Rock Bottom Girl(54)

“This is me insisting that it’s imperative that students figure out their own way through social situations, the good and the bad,” Principal Eccles said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And this is also the part where I encourage you to understand that many students who exhibit negative behavior, including bullying and general assholery, are struggling with serious issues that we may not be privy to.”

“Look. I know I’m new to all of this. But I’ve been Rachel, and I’ve known Lisabeths. And sometimes an asshole is just as asshole.”

Principal Eccles looked toward the closed door and sighed. “Off the record, Lisabeth Hooper is an entitled asshole, and none of the staff and faculty can stand her. Her mother, by all accounts, was the same kind of nightmare. And still is.”

Relief coursed through me.

“I can’t do much about having her in my class. But I don’t want her on my team.”

“Are you prepared for the fallout of punishing her? It’ll be ugly.”

“Principal Eccles, I’m only here for the semester. Who better to deal with this than someone who doesn’t have to worry about any long-term effects?”





33





Marley





I felt like a teenager waiting for her prom date to show up, worrying that she was going to be stood up.

“Would you stop pacing?” Vicky demanded from her vantage point on the practice field bleachers. The team was running a warm-up lap around the field, and I was getting ready to start gnawing on my fingernails like an animal caught in a trap. “You’re making me anxious, and I don’t like to be anxious without my medication.”

Vicky’s medication was as many rum and Cokes as a bartender could mix during happy hour.

“What if she doesn’t show? I just kicked the only chance we had at scoring a single goal this season off the team, and if Libby doesn’t show, how am I not going to hold that against her and fail her in gym?”

“Desperation is not a good color on you,” she said, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt. In true Pennsylvania fashion, summer had abandoned us abruptly and without warning.

“Oh my God. There she is!” I grabbed Vicky’s arm and squeezed as a dark head bobbed up the steps in our direction.

“She could be David Beckham’s twin,” Vicky said dryly.

“Just you wait,” I said smugly. “I didn’t screw this up.”

Libby approached slowly, her hands drawn up into the sleeves of her no-brand, off-black sweatshirt.

“Morticia,” I said, giving her a nod.

“Potential kidnapper.”

“This is Vicky, my assistant coach,” I said.

“’Sup?” Vicky said, cracking her gum.

“Hey.”

“So you wanna practice?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my tone.

Libby shrugged. “I guess. But just because I practice doesn’t mean I’m joining the team.”

“Understood.”

“Are you okay playing with all that metal in your face?” Vicky asked, peering at Libby’s piercings.

“We’ll check the rule book later,” I said. “Just try not to get kicked in the face today.”

The faster runners returned, and after another minute, the rest of the team was sucking wind in front of us.

“Everyone, this is Libby. She’s thinking about joining the team.”

They eyed her with teenage hostility and suspicion.

Libby stared back, seemingly bored and unintimidated.

“Is she Lisabeth’s replacement? Is this why you kicked her off the team?” Angela demanded.

“Lisabeth wasn’t kicked off the team. She was asked to leave. Nicely,” Vicky lied.

“I kicked Lisabeth off the team because she was a toxic presence. She might have had a big foot, but her attitude was holding back the entire team. Libby here is a coincidence. A really good one, so I suggest you not act like a pack of rabid wolverines for once. Anyone have any problems with that?”

Over a dozen hands raised. “Tough crap,” I said. “I’m the boss. And I need you all to know that the decisions I make are what I think is best for all of you. Not just some of you. We’re a team. Remember that. We’ve got common ground, common goals. And we’re basically awesome human beings. Does anyone have anything they’d like to talk about?”

I didn’t really want to delve into the whole “sorry your coach died on the sidelines” thing, but it was my job to make these girls a team.

“Can we talk about why the only makeup you wear is mascara and Chapstick?” Natalee asked.

“No, but if someone wants to discuss how they were affected by their head coach’s death last year, we can talk.”

There were blinks and shrugs around our little, sweaty circle.

“Ugh. Not this again. We already sat through guidance counselor therapy last year,” one of the girls groaned.

“Nope. We’re good,” Ruby announced.

I was relieved. “Great. Now, let’s line up for super fun shots on goal drills.”

On Libby’s first shot, a fast-moving grounder, she sent it sailing into the far upper corner of the net and jogged to the end of the line like it was no big thing.