Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

It's a cloudy but humid Saturday morning, and my foot has healed well enough for me to play in our next soccer game, thanks to Cole's attentive care and follow-up instructions. My heart feels better too, after formally ending things with Bryce. Maybe I'll be ready for hopes of romance and love soon, but right now, I'm just hoping for a Goal Digger win.

The team is working well together, but I feel like we have untapped potential. Even though we have great energy, we're still behind a few goals at the half. Frank and Anisha have a quick sidebar, then come join the rest of us as we sip water and stretch.

"We need to switch positions," announces Frank. "I want to see if we can get more forward momentum on offense if we switch Anisha and Tia. Tia, you're pushing forward anyways, so you and Cole can play mid-field. You good with that?"

Cole and I look at each other, his brown eyes asking if I'm up for this and I nod. I've been playing my butt off, and so has he, but I think we'll do even better together. He nods back.

"Let's do it," Cole says, his upbeat response echoing my thoughts. The whistle tweets and I jog onto the field, my pulse picking up from more than running. There's something about a silent conversation, communication with a glance, that makes me feel seen, noticed, trusted.

When the other team kicks off, Cole and I move up the field in sync, making smooth, calculated moves as we trail behind Sarah and Denny. As soon as the other team gets past them, my adrenaline kicks in and it's my time to shine. This is what I'm good at.

My brain zeroes in on scoring the next point, and I focus on getting the ball. When the striker jukes left, I follow him and snag the ball with my toe. I get a clean breakaway and dribble like mad up the field.

Denny sets up a play, blocking the defender in front of me, and with a few slick step-over moves, I get clear space and line up a shot. At the last possible second, I suddenly hesitate. Should I pass? Should I let someone else take this goal?

"Shoot!" shouts Sarah, and I go for it, sending the ball sailing in a gorgeous cross into the upper left corner.

Goal.

My brain floods with more dopamine than I know what do with. Holy crap, that felt good . I did that. I scored that goal. I pump my arm in the air, shouting, "They don't call me ‘Queen of the Field' for nothing!"

"Hell yeah!" Denny swoops up behind me, shaking me by the shoulders. We jog back to our side of the field and Cole comes over with a stunning mile-wide grin I've never seen before, his face is all white teeth and sparkling brown eyes.

"‘Queen of the Field?'" he says, holding his hands up.

My face is flushed as I high-five him, both of us breathing hard. "That was my nickname on my last team."

"All right, Queenie, let's go. I'm here if you need me, but if you have a shot, don't hesitate again."

"Deal," I respond. I can't stop smiling as we quickly fist-bump before going back to our positions on the field.

Sarah takes the kick-off, and Cole locks eyes with me as she sets up the ball. Time freezes for a second and in that brief moment, it's only him and me, and we're in this to win it, together.

My stomach flips. His brown eyes hold my gaze, and surprise, surprise, butterflies show up to the party. What in the world?

We pick up the win, thanks to a goal from Denny and another from Sarah. We're climbing one step closer to that championship game and each victory feels so sweet.

But what about those butterflies? There is no need for that. Just because Cole and I are single twenty-somethings does not mean we are victims to some unspoken law of attraction. No, no way. I'm saying no to this before it's even a thing.

Besides, I need all my focus on me right now. I have an art career to launch.

I stop by Lorraine's gallery after work and find her alone. I want to show her my current work-in-progress and I pull up a photo of the painting of Aunt Mari on my phone to get her feedback. She looks at it for a second too long, and I just know. She hates it.

"Okay, so I like the colors," is where she starts, and I want to sink through the floor. "I think your style is unique."

"You can say it's not great," I offer, setting my phone on the counter and stifling a sigh.

"I think you need practice. And I think you need a different subject."

"How so?"

"I feel like it lacks connection. Or purpose? We see her cooking, yes, but there's no context. Ah, context, that's it!"

I see her point. With Aunt Mari's back to the audience, there's not much personal connection. It means something to me, but mostly because it's a memory and she's my family. I think a lot of families could relate to the idea of a matriarch cooking late into the night, but it's probably not going to resonate or find a home with most of the clientele who come through Crown Island.

"Look, whatever you do, don't abandon it. This will be part of your portfolio, and you can start working on a small grouping to have on your own website. I think the theme is good, so keep at it, okay?"

It's my day off, but I'm set up opposite the register at the coffee shop with a sketchbook and some pencils, ready to practice some more.

