by Score, Lucy
I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd, watching the perfect arc of the ball as it crossed midfield and sailed toward the Bugler’s penalty area. Libby was waiting for it. With her back to the defender, she trapped the ball and neatly crossed it to Natalee.
“SHOOT IT!” Jessica and I screamed together. We were joined by the rest of Culpepper screaming similar sentiments.
Natalee didn’t even trap the ball. She swung her leg like a baseball bat. The ball hit the cross bar with a resounding clang and then bounced off a defender out of bounds.
The crowd groaned its disappointment, but Natalee and Libby high-fived, their grins a mile wide. They were having fun.
“Nice try, ladies,” Vicky bellowed from her perch on the team bench.
Marley was grinning.
I pulled my phone out.
Me: You are fucking fantastic.
They hadn’t scored, but in one play, Marley had invested the crowd in the game, in her girls. And she’d ratcheted up the team’s confidence. They had a shot. A real one, and every single person in the stadium knew it now.
* * *
Ruby scored the Barn Owls’ first goal on a fast breakaway, tying the game up at 1-1. The crowd was hooting and hollering like they’d spent the afternoon drinking two-for-ones at Smitty’s. Even the guys team, sans Coach Dipshit who had been escorted out of the stadium by security, was watching raptly.
The cheerleaders in full winter gear sashayed over to the fence dividing the stands from the sidelines and Jessie J’s “Bang Bang” blasted over the speakers.
“I love this song,” Ned screeched on Jessica’s right. He bounced his nonexistent ass on the cold bleacher.
The squad broke into a dance number that made me think they’d watched Bring It On a few times. Shocked, the crowd watched as two girls backflipped their way down the sidelines. The two lone guys on the team tossed their ladies in the air, caught them, and then dropped into clapping push-ups while three cheerleaders front flipped over them.
“What the hell is happening?” the guy in the flannel jacket on my right asked in amazement.
The male and female cheerleaders had switched positions with the girls doing the clapping push-ups—could I even do one?—and the guys back flipping over them.
“Awesome,” I told him. “Awesome is happening.”
“This is so exciting,” Jessica said, linking her arms through mine and Ned’s. “I feel like women’s lib finally made it to Culpepper! I want to set my bra on fire!”
The boys team sat slack-jawed while the rest of the crowd exploded. Marley high-fived the cheer coach. It was pandemonium in the stands, and goddammit, I was a little bit teary-eyed. That was my girl down there, and she was awesome. She had no idea the effect she was having on the entire community. I’d been going to sporting events in this town for more than twenty years, and I’d never once seen the cheer squad get a reception like that. Hell, the guys soccer team had a bounty for who could hit the squad with the most number of tortilla chips from the stands.
It was Marley. She inspired people to be better. Myself—who was really already as close to perfect as you could get—included.
I was going to marry her. Really, I had no choice. Marley Cicero was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be hers. We would hash out the details later.
The action on the field started again, and I, along with the rest of the town, watched as the two teams battled it out on the green grass under the lights.
Every breakaway, every tangle resulted in groans and cheers from the stands. And when the Buglers managed to put another ball past Ashlynn in the Barn Owls’ goal, I felt the devastation of the crowd as acutely as if we were all connected. The time ticked down in the first half, and with each passing minute, the Buglers seemed to grow bigger and stronger, forcing our defense to fight hard.
“This is bad. This is real bad,” Ned moaned.
“It’s going to be fine,” Jessica promised him, squeezing his mittened hand with her gloved one. “Marley can turn it around with the halftime speech.”
68
Marley
I blew it with my halftime speech. I was so amped up from the first half that I stumbled my way through “awesome jobs” and “way to gos” until Vicky elbowed me out of the way and danced and howled her way around the circle shouting things like “victory” and “ass-kicking.”
The girls were more bewildered than amped up. But pride strangled any real coachy motivation from my throat.
They were playing at the Bugler’s level. Sure, the opposing team had gotten lucky twice now. But that didn’t mean we weren’t going to return the favor. Down 2-1 at halftime was better than anything I could have imagined at the beginning of the season.
I turned the team loose so we could watch the Homecoming Court take their place at midfield. Surprising us all, Ruby had been nominated to the court. The girls pulled Ruby’s long braids out of their thick ponytail and draped them over one shoulder. Natalee had touched up her makeup during my woefully inept speech.
The other girls on the field were preptastic in plaid blazers and pencil skirts. Ruby stood out like a tall, gorgeous sore thumb in her grass-stained uniform. Tall and proud.
“Is that?” I squinted at the field.
“Yep. Ricky the cross-country kid. She asked him after he ran with us Sunday.”
“Nice going, Ruby.”
I noticed Milton and Ascher were both dates for blonde, skinny, field-hockey-playing queen nominees. I imagined Amie Jo was in the stands with a professional photographer and a telephoto lens capturing the moment for their Christmas card.
At least she and I weren’t wrestling on the field humiliating ourselves in front of a few thousand witnesses.
Bill Beerman took to the field with a wireless mic, and Vicky gripped my arm. “Here we go!”
