trying to pretend they don’t notice or don’t care about us, but a few stare outright. I reach up and tighten my blond ponytail, hoping I don’t look too sweaty and disheveled after all that running around.
“Are you heading home with us?” Reagan asks.
“Nope. I want to stay and watch the guys’ tryout. I know a few people from the team last year and want to see how they do. Plus, I haven’t seen most of these people since June. I see all of your faces every day.”
“You know you love this face.” Rhiannon says, pursing her lips together to mock my usual selfie face, something all of my sisters love to give me a hard time about. Their faces may look just like mine, but that expression is all me.
Together, all three of my sisters head across to the edge of the field and back toward home, already out of shouting distance before I remember the other big thing that happened to me today. Puppies. My sisters may not care about animals as much as I do, but they’ve always had my back in my quest for a family dog. Really, who can resist puppies?
That will have to wait until later. Although, I’m already picturing all six fluffy faces all over again.
“Reece.” my friend Jamie calls from the bleachers, where she’s changing out of her cleats and back into running shoes. After grabbing my backpack with my own change of clothes, I make my way over as a few of the other girls I sometimes hang out with, join us as well. “Sticking around for a while?”
“That’s the plan. A lot of the guys team graduated last year, so I want to see the potential new recruits.”
Jamie nods appreciatively as Emma sits down beside her and looks right at me. “You’re Reece, right?”
“Yep.” I stick out my hand to shake hers, something I’d never do in a million years at school. Sports always seems to bring out my inner dork. My coach back home always pressed the importance of putting our best selves forward both on and off the field, it’s hard to turn that off now. Even though the coach is no longer here judging every move we make.
“You were good out there.”
“Thanks. You’re awesome, so that means a lot.” As much as I hate to admit when someone is better than me, I’m all for making friends with anyone and everyone who might be willing to talk soccer. If it helps improve my own game, even better.
We only have a few minutes to chat before the guys run out on the field, following behind is a man I don’t recognize. He lets out a few short blasts with his whistle and the guys group up around him. W hoever he is, that’s not the same coach as last year.
“Alright, men. You’ve got
an hour to show me what you’re made of.” Even though we’re almost on the opposite end of the yard, I can hear every word this man is shouting at the three-dozen or so teenaged boys standing around him. I’m more than a little glad that Coach Wasserman wasn’t quite as intense with her own run through. It is still summer vacation after all, and yelling at these guys, half of whom probably aren’t even going to make the team, seems like a bit much.
The conversation around me falls away as we focus in on the next hour, only chatting in order to comment on a particularly good play or the players who clearly stand out above the rest. There were a few guys I recognized from the year before, and some newcomers who looked like freshmen that had speed but lacked any real finesse.
From the moment soccer balls started moving around the field, to when the final whistle blew, there was never any question about who the best player on this year’s team was going to be. Noah Brieck stood out well above the rest. Everyone knew he was the reason last year’s team got as far in the play-offs as they did, and that his parents had paid for a private coach in July to help push him further.
As someone who had spent a good chunk of her sophomore year watching Noah, I could safely say that whatever he had been doing had paid off. The guy looked good. Damn good. He had already been pretty incredible last year, but this was something else. He would almost seem preternaturally talented, if I wasn't well aware of how much work went into learning the footwork he was totally showing off at the moment.
Eventually, the guys’ tryout comes to an end with a series of whoops and hollers from both the guys on the field, and those of us watching in the stands. The only person that seems unaffected by the enthusiasm around him is the new coach, who simply walks off the field, already scribbling something down on the clipboard in his hand.
I move to stand up and stretch, reaching my hands up above my head and toward the sun, trying to pretend I didn't notice Noah as he jogged off in the opposite direction toward a cooler full of water bottles. His black hair is cut short, only standing up a couple of inches from the top of his head. I knew from past experience that his eyes were almost the exact same dark color, with only a hint of brown.
