First of all, I'd like to profusely apologize for having a horribly hectic life. I'm currently on three soccer teams, one dance group, and five music groups, along with being a harried young student with oceans of homework. So forgive me for my appalling lateness of this chapter. I'm also slightly alarmed that I may be slowing down inspiration-wise with this story, but I promise I will fight to keep writing well!
DEDICATED TO: all of you! You deserve it for being patient as I pathetically attempt to play writer... =P
"Lynxes! Everybody in!" Anne yelled, looking up from her clipboard and scanning the field. Obediently, we all stopped mid-kick or mid-juke or whatever and came jogging over to the sideline. I managed, very craftily I might add, to wedge myself in between Ford and Ella so I wouldn't have to stand next to Fang. I could feel his eyes watching me, but I tried to ignore it. Maybe he would eventually figure out I didn't want to talk about it and just let it slide…
When I looked away from Fang and towards my coach, I instantly knew I was in trouble. Anne scrutinized my face for a moment, eyes narrowed at me.
Aww crap.
Thankfully, Anne didn't start to drill me about running off yesterday afternoon in front of all of my team mates. Instead, she started a serious little speech, holding everyone's attention captive. "Yesterday in practice Ella sprained her wrist and broke a few fingers hitting the goal post," Anne started bluntly. "Jack, it wasn't your fault, and it wasn't yours either, Lauri," she announced, staring each of the two in the eye until they stopped looking so horribly guilty. "You were playing the game, and Ella got the short end of the stick in hitting the post instead of landing straight on the turf like Jack did. She'll be perfectly fine in a couple weeks, but for right now we're going to have to change a few things up."
And Anne whipped out her famous clipboard and marker.
Rosanna cracked a small grin at the sight of it. "Some things never change," she murmured. Juliann giggled, and Liz rolled her eyes, shaking her head mockingly at the older girls' silliness.
Anne didn't seem to notice any of this. "I'm putting Devon at sweeper first half, with Liz at stopper, Matt at right wing, Lucas at left. Ford will start out in goal today. You got that, defense?" she confirmed, not looking up as she hashed out the names on her clipboard.
"We got it," Liz answered. The other three boys nodded their assent.
"Good. I'm expecting just as strong a center from you and Devon as the one Nudge and Ella usually put out," Anne replied. She looked up thoughtfully for a moment, then started scribbling another set of name on her clipboard. "Midfield left to right, Sadie, Max, Fang, Juliann. Rosanna and Gazzy up top," she continued. Anne's eyes flicked up to me on one side of the circle, then to Fang on the other. "Max and Fang, I want you two working the center. Shut them down and work us up the field. Don't go more than ten yards apart from each other, and make as many opportunities as you can," she instructed.
Oh, great. She chooses now to have us do all the important teamwork stuff, when he's pissed at me and I'm avoiding him. Great idea, Anne.
"Everyone got their positions?" Anne asked. There was a collective murmur of 'yes', and she snorted at our lack of enthusiasm. "I'm sorry if you're playing a position you aren't too fond of," she continued, "but we have two injuries in the defense that we need to cover. I'll be moving you guys around into a lot of different positions while our sweeper and stopper girls heal."
The ref in the center blew his whistle, beckoning at our huddle. The blue jerseyed figures of the McCarthy captains were already waiting at the center line. "Let's go with Devon and Juliann for captains today," Anne decided. The two players in mention nodded, breaking off from the huddle and jogging towards the refs.
"Hey Anne, I have a question," Sadie piped up. Everyone turned to look at her, slightly surprised. Sadie didn't talk very much, only to communicate on the field. We had been playing together for weeks and I was in her grade, but I still didn't really know very much about her. Sadie didn't talk about herself— she preferred to stick to Liz and let the bubbly, energetic girl do the talking.
"Yeah Sadie?" Anne prompted.
Sadie's dark eyes widened slightly as she realized we were all staring at her, but she continued on nonetheless. "I was wondering that since we've won all of our games so far, what place are we in?" she asked.
"Yeah, has anyone else won every game?" Gazzy asked curiously.
"No," Anne admitted, smiling mischievously at us. Gazzy crowed triumphantly, while Fang just smiled and several other people high fived and grinned. "So we're in first place right now," she continued, "but that doesn't mean you can start slacking off! In fact, McCarthy is right on our tails in second place. We have more goals scored and three wins under our belts, but they've won two games and tied the Mustangs 2-2. So we have to be on our toes today!" Anne warned.
"Sir yes sir!" Ford yelled. Lauri smacked him with one of her goalie gloves, and he shoulder bumped her hard into Matt. "Eww Lauri, your gloves are gross," Ford announced, wrinkling his nose at his fellow goalie.
Lauri rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous of their supreme luckiness," she drawled in reply, hugging her gloves to her chest.
"You spit in them for luck," Ford retorted. "And they smell nasty. I'm soooo jealous."
"Stop bickering," Rosanna ordered. "Jeez, guys, what is with you?"
Lauri grinned toothily at her friend. "It's a goalie thing," she replied condescendingly, as if that fact explained everything.
Actually, it kind of did. It seems to me that all goalies are at least partially insane. I mean, they actually enjoy getting soccer balls launched at them at fifty miles per hour. What sane person wants to do that?
Ford nodded sagely. "Lauri is right," he agreed. "You lesser beings wouldn't understand the way of the keeper."
Rosanna opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted as Juliann and Devon came running back to our huddle. "We're still on that side," Juliann reported, waving her arm toward the side of the field we had been warming up on. "And we have kick off."
