And speaking of girlfriends…
“So, your thing for strikers,” she said, bringing the conversation back around. “First Ellie and now Rebecca?”
Gabe shrugged noncommittally, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.
“That’s exactly how Rebecca reacted when I asked her. You two are massively on the down low, huh?”
Jamie didn’t mean anything by the comment, but Gabe straightened up in her seat and folded her arms across her chest.
“We don’t feel the need to broadcast who we are,” she said, her tone defensive, “in order to feel like a responsible member of the community.”
Whoops. Jamie had put her foot in her mouth on this one. “I don’t either,” she assured Gabe. “I’m just trying to live my life. But hiding who I am with the way I look would take massive amounts of energy that I can’t afford. Not if I want to be the best football player I can be.”
Gabe’s shoulders loosened as she uncrossed her arms. “I honestly don’t know how you and Ellie do it. My family would freak if I came out publicly.”
Jamie shrugged. “I’ve had people telling me to tone down the gay forever, but that’s the thing—I’m not performing an identity. I’m just being me. If people don’t like that, well, as my aunts like to say, fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.”
Gabe smiled, finally, and Jamie counted it as a win.
China had been pressing for the last couple of minutes, but now the pro-USA crowd gasped in unison. One of Jenny’s shots had just been cleared off the line by a defender. Dang it! Another close call.
“Speaking of jokes,” Jamie added, “what do you call a defender who just ate a big dinner?” Gabe side-eyed her skeptically but didn’t say anything. “Duh, a fullback!”
“Dude.” Gabe shook her head.
“Who’s the best player in history?” Jamie asked, and then answered her own question: “George Best! Get it?”
“Yes, I get it, Max. But who’s he? Some British wanker?”
“Yeah, actually. He played for United and the Irish National Team a while ago.”
Gabe’s eyebrows arched. “Did you just call a United player the best player in history? I’m totally telling Emma.”
“Feel free,” Jamie said. Since Arsenal had finished ahead of United and claimed the FA Cup title the previous month, Emma had been more than happy not to talk about their respective Premier League teams.
Another collective gasp sounded. Angie’s corner kick had found a crashing Taylor at the top of the box—just as they’d been practicing the last few days—but O’Brien’s header had a little too much power and sailed over the crossbar.
“Dang,” Gabe said, glancing over at Jamie. “They don’t really seem to need us.”
Jamie nodded. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the shift in the team.
The rest of the half continued on in the same vein, with the US exploiting the seams and narrowly missing their scoring opportunities. China dug their heels in and tried to knock the American players off their game by occasionally knocking them off their feet, but there was a momentum about the game that couldn’t be avoided, Jamie thought, with the US dominating possession and limiting China’s offensive chances. It was only a matter of time before the American side scored.
Not in the first 45, though. Injury time closed out with China missing the US goal only for Jenny to get another chance at the opposite end less than a minute later. But the Chinese keeper corralled that shot, and the half ended.
“Jesus,” Jamie said, expelling a breath.
“I know. This is a really good game. Sort of wish I was playing in it!”
Same, Jamie thought. So, so same.
She pictured the Romanian ref again, as she had been doing late at night and early in the morning when sleep eluded her, and imagined knocking her to the ground with a well-placed strike of the ball. The image of the hated ref going down flailing mollified her anger slightly. It wasn’t like Jamie would do anything like that in real life. But fantasizing about it made her feel better, so she wasn’t going to feel guilty about that. Not much, anyway.
At halftime, their official babysitters reminded them that they weren’t allowed to join the team in the locker room. Which was a lame FIFA rule, Jamie and Gabe agreed, glaring at the unlucky FIFA intern. To distract themselves, they wandered the concourse a bit, accompanied by their tireless babysitters. Jamie picked up an order of garlic fries because why not, and then proceeded to worry about parsley flakes in her teeth as a few brave fans stopped them to say their yellow cards had been bogus—they totally had, Jamie thought but couldn’t say with their FIFA shadow lurking nearby—and pose for selfies. As much as it pained her, Jamie smiled and nodded and made polite conversation with the fans. They were the reason she and Gabe and the rest of the team were here at all, and that bore remembering even on a crappy day like today.
