16 - Hair Pin Drop

16

Hair Pin Drop

C oach Teller stands with her hands behind her back, gazing at all of us.

We're seated, uniforms tucked in and cleats laced up, but there's an excited gaze in Coach's eyes today. One that means good news.

"Alright, ladies. Game day. Are we ready?"

In unison, we say, "Yes, Coach."

She nods, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Good. Are we planning on winning?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Well then. I've got some exciting news to share." Her eyes land on me for a split second, and my heart careens. "Two of you have been selected for the National Team showcase."

Loud cheers and claps ensue, but I'm too nervous. The showcase is like a try-out. But on a much larger scale. With much larger stakes. Like the Olympics or the World Cup. I lock eyes with Kendall, one of our best forwards and the other favorite. She rolls her lips and does a little dance with her shoulders.

She's twenty-two and an absolute superstar. The National Team needs a forward like Kendall. Quick and smart but sure-footed and confident. Someone who knows the field and knows when it's her chance and when it's not.

My dad and Coach Laurel stand beside Teller, their faces giving nothing away. I continue to avoid my dad's eyes and turn my focus to Coach Teller.

"Kendall Sabla and Aurora Matthews, get your asses up here."

Maazina shoves me off the bench, breaking into loud ‘whoops.' Coach Teller rolls her eyes, but a small smile grows anyway. "Congratulations, girls. We all know you're going to get there and absolutely smash it. I'd like to talk to you both before we head to the field, but for now," Coach Teller says, checking her watch and looking around. Everyone is poised to explode off the benches, awaiting the go ahead. "You've got ten minutes. Have at ‘em."

My eyes widen in surprise as Kendall and I are bombarded. From her delayed reaction, it's clear neither of us have processed it. "Holy shit," I whisper, not thinking she'll hear me, but somehow, under the commotion, she does.

"Holy shit!" she shouts, grabbing my hands and pulling me into a hug. This might be the best pre-game of my life. The team is acting like seven-year-olds given too much sugar, practically jumping off the walls. You would've thought we won the championship. Vivian steals me from Kendall, pulling me into a tight hug and rocking us back and forth.

Maazina decides that's a good moment to catapult herself at me, launching herself onto my back so I'm forced to catch her. "Let's fucking go!" she shouts, hands pumping the air like she was the one selected.

Coach Teller pokes her head out of the office. "Language."

Above me, Maazina clears her throat. "Let's freakin' go!"

I laugh, and she leans down, planting her face next to mine. "I'm so proud of you, Aurora. I've never been so honored to be someone's own personal idiot." She plops a kiss on my cheek.

"Maazina, you've got ten seconds to get off her back before I make you," Coach Teller shouts. Maazina quickly climbs down but doesn't let go of me.

I've got nothing to say. I'm overflowing with emotions—elation, shock, love—from all of these girls who have been nothing short of family to me. They mean the entire world to me. Even though I know some of them are sad, as I would be, they don't let that get in the way of what this means to me and Kendall. I can't wait to step on the field and play with them today.

Through the haze, Isaiah comes to mind. God, I want to call him. There's a yearning blooming in my stomach, begging me to walk out and go find him in the stands.

Eventually, the celebrations calm down, and game mode switches on. Coach is speaking to Kendall at the moment as the girls around me slip right back into their normal pre-game routines. Outside the office, my dad stands there, talking quietly with Coach Laurel. As if he can sense my gaze, he looks up.

As expected, his face is stoic.

He's never broken first after a fight in my life. I'm the one to apologize, even if I've done nothing wrong. I feel every beat of my heart as we stare at each other. I swallow. He says something to Coach Laurel, who nods, and takes a few steps, and for a split second, the ache alleviates. My back straightens. He can't ignore me today, right?

Wrong.

He stalks right out the door without a lingering glance, without a word. My chest caves in. I thought, at the very least, I would get a nod. A pat on the back.

Instead, I get nothing.

It doesn't matter what I do. Whether I'm on top of the world or hitting rock bottom. If his pride is threatened, he won't give in. For a moment, I thought this would do it. Get him to bend. But I guess it doesn't matter. He'd rather break than give me his praise. I guess it's too much for him.

The numbness smooths over my skin like a cold gel.

I'm used to it, but it never hurts any less.

There are eyes on me, three pairs who know exactly what happened, and I pretend they aren't.

When I turn to face them, there's a smile on my face, and I take my seat on the benches. Sylvia rests her head on my shoulder, eating her pre-game candy. No one says anything, and I'm grateful. Regardless of how I feel, we've got a game today.