"You know I can't stand still for long," Jules says, her back to me while her hand pauses on a lever on the espresso machine. She's been going through the motions of making a latte at an eighth of her usual speed.

"Oh, yeah, do it how you normally do it. I'll capture you in action."

She resumes her quick pace, and I do my best to add lines here and there whenever she does pause for a few moments. It's still feeling flat, like Lorraine said, basically a still life.

But then Jules turns with a smile towards one of our regulars who's picking up a tea for his wife, and I catch hold of a vision. It's her profile, her hands at work, her head engaged with a customer. That's how the emotion flows forward and makes her more engaging as a subject.

I play with different lighting angles and eventually whip out my watercolors to feel like I'm doing justice to the setting. I've been learning more about offsetting the subject with a contrasting background, and I play around with some colors that warm Jules and make her seem like sunshine is radiating through her.

"How's it coming, chica?" she asks about an hour later.

"Don't look at your face. Well, there actually isn't a face right now. But I'm working on getting body proportions right and making the colors work well together."

She comes and looks over my shoulder. She pinches her eyebrows together and tilts her head sideways.

"I think I like this one the best," she says, pointing to a cool, bluish gray that makes the golden skin tone I gave her look more dimensional and sun-kissed. Even her dreadlocks have a glow to them.

"I like that one too."

"What are you going to do for my face?"

"Actually," I say. "Can you sit for a second? I could do a quick profile sketch, in like five minutes."

"Joe, cover the register," she says to one of the guys in the kitchen as she sits sideways in the chair opposite me.

"Can you smile, kind of a laughing smile?" I ask.

She gives me a cross-eyed goofy smile, making us both giggle, before settling into a more natural enthused expression. I do my best to get the more intricate facial proportions correct, but Jules is on the clock, so I try to keep it quick and simple.

"Okay," I say to Jules. "Thanks so much."

"Can I see?" she asks.

I hesitate, trying to decide if this is one of my better drawings. It's not terrible. It helps that it's not a forward-facing sketch, so I only have to get one half of it right. Her nose looks too short and her lips look overly full, but it's not the worst thing ever. I twist the sketch book around so she can see it from her seat, bracing myself for her reaction.

She starts to say something, then pauses. "It's good," she says. "Practice is good."

Again, not the kind of feedback I was hoping for. My shoulders sink.

"Sorry," she says, with a cringe. "That probably wasn't the right response."

"No, honesty is always the best response," I say, pulling the sketchbook back to me. I know I'm starting at the beginning, but my drive to succeed at this and the stakes behind it mean each time I miss the mark, I'm flattened.

"Art doesn't happen in one day," she says, trying to encourage me. "Just like everything, making lattes, even, practice is good."

"Thanks," I say with a forced smile. She gives my shoulder a squeeze as she heads back behind the counter.

I stay and keep practicing, even though I'm gritting my teeth as I do it. The rough reception my attempts have had so far are bringing up too many questions, making me wonder if I'm choosing the right thing. If I can't paint something worthy of Lorraine's gallery, what am I doing? I can't make a living from art no one wants to display.

I go home in a funk, quickly dropping off my art supplies and changing into running clothes. A long, punishing run around the island does little to burn off my negative thoughts, even after I add a second loop.

This whole move to sunny California was going so well, but maybe I was in a honeymoon phase. I know artists go through seasons of doubt, but there's a difference between self-doubt and being objectively bad. Is that the reason my subconscious never allowed me to break out of the career-and-job mold? Because deep down, I knew I don't have what it takes to be a professional artist? Maybe it was self-preservation this whole time, not a lack of initiative.

When I finally slow down and do a cooldown walk to Aunt Mari's front door, dripping sweat, I'm even more confused than when I left.

After showering and dressing, I braid my hair over my shoulder and text Anisha.

Tia

How did you get over feeling like you weren't good enough as a graphic designer?

Anisha

Good question! Um, practice, feedback, and more practice. Confidence grows with time.

Not entirely what I wanted to hear. I'm impatient and I want answers and results and praise right now.

Tia

Why is there no immediate gratification with art and design? *laughing emoji*

Anisha

That's kind of another question. You should feel immediate gratification in your work even if no one else does. You have to keep going until you love it. Then you'll be satisfied, even if no one else connects with it like you do.

Tia

Yeah…good point. I think that's the part I haven't hit yet. Still not good enough to love my attempts.

Anisha

You'll get there! You got this!

I'll get there. I just have to settle in for the journey, ignore the doubts, and keep going.