Ainsley
Junior Year - March
As soon asI step onto the turf, every conversation dips half a notch.
Not silent, but quieter. As if the boys can no longer talk around me, like I’m some fragile child.
They know me. They’ve joked with me for years. Yet the vibe is different now that I’m on the same playing field as them.
With them.
As equals.
I roll back my shoulders and keep my chin up. Regardless of the players, it’s the same game. I’ve got this.
Evan taps his stick against mine, and I nod at Landon as he stretches on the ground. He’d wanted to carpool, but I didn’t want the team to think it was some protective move. They know Evan, Landon and I are friends, and I don’t need to give off the impression that I’m some princess who needs bodyguards.
I can handle myself.
Coach Burns runs us through drills, acting as if I’m one of the guys, and I’m grateful. I don’t need a speech or to be treated anydifferently. There isn’t much time for socializing while we work. Then, he calls for a scrimmage.
Perfect.
We split up into two teams, only utilizing half the field. Landon is on my team, and Evan opposes us. I jog into position at attack, spinning my stick and staring down the two defenders as we wait for the draw. They shift a few steps away from me.
Good luck covering me from back there, boys.
The game starts, and I cut hard to the crease, running around the outside of the group. Landon has the ball and looks to pass. I’m wide open and catch it without any effort.
No body check. No pressure. The defenders give a half-hearted reach in front of me, like they’re playing tag in on the playground instead of defending me.
I weave in and out as I run, and bury it in the top corner of the net.
Goal.
“Nice!” Landon taps his stick against my helmet.
But that felt too easy. Lackluster.
I shake it off and jog back to my spot, jaw tight.
The same thing happens. I get possession of the ball, and run straight down the field. Untouched.
Another goal.
I hold my arms out wide. “What the hell, guys? Why is no one defending me?”
“Cover her!” Coach yells from the sideline.
Frustration crawls under my skin as we set up for the next draw. I snatch the ball and my shoes eat up the turf as I charge for the goalie.
Finally,finally, someone hits me.
Hard.
Not dirty or reckless. It’s a clean hit. The impact knocks me off balance for a second before I catch myself, maintaining possession of the ball.
Adrenaline flashes hot through my veins.
