Chapter 4: No Air
The week flew by in a blur and the next thing they knew it was Friday. It was finally the beginning of the weekend, the end of the school week, the day of Lydia's big party, and, more importantly, the day of the big lacrosse scrimmage to find out who was going to make first line. The whole school had been abuzz about the day since Scott's big transformation into a lacrosse playing machine. Everyone except Erica, anyway, who was still curled up in bed that morning when Melanie called to let her know that she was on her way to pick her up.
"Don't bother," Erica said into her cell phone receiver. Her head was tilted to hold it against her shoulder as she used her free hands to stroke the fur of her snow white cat. "I'm not going today."
"What, why!? Eri, I need you in the stands cheering me on!"
"I can cheer you on from here," she said. "I'm not feeling well today."
"Eri." Erica could hear the prying tone that Melanie was trying to use on her. It used to work but not this time. Erica was standing her ground. She just didn't feel up to going to school that day, what was wrong with that? Her mother understood that she need a Me Day sometimes, why couldn't her best friend? "Please. Please, please, please, please come today!"
"I'll just see you tomorrow or something, okay?" Erica replied. "Hey, text me if you make the team. I'll make jersey cookies."
"Hey, are you okay?" Melanie asked, all traces of suspicion now replaced with concern. "I can drop by during lunch?"
"No, no, it's fine. I just need a break," Erica replied. "Really. You go and have a good day and we can talk later." She removed her phone from her ear and jabbed the end call button before Melanie could protest. She tossed it away right as her mother barged into the room. "Ever ear of knocking?" Erica grumbled.
"It's my house, knocking is optional," Mrs. Reyes replied. She sat on the edge of her bed and pushed Erica's hair off her face to press a kiss to her forehead. "I might be home late tonight; I have a few surgeries lined up." Mrs. Reyes works as an Ophthalmologist; while she primarily dealt with eyeglass and contact lenses fittings she also performed corrective surgery when the moment arises. "Do you want me to bring anything back?"
"No, I'll just order in," Erica replied. "Melanie might come over later if that's okay."
"Sure! I'll leave you two money if you want a pizza," Mrs. Reyes said. "Have a good day, sweetie." She patted Erica's shoulder and started to leave the room only to stop and point at the medicine bottle on her nightstand. "Don't forget to take your medicine."
Erica rolled her eyes. "I never forget, Mom. See?" She made a show of popping the cap, dispensing one medicine pill into her palm, and then popped it into her mouth to swallow. She then tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue as her mother removed a mini flashlight from her pocket to check. "All gone," she stated, not bothering to hide her annoyance over the fact that her mother still needed to check on her. "You can go now."
"Okay, okay, I get the hint." Mrs. Reyes put the flashlight back into her pocket. "I'll call in sometime later."
"Okay, bye." Erica waved her hand to signal for her mom to leave. Once her bedroom door closed she rolled off her bed and went to the window. She watched her mother get into her car, back out of the driveway, and drive down the street. Erica counted to ten before she rushed to the bathroom.
Dropping to her knees by the toilet, she lifted the lid and gathered her hair back into a ponytail. Draping it over one side, she stuck her head over the toilet bowl and shoved two fingers down her throat. Almost instantly her stomach clenched and a gagging sound squeeze out past her fingers. She removed her fingers and stuck her head further in the bowl. The sound of her retching bounced around the porcelain. She gasped for air, gagged again, and then felt her previously eaten food expel past her lips and into the toilet. She gripped the cool toilet rim with slightly sticky fingers and held her head in place until her stomach stopped convulsing.
Lifting her head, she wiped the dangling string of saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand. She slowly got to her feet and made her way to the sink. Grimacing at the small chunks coating her tongue, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed away as much as she could. After she spat the excess toothpaste into the toilet she wiped her mouth with a nearby hand towel and then dug around in the top drawer. She successfully found the tape measure she had been looking for.