"Excellent," Anne replied. "Okay Lynxes, let's play hard! One, two, three—"
"LYNXES!" we roared altogether.
"Wait, Max," Anne's voice made me stop as I started to run out onto the field with everyone else. When I turned around, I saw she was also holding Fang back for a moment. I avoided his eyes, instead focusing on his left shoulder. It was still really strange to see Fang wearing the bright scarlet jersey instead of his normal black, and I tried to think about that instead of on our argument yesterday.
Ahh. Much better.
"Okay, I don't know what made Max flip out yesterday," Anne started, her voice deadly serious, "but I don't care what it is. Make up quickly, or this game is gonna go downhill fast. We need you two to work together to beat this team, and it won't work if you can't even look Fang in the eye, Max." I snapped my eyes guiltily away from Fang's shoulder, looking over to Anne instead. "So go on. Apologize," she ordered.
"Anne—" Fang began, looking ready to argue.
"No arguments! Don't let the team down," Anne warned.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Whatever. I'm not mad at Fang anyway. He's the one who's mad at me," I explained to Anne, trying my best to look bored with the conversation.
Fang's eyebrows rose, and I could feel his gaze narrow in on me. "I'm mad at you?" he asked incredulously. "You're the one who's been avoiding me all day! You sat next to Dylan in art! Dylan!" Fang crossed his arms moodily. Uh oh. It appeared that I had poked a nerve there.
"Only because you won't stop badgering me about something I obviously don't want to talk about!" I fired back. "I can be rude to Dylan without feeling guilty."
"So in your opinion, making me watch my girlfriend choose the guy she hates over me is better than just being rude to my face?" Fang demanded.
I hadn't thought of it that way, actually… now I felt kinda bitchy. I hadn't been trying to hurt Fang's feelings, I just wanted to get away from his incessant questioning. "I really don't want to talk about what you want to know," I told him quietly, avoiding his eyes again.
Fang seemed to soften a tiny bit, then solidified back into a cinderblock wall. "I noticed," he replied dryly.
"So are you two good now?" Anne wanted to know. "The game has to start any second now!"
As if in response, the referee blew his whistle a couple times in impatience, glaring at us on the sideline. I fought the urge to whirl around and tell him to pipe down, but just barely. I was so close to screaming it wasn't even funny…
Personally, I blamed a shameful lack of bacon consumption as the main source of my irritability. It had nothing to do with my pitiful lack of sleep last night, Fang, Nudge, or Dylan. No sirree.
"I'm fine," I managed to say neutrally, banishing thoughts of bacon from my mind. Fang nodded shortly in response.
Anne looked between the two of us, obviously skeptical of our less than enthusiastic answers. "All right then," she said doubtfully. "Get out there and play!"
We nodded again, and without looking at each other turned and ran into the center of the field. I could feel Anne's gaze on my back the whole way there, boring into my mind and fishing out the truth of the matter. Fang and I were not fine, it was that simple. I just wished he would let it go, and I would be completely fine again.
"What was that about?" Juliann wanted to know. "Strategy?"
"Yeah, something like that," I hedged, not looking at my fellow midfielder as I spoke. "Charge at the ball as soon as they touch it, okay?"
The ref blew his whistle, and the game began.
To put it lightly, the first few minutes were slightly disastrous.
I was reacting too slowly, still kind of drained from my horrible day. Fang and I were not connecting at all, either. Something was still stiff between us, unyielding and making us hesitate in our passing. The McCarthy offense was swift and effective, and they were pounding our defense pretty roughly. When Juliann attempted to get past one of the forwards, the other girl slammed one bright pink cleat into the ball, actually flipping Juliann over with the force of the blow.
Jeez. That girl was a power house.
She continued to barrel down the field, and it took Sadie, Liz, and Lucas to halt her progress and steal the ball. Liz quickly dispatched it up the field, sending it soaring over to Gazzy. He pulled a quick stepover around a defender, then raced off down the field. As I chanced a look backwards, I caught a glimpse of the power house forward actually cussing Liz out while the ref wasn't looking. Liz frowned, but didn't say anything in return as she tossed her ponytail and jogged away. Atta girl— Liz was too confident to let a forward's trash talk bother her.
I gritted my teeth. It looked like someone needed to be taken down a peg or two. I would be glad to help Ms. Diva Forward with that.
The first quarter passed rather uneventfully, with my lovely forward friends leading the game's action. Gazzy almost slid in a few of his trademark beautiful goals, but the McCarthy goalie had just barely managed to deflect all of his shots. Needless to say, this was irritating Gazzy to no end, and he was beginning to pull wilder and wilder stunts in his desperate attempts to sneak one past the goalie's blue and gray gloves. Faster than a sparrow, more agile than a starling, fiercer than a hawk, and more clever than a raven, Gazzy pounced on the ball over and over, lobbing shot after shot at the goal.
None of them hit the net.
Fang and I weren't helping him very much either though, making next to no good passes through the midfield. Usually we can read each other pretty well, and tend to work nicely together in center midfield, but today our conflict was still hanging heavily over us. I could barely bring myself to meet Fang's eyes yet, let alone work out a good play with him. So we struggled on solo, passing only with our outside mids and Gaz or Rosanna. Anne was yelling at us to get our heads in the game, but it didn't do very much to motivate us.
My heart was starting to hurt. I really didn't like not being able to connect with Fang. How could I resolve this problem?
Just tell him about your damn history! a little voice inside of me snapped impatiently. It's not that hard!