Bill launched into an adorably awkward speech about the history of student democracy while everyone shuffled nervously.
My watch vibrated, and I peeked down at it.
Jake: Have time for an under-the-bleachers make-out sesh for old times’ sake?
I grinned. It was nice sharing a history with someone. Not just a co-worker that I’d met and befriended six months ago.
Things had changed. I wasn’t the terrified teenager with zero self-confidence anymore. I was an adult. An adult who could run four miles and handle a gym class full of twenty-five teenagers who would rather be texting. An adult who’d landed herself an incredible fake boyfriend. An adult who’d shed eight pounds since August and was coaching the Homecoming game instead of plotting how to ruin a classmate’s life. I never thought I’d be standing here in the middle of most of my hometown feeling good about myself.
Yet here I was. Wonders never ceased.
“And with that,” Bill said, “I’m proud to announce this year’s Culpepper High Homecoming Queen. Ruby King.”
“She won! She won!” Vicky was clawing her way through the sleeve of my jacket. But I was too busy jumping up and down and screaming to notice. My girls, God love them, exploded. They rushed the field and tackled our beautiful Homecoming Queen before last year’s queen could put the crown on her head.
I hugged Vicky hard and felt like tonight was the beginning of healing a whole lot of old wounds. It was a new beginning, a fresh start, and a redo all in one.
* * *
Ruby’s royal win gave us the boost of confidence we were looking for. We took to the field with swagger, and the crowd, as if sensing the shift, was electrified. On the opening drive down the field, a defender fouled Natalee in the penalty area. And that sassy Korean fashionista drilled the ball in the lower left corner so hard I bet they were going to have to restring the net.
We were tied up 2-2, and I felt good. I felt fucking wonderful.
We dominated, our offense crowding the Buglers’ defense on their half of the field. The Buglers managed a breakaway, and Angela thwarted it with one of her patented sliding tackles that had the crowd on its feet.
/> It was magic happening on that field, and I had goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold…or Jake’s mouth for once.
Ashlynn made a terrific diving save. My midfielders ran their asses off, showing no signs of exhaustion. We were riding high on a magic wave of energy as the minutes in the second half ticked down. The Buglers defense was strong but showing cracks.
“We’re gonna win this,” I said, feeling it in my bones. Confidence. Belief. My girls were going to take home a Homecoming victory and walk into that dance as heroes. And I was going to slow clap for them until my hands bled.
We were down to the last two minutes of the game. The clock was ticking down steadily. Each passing second taking us closer to the end of regulation play. I wasn’t nervous. I had a team full of women who needed to shower, change, and do full makeup for the dance. We were not going into overtime.
“Barn Owls,” I shouted from the sideline, waving both arms toward the Buglers’ goal. It was our swing away signal. Full court press. All offense, all the time.
And just like that, the tempo of the game changed.
Rachel took off with the ball down the sideline while the rest of my forwards headed toward the goal. A tangle between two defenders sent the ball out of bounds on the sideline.
“Throw-in,” Vicky said. “Are you going to let her do it?”
Rachel was looking at me. “Oh, hell yeah.” I grinned and nodded, rolling my hands in a circle. “Heads and tails,” I called.
My front line backed off the goal and lined up. One of the midfielders jogged up to play decoy to Rachel’s throw-in.
“This could be the greatest moment in Culpepper sports history,” Vicky breathed.
This could be the greatest moment in my history.
We clung to each other on the sideline. The players on the bench stood and joined us, arms wrapped tight around each other. I could feel the confusion from the crowd behind us. They knew something was about to happen.
Rachel backed up off the sideline several paces. The ref blew the whistle, and she started running toward the line. Six feet out, she bent, planted the ball on the grass, and flipped.
The crowd gasped.
The momentum from the flip sent the ball in a high arch toward the Buglers’ goal. Vicky clung to me, her arm around my neck like a hungry boa constrictor.
My front line started running. The defense was left flat-footed and confused. And my girl Libby left the ground like an NBA dunker. With a deft flick, Libby headed the ball, changing its direction.
The goalie leaped into the air.
The entire stadium held its breath.
And then erupted when the ball found the net.
“Oh my God!” Vicky shrieked over the final buzzer. She shook me like a rag doll until my teeth chattered.
Game over. Victory Barn Owls. We did it. We fucking did it.
The field was pandemonium as players tackled Libby and Rachel at half-field. Fans poured forth from the bleachers, jumping the low fence and joining in the celebration.
It was a mob scene, and I stood all alone in the middle of it, soaking it in.
Then there were hands on my waist, and Jake was lifting me in the air, spinning me around under the field lights.
“You fucking did it, Mars!” My parents were behind him, his uncles behind them. My faculty friends. The team parents. Rachel and Libby and Ruby were lifted on shoulders as the boys soccer team joined the party.
And when Jake slowly lowered me to the ground, when his mouth found mine, when he kissed me twenty years after that first kiss, I felt like I was the winner.
Until they upended the cooler of ice water over me.