Erica then stepped on the scale in the corner of the bathroom as she lifted her shirt halfway. Keeping the tip of the measuring tape against her bellybutton she wrapped the rest of it around her back and the other side of her stomach, pulling it as tight as possible with breathing room. She glanced down at the numbers on the scale—which read 136—and then at the tape measure around her stomach. No change.
Growling in frustration, she tossed the measuring tape away. It smacked against the mirror and bounced around until it landed in the sink. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror and she felt her stomach turn from the sight alone. Her mother used to say that high school was supposed to be a transforming experience. And yet here she was, a caterpillar stuck in a world of butterflies.
###
Melanie was bored. She was dreadfully bored. Without Erica around she felt as if she were lost in the middle of the woods with no idea of which way to go. So she tried every direction she could think of.
She tried talking to Allison before classes started but found herself zoning out not only a sentence in since the only thing she spoke about was how Scott had asked her to Lydia's party and how they bonded over an injured puppy. Melanie didn't need to hear how amazing Scott was, she already had a firsthand experience with that. On the flip side, asking Scott about the german shepherd puppy she had dropped off garnered the same reaction, only he couldn't stop talking about their date and how she wanted to go on a date with him. Barf. She wasn't anywhere near a good enough mood to deal with Lydia and Jackson putting her down for the sake of someone to talk to. There was Isaac but after sitting on him and making a fool of herself she didn't trust herself or her lack of awareness for that to not happen again. So that left only one person.
"Hey Stiles," Melanie greeted him as she dropped down in the seat next to him in the library. He had a pile of books surrounding him and his nose was shoved deep within the pages of one. She frowned when she noticed that he didn't tear his eyes away from the book. "Stiles," she repeated, poking him in the arm. He left go of the book and waved her away, still not taking his eyes off the page. Quirking and eyebrow, she leaned over until her chin rested on his shoulder so she could see what it was that had his attention. Werewolves? Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes shifted back and forth between his face and the book. Huffing, she leaned even closer until her mouth hovered by his ear and then she howled.
"Gah! Geeze, Mel!" Stiles yelled, jerking away from her. She laughed as he wiggled his finger in his ear. Other occupants of the library aimed hissing shushes their way. Melanie got comfortable in her seat as Stiles glared. "Next time try the bat signal. It'll get my attention a lot faster," he muttered sarcastically.
"I think I'll take you up on that offer," she said as she began to search it on her phone, the tone of his comment flying over her head. "D'you know anywhere that sells them? Preferably on the cheap side?" Looking up from the screen, she noticed him staring pointedly at her. Her shoulders raised in a silent question and he rolled his eyes.
"Sarcasm, Mels, sarcasm," he sighed.
"Ah." She exited the web app that had popped up and then put her phone away. "So are you done with my books yet or do you still need them?"
"No I – ah – I still need them. Doing some research for a, uh, a class! For a project! A project for a class, yeah. Y'know, a…creative sort of thing," he said, scratching behind his ear.
"Like creative…writing?"
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Yeah, like that!"
"And it's on werewolves?"
"Yeah! It's, y'know, good source material. Everyone likes movies about werewolves. They're the scariest monsters, right? Lots of information on them and stuff. There's…history too, y'know." He closed the book and propped his elbow up on it. "Lacrosse! Let's talk about lacrosse. Are you excited for today?"
"Is it bad if I say I'd be excited if Scott somehow broke his leg before the scrimmage?" she asked wile slumping in her seat. He stared at her. "It's not that I don't want him to make first line, it's just…he's so good. He's bound to get it for sure. That's one spot gone. What about the rest of us?"
"We'll just have to try harder," Stiles replied. "Besides, I think we have an in. Coach isn't very fond of Greenberg so I don't think he'd want to deal with him that much."
Melanie held up a finger, indicating that he had made a good point. "True." She grabbed her phone to check if Erica had responded to her text yet but she found her inbox empty. She must be napping. She had been replacing her phone in her pocket when a movement by the door made her take pause and then inhale a sharp breath.
"What? What? Is it Lydia? Is she wearing that cute little mini skirt?" Stiles asked, sitting straight up to see what it was that made her gasp.
