Page 1 of Playing for You

Chapter One

Natasha

For the fourth time in sixty-seven minutes, the opposing team’s star striker goes on the attack. She keeps the ball close as she weaves her way through my defensive line and mere seconds later, when her boot connects sharply with the ball, she fires it straight towards the bottom-right corner of my goal.

Without a second thought for my own well-being, I dive to the ground with my arms outstretched in an attempt to claw back some dignity in this match. The ball barely grazes my fingertips as it hurtles past me, hitting the back of the net with that all-too-familiar swoosh, leaving me red faced and covered in mud and grass from the drizzle drenched pitch.

“Fuck!” Rolling over to my front and up onto my knees, I pound my fists hard into the grass like a toddler having a tantrum. I curse and yell and scream into the mud, slapping my gloved hands hard to the ground to push myself to my feet with a growl.

Our opposition are understandably elated, celebrating loudly as their fans cheer in unison.

On our side of the stadium, our fans are eerily silent as the rainfall mirrors the atmosphere. Many fans have left already, leaving vast empty spaces in the stands, and I don’t blame them, this is the latest in a long line of losses for Wearside Women.

“Pull it together and communicate, come on!” our team captain, Brooke, shouts across the pitch to our defence. “Keep it tight and close the gaps! We’re better than this, girls!”

This is embarrassing, the voice in my head screams.Pathetic.

Useless. Talentless—

“Ha’way, Lasses!” I clap my hands loudly and try my best to keep some of that team spirit our coach always bangs on about.

Fake it ’til you make it, that’s what they say, right?

Your parents are right.The statement in my head jolts me.Failure, failure, failure.

The cold rain falls in larger droplets now, splashing on my face. My breaths come fast and harsh, leaving little puffs of steam suspended in the air.

I can’t do this.

A whistle from the ref signals for play to continue, but I can’t bring myself to take the goal kick. Instead, I stand with the ball in my hands, resolve weakening as all the fight evaporates from my body, leaving only nausea and disappointment in its place.

“Come on!” one of the opposition team shouts at me. “Stop wasting time!” another adds.

I look at them all watching me expectantly, and then to the ball that I let drop to the floor. Confusion ripples across the pitch from both sides.

Raising my arm, I signal to the dugout that I need to come off, and a moment later, my feet carry me from the pitch and into the dressing room showers where I sit under the stream of warm water, fully clothed with my head in my hands for the remainder of the match.

Brooke Davison is my best friend. She also happens to be my captain and teammate, and this means she usually bears the brunt of my bad attitude. Today is no different as we sit side by side on the wooden slats of the bench in the dressing room. Our eyes are closed, but only her breathing is even and steady as we ‘meditate’.

“Natasha,” she says in her calm and soothing voice that I equal parts love and hate, “breathe with me. You sound like the Big Bad Wolf huffing and puffing and blowing football stadiums down.”

“This isn’t working,” I respond through gritted teeth.

I open one eye and sneak a peek at her. Her pretty face is soft and relaxed, unlike the frown distorting my features.

“Close your eyes please, Natasha,” she says, her tone nice and calm.

“How do you do that?”

She didn’t even open her eyes to look at me. “I can feel you glaring at me.”

I silently mock her, mouthing her words sarcastically. “I can feel that too.”

“Fine.” I close my eyes and shake out my arms. “I’m ready, let’s do this.”

“Okay, listen to my breathing and match my rhythm.” I do as she says, breathing in and out in a slow rhythm and gradually, my muscles do begin to relax, which is annoying because I didn’t want her to be right. “Let go of the past. You can’t change it, but we can learn from it.”

“Okay, Raffki!” I snort and she flicks my thigh. “Ow. I’m sorry, but this is stupid.”

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