69
Marley
After the Homecoming that Shall Not Be Mentioned
I was simultaneously a hero and a pariah. My parents were baffled with my revenge plot and suspension. Rather than punishing me—a parental responsibility with which they were entirely unfamiliar—they took a “wait and see if she does it again” attitude.
With people Amie Jo had emotionally tortured and personally victimized—students, teachers, and the entire register staff at Weis Markets—my Homecoming stunt and subsequent suspension gave me mythical popularity.
Unfortunately, there were just as many Team Amie Jo members who felt that “poor, sweet, Jesus-loving Amie Jo” had been unfairly targeted because of her God-given popularity. Their party line was that I attacked her because I was jealous of her hair, her car, and her breasts. In that order.
Team Amie Jo numbers were growing thanks to her post-suspension goodwill tour. She joined the Culpepper Emmanuel Lutheran Church’s choir and handwrote apology notes with the I’s dotted with hearts. The pièce de résistance was a spa sleepover at the Hotel Hershey scheduled for this weekend. She invited every girl in our class.
Except me.
I suspected Dr. and Mrs. Armburger hired a publicist to spiff up their daughter’s image. And as my edge of self-righteous victimhood dulled, I was left with a low-level guilt. Revenge hadn’t been sweet. It had been a little icky. Okay. A lot icky.
Essentially, I’d stooped to Amie Jo’s level and now I was covered in mean girl cooties. Really, the only upside to the whole mess was that Amie Jo now gave me a wide berth at school. I’d bitten back, and she had to inflict her damage from a safer distance now.
I headed in the direction of my locker, accepting a high-five from Marcus Smith, whose reputation as a booger eater originated from second-grade Amie Jo after he took the swing she wanted during recess. I ignored the pointed giggles from Mindy Leigh and Leah, starters on the field hockey team and Homecoming princesses.
Today, my locker was covered in prayer requests from the Culpepper Emmanuel Lutheran Church’s youth group asking that I would recognize the wrongness of my ways. And that I would start practicing abstinence.
I sighed.
“At least they stopped with the diapers,” Vicky observed, tearing off one of the requests.
“I wish I was done with this place. No one is ever going to see me as me. I’m either going to be the biblically smited pregnant whore or the vindictive, unhinged badass.”
“I feel like you’re probably somewhere in the middle,” she mused.
“New game plan,” I decided. “I’m just going to fade into the background. Become a wallflower. I’ll become a Zen master and I won’t respond to Amie Jo’s provocation.”
Vicky’s eyebrows winged up skeptically. “Can you put the monster back in the closet after you’ve let it out?”
“Nothing is going to get to me,” I promised.
“Huh. Looks like nothing is coming this way.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Vicky was staring, and there he was.
Jake Freaking Weston.
His leather jacket slung over one shoulder, jeans worn through at the knee. Scarred motorcycle boots.
His walk was more of a strut.
I hadn’t seen him since right before Homecoming. Hadn’t talked to him since he’d stuffed that stupid note in my locker. Hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him what a shithead he was. And now that I was a Zen master, I’d never have that chance.
I was cool. Cucumber cool. Ice cube cool. Vinyl seat in February cool.
“Hey, Mars,” he said with a jut of his chin.
I hated how my heart got louder in my ears. The guy kissed me, didn’t ask me to Homecoming, and then told me he wasn’t “into pregnant chicks.” What more did the dumbass have to do to prove he wasn’t worthy of my medium amount of awesomeness? Flip off a horse and buggy?
I felt stupid for expecting more from him.
“Hey, Vic,” Jake said.
“Well, would you look at the time? I need to go stand across the hall,” Vicky said, pointing at the lockers on the opposite wall. She pointed at her own eyes and then at Jake. “I’ll be watching,” she hissed.
He seemed more amused than perturbed by the vague threat.
He waited until Vicky crossed the hall b
efore turning back to me.
“Heard you were pretty badass at Homecoming,” he said.
I grunted, not willing to waste words on him.
“Got any plans Saturday?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Okay, I could waste a few words on the jerk.
His eyebrows winged up. “Pretty sure I’m serious. Why? You already have a date?”
My cool thawed. Then boiled.
“You listen to me, Jake Weston.” I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. “I’m not some girl who likes being walked on. You don’t get to make out with me and then be an ass. You had your chance with me and blew it. So just strut your ass out of my way.”
“It’s more of an amble.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You think you’re so cute and so charming. That doesn’t make up for how you treat girls.”
He blinked. “I think I’m missing something.”
I cut him off with a slash of my hand. “Don’t talk to me ever again.”
“Our class has 102 people in it. Odds are our paths will cross again. Like seven times a day,” he pointed out.
But I was immune to his funny guy, bad boy charm.
“From now on, we’re complete strangers. I hope you and Amie Jo will be very happy together.”
“I feel like I need a translator,” he confessed.
With a snarl, I slammed my locker shut and stormed down the hall.
Graduation couldn’t come soon enough.
70
Marley
Riding high on our victory, the Barn Owls descended on the girls’ locker room. Garment bags with Homecoming dresses hung from lockers, and steam billowed from the showers. Laughter and excited chatter filled the room, bouncing off concrete block and metal.