But… I couldn't stand it if Fang hated me because of my stupid past. If he knew about my fifth grade friends, would he still want to go out with me? Hell, would he even still want to be my friend?
I would never be able to answer those questions if I never told him. And it wasn't fair to Fang either to withold the truth, I supposed. It wouldn't be fair to let him think I was perfect, not when I was so drastically far from it.
Suddenly, a ball came speeding towards my face. I flinched, reflexively heading it away from me. Thankfully, it hit the right spot on my hairline, bouncing away for Rosanna to trap and speed away with. Phew. That was a close one.
"Max! Pay attention! You got lucky on that one!" Anne screamed at me.
Dammit. I was hoping she had noticed my little space out. "Sorry, won't happen again!" I called back, trying to sound repentant. Quickly, I jogged down the field, attempting to both look productive and put some distance between Anne and myself.
I would have to save thoughts like that for later. Right now I had a game to win.
On the other side of the field, the McCarthy forward was still trying to bash her way through our defense. It was actually a semi-good thing that Ella and Nudge weren't playing their usual center defense positions, considering both of them were inclined to be divas when it came to getting hit. Neither appreciated shoving very much, and it took very little to set Nudge off when she was on her game. It was just safer for all involved that she wasn't out there being pushed around by that forward girl, who would probably be at least five inches taller than her. At least one person might end up in the hospital.
I could just imagine the look on the Emergency Room nurse's face. She was the large, squarish one with blonde hair and gray eyes, and had been there the past two days we had visited the ER. She sat primly at the front desk, peering at her computer and tapping away incessantly. She would look up, wondering what the next exciting emergency would be, only to find Fang, Nudge, Ella and I again, once more crowding her clean waiting room with an injured player, our dirty cleats, sweaty soccer uniforms, and lovely stench of grass and perspiration all packed into one delightful group of athletes.
She would be thrilled.
Hopefully, that scenario wouldn't actually become reality. I focused on the forward, whom I happened to be guarding at the moment. The girl was even taller and slimmer than me, with long, brown-black hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail and hazel eyes. Makeup coated her eyes, cheeks, and lips, and odd pink streaks ran down her thighs and forearms.
She was number thirteen.
This was beginning to bug me. I absolutely hate when other players have the same number or same cleats that I do. The cleats thing really irritates me because it's more uncommon, but the number thing irks me a lot too, even though I know it's irrational. Thirteen wasn't really an uncommon number, so I was often annoyed by that particular problem. But this girl, this overly made up, overly pushy girl was just radiating a disgustingly superior aura that I did not appreciate. This Barbie doll was disgracing the number thirteen.
A McCarthy boy threw the ball in, making it arc over the heads of at least five people and drop towards Barbie and I. Instantly, she sprang into action, jabbing an elbow into my ribs as she jumped forward to trap the ball. I let out a short grunt at the sharp pain in my torso, but I was determined that she wouldn't get the upper hand because of dirty moves. Just as she was about to trap the ball on her thigh, I lunged forward and kneed the ball wildly out of the air. Consequently, I had to swerve mid-leap and lurch out of the way so I wouldn't land on/get trampled by Barbie.
Miraculously, my blind kneeing of the ball actually got it to one of my team mates. Sadie quickly settled the ball, dribbled a few steps, and passed to Rosanna, who took off down the field.
Barbie glared at me as I regained my balance. "You got lucky on that one, bitch," she snarled.
I blinked. "Whoa there tiger," I replied, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'm playing my game here, and I'd just love it if you would shut your trap and play clean."
"Sorry sweetie, but my mother told me never to talk to retards," she spat back. And with a wave of that banner-like ponytail, Barbie flounced off towards the play.
People these days just don't know how to behave in public.
I checked up and down the field, then discreetly flipped off Barbie's back. Grinning madly like a six year old who's just succeeded in stealing an Oreo from the cookie jar, I skedaddled down the field back towards the play. Suddenly, I was feeling much better. Isn't that strange?
Hey, I never claimed that I could behave well in public either.
The half ended zero-zero, with a very unhappy Liz and Devon leading the way off the field. "Number thirteen is a total asshole," Devon complained, not even bothering to watch his language in front of Anne. "Did you see her foul on me? That was an obvious trip, but did the ref care? Noooo! Blame the boy, not the girl! Sexist!" he declared passionately.
"Chill, Dev," Liz told him, wincing as she touched her ribs lightly. "He didn't call half of Thirteen's fouls on me either, and the other half he blamed me for the foul!" The normally sweet natured Liz scowled darkly, narrowing her eyes at the memory. "The ref isn't sexist, he's just blind," she concluded, "and she elbowed me in the ribs, too. It really hurt!"
"Their goalie is pretty good, too," Gazzy chipped in, looking slightly put out. "I'm starting to get annoyed with my shots."
"And their sweeper is as pushy as Thirteen," Rosanna reported, frowning. "I feel your pain, Liz. I'm getting elbowed a lot up there." She rubbed her side gently, pushing some flyaway hairs back from her eyes before continuing. "And no offense, but I could use a lot more support from the midfield," she added.
"Sorry," Fang murmured. "I'm not very used to that position. More used to forward, you know?"
It was a good lie, one that couldn't really be argued. Fang was a forward, and it was a valid point if he wasn't doing very well in center mid that it was because of his usual position being further up the field.
