Broken Beautiful Hearts(6)
Gwen backpedals. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Tess stands up and grabs her bag.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I need some space.”
“Don’t leave, Tess,” Gwen pleads. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your brother worked so late.”
“Now you do,” Tess says as she walks away.
Gwen puts her head down on the table. “Why did I say anything?”
“She’ll get over it,” Lucia says. “Just leave her alone until practice.”
I feel bad for Gwen, but she should know better. Nobody gets away with criticizing Reed in front of Tess. Not even me.
CHAPTER 3
Striker
AFTER SCHOOL, I’M the first person on the field for soccer practice. The letter makes me want to get out here and earn it. I stand in the center of the field, passing the ball from knee to knee. This is the place where I feel most at home—the most like me.
It doesn’t hurt that soccer reminds me of Dad. He taught me how to play and I loved the game from the first kick. Mom says I would’ve slept with my kid-size soccer ball if she had let me. Dad had dreamed of going pro, too. It turned out he was a better Marine than a soccer player.
Losing him made me realize that we can’t control everything that happens in life. The universe has its own plans and we don’t get a vote.
But soccer has always been the one thing I could control—not whether my team wins or loses a game. That’s out of my hands. But the way I play and the effort I put in—that part is my choice.
“I heard somebody on my team was accepted to the University of North Carolina.” Coach Kim strolls toward me with a bag of balls slung over her shoulder. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Peyton. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was going to happen.”
She pulls the drawstring on the bag and dumps out the balls. “I was sure enough for both of us.”
“It’s not a done deal. I still have to maintain my grades, and I’ll need a recommendation letter from my coach at the end of the season.”
“That might be a problem,” she said, teasing me.
“And I have to train harder than ever so I’ll be ready to start ‘in my current position’ for UNC in the fall, or something like that. The letter looks like a contract.”
“That’s standard language. Coaches have a limited number of open spots on their teams. They have to make sure they’re offering those spots to athletes who will be ready to fill them nine months from now.” She tosses me a ball, and I head it back to her. “So go warm up.”
Lucia is the next person out of the locker room. “You always beat me out here.”
“What can I say? You’re slow.”
She blows out a puff of air. “Whatever. You wouldn’t win as many games without me.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Lucia and I have been playing together on school and select teams since fourth grade. She’s the best goalkeeper in our high school division.
I lob the ball at the bottom right corner of the goal. Lucia isn’t ready and she almost misses it. But she dives for the ball and makes the save.
“I almost got that one by you.”
“Because I wasn’t ready,” she says, calling me on it.
The rest of our teammates trickle out of the locker room, and Coach Kim takes a few minutes to get updates from everyone. Then she splits us into two teams for a scrimmage. When she blows the whistle, everything except the game fades away.
I dribble the ball down the field and look for an opportunity to pass. I’m a center forward—a striker, like Alex Morgan. It’s my job to score goals and create opportunities for my teammates to score. It’s an offensive position that requires more than just soccer skills.
I hear Dad’s voice in the back of my mind. A striker has to have guts and take risks. You have to know when to pass or when to take the shot. There will be shots that look impossible, but they aren’t. Sometimes the difference between winning and losing is taking that shot when you get the chance.
“Peyton! On your left,” Imani, another forward on my team, shouts.
Gwen is coming up next to me on the outside. Lucia is playing goalkeeper for the other team, and she’ll stop any ball within her reach before it hits the net. The bottom corner of the net is my only chance. Gwen is right on top of me, her feet slipping into the spaces between mine as she attempts to steal the ball.
“Peyton, over here!” Imani raises her hand to let me know she’s still open. She doesn’t see Tess behind her.
Today still feels like my perfect day, and on your perfect day you have to take the shot. I kick the neon-green Umbro ball, and it rockets toward the bottom left-hand corner of the net.
Lucia realizes where the ball is going and dives for it. The green ball skims the fingertips on her glove and sails into the net. The other girls on my scrimmage team shout and clap. Scoring on Lucia doesn’t happen often.
You have to know when to pass or when to take the shot.
After practice I check my phone. Reed still hasn’t called or texted me. He never goes all day without sending me at least one text. I grab my bag and call him as I head out to my car. His phone rings six times.