I reach in my bag until I pull the tape from the bottom of the bag and cut it into strips for my knee. Coach Teller calls me into the office moments later, and my cleats click on the floor as I make my way over, moving on autopilot.

She wraps me up in a hug. "I'm so proud of you, kid. You've worked so hard for this." When she pulls back, her hands remain on my arms. "You've come so far. You've earned every single bit of this. This is what you've worked for. I hope you believe to the fullest extent that you were made for this."

Her words mean the world to me, and I try to focus on them over everything else. "Thank you for everything you have done for me," I say. Coach Teller has been there for me from the moment I graduated college. I tore my hamstring my first year playing for her, dealt with an almost tear in my knee and knee strains, but I never gave up. And she never gave up on me.

"Proud of you. You're gonna rock that team." Coach Teller sniffs, reaching for her clipboard.

"Are you crying?"

"Get out, Matthews. We have a game to play."

It pulls a genuine laugh, and I do as she says. "I always knew you loved me."

"Out."

Even though my heart is breaking in my chest, Coach Teller is far from the reason.

She follows me out of the office and holds the locker room door open. I shake out my arms and my legs, the blood still flowing from warms up, and put on my game face. I don't have time to fall apart, even if a part of me wants to.

This should be one of the best days I've ever had, and I'm going to make it so.

We're dominating this game.

Every play is ours. Every touch, every pass, every call. Currently, it's 3-0—us. And it doesn't look like we'll be stopping anytime soon. The moment I walked out of the tunnel and took my spot on the field, I found my family and Isaiah. I swear we locked eyes for a moment, and in that moment, everything was okay. That no matter what, he'd be excited for me. He'd know what it meant.

Even now, over halfway through the game, I know exactly where they are, no matter where I stand on the field. I move the defense up a bit, as the ball is in the other half, and spare the quickest glance to my right. Even from a distance, I know his eyes are on me.

Maazina cuts inside, a few feet away. The sun hits her cleats just right, shining on the sharpie where she writes her mom's name. "How goes it with lover boy?"

"Shut up, Maazina."

She shrugs, eyes on the play in front of us. "What? You're the one all goo-goo ga-ga over him."

I can't help but laugh, adjusting the pre-wrap holding my curls. "Have I told you I hate you recently?"

She hums. "Not that I can remember."

"Good. Use that as your reminder." I yell to fall back seconds later as play starts to descend.

Besides me, Maazina gets into position, since it's coming to the right. I step up, the first line of defense if it's needed, but the ball goes astray, coming straight toward me, the opposing players too far behind. I take it, rolling it across my foot and passing it wide left to Sylvia as we take control again. We switch the ball across the field before sending it up to our midfield.

It says up for a minute, but it appears the opposing team has found their stride. A ball is passed across the field, but I step up, intercepting the pass. It's light on my foot, an extension of my body as my team gets into position. There's an opponent coming my way, but I have time. I move with the ball swiftly, sure on my feet.

I don't even see the tackle coming.

One second, everything is perfect.

The next, I'm on the ground, and my knee is in excruciating pain.

My knee is on fire, screaming with pain as agony blooms and expands in throbbing waves.

"Aurora? Hey, Aurora." Maazina's voice sounds from nearby, but I can't open my eyes. If keep my eyes closed, I can pretend it isn't happening.

That this isn't fucking happening.

Around me, everything's stopped, and I can feel the presence of others standing over me. I feel a touch on my arm. "Aurora, talk to me."

Coach Teller's calm voice in the middle of the panic is the reason the first tear falls. "This can't be happening," I say, my voice wet and my throat threatening to close up.

"We've got you."

I blink my eyes open, and though her face is composed, her eyes give her away. She is devastated. At my knee, the trainers block my view, their fingers gently prodding, but even that is agonizing.

"We're going to get you off this field, okay? We've gotta stand you up. If you can't walk, we'll help you."

Seconds later, I'm being lifted. The jostling is awful, but I school my face. No one else out here will see me cry. My girls are watching me—calm yet wide-eyed. My gut hollows out, my heart ripping itself to shreds.

Tentatively, I touch my left foot to the ground, trying out the knee, and have to bite my tongue from crying out. Coach Teller is under one arm, a trainer under another. "Keep it off the ground."

Carefully, I'm helped off the field, and it's so quiet, you could hear a hair pin drop. But all I can hear are the cracks in my chest. Because on the day that I'm selected for the National Team is the day my knee gives out.

I couldn't make today better if I tried.