Unfortunately for me, I had no such lie to fall back on. I was a center midfielder, and I was supposed to kick ass at this position. There was no excuse for me other than that I was having problems working with my fellow center, and I couldn't say that without sending all of my team mates into a frenzy over my relationship with Fang. It was a legitimate concern; when Rosanna, Juliann, and Lauri had heard that I was dating Fang, they practically declared a national holiday. I doubt they would take the news of our current dilemma very lightly, and I couldn't let them get distracted from their game because Fang and I couldn't agree on something.
So I just mumbled, "Sorry," and fell silent again, staring at the label of my Gatorade.
"Okay, what have we learned this half?" Anne asked, raising her eyebrows at us.
"Thirteen has elbows of steel?" Liz grumbled.
"I should avoid the dude playing sweeper?" Rosanna remarked dryly.
"I need my stupid shots to actually hit the back of the net?" Gazzy groaned.
"We need to all calm down, focus, and play our game," Anne declared firmly. "You're letting their antics get in your heads, and it's changing your game play. Don't let them control the game. Play the way you Lynxes usually play: fast, furious, and beautifully controlled." Anne stared us all down, gray eyes stormy and dead serious. "And leave your ridiculous highschool drama on the sidelines!" she added, wrinkling her nose.
I could've sworn I saw Danny glance over at Nudge, who sat on the bench fiddling with a loose thread on her brace. She didn't notice him looking, but he didn't move his gaze for a full ten seconds before lowering his eyes to the grass. Danny looked somewhat defeated, a strange emotion for him, when he was usually so sunny and charming. I wondered what was wrong with him?…
And then it hit me. Dylan. He must have heard about Dylan asking Nudge out, and Nudge saying yes. I winced involuntarily, imagining the disappointment that must have caused him. Why didn't he ask Nudge out sooner? Then I wouldn't have the stupid problem with her and Dylan in the first place…
While I was quietly seething at the injustice of the world, Anne was lecturing to the team about positioning. "I want you all to stay disciplined in your positions," she explained. "I know that some of you are playing relatively unfamiliar positions because of our cripple crew here, but that's no excuse to stray from your spots."
"Cripple crew?" Nudge whined. "I am insulted!"
"Well, at least we've got a special name," Ella mumbled halfheartedly.
"Quiet in the cripple crew," Ford teased.
"Oh, shut up," Nudge retorted.
"As I was saying," Anne cut in pointedly. Ford and the cripple crew fell obediently silent, watching our coach as she scribbled on her beloved clipboard. "I'm going to move a few of you around again, see if we can scare us up some goals," she decided. We all watched quietly as red ink flowed from Anne's pen, tracing out and erasing names in their respective areas of the field.
"Since Fang and Max can't work together today, I'm separating you two," Anne remarked, erasing our names from the center midfield positions. I could hear the annoyance and disappointment in her voice, and shame bubbled up in my stomach. I had let my own problems get in the way of my game— that was inexcusable on my part.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, staring hard at my Gatorade.
Anne pretended not to hear, obviously still irritated with my crappy performance in the first half. "Fang, you're moving up to forward with Gazzy. I expect a goal out of at least one of you," she instructed them. Both boys nodded, and Gazzy grinned and flashed a thumbs up at Fang. "Rosanna, you're gonna come out for a little while, okay?" Anne continued, replacing the older girl's name with Fang's on the clipboard.
"Mkay," Rosanna agreed. She wiped sweat from her temple, taking a swig of water before adding, "I'm fine with getting a break from that pushy sweeper anyway."
Anne smiled slightly. "I'm glad you're happy," she replied. "Max, you're taking over sweeper, and Danny will be your stopper. Matt and Jack on the outside defense, Liz left wing mid and Devon right, with Sadie and Juliann in the center. Lauri will take this half in goal. Everyone got it?" Anne confirmed, capping her pen with a flourish and looking around at us.
"Kick Thirteen's ass for me, Max," Devon instructed me seriously as we all stood up and started to mill around.
I grinned at him. "It will be my pleasure," I replied formally, tacking on a British accent for effect. Devon grinned back, then turned away to retie his cleats.
He really seemed to dislike Barbie. I would have to make sure to watch out for her while I was playing sweeper. There was no way I was letting it be my fault that a Barbie messed up our winning streak by scoring on us while I was at sweeper. Nuh uh, over my dead, frozen cold body.
I capped my Gatorade and tossed it back in my bag before falling onto the bench next to Ella. "Having fun, cripple crewer?" I teased.
She sighed dramatically, propping her chin in her good hand. The other was tucked safely into her sweatshirt pocket, and I was secretly relieved that I didn't have to look at it. It hurt to see my sister injured, and I didn't want to feel any more hurt right now. "I just wish I was out on the field," Ella admitted, gazing out longingly over the turf. "I'm not used to being injured. That's your job, Max," she added mischievously.
I rolled my eyes, but I'm grinning because we both know it's true. "Whatevs. I'll enjoy my physical health while it lasts," I retorted. "I was just checking in to make sure you were doing okay."
"Oh, we're keeping each other company right now Max," Nudge assured me, poking her head around Ella to look at me. "Cripple crew has to stick together, you know."
"Get out there, Max, the game is about to start," Ella instructed me, glancing up at the other team taking the field. "And you better rule at my position, or else," she warned me.
"Will do, baby sister," I replied, throwing her a mock salute as I hopped off the bench. "I'm already under strict orders from Devon to kick Barbie's butt," I added.
"Barbie?" Nudge queried. "Is that the girl with the weird pink streaks all over and the makeup mask?"
