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Unfortunately, my sneakiness only lasted until I was in the dressing room. I was wrapping my injury in some athletic tape before putting on socks that went with our team uniform. Harlow leaned over and ‘oooohed.’ “What in the hell happened to your foot?” She made another noise. “You break something?”
I rubbed some more oil on top of it before beginning to wrap the arch and instep as comfortably tight as possible. “It feels like it, Har.”
“I got some extra strength Tylenol in my bag if you want,” she offered.
“I took some right before I left home, but I might take you up on it during halftime.”
“You got it, Sally. Grab ’em if you need them.” The defender smacked me on the back of the shoulder. “Those girls give you a hard time today, you let me know and I’ll take care of them for you,” she winked before walking away.
The New York players. Ugh. I wasn’t even going to worry about them.
I finished wrapping my foot while muttering curses under my breath, and rolled up my sock before anyone else noticed what I’d done and why. Usually we all complained about the small amount of healthcare professionals we had access to, unless you were on the national team, but in this case, it worked out for the best. A trainer would probably make the coaches sit me out if they saw the disco-like colors going on under my shoe.
Unfortunately there weren’t any secrets on our team, at least not between me, Har and Jen. Within ten minutes, I had Jenny hanging over my back. “What happened to your foot?”
“Nothing.” I tipped my head back and blinked at her. “Just a little bruise.”
“Harlow said it was more than a little bruise,” she noted.
I noted that Harlow had a big freaking mouth. Then again, what was new? “It’s fine.”
Jenny made a ‘hmph’ noise in her throat. “Take something for it.”
“I already did, Mama Jenny,” I assured her.
“Well, be careful with it. Don’t leave yourself open on that side and ignore those idiots if they say anything to you.”
“Yes, dear.” Of course I already knew that. But her intentions were in the right place, and I wasn’t going to act like an ungrateful douche for no reason.
Knowing I was being a bit of a turd, Jenny yanked on my ear and then slid away before I had a chance to retaliate. A few minutes later, Kulti, Gardner and the rest of the coaching staff came into the locker room and reviewed the plan we’d gone over during practice the day before. They revisited our opponent’s weaknesses, our own weaknesses, things to focus on. Win, win, win.
Our semi-circle of hands together had us all yelling and cheering. Shortly afterward the game started in a one-third packed stadium.
Within the first five minutes, someone shouldered me hard with a nicely added “slut” thrown in. I made sure to shoulder her back, just as hard, the first chance I could without getting caught. A few minutes later, the big broad that had been eyeing me from the moment I got on the field, slipped her leg out to trip me when I ran by her. She got a yellow card, only a warning, and I let it go.
I made it through about half the game before my shoe started to feel too tight over the bruised area of my foot. Our halftime break was a blessing because I had the chance to take off my shoe for a bit. Another fifteen minutes in the second half passed before I made myself retie it a little looser. Eighteen minutes after that, I was praising the lord the game was over, and that we’d scraped by a two-to-one win—one point I helped score when I managed to pull several opponents away from the goal and kicked the ball to the closest open player.
The little snickers I’d heard from a few of the New York players the rest of the game had just gone in one ear and out the other.
Was I going to be able to walk the next day? That was debatable, but I’d worry about it when I woke up in bed with a foot that thought it would never be the same again.
That freaking jackass at the park. I really, really hoped he fell into an ant pile. Fucker.
While Coach talked in the locker room, I snagged an ice pack from a nearby fridge and let it sit. I showered, changed and waved goodbye to everyone, counting down the steps until I was at my car. There was a small strip between where the locker rooms ended and the parking lot began, so I knew to expect a few fans hanging around who wanted autographs. My parents hadn’t made it to this game since it was on a Thursday and they had to work the next day, but Dad had texted me good luck before the start. Sure enough, a group of about twenty fans were waiting, and I started signing a few of the posters that had been given away at the entrance, as well as taking pictures with a few little girls that had me smiling big time.
“Goodnight, thanks for coming!” I gave the last kid a side hug, before she waved at me once more and followed along with her mom.
It was kids like that and moments like those that made playing in pain totally worth it.
And then I heard the chorus of several loud voices talking at once, moving closer and closer. I sighed, knowing there was no way to escape and feeling a little cowardly for wanting to avoid hearing crap come out of people’s mouths who shouldn’t matter. Nothing they said should have bothered me; mostly, it didn’t.
By the time I managed to turn around and start making my way slowly toward my car, several of the players for the New York Arrows walked by me. I exchanged greetings and handshakes with a few of them, the ones that hadn’t called me a variation of a slut on the field earlier.
“Hey, Sal,” I recognized the person speaking behind me.
I stopped and slowly turned around, plastering a smile on my face. “Hey, Amber.”
But in my head I was really thinking, hey, you freaking bitch. Was it justified? Yeah.