But was it a crappy day? As they headed back toward US Soccer’s team box, Jamie remembered the feeling that had come over her earlier when the Supreme Court ruling was announced. She would remember that moment of immense joy and overpowering relief for the rest of her life. Meanwhile, the frustration and gloominess she was experiencing now would fade, especially if the US won and she got a chance to play in the semis. A win by the US in Vancouver ten days from now would be magical for the players and inspiring for tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands or, possibly, millions—of people around the world. But the Supreme Court decision? That was life-altering history with a capital H.
If the plaintiffs in the cases that eventually made it all the way to the highest court in the land could take the months and years of battling on behalf of all queer Americans, Jamie was pretty sure she could handle the disappointment of missing a single soccer game, as important as this match might be.
Back in their seats with the halftime clock winding down, Gabe gestured at Jamie’s fries. “Good choice?”
“Perfect. What about you?”
Gabe smiled around the Polish sausage slathered in relish she was currently devouring. “Totally.”
The second half started the way the first had ended, with Rebecca earning three quick chances, none of which she managed to finish. In between jumping up and clutching their heads, Jamie and Gabe discussed their favorite stadiums of the tournament so far—Vancouver was definitely the best, they agreed, and not only because they were Pacific Northwesterners at heart—before moving on to their potential competition.
With the US in control of the match so far, it didn’t feel like a potential sports jinx to talk about the next round. If they did win tonight, the US players would spend time in the morning recovering from today’s match before driving to Montreal in the afternoon to begin getting ready for Germany, who had defeated France in penalty kicks earlier in the day. Meanwhile, Australia would be playing Japan in Edmonton and England would be facing Canada in Vancouver to determine the other semifinal match-up.
“Only two more games after this one,” Gabe commented, eyes on the field where their teammates were battling against China’s renewed pressure.
Gabe was right, Jamie realized. She’d been so focused on missing the quarters that she hadn’t thought much about the countdown. The final match in Vancouver was only nine days away. Nine days were all that stood between them and potential glory. Or heartbreak. They wouldn’t know until they got there—assuming they managed to finish even one of their many chances against China.
“It’s too bad we’ll meet Germany in the semis,” she said. “That should be the real final.”
Germany had seemed nearly unstoppable throughout the tournament, whereas England and Canada were still definite underdogs. Japan, ranked fourth in the world currently, had struggled to win games throughout the tournament. On the day the US squeaked past Nigeria, Japan did the same against Ecuador. Ecuador, who had lost to Cameroon and Switzerland by a combined score of 16 to 1. Somehow their old rivals didn’t seem quite the threat the US had expected. B
ut like the American side, Japan had found a way to advance at every stage so far. Jamie had a feeling they would continue that trend in the week ahead.
“Yeah,” Gabe said, “but beating Japan would round out the perfect redemption story, you know?”
Jamie definitely knew, even if she hadn’t been on the squad four years earlier. It wasn’t just the veterans obsessing over a rematch. The press kept focusing on the optics, too. It was hard not to, especially since the only real surprise in the knockout rounds so far had come when Australia eliminated Brazil. And even that wasn’t entirely shocking. Brazil was known not only for its technical style but also its defensive lapses. Germany had beaten Sweden by three, France had defeated South Korea by the same margin, England had come back from being down a goal against Norway, and Canada had downed Switzerland. For the most part, the knockout rounds were proceeding as expected. Now, if only the US could freaking score!
Just as Jamie thought this, another promising build-up started from the US midfield. She held her breath as Taylor O’Brien received the ball from Emma and took two steps forward, head up, eyes roving the field before her. Jamie could anticipate the play’s development almost as if she could read the players’ minds. Beside her, Gabe tensed, too, her hands gripping the metal railing as she leaned forward. They watched in strained silence as Taylor took another step and then launched the ball into the Chinese box where the American players outnumbered their opponents. In the center of the box, one foot on the penalty spot, Ellie gathered herself and leapt into the air, all grace and muscle and perfect timing. Jamie and Gabe were already rising, their voices shouting in wordless tandem as Ellie’s head connected with the arcing ball and drove it firmly past the keeper’s outstretched hands and into the corner of the goal.