"How'd you guess?" I deadpanned. Nudge pouted, and I grinned back at her. "Yeah, that's her. She's been pushing Devon, so he assigned me to taking her down," I explained.
Ella furrowed her brow. "Be careful Max," she warned. "Contrary to popular belief, you aren't invincible. And that girl's pretty big."
"Don't fret too much, Ells," I told her, brushing off her sisterly concern. "I'll be fine."
The ref's whistle screamed across the field, and I winced at the sharp noise. "Gotta go," I announced. And with that, I turned and trotted out onto the field. I settled into position, looking at my defense spread around me, then back at Lauri in the goal.
"Give em hell, Max," she instructed me, smiling as she flexed her hands inside her goalie gloves.
The game restarted with McCarthy having the kickoff, but their initial advantage only lasted approximately seven seconds. The reason for this was a certain pair of forwards by the names of Gazzy Richards and Fang Rianild.
Gazzy ran directly at the forwards taking the kickoff almost the moment they touched the ball, forcing them to pass hastily backwards to a midfielder. The boy prepared to launch the ball into our defense, but just as his foot made contact with it, Fang's black cleat slid in and spun it away to Juliann, who immediately started up the field. Fang got quickly to his feet and hurried after the play, dark eyes utterly focused on the ball.
"Nice slide tackle, Fang!" Anne yelled approvingly from the sideline.
I smiled in agreement, then urged my defense to move up the field. We settled around our forty yard line, watching the play unfold up at the top of McCarthy's goal box. Players surged around the mouth of the goal, possession constantly changing and bouncing from player to player, team to team.
And before we knew it, the ball was spinning in the back of the net.
Sadie leaped in the air and fistpumped, a wide grin breaking out across her normally calm, serious face as she celebrated her goal. Our team mates swarmed around her, handing out high fives and shouting approval as they escorted Sadie back down the field.
Barbie scowled, gritting her teeth and kicking moodily at the turf. A shower of black pellets sprang up from beneath her fuschia cleat, hitting Juliann in the back of the leg as she passed. Someone just did not feel very sportsmanlike today, and I was pretty sure we all knew who it was except for the one person who it mattered to know.
The ref.
I swear, a blind, deaf, directionally challenged goblin would have been a better referee than this dude. He was slow and, err, rotund, and seemed to think he was getting paid to stand in the middle of the field and look pretty. And if that had really been his job, I wouldn't have even paid him for that. He wasn't looking very pretty, in my opinion.
McCarthy sullenly brought the ball back up to the midline, and the play restarted. Faster than I thought possible, Fang darted in and crashed his foot into the ball just as Barbie tried to launch it down the field. The ball spun high into the air, and a McCarthy player managed to head it down before any of us could get to it.
We played even faster and harder than before, cleats cracking into shins as often as they made contact with the ball. I learned multiple times over to bless my shinguards, which were so far holding up through the abuse. Thank the lord for Adidas.
Liz suddenly snatched the ball away from a guy on McCarthy, spinning around and launching it up the right side of the field. Devon picked up his pace, streaking down the sideline to catch up with the ball before the defenders did. "Everybody UP!" I yelled, my voice ringing across the field as I broke into a jog. My defense moved up with me, and within seconds we were all stationed at midline or higher, waiting to see how the play would pan out.
Barbie waited beside me, the last defender, her long ponytail floating in the breeze. It had that look that hair gets when it's obvious that it belongs to a girl who worships her straightening iron— almost unnaturally flat and smooth. Her bright pink limb streaks looked like they were simply long strips of some sort of flexible tape, which still struck me as weird. Who does that? They served absolutely no purpose.
While I was getting distracted over Barbie's odd fashion choices, my team was still fighting fiercely for the ball in the McCarthy goal box. Liz zeroed in on the ball, but just as she was about to lob it into the net, a McCarthy defender launched it out of their goal area. The ball sailed gracefully into the air, descending to bounce at the feet of Matt and the forward he was guarding.
Matt's forward sprang on the ball instantly, and although Matt tried valiantly to stay with him, the forward raced off down the field with several feet of a head start. No one else was close enough to intervene, seeing as our offense was still crowded at the other end of the field and my defense had their own people to cover. No one on the Lynxes was as fast as me, either, and I knew full well that I would be the only one who would be capable of catching up to this speed demon.
But chasing down this stray forward meant leaving Barbie unmarked, something I sorely did not want to do. Matt was too far behind to trade spots with me in time, that was perfectly clear to me. I would just have to grit my teeth and risk it, counting on running like the wind and praying that Speedy Forward Boy wouldn't pass off to Barbie as soon as I detached myself from her.
I thought all of this in the space of perhaps three seconds, my mind whirling almost faster than I could consciously comprehend. It was something that happened when I was active: I thought faster than I could really physically process, and yet I still knew exactly what I had to do. And as soon as I thought, I acted.
I curved my run to cut down the distance between me and Speedy Forward Boy, forcing my legs to move faster than strictly comfortable. Within seconds I had caught up to SFB, forcing him to a relative halt as I trapped him next to the sideline. He looked shocked that I had actually managed to catch him, but his disbelief faded quickly as his gaze roamed beyond my shoulder. With an arrogant grin that made my stomach sink with dread, he chipped the ball high over my head, sending it flying into the center of the field.
I knew without having to look that an unmarked, completely open Barbie was receiving the ball.
"Damn," I hissed, turning sharply on my heel and racing back to the center. SFB and I had left pretty much everybody at least twenty yards behind us in our mad dash— everyone except for a suspiciously un-winded Barbie doll who was currently dribbling furiously towards our goal.