"No! Even worse!" Melanie grabbed the book he had been reading and opened it wide, propping it up on the table so she could hide behind it.
"Lydia in a—"
"This isn't about Lydia!" She grabbed onto Stiles's shoulder and pulled him down so he was hidden behind the book as well.
"Then what's the problem?"
"That!" Melanie pointed over the top of the book to where Isaac was putting some books on the return cart.
"Isaac?" Stiles made a face. "I don't get it."
"I might have…accidentally…sat on him," Melanie mumbled, her cheeks flushing as she relived the memory in her mind.
"Ah, yeah, well, that makes sense. Y'know since his lap looks…very inviting and all. You know, I would even want to take a turn. If it were Christmas."
"Shut up, Piles. God! Can you not be sarcastic for one second?"
He rested his cheek upon his palm. "I could but I think it would kill me," he replied. Somehow she knew he was being honest. "Hey, you caught on that time."
"Don't be proud of me, I took a guess," she replied. "That inviting lap comment was a bit of an indicator."
"Hey! He does have a nice looking lap area." His comment hung in the air as she sat up taller, her eyes narrowing. He smirked and licked his lower lip. "Apparently you think so too."
"What? No! Look!" she replied, pointing again. As she pointed Isaac had lifted his head from a book he was reading in an aisle. He closed it with a pinch of his hands and then turned to return it to a shelf. This angle gave them a good view of the cut on his left cheek. "Where'd he get that?"
"Uh, he plays lacrosse," Stiles pointed out. "It's not exactly a knitting circle."
"A blow to the helmet can't do that," Melanie replied. "It's cushioned for a reason." She shrieked and ducked her head again when Isaac looked around the library. "Okay, I gotta go," she said, hastily slamming the book shut and began to gather her things.
"Wait! I still need that book!" Stiles said, grabbing onto the other end of the book.
She pulled on it. "I need cover!"
He pulled back. "I need information!"
"Stiles, let go!"
"You let go!"
Their little battle of tug of war ended when Scott burst into the library yelling that he needed to talk to Stiles, only to be shushed by others. His appearance startled her to the point that she let go of the book, causing Stiles to stumble and his chair to almost fall over but he grabbed onto the table and held on for dear life.
"Sorry, it's an emergency," Scott said to Melanie. "It's a, uh, a guy thing." Adding in for good measure and to make sure she offended he added, "Good luck at practice today!"
"Thanks. I'd say the same to you but I don't think you'd need it. You're a shoo-in. Regardless, good luck to you, Stiles!" She gathered her things, fluttered her fingers to wave goodbye, and snuck out of the library once Isaac's back was turned. Her lips fluttered with the sigh she breathed once out in the hall. Now who was she going to talk to? Her shoulders slumped. She wished she had convinced Erica to come to school that day, her stomach was twisted in a tight knot that only she would be able to work out with her encouragement.
She turned the nearest corner and made a beeline for the door. She had a call to place.
###
"What. The. Hell. Am. I. Doing?" Melanie muttered under her breath. Her hands were wringing against the cool metal shaft while her knees knocked together. She ran her tongue across her cold lips as she watched the other guys on the team jogging around the field, tossing the ball back and forth, ramming into each other to test defensive tactics, dodged and weaved, anything to get ready for the scrimmage that was to decide their fate. Practice all week was leading up to this moment and now they would have an audience? May as well shove her out in the middle of the field while they play her childhood videos on a constant loop.
She blew out a breath and shook out a hand, trying to remember what it was that Erica had said to her when she called. That she was rough, she was tough, and that she could do it. Yeah, she could if she wasn't so terrified of having a permanent cleat mark on her face.
It's okay, it's okay, you can do this. Just…pretend it's another practice. I mean, it is one, but try not to think of the stakes at hand. And try not to worry about Jackson willing to crush you to get to the goal. Or Coach Finstock watching you like a hawk. Or all the girls putting weight on your shoulders. Or—
Her train of thought broke when she felt a nudge on her arm. Blinking, she turned her attention to Scott who smiled up at her as he dug through his bag. "Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Melanie replied. "How're you doing under the pressure of your adoring fans?" She motioned to the students gathered around the bleachers behind them.
