by Score, Lucy
I wished I would have taken a self-defense class. Or a How to Kick a Bully’s Ass class. I didn’t want this to devolve into some embarrassing slap fight. I wanted to physically damage her horrible, nasty, cruel exterior.
Suddenly, there was an extra set of hands in the mix, and someone was trying to pull us apart. But hell hath no fury like two high school seniors locked in a battle for supremacy. We rolled again, and I swore it was Amie Jo that got her legs tangled up with the good Samaritan’s. I didn’t realize we were this close to the player’s bench.
There was a scuffle, a tumble, and an audible pop. And an “oooooh” from the crowd. The howl of pain that followed had me shoving Amie Jo off me and prying her hands out of my hair.
It was Travis on the ground hugging his knee to his chest.
“Oh, God. Travis, are you okay?” I asked.
“Leave him alone, you skank,” Amie Jo shrieked. She pushed my face into the dirt and crawled her way to him. “Travis, honey, are you okay?”
He wasn’t. And neither was his ACL.
A lot of things happened very quickly.
The two team mascots got into a shoving match that escalated into a brawl on the field. Referees and coaches and parents waded in.
Amie Jo and I were collared by Principal Fester and dragged off the field while Travis was carried off on a gurney.
“I am horrified at your behavior, ladies,” Mr. Fester hissed. “This is beyond intolerable.”
“I had nothing to do with this, Mr. Fester,” Amie Jo began.
“That was your voice on the loudspeaker, wasn’t it? Calling me a garden gnome?”
Amie Jo was prepared to lie, but Mr. Fester wasn’t having any of it.
“You’re both suspended for a week starting tonight.”
“But Homecoming! I’m going to be Queen,” she shrieked.
Her parents pushed through the crowd that was gathering around us. They were followed by Steffi Lynn.
“One week. You both will leave school grounds immediately,” Mr. Fester said, his face turning a shade of purple that I didn’t think was healthy.
“I want my crown,” Amie Jo screeched.
Her mother slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll get you your crown, sweetheart,” she crooned.
“Mr. Fester, clearly there’s been some sort of misunderstanding here,” Dr. Armburger said. “My daughter is a victim here.”
Was the man deaf? Had he not heard his daughter talk about stealing his wife’s bottle of Vicodin over the loudspeaker?
“Dr. Armburger, your daughter is no victim. My decision stands. One-week suspensions starting now.”
Steffi Lynn glowered at me as her parents guided a sobbing Amie Jo toward the stadium entrance. “I’m not in school anymore, so I can’t get in trouble for this,” she said, before shoving me to the ground.
The gravel bit into my palms.
“I heard you flunked out of cosmetology school,” I said. She probably would have kicked me there on the ground had it not been for an incoming hero.
“Hey! You bloated ox!” Vicky’s voice rang out as she hustled forward, getting into Steffi Lynn’s face.
I jumped up, inserting myself between them. I didn’t need Vicky joining me in my suspension.
“I’m already suspended,” I told her. “Let me handle this.”
Vicky let out something close to a growl and bared her teeth at Steffi Lynn.
“You’re right,” I said to Steffi Lynn. “You’re not in school anymore. You’re not on my team anymore either. Which means I can tell you that you are a miserable, abusive, dead-on-the-inside asshole who will spend the rest of her life ruining other people’s lives. You’re not special. You’re not better than everyone else. In fact, deep down, you know that you’re not good enough. So you can take your shitty attitude, and you can go back to Mommy and Daddy’s house where you’ll be living between divorces for the rest of your life!”
I was still standing there shaking when half of the sheriff’s department showed up and jogged onto the field to break up the melee.
66
Marley
If the JV Homecoming game was any indicator of what the varsity match would be like, I was going to drive home between games, pack my suitcase, and leave town in shame. The Buglers were turning my girls into ground beef on the field.
It was hard to watch.