Towards MYgoal.
That would simply not do.
So I poured on the speed, feeling the need to catch her pulsing through my veins, an energy source I could draw on to quicken my pace. As I finally closed in on her and was running by her side, we were already too close to the goal box, and she was keeping almost inhumanly firm possession of the ball.
Basically, Barbie had the ball, and she was going to score. She knew it, and I knew it.
I had to stop her.
I sped up, sprinting as fast as I could without making any bad moves that could allow Barbie to shake me off. If she juked me now, we would risk tying or even losing the game. We would lose our winning streak, and with that would go our unchallenged grip on first place.
I could not let that happen.
Barbie kept trying to cut around me, but we both knew she had to get to the goal quickly, or my team would finally catch up and her golden opportunity would vanish. Barbie rocketed suddenly in Lauri's direction, apparently praying that her speed alone would be enough to throw me off.
It wasn't. Apparently Barbie wasn't very observant of the fact I had just caught SFB without too much stress, and she was most certainly unaware of my undisputed status as the fastest freshman at Cromwell High. I kept pace with Barbie, not exactly easily, but not with huge difficulty either. She tried again to burst past me, but I kept stubbornly by her side.
We were inside the goal box now, and Barbie took one final, desperate step. I could see Lauri nervously sidestepping on the goal line out of the corner of my eye. Her arms were spread wide, and the dark blonde ponytail hanging down her back was whipping about furiously.
I processed this in the back of my mind, the forefront of my thoughts all focused on Barbie and the ball. I watched, almost in slow motion, as Barbie pulled back her foot and swung towards the ball. My mind blurred, unconsciously tracking the path of her foot: it would be a perfect kick, no doubt a beautiful goal. Lauri wouldn't have a chance.
That is, Lauri wouldn't have a chance if Barbie shot the ball. I could prevent her from shooting, and prevent her I would most definitely do.
Without a second thought I forced my body forward, stepping swiftly in front of the ball with my right foot. Barbie's heavily made up eyes widened a fraction, but she couldn't juke me. She was too far into her shot. I gazed at my foot, planted in the grass next to the ball, and Barbie's foot, clad in that ridiculously neon pink cleat.
It was one of those moments where time halted. For a brief moment, I could clearly study her cleat: the orange-on-pink Nike swish, the broken aglets, and the tiny print on the side— a small silver label declaring the shoe to have 'POWER'.
Then time restarted, and the fuchsia cleat collided with the ball, sending it rocketing towards the goal. Unfortunately for Barbiekins though, my foot stopped it before it flew three inches, though. Or more correctly, my ankle stopped it.
The ball slammed hard into my ankle, and was soon followed by Barbie's horribly pink cleat. The ball made my ankle wobble inwards, while Barbie's foot hooked it and somehow pulled it outwards as she fell. I watched the scene, still feeling oddly stuck in slow motion. The ball flew off and landed neatly in Lauri's green gloves; Barbie skidded on the grass, trying to maintain her balance; my ankle buckled awkwardly, sending me crashing to the ground. Blinding white obscured my vision, and all I saw was brightness, accompanied by a pain that seemed, in a way, too high-pitched to fully register. Dully, I felt something solid painfully clip my left foot, knocking me clean off my feet. I landed hard on my back, momentarily shocked, and that's when a heavy body landed elbows-first on my stomach. All the air left my lungs in one burst, and I was left gazing curiously into white oblivion, surrounded by a strange pain I couldn't completely feel nor understand.
"Get off her!" an indignant female voice snarled. Immediately, the heavy weight on my stomach disappeared, and someone touched my arm. "Max, are you okay?"
It was Lauri, I realized hazily. Lauri was good. She could pound the Barbie for me. Excellent.
I could hear more footsteps pounding towards me, cleats muffled by the turf. "Max! Are you hurt?" another voice cried out. After a moment of pondering, I identified it as Danny. Good. Another person to help me kill the Barbie. She had tried to conquer the Cromwell Lynxes! Danny would not take kindly to that attitude. No sirree.
I felt the next voice as much as I heard it. "Max, are you okay? Answer me," the voice instructed softly.
An involuntary smile spread on my face, a glowing warmth pressing through the white pain. The voice was calm and collected, and it cared about me. That voice cared about me a lot. I stared dreamily into the white brightness, my smile growing as I realized that fact. That beautiful voice cared about me. It really did.
The high-pitched pain seemed to grow suddenly, and I flinched. "Ow," I mumbled, then halted. I was surprised that I had spoken at all. The white oblivion faded a little, then slowly vanished completely. I was shocked to find myself flat on the grass, my eyes wide open towards the sky, surrounded by teammates and Anne. "I'm fine," I murmured, blinking slowly.
I sat up on my elbows and looked for the owner of the last voice. He was kneeling right beside me, his dark eyes trained on my own brown ones. His usual unemotional mask was in tatters, and I could see his worry clearly shining through. "I'm fine," I said, a little louder. I scrambled to get up, but when I moved my right ankle, the white brightness flooded my vision again. It was just for a few seconds, but it threw me off enough to fall back onto my elbows, the friction of the turf burning my skin.
Blinking rapidly, I waited until the whiteness faded, then realized belatedly that my ankle was the source of both the whiteness and the high-pitched pain. "Scratch that," I remarked calmly, looking down to inspect the injury. "Something is screwy with my ankle."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Gazzy muttered. I ignored him. Instead, I managed to hop gracelessly to my feet and began limping gingerly towards the sideline. I was reduced to dumbly blinking away the whiteness that threatened to overflow my eyesight once more in order to keep walking in a straight line.