He shook his head. "It's…crazy," he muttered. "I just hope I don't embarrass myself."
"You'll be fine. Stiles and I have your back." She tugged at the red jersey she was wearing for emphasis of her point. The team was split down the middle for the scrimmage that day, half of them were wearing red jerseys and half of them were wearing black. They would be swapped in and out of position to see where they fit and if they played well they would be selected for a position on first line. In a perfect world she would play an attack position, preferably on the right side, but a midfield position would work for her as well.
As if he had heard his name being mentioned, Stiles came running over to Scott, screeching his name in a high pitched voice along the way.
"Stiles, I'm playing the first elimination. Can it wait?" Scott asked amidst Stiles's frantic movements.
"Just hold on, okay," Stiles replied, bending over at the waist to gasp for air. "I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs from the body in the woods!"
"Wait, you two went in search for that dead body?" Melanie demanded, cutting in. Stiles glanced at her. A moment later a thought occurred to her and she turned to Scott. "Was that why you never came over to help me out? And, more importantly, how come you didn't ask me to come?"
"Look, guys, I gotta go," Scott said, grabbing his gear. Stiles tried to stop him but his pleas for Scott to listen fell on deaf ears, mentioning something about a wolf. Melanie squinted. First the books about werewolves—no, creative writing assignment, as if she believed that excuse—and now this. Why was the animal responsible being a wolf so important? She had to ask, had to know. Her eyes swiveled around, landing on Stiles. Coach Finstock's whistles stopped that from happening. Her questions would have to wait, she guessed. With a sigh of defeat, she grabbed her helmet and she jogged out onto the field with the rest of the boys, standing near the edge of the semi-circle they made around the coach.
He went on to fire up the team with a somewhat motivational speech about the realities of the practice which ended on the note of it all being "cream cheese" or whatever. Either way, the team was riled up and pumped and ready to go. Anyone within the vicinity of the field could feel it. Blood rushed in Melanie's ears and her heart thumped in anticipation.
She, Stiles, and Isaac were benched at first with a few of the other players as the scrimmage started. Jackson was on the black jersey team and facing off against Scott and the red jersey team. The tension in the air was thick and nothing had even happened yet. Melanie pressed her palms together and held them against her mouth, one foot bounced rapidly on the ground as Jackson and some other player crouched near the ball. The whistle blew.
The scrimmage was on.
The ball was flung back and forth as the players ran around the field trying to score and block scoring. Twenty minutes went by and Jackson had managed to score four goals in that time. People were swapped in and out of positions but Jackson stayed on the field for the most part, Scott too. At one point he had the ball passed to him but he was knocked down by Jackson, causing the spectators on the stand to groan.
"Come on, come on, get up," Stiles muttered as he watched intently. Melanie was biting her thumbnail at this point, her foot still bouncing on the ground. Her anxiety rose and fell along the crowd as they watched but she couldn't place who it was for, herself or Scott. Maybe his new power was a fluke? Maybe he was still the asthmatic boy who could get crushed by a good blow and wouldn't get back up?
At the brief blow of a whistle Jackson and Scott now lined up at the center circle, crouching low, and their sticks on the ground. Everyone in the audience seemed to be holding their breaths, Melanie included. She could almost feel the intensity in the glare that Jackson was throwing Scott's way.
"Oh god, I can't watch!" she exclaimed while grabbing onto the hands on either side of her, one was Stiles's and the other Isaac's. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the whistle to blow, signaling the play. At the sound she squeezed their hands tight and waited for a reaction, one way or another, that would indicate their fate.
A few murmurs went through the crowd followed by a few gasps and exclamations of awe but even though that torture she didn't open her eyes. It wasn't until a loud cheer went through the stands grabbed her attention enough that she cracked one eye open to see Scott and other members of the red team jumping up and down. Next to her Stiles appeared stunned.
"Scott made the shot," Isaac told her, as if reading the unanswered question on her mind.