She had done it! After 51 minutes of knocking on the door, the US had finally broken through.
“And that’s why I love strikers!” Gabe said, laughing as she turned to hug Jamie.
Jamie hugged her back, grinning. At least they wouldn’t be alone in the stands, Gabe had said after Colombia. At that moment, as they celebrated Ellie’s historic goal—every goal she scored was historic since she’d broken the scoring record—Jamie appreciated Gabe’s presence beside her even more.
“Oh, look,” Gabe said, pulling away. “They’re doing it!”
Jamie gazed down at the field as their teammates finished hugging and jogged over to the bench, where all 21 players, starters and non-starters alike, lined up facing the stands—and, more importantly, the TV cameras—and arranged their arms parallel across their chests to represent an equal sign. They held this pose for five full seconds before Ellie called out something, and the players’ stance shifted. This time, they held their hands up in the shape of a heart, smiling widely while the clock ticked away another five seconds.
“Man,” Gabe said, her voice low and thick, “that’s so cool.”
“Yeah,” Jamie agreed. “It really is.”
More than anything, she wished she could be down on that field with her teammates, celebrating not only Ellie’s goal but the most important ruling in LGBTQ American history. But in sport as in life, there was no going back. She contented herself with standing ramrod straight beside Gabe, their arms and hands mirror images of those of their teammates.
And then the moment had passed, and the officials were waving at them to retake the field while China milled around, heads down.
“Damn,” Gabe said as they sat down again. “The girls are playing really well. I wasn’t sure if they would keep it up in the second half.”
“I wasn’t either. But you know what?” she added, elbowing Gabe.
“No, what?”
“Gay marriage is legal in America. Even in Texas.”
“Hells yes!” A grin spread across Gabe’s face again as she gazed back at Jamie. “Even in Alabama.”
“Even in Utah. The Mormons must be so pissed!”
“So pissed!” Gabe laughed and held up her hand. “Go USA, and go gays!”
Jamie slapped it. “Go USA gays!”
As they leaned back in their seats, Jamie realized this was the most time she had ever spent with Gabe. Her previous impressions—that Gabe was stodgy as hell and a prim rule follower, possibly even socially conservative—were being pleasantly turned on end. Gabe, she now realized, was simply more reserved than the average national team member. Jamie had already begun to guess as much since joining Gabe’s Game Day meditation circle, but sharing their mutual banishment had given her a window onto the other woman she probably would never have sought out on her own.
As if reading her mind, Gabe nudged her and said, “You know, you’re not so bad after all, Max. Even if you’ve never gotten a red card.”
“You would say that,” Jamie returned, smiling a little as she watched China rush a throw-in and deliver the ball directly to Maddie, who sent it back to the defense to restart yet again.
“What does that mean?”
“You play for the Reign, don’t you?”
“Ha ha,” Gabe said, rolling her eyes. But she was smiling, too.
The US never let down the rest of the half. The coaches used all three subs, swapping Ellie in the 60th minute for Emily Shorter, who came in at midfield and pushed Angie up to the front line. Jamie was happy to see her back in action, since it hadn’t been clear if Emily would even make the squad. Rebecca and VB came off for a break as well, with Lindsay Martens (a surprise roster addition who hadn’t seen a single minute of play so far) coming in and pushing Taylor up to the midfield, where she continued to challenge for every single ball that came near her, much to the Chinese players’ dismay.
Once again, Jamie was psyched that Taylor, a literal bruiser, was on their side.
And then the remaining time was dwindling, and China was launching a series of desperate, last-minute attacks that the American defense shut down every time. As soon as injury time was announced, Jamie and Gabe rose.