Crap. This was pathetic. I was supposed to be the injury poster girl here, and I was seizing up at an injured ankle. Wow.
I was only four steps towards the sideline when a pair of strong arms scooped me up. I scowled at the arms' owner, trying to ignore the pain in my ankle, the horribly familiar dropping sensation in my stomach from being picked up, and the further stomach plummeting from feeling Fang's heart pounding against my side.
"Put me down," I stated firmly, curling my fingers around the collar of his jersey and tugging in protest. Fang shook his head wordlessly, simply reasserting his grip on me as he marched towards the sideline. "I can walk. You need to get back to the game, Fang," I insisted, hoping he would want to go back to playing soccer and let me limp over to the sideline with a shred of my pride left intact.
"They won't start without me," Fang replied calmly, his already strong hold tightening around my body. I rolled my eyes, finally giving up and leaning back in his arms.
It felt almost like we weren't even mad at each other anymore. It was… nice.
"Whatever floats your boat," I murmured, watching white flash across my vision as my ankle jostled under his elbow. It was quickly followed by another burst of concentrated pain from the injury, and I winced slightly. Dammit. It was probably sprained again, for somewhere around the third or fourth time. I was losing track.
Fang carried me directly to the team bench, where he sat me down extremely carefully next to Ella. He cocked his head briefly, dark eyes locked with mine. I nodded in reply to his silent question, and Fang sent me one last lingering glance before jogging back onto the field. I could see the other players dispersing into position once more as our coach hurried back off the field to let the play resume. Anne had to change the lineup again, bringing Danny into sweeper and sending Ford onto the field to cover Danny's old position at stopper.
"Are you all right, Max?" Anne asked worriedly, watching as I grasped my right ankle.
"Probably," was my optimistic response. "I'll be okay."
Nudge and Ella peered at me bleakly, both nursing their own assorted braces. "Welcome to the cripple crew," Nudge said sardonically, gesturing at her broken wrist. Ella waved her own brace in the air, as if to remind us exactly why she was sitting on the bench.
"Yay," I replied, just as deadpan as her. Nudge and Ella nodded, then began rummaging around in Anne's bag for an ice pack to put on my ankle.
"Who was right about you being careful with Barbie?" Ella asked haughtily, handing me one of those instant cold packs.
"You," I admitted freely, focusing on trying to get my ice pack into a comfortable position on my ankle. "This isn't working," I announced finally, frustrated with my inability to use an ice pack.
Anne, Ella, and Nudge helped me pry off my right cleat, sock, and shinguard, and I turned my sweaty sock into a makeshift towel to set in between the ice pack and my rapidly swelling ankle. "This is definitely sprained," I groaned, inspecting the sizeable lump growing just over my foot. "Crap."
"You'll be fine," Ella dismissed. She looked a little distracted, and I knew that she was far too used to my injuries to be unduly worried over a simple sprain. I would probably be better in a few weeks.
"Are you okay, Ella?" Nudge inquired, raising an eyebrow at my sister. "You've been acting funny this whole time."
"Well…" Ella hesitated, her gaze shifting between Anne, who was pacing the sideline distractedly, and us. She lowered her voice, obviously not wanting our coach to hear us discussing our 'highschool drama'. "I did want to ask you guys… do you know what's up with Iggy? He won't talk to me at all, not since that thing yesterday at lunch where he stormed off." Ella looked troubled.
I cocked my head to the side, thinking about it. "Well, he wasn't exactly a bundle of sunshine today," I replied thoughtfully. "We didn't talk at all during history. But he didn't go see Richie to talk about anything…" I mused.
"Who is this Richie guy you and Iggy keep talking about?" Nudge demanded, looking thoroughly perplexed.
"He's the school guidance counselor," I explained. Iggy had told me before he wasn't trying to keep his visits to Richie a secret, so I could only hope he wouldn't get mad about Ella and Nudge finding out from me.
A familiar dawn of recognition broke out on Ella's face, and she nodded as she started to understand. "I went to see him once because I was fighting with this other girl about Justin Bieber and the teacher was getting annoyed," she admitted cheerfully. "But I didn't know we could call him Richie instead of Mr. Reynolds."
"We're not really supposed to call him Richie, Ells," I informed her, grinning. "This is Iggy we're talking about. You think he would talk respectfully to a therapist?"
She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Good point there," she agreed. Ella paused, the grin falling from her lips as a new cloud of worry overtook her. "Oh no, do you think I did something that made him hate me somehow?" she cried out, her eyes full of horror.
"No, no! I don't think that at all! It's fine!" I tried to assure her, but it was too late. Ella was probably already convinced that Iggy would never speak to her again. That was just the way my dear sister worked— dramatically.
"What reason could he have to hate you?" Nudge asked gently. Ella threw herself at Nudge's shoulder, utterly mindless of Nudge's injured wrist or her own.
"Nudge, Iggy hates me," Ella wailed.
Nudge looked at me in alarm. I shrugged in response, not really knowing what to say. Ella was always a bit theatrical about boys, but the situation with Iggy had brought her down to a whole new level.
Yikes.
"It's fine," I repeated, attempting to sound somewhat soothing.
Apparently, I sounded nowhere near soothing, if Ella's obvious growing distress was any sign. "Oh no, does he think I'm just a kid and doesn't want to date me?" she gasped. "Oh God, that would suck!"