I flinched over a particularly violent exchange between one of my midfielders and two Bugler girls who were six inches taller. “Way to stick, Matilda,” I called.
My team wasn’t sucking. They just didn’t have much experience yet, and I hoped to God this particular beat-down wouldn’t turn them off of soccer forever.
“Lozenge?” Vicky shoved a bag of cough drops at me. “Homemade whiskey and honey. Heavy on the whiskey.”
“I’m afraid I’ll choke,” I said, pushing the bag back at her.
“Just make sure you save some voice for the next game,” she cautioned me.
“How can you be so calm?”
My friend shrugged under her oversized coach jacket. “Last year, the score would have been 8-0.” She gestured at the scoreboard. “It’s 3-1 with ten minutes left. That’s a huge improvement already. These girls are going to be even better next year.”
Next year, I wouldn’t be here. Next year, someone else would be coaching them. Probably someone else who knew what they were doing.
The field lights clunked on above my head, and I felt the heat of them as if I were in a spotlight.
* * *
We lost the JV match. It wasn’t a surprise. But it didn’t do anything to calm my nerves. Between games, I stole five minutes and sought solace in my car. Deep cleansing breaths fogged the windows and did nothing to calm my racing heart. I was going to have a heart attack on the sidelines. Just like their last coach. I’d traumatize my team, ruin Homecoming for the crowd. They’d probably still have the dance later tonight, I rationalized. I wasn’t that much a part of the school and town.
Maybe the DJ would offer a moment of silence before they introduced the King and Queen.
A fist connected briskly with my window and scared the bejesus out of me.
I opened the door and found Jake grinning down at me.
“I’ve come to save you from yourself,” he announced, pulling me from the safety of my car.
“Oh my God. Look at all those people,” I breathed. The entire town of Culpepper was braving the chilly October night to watch my girls play… Well, mostly they were here to see who was crowned Homecoming Queen at halftime.
“Listen to me, Mars. You have a captive audience in those stands. You and those girls have worked your asses off. Show them.”
“What if we lose?” I hated the desperation I heard in my voice.
“Losing is never the end of the world. Losing is where the learning starts.”
“I’ve learned enough. I don’t need to learn anymore.”
He squished my cheeks in his hands, fish-facing my lips. “You put in the work. Your players put in the work. All you have to do is go out there and do your best. Leave it all on the field. It’s okay to care. It’s okay to want to win. It’s not okay to tie your worth as a human being around something like a win or a loss. Got it?”
“Gosh it,” I mumbled through my duck lips.
“Good girl. Now, do you want your present?”
“Yesh pwease.”
He released my face and handed me a small, neatly wrapped box. I took one second to admire the silver wrapping paper before destroying it.
“A fitness watch?” A very expensive fitness watch.
“For your running. Or when you’re walking Homer,” he said, popping it out of the box and fastening it to my wrist. “You can track miles, heart rate, calories. And it’s got Bluetooth. So if I text you some encouragement during the game, you can just look at your wrist instead of digging your phone out and looking like you’re scrolling through Snapchat instead of watching the game.”
I stared down at the glowing watch face. “This is really thoughtful, Jake,” I said. “By encouragement, you don’t mean dick pics, do you?”
He pulled out his phone. “Hang on.”
The watch vibrated on my wrist.
Jake: I’m proud of you, Mars. <3
“Oh.” It was the best I could do. What I wanted was to climb into his arms and smash my face against his chest. But even Jake Weston couldn’t protect me from my fears tonight. I had to face them myself. At least I’d do it with him on my wrist.
He nudged my chin up. “I’m proud of you already. You better be, too. Now, go give your girls a movie-worthy pep talk and have some fun tonight.”
“Okay. And thank you for this.” I held up the watch. “And everything else. You’ve been a really great friend.” My voice cracked.
“Don’t you dare start that, Mars,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You might not know this about me, but I’m an empathetic crier. So pull yourself together, woman, or we’ll both go in there bawling.”
