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I should be excited. This is my first time practicing with the team in the stadium—my chance to show off what I can do.
And all I’m thinking about is what Beck might do if I see him.
I need to get my fucking head in the game. Focusing has always been effortless for me. Soccer has always been my primary focus. I’ve never had to prioritize it, because nothing else has ever trumped my interest. But Beck and the sport are intertwined; I haven’t figured out how to untangle them.
“Saylor?” Ellie says. I look up to see all the rows before us have cleared. I’m blocking her in and holding the rest of the van up.
“Sorry,” I mutter, standing and shuffling out of the cramped seat to walk down the aisle.
I need to pull it together. Immediately. I’ve never let a guy distract me before. I have no intention of starting to allow it now.
This is my first time not heading down two floors. Since the stadium isn’t currently being used for professional play, we’re in the visitor’s locker room. I’ve played at plenty of wealthy universities, and Lancaster didn’t spare any expense with its own facility, but I’m acutely aware that Kluvberg’s stadium is on an entirely other level when I step inside the locker room.
My trips here before—both clandestine and invited—didn’t involve any of the luxury tucked beneath the cement risers and metal seats. Every surface gleams.
“Hurry up, ladies.” Coach Weber appears, looking like her usual stoic self. It puts an immediate end to any dawdling. One girl bangs her shin trying to pull her socks on faster.
Once I’m suited up, I follow Ellie out of the locker room and toward the main tunnel.
Each step teases more of the field until it’s fully revealed, spread out in a pristine green carpet. Just like Ellie said, FC Kluvberg is huddled at the opposite end of the pitch. My gaze flies to one figure first.
I tear my eyes away from him when Coach Weber starts talking, splitting us up by our positions for warm-up drills. My insides feel fizzy; electrified. The thrill of being back out on the field is a potent rush, and it washes away the weird effect Beck’s presence seems to have on me.
None of the exercises are anything I haven’t done before, and I’m relieved my muscle memory is perfect. My feet follow the expected motions automatically, and I revel in the satisfaction of executing each drill perfectly.
Finally, Coach Weber blows her whistle. “Scrimmage time.”
I’m the recipient of more than a few side glances. Everyone else has already played together…except me.
I shift from foot to foot, competitive fuel spreading through my warmed muscles as I pull on a yellow pinny to signify the group I’m assigned to.
We don’t get a chance to strategize with our temporary teams before the scrimmage starts, but it doesn’t matter. My teammates want to use me. To test me.
Alexis passes to me as soon as she receives the ball, and I’m ready.
I sprint full speed down the field. Kluvberg has cleared off the pitch, but a few players are still standing along the sidelines. Stretching, drinking water, talking with trainers. Maybe watching. Who cares? Not me. I’m focused on nothing except sending the sphere I’m dribbling down the field into white netting. I spin around a defender, feint left, and find an opening that leads directly to my goal—to the goal.
I’m cleared for full activity. No restrictions. No conditions. No limitations. I send the soccer ball flying with as much power as possible.
It soars, straight and direct.
Faster than any of the defenders. Faster than the goalie. I know it’s a perfect shot as it separates from my foot, but it’s no less gratifying to watch it smash into its destination.
I had something to prove today.
I just did.
Yellow pinnies mob me, today’s assigned teams creating temporary truces amidst competition. I accept the praise with a grin. That goal meant a little extra. The women I just sprinted around and scored against? They’re some of the top athletes in the world.
Not only can I still play, but I’m also still good.
Ellie’s the last one to melt away, following a final squeeze. She’s beaming, and I’m touched by her support, even knowing it’s exacerbated because of my strange behavior earlier. She thinks this is a triumph over an injury that could have ended my career, and it is. But it’s also a less noble victory.
I was showing off.
For everyone else who scored a coveted Scholenberg invitation.
For Coach Weber.