"I'm sure that's not it—" Nudge tried to say, but Ella cut her off again, a stricken look crossing her face.
"Iggy hates me," she moaned, digging her eyes into the palm of her good hand. "My life is over. Why don't we just move back to Nevada?"
"Because then Fang would probably die of heartbreak at Max leaving," Nudge suggested slyly.
I scowled. "Oh, give me a break," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
I had to admit though, Nudge's comment served a good purpose in distracting Ella. My sister instantly brightened at the prospect of teasing me about a boy. "Good point there, Nudge," she agreed. "We can't have Fangles wasting away here in Cali. Who would we get to carry Max off the field then?"
"Shut up," I muttered darkly. "He forced me to let him carry me."
"You looked pretty comfortable in his arms," Nudge snickered. I whacked her with the hand not holding my ice pack in place, and she squealed in protest. "Don't use violence just 'cause you can't deny the truth, young grasshopper!" she chided.
"I do not like being picked up by anyone," I declared pointedly.
But after the game ended (with another winning score of 1-0, to Gazzy's cackling delight), I didn't exactly object to Fang scooping me up again and carrying me off the field. He was warm from the exercise, and his heartbeat against my torso was strangely soothing. "I'm sorry for being a bitch about the whole don't-wanna-talk-about-it thing," I whispered, clinging into his shoulder as I tried to ignore the pain in my ankle.
Fang shook his head slowly, looking straight ahead as we headed towards the parking lot. "It's fine," he assured me. "I was being pushy."
"And I was being stubborn," I replied. "I… I guess you deserve to know about it, if you still want," I added reluctantly. I wasn't thrilled about sharing some of the details of my past with Fang, but I felt like now I had to give him the option to know. It wouldn't be fair to keep him in the dark, no matter how badly I wanted to.
Fang didn't have to ask me to clarify what 'it' was. A smile crept onto his face, lighting up his dark eyes in a way that made me forget about my sprained ankle. "Thank you," he said simply.
"So… we aren't fighting anymore?" I asked hopefully.
Fang stopped in his tracks, actually laughing out loud for a moment. I didn't have time to enjoy the sound though, because then his lips were pressed gently against mine, and I lost all train of thought.
It only lasted a few seconds though, since we were in the middle of the crowd leaving the soccer game, and kinda holding up traffic. There were a few whistles and a couple cheers, and Anne just shook her head and hurried past, muttering something that sounded distinctly like, "damn hormonal teenagers."
I smiled at Fang as he softly pulled away, my grip on his shoulder tightening slightly. "We aren't fighting anymore," he murmured, flashing me his own quiet smile. "Right?"
"Right," I agreed. "Let's not have that happen again."
"And you're going to tell me about that whole deal that you freaked out about yesterday? About you running away from things?" he prompted.
I swallowed down the flat out refusal I so desperately wanted to give him. "Fine," I acquiesced reluctantly. "But you owe me big time Cherry Garcia."
Fang looked at me seriously, and I was suddenly very aware of everywhere we touched: his hands supporting my legs and ribs, my hip against his chest, my arm around his shoulder, and his heartbeat thrumming against my side. "Anything for you, Max," he murmured.
I buried my face in his shoulder, not minding at all that it was extremely hard and bony and didn't provide a very good hiding spot. It was perfectly capable of hiding the tears welling up in my eyes, and that was all I needed. Fang didn't say anything else as we headed towards my car and my worried mother, but I felt his hand squeeze my side gently, and knew he understood.
I really do love Fang.
Someone's POV
"So the operative injured the subject?" The boss did not sound happy in the least, and Max swallowed uncomfortably beside me.
"Yes, the subject sprained her ankle," I confirmed. "She will be fine within the next week though, sir. I can assure you of that."
"She better," the boss growled. "We have a schedule to stick to, and Valencia and her friends are beginning to irritate me greatly as it is."
"Yes sir," I replied. Max stood silently next to me, and I had to elbow him to get him to cough up a muttered, "yes sir."
"The operative was only supposed to gauge her speed, agility, and power during the game," the boss continued irritably. "Not sprain her damn ankle."
"It was an unforseen problem that the subject would go to such lengths to prevent the operative from shooting on her goal," I replied, trying to sound as formal as I could. "I will personally see to it that she heals quickly, sir."
"It is well within your best interest to do so, Doctor," the boss retorted snidely. "See to it."
I knew a dismissal when it was given. Tapping Max's arm, I tried to discreetly pass on the message and get him to exit with me. Max, however, kept firmly in place. "Sir, when will we be setting the plan in action?" he asked boldly.
"Soon," was the boss' short, ominous answer. "And Doctor? Make sure that the other subjects aren't being neglected while I focus on Maximum."
I swallow as I think, with a sudden pang of regret, of 'the other subjects'. I had too much of an emotional attachment to this particular experiment, but there was no way I could let the boss know that and still survive. I would just have to weather through it.
"Yes sir, I will."
CRAP CRAP CRAP: I just realized that this chapter is over 9,000 words. I now have an official excuse for why the hell it took me like four weeks to update. YES! XD
And I'd like to celebrate for a moment my life goal of using the word 'aglet' in a legit context. -epic self high fiving-
BTW- hey, I just wanted to say that I wrote this story that I'm thinking of posting on FictionPress... would any of you consider reading it if I did? =D
Please don't kill me? I promise I (kinda sorta pretty much) know where I'm going with this!
~TMI~