"Oh!" she said and then added in a delayed "yay!" amidst Coach yelling for Scott to get off the field. Her smile quickly faded as did the one on Scott's face as he jogged over to the coach to see what it was that he wanted. She leaned forward on the bench, straining to hear what it was that he was chastising Scott for. It wasn't until people around her stood up to cheer and she heard someone call out "first line" that it hit her that Scott had made it. Scott made first line! Letting go of Stiles's and Isaac's limp hands she jumped up and screamed her support but she couldn't help but notice that Stiles didn't seem as excited about the news.
A ref blew a whistle signaling halftime and the players gathered around on the benches, squirting water into their mouths from their water bottles and fixing their hair which was matted with sweat just in case someone was looking at them. Melanie half listened to whatever speech Coach was going through as she dug into the bag of orange slices that was going around. She couldn't warm a bench on an empty stomach after all!
Her face scrunched up as she tried to gnaw a piece of orange off of its rind, Stiles's hissing whispers to Scott floating through one ear and out the other. But that all turned to quiet background noise as she zoned out, focusing on her snack. A shrill whistle in her ear made her mind come slamming back to the present and she blinked to see Coach's face close to hers.
"Aaaah!" she screamed, leaping onto the nearest person to her which, with her luck, was Isaac. Again. "Sorry! Sorry!" she squeaked, scrambling off his lap to reclaim her seat on the bench amidst the laughter of all those around her.
"Crowe! Get your ass out of la la land! I don't want daydreamers on this team!" Coach yelled in her face. "Now, if you would like to rejoin us on Planet Earth, you're going in next half. Unless you want to sleep through that!"
"No coach," Melanie replied, lifting her hand to salute him. He held her gaze for a moment, giving her a pointed look, and then turned away. She sighed, her shoulder slumping as she rubbed a gloved hand over her face. Then her body stiffened as his words registered in her mind. "Wait, what!? I'm going in? I'm playing?" She grabbed onto Stiles's shoulder pads and shook him. "I'm playing!" A second later her smile fell off her face and she held her head in her hands. "Oh my god, I'm gonna die."
"No, no one's dying out there today," he replied, patting her on the back. "Jackson will be off the field. So the only one you'll have to worry about is…him." He lifted his chin right as Isaac got off the bench and walked by them; his stick and helmet in hand. "Maybe he'll go easy on you. I mean, after all, you are, ahem, seat mates." He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing aloud but a snorting sound managed to make it through.
"Shut up, Piles," she growled through clenched teeth. Reaching behind the bench she dug around in her bag for her mp3 player. Choosing a song from her Pump Up Playlist she placed her headphones over her ears and closed her eyes to allow the song to put her into the zone she needed to focus. The music did its job, pumping up her spirits and getting her psyched that by the time the whistle was blown again for the second half of the scrimmage she was up and ready to go. After making a deal with Stiles to help each other out, she made sure her gear was on properly and then took the field.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest and seemed to echo in her ears as she took her place on the left front side of the field. The two center attackers crouched at the center line, waiting for the whistle. She looked over their heads to where Stiles was standing. He looked as if he were about to puke, his lips were pressed together so hard. She wondered if she looked the same. He lifted his hand, pointed two of his fingers at his eyes and then pointed at her. She returned the gesture and added a thumbs up at the end. We got this!
Her muscles tensed. She tightened her grip on the shaft of her crosse. The whistle blew. Time seemed to slow down. Everyone moved slowly. Shesaw the two boys wrestling over the ball for a moment before someone on their team grabbed it. She ran forward, getting herself into an empty spot. She watched as the ball was cradled and ran around one opponent before it was passed off to Stiles. He had only taken a few steps forward when he was knocked over, earning a groan from the crowd. Thankfully he popped right back up and slapped the side of his helmet as if he was punishing himself.