I straightened my shoulders and ran a finger over the watch face.
Jake slapped me on the ass and pushed me in the direction of the stadium entrance.
“Can you text me encouragement like every five minutes or so?” I asked.
“Hell yeah, I can.”
* * *
The Culpepper Barn Owls looked as sick and scared as I felt. We were crammed into the same utility room under the announcer’s booth that I’d broken into just a few weeks ago. The sprinkler system panel was now under lock and key. However, I was confident I could easily pick the lock should the need arise. For instance, in case of a 13-0 Homecoming shut-out.
“Ladies.” I took a deep breath. “It’s a big game tonight. But you’ve prepared. I know it feels like there’s a lot riding on this game. There are a lot of people in those stands who don’t think we can win. But they have nothing to do with this. Their expectations have nothing to do with us. We are underestimated. And, let’s face it, this isn’t the first or last time someone is going to underestimate us.”
There were nods around the rag-tag circle.
“We can’t control their expectations. But we can control our effort. You’ve put in the work. You’ve put forth the effort. There’s just one thing left to do.”
“Win!” Vicky shouted, jumping on a dusty bench, fist held high.
The team stared at her.
“While a win would be nice,” I said, pulling Vicky off the bench, “I’d rather see you go out there and make yourselves proud. You’ve already done the hard part. All I want you to do is go out under those lights and play as a team of fierce women.”
“Fierce!” Vicky howled.
“What if we lose?” Angela asked, gnawing on her thumbnail.
“Then we do it with mud on our knees and smiles on our faces,” Libby said. “We’ve got this, guys. We’re good enough to put on a hell of a show. We’re good enough to win. And we’re good enough to survive if we lose. Even though we’re not going to.”
“What she said!” Vicky screeched, pointing both index fingers at Libby.
I saw smiles appearing around our little circle.
We huddled up, arms around each other, closing the gap. “The hard part is over,” I told them. “All the practices, the drills, the running. This is the fun part. Go play under the lights. And have a damn good time doing it. Win, lose, or forfeit for brawling, I am so proud of you guys.”
“Barn Owls on three,” Ruby barked.
“One, two, three. Barn Owls!” the team shouted. They broke the circle and headed out the door like warriors preparing for battle.
“Listen,” Vicky said, slapping me on the shoulder. “I stuffed a couple of plastic bags in my gym bag in case we need to barf.”
“Got any more of those whiskey lozenges?” I asked.
“I kinda ate them all,” she confessed with alcohol-scented breath. “But I do have a spare bourbon in my fanny pack.”
“Hang on to it in case we need it at halftime.”
* * *
The National Anthem choked me up as it always did, but I refrained from wiping at my eyes so the crowd didn’t think I was already a sobbing mess. Besides, if Jake really was an empathetic crier, I didn’t want him to burst into tears in the stands. The Buglers won the coin toss. I wondered if it was the hormones in New Holland milk that had their team captains towering over my own. And was that a gold tooth on the broad-shouldered number 24?
Vicky and I walked off the field as the starters lined up, and I spared a glance at the crowd. Jake and his uncles were sitting with my parents. Dad held a Coach Cicero is our Homecoming Queen sign without a hint of irony. My mom was clutching the insulated travel mug Jake had given her “to keep her warm.” I had a feeling it wasn’t coffee inside. The JV team was snuggled up together with boyfriends and friends right behind the team bench.
I high-fived the cheerleaders’ head coach.
“We’ve got a hell of a show planned for you,” she promised me.
“Good luck tonight,” I told her.
Andrea, Bill Beerman, Haruko, and Floyd whistled for my attention, and I cracked my first real smile of the night. They’d painted their faces Barn Owl blue and had foam beaks affixed to their noses. They looked like idiots, and I loved them for it.
“Let’s go, Cicero,” Floyd barked from the stands.
To my eternal humiliation, half the Culpepper student body echoed the cheer, clapping and stomping on the metal bleachers.