“Um, I think you’re supposed to stay here until the final whistle blows,” the young FIFA intern said in her Canadian accent, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.
“Actually,” Gabe said, “the rule is that we stay in the stands until the final whistle. It’ll take us a few minutes to get down to the field, and this way we can avoid most of the crowds. It’s actually safer if we go now.”
Their US Soccer rep smiled slightly before saying, “Absolutely. Let’s go!”
What could the FIFA rep do? She followed. At least, Jamie assumed that was what happened. She was too busy trying to watch monitors as they zigzagged their way down to field level, the US Soccer crests on their shirts and the FIFA passes dangling at their necks allowing them past any and all security. The final whistle had just blown when they emerged from the tunnel to join their team on the sidelines, and while it wasn’t the best field-side celebration Jamie had ever experienced, it was pretty damn good.
The first person she hugged was Britt, grinning and whooping at her as she reached the bench. Next was Ellie, tired and sweaty but sporting a smile that was more content than Jamie had seen in a long time.
“Way to go, hero of the match!” Jamie said, pounding Ellie on the back.
“Easy, killer,” Ellie replied, laughing. “See? I told you that you would get another chance.”
Jamie hugged her again. “Thanks,” she said more quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Ellie said, and smacked her on the back.
A moment later she found Angie, who she lifted into the air and spun around despite her smaller friend’s protests. “Way to go, Ange! You were awesome against the Motherland!”
That was how Angie jokingly referred to her parents’ native China. Jamie and the other U-23ers were the only people on the team she allowed to invoke the term of affection.
“Put me down, Max!” she said, but she was laughing, her dimple seemingly permanently carved into her cheek. “Dude, we did it!”
“I know! If I had to watch a game, I’m glad it was this one
. You guys played lights out, I’m serious.”
“Thanks,” Angie said. “Missed you out there, though. Both of you.”
Jamie didn’t think that was really true, but she nodded. “Thanks, man.”
They bumped fists, and then she was turning, looking for a familiar golden ponytail. There. Emma was standing near midfield with Maddie, talking to a pair of Chinese players who Jamie vaguely recognized from her own brief stint in the Women’s Professional Soccer league, the precursor to the NWSL. Jamie waited until the conversation had ended and the Chinese players had turned away before launching herself at Emma.
“Hey!” she said, hugging her girlfriend briefly from behind. “Great game, you guys!”
“Thanks, Max,” Maddie said, her smile glowing with contentment just like Ellie’s. “See you guys in a bit.”
“See you,” Emma said even as she turned in Jamie’s arms. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” Jamie said, smiling brightly down at her. “You guys were awesome! 423 minutes!”
“What? Oh, you mean without being scored on?”
Jamie nodded. “You guys are seriously the Department of Defense!”
“Whatever,” Emma said, dismissing the nickname Phoebe had come up with during a recent ice bath recovery session. She started to lean in even closer, and for a second Jamie thought Emma might give her an ordinary, run-of-the-mill peck on the lips. But at the last minute she shifted away. Whoops. Couldn’t let themselves get too carried away by the joy of victory. Jamie was in the doghouse enough as it was.
“Anywaaay,” Emma said, drawing out the final syllable as she slipped her arm through Jamie’s and tugged her toward the sideline, “how was it?”
“It was fine. I liked watching you guys play,” she said honestly.
“Right,” Emma said, sounding affectionately suspicious, if such a thing were possible.
“No, really,” Jamie said, laughing.
“But…?”
“But it also sucked.”
Emma nodded, as if that was the answer she had expected.
The mood in the locker room was buoyant. Jo and the other coaches congratulated them on the victory and gave them time to discuss amongst themselves what had worked in the match and what hadn’t, what lessons they could take into the semifinals. They would have a few days to prepare in Montreal, Jo reminded them—three, to be precise. On the last day of June, they would meet their old nemesis Germany, the current number one ranked team in the world, to determine who would play for the gold medal in Vancouver on July 5th.
Girls of Summer Page 18