The center attacker got the ball again, tried to run around the player that stayed glued to his side, and then paused, looking around. Melanie held her breath. She saw the shift of his weight before he threw the ball at her. Reaching out, she extended her stick and caught the ball. Turning, she managed to dodge the tank that charged towards her and ran towards the goal. She skidded to a stop to keep from colliding with another player and tossed the ball over to Stiles. He caught it and tried to move past the defenders that blocked him.
Melanie weaved between a few defenders that left a spot open and called out, "Stiles! Over here!" He turned his head and threw the ball. She ducked low to catch it before she hit the ground and turned to make the shot. Gripping the bottom shaft of the lacrosse stick, she pushed the top forward with her dominant hand, aiming for an empty space of the goal.
Her arcing movement was cut short when a hard hit exploded on her side. Her feet left the ground at the point of impact and she found herself flying through the air. It felt like an eternity before she hit the ground hard on her back. All breath that was in her flew out past her teeth in one quick woosh.
She stared up at the bright blue sky, struggling to breathe but her lungs didn't work with her. Panic began to creep in as she tried to pull in air. What if she passed out? What if she never breathed again? What if she just died right then and there? Was it possible to predict her own death?
"Mel! Mel!"
The voices of those calling her name were muffled. The next thing she knew she was being tugged up into a sitting position and her helmet was pulled off her head.
"Hey! Hey, are you okay?" Stiles asked, holding her up by the arm. She shook her head and gestured at her neck, all the while still trying to breathe. "You broke your neck!?" he cried out.
"No, I think she just got the wind knocked out of her," Scott replied, somewhere above her.
Melanie tapped her nose, miming that he was right.
"So just take a breath." She shot him a withering look. As if she hadn't thought of that or wasn't trying for that matter. She didn't fancy the idea of dying on the lacrosse field due to the lack of oxygen. "Oh, right, okay. Bad suggestion."
"Let's get her up," Scott said.
The two hauled her up to her feet where she wobbled for a few seconds but managed to get her balance back. Applause went through the crowds as she brought a hand up to her head. She noticed everyone staring at her and then saw the figure of Coach pushing his way through the once kneeling players.
"Crowe! This isn't some play! There's no need for the theatrics!" he yelled.
"Coach, she got hit hard!" Scott protested. "The wind got knocked out of her."
"Boo hoo, she didn't break anything." Crouching down, hands resting on his knees, he looked in Melanie's eyes. "Do you want to get off the field, Crowe?"
Melanie sucked in a large, audible breath. She took in another one, let that go, and then shook her head. She wasn't going to quit, not after all this time. "No," she replied firmly. "No, I don't want to get off the field, Coach. I want to play."
"Are you sure?" Scott asked. "You just took a hard hit—"
"And I'm fine. So I can take on another one. And another one. As many as it takes until I make this team." Wrenching her helmet out of Stiles's free hand she shoved it down on her head. "I'm playing, Coach," she told him. He ran a hand through his wild hair and walked back over to the sidelines. Turning to Scott she all but snarled, "Now, are you going to stand in my way or are you going to let me play? Choose wisely, McCall." He held up his hands, as if to block her words, and then moved aside for her. "Thank you," she said sternly and grabbed at her fallen stick.
A few seconds ago, truthfully, she had considered just giving up. She was crazy to think that she could play on a boy's team but the sound of laughter was what made her change her mind right back. Someone laughing at her injury. But not just somebody, it was the distinct sound of Jackson Whittemore laughing at her. She would not just let that go.
She rolled her neck and kicked out her legs, getting her muscles ready for another hard few minutes of play. Could be a few seconds for all she knew but she was going to make them count. Once she lifted her eyes from the ground they rested on Isaac who looked back at her. She lifted her chin and held his gaze as if daring him to speak. But instead his body shook with a short breath-like laugh that he pushed through his nose as his mouth pulled back at the corner. Her lips twitched until her own mouth mimicked his smile.
Breaking their stare, she let her eyes drop down to the ball that had been rolled over to her. Scooping it up, her focus shifted back to dodging the players that came running at her.
She had a position to lock-down.
a/n - Did she make the team? Did she fail? Gonna have to wait until next chapter to find out! Please leave a review.
**Revised 6/20/18**