“You ever think you’d be on this field again with people cheering your name?” Vicky mused next to me.
“Nope. Hopefully there won’t be any police involvement this time around.”
“Ah, memories,” she sighed fondly.
67
Jake
Everyone around me on the cold-ass bleachers was watching the game. Well, in between planning who was bringing what to Thanksgiving. As predicted, Marley’s parents and my uncles had hit it off big time.
I was too busy watching my girl to participate in the great pie debate. Marley stood on the sidelines, a deceptively relaxed stance. Her hands were in the pockets of her jacket. Her feet braced apart, and she nodded to herself as she followed the action on the field. Vicky bounced and vibrated next to her, her frizzy red curls seemed determined to escape the ear warmers clamped over her head.
“I can’t watch,” Ned wailed next to me. He peeked through gloved fingers as the Bugler’s offense drove down into Barn Owl territory.
“It’s gonna be fine. We’ve got this,” I promised.
The Bugler forward, the one who had to be close to seven-feet-tall, booted the ball with a thunder foot. I held my breath with the rest of the stadium as it sailed over the heads of our defense and through Ashlyn’s competent hands into the back of the net.
“Fuck. I mean—” I scrambled to cover my Sunday-Night-Football-beer-and-bean-dip reaction. I saw Marley’s shoulders slump and wanted to climb over the people and short fence between us.
“Ha! Loooooooser!” Coach Vince, in a Barn Owls parka and knit hat that hid his massive bald spot, cupped his hands and howled from a few rows down.
There was no way I was going to get through life without punching that asshole in the face. I made a mental note to figure out what the legal repercussions would be. Maybe I could enlist Marley’s help for another prank. The woman had a gift.
“I hate that fucking guy,” I muttered under my breath.
“My sentiments exactly,” Jessica growled next to me. She picked up her not-quite-empty chicken soup bowl and chucked it.
I watched in horror and delight as it flew gracefully through the air and landed in upside-down perfection on top of Coach Vince’s head.
He howled, whirling around and sending pieces of corn flying. Broth seeped through his hat. Every single person in the section suddenly became engrossed in watching the Buglers celebrate their goals. Not a single spectator pointed in our direction. Jessica Cicero was a beloved
part of the entire last generation’s elementary school years. No one was going to rat her out to an overgrown jackass.
“Who did it?” Coach Vince screeched.
“You wanna sit down so we can see?” someone suggested, trying to peer around Vince’s girth.
While the Buglers celebrated the goal, the home team jogged back to take their positions for kickoff.
I whipped out my phone, my thumbs flying across the screen.
Me: It’s a psychological move, not an indicator of the outcome of the game. Also, your mom just beaned Coach Vince with chicken corn soup.
I looked up, saw Marley glance down at her watch, and then whirl around to look into the stands.
Vince was still on his feet threatening everyone within earshot that he was going to either sue them or kick their asses.
Marley’s eyes met mine, and I flashed her a thumbs-up. She grinned and turned back to the game.
“Coach Vince, a word?” Principal Eccles managed to look stern in a blue puffy jacket and blue painted face.
“Ooooooh,” the crowd crooned as Coach Vince marched off for some much-needed disciplinary action.
I fist-bumped Jessica and turned my attention back to the field.
The Barn Owls didn’t appear to be too rattled by the early goal, and to Marley’s credit, neither did she. In fact, she seemed even calmer now. The team lined up for the kickoff, and I noticed the front line was looking at Marley.
She held up two fingers, and the girls nodded.
“That’s my girl,” I said under my breath.
Natalee tapped the ball with the outside of her foot to Libby and took off running down the field. Libby turned around and passed the ball to the midfielder behind her and followed Natalee down the field in a dead sprint. The midfielder, facing down the Bugler front line, crossed the ball to a defender on the far side of the field. Our entire front line was running into enemy territory while the Buglers’ offense chased the ball. Angela dribbled the ball out in front of her, gazed down the field, and booted it.
