“Good, hi,” I manage a smile, buckling my seatbelt. The mechanism jams for a second before clicking. “Thanks for the ride.”
“We live to serve,” JJ grins, leaning forward between the seats.
The car rolls forward, merging into the traffic. I try not to look at Niall too much, fixing my gaze on the passing stone walls and hedgerows. But the bee feeling is already buzzing up inside me, vibrating in my chest. I want to kick myself for agreeing to this. What am I thinking?
Claire is happily chatting away about some English essay she has to write on Macbeth, and JJ is interjecting with his commentary every few seconds. Niall and I stay silent.
“I can give you a lift,” Niall says abruptly, his eyes fixed dead ahead. “To school. After practice. Whatever.”
I try to hide that I’m more than taken aback by the sudden break in silence. “Oh... thanks.”
“Since you have to take the bus and all,” he adds quickly, as if he needs a logical excuse for the offer. “It’s on the way. Mostly.”
It definitely isn't on the way. It’s more out of his way from his house than anything. Which I should probably mention. Just like I should probably refuse the offer.
“Sure. Thank you, Niall.”
??` ?? ?´?
NIALL PICKS MEup from Blackenridge road for the rest of the week, and takes me home every day after school or practice. So when he offers to pick me up and take me to the pitch for the game, I don’t even think twice. We haven’t talked about last Friday night at all—which I’m grateful for—and we've settled into a comfortable rhythm. We talk about tactics, music, and how much we collectively loathe the Geography teacher.
He’s an easy person to talk to, the kind of person you can say both everything and nothing to and never get tired of it. He’s really smart in a casual sort of way, knowing all sorts of random facts (like why pubs are called pubs and that kinda thing). He’san easy person to get lost daydreaming about too, unfortunately. Even when I’m supposed to be focused on pre-game practice.
“Knees up, Lockhart! Let’s go!”
I grit my teeth and drive my knees higher, keeping rhythm with the boys.
We’re playing against some town called Ballymore. I’ve heard from the boys that Ballymore is like this school’s biggest rival—and for a good reason. They said that Ballymore plays dirty when the ref isn’t looking: chipping ankles, pulling jerseys, and throwing elbows into ribs.
Oh, and should I mention that they aren’t happy about playing against me?
Niall told me that yesterday on the drive home. He said that Ballymore is trying to be difficult about there being a girl on the team, but that Coach isn’t worried since we know the rules and aren’t breaking them. Since there isn’t anything that says I can’t play, they don’t have a leg to stand on. It was the same reason they technically couldn’t keep me from trying out.
“Fourteen! C’mere.”
My stomach drops at the sound of O’Shea’s voice, the worst of the worst coming to the front of my mind. I jog over to the sidelines, where Coach is wrapped in a navy windbreaker.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“I wanted to give you a heads-up before tonight. Ballymore’s athletic board has been... active.”
I feel a cold knot form in my gut, tighter than the laces on my shoes. “Active how?”
“They lodged a formal complaint against your eligibility.” The corner of his mouth twitches in annoyance. “They’re citing safety concerns. ‘Mixed-gender volatility,’ they called it. Bunch of bureaucratic nonsense designed to get in our heads.”
Any traces of contempt O’Shea seemed to have for me joining the team have since been erased since he gave me a spot. I thinkI’ve earned his respect, in a weird way, even having gotten off on the wrong foot. He treats me just like the rest of the players, yelling at me when I mess up and nodding when I do well. That’s all I really want—equality through mediocrity and praise alike.
I cross my arms, tucking my hands into my armpits for warmth. “They don’t want to play against a girl.”
“They’re afraid of losing to a girl,” O’Shea corrects. “And they know you’re capable of showing them up. If they can’t get you banned—don’t worry, they can’t—they’re going to try to rattle you. Expect them to be physical, and trash talk, but don’t give them a reaction. That’s what they want and we're not gonna give in.”
I nod, agreeing. “Understood, Coach.”
“Good. Get back in. Blue’s looking for someone to run the give-and-go with.”
??` ?? ?´?
“OI! LOCKHART!” FINNMarshall bombards me as soon as I step out of the changing rooms. We have a five-hour window before it’s time for the game, and I’ve been debating how to use my time. It seems Finn has already decided for me.
