Rock Bottom Girl(114)

“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.