Chapter 47

States this year has been set up as a knockout tournament. The best 16 teams in the state have been sifted through a random draw, and our team is quite happy with the track we’ve been put on. We played the worst-ranked team in the first playoff game on day 1, and Mackenzie breathed a sigh of relief when she saw we wouldn’t be playing West Chester unless they got to the final.

This week, our high-intensity tournament will be taking place, but we’re not missing much at school. Back home, it’s the events week, where students look at job opportunities and universities for post-high school, as well as attend workshops for job interviews and college transcripts. It’s a great week for students from all years because seniors are given the chance to revise for their SATs as we submitted all college applications in the fall.

We breezed past the team from Pittsburgh with an easy 4-0 win, and whilst Reading Senior High was a much tougher battle, we put in a solid performance with a 1-0 win. Thank god for Freya being fantastic in the air, as a last-minute header from her clinched the win.

I think for the first time in our history, I actually hugged Freya and didn’t just contribute to the group hug. She did really well, and I saw scouts from Stanford again at that game, so I think Freya is looking like she may be knocking on the door of the scholarship she’s desperate for.

Back in the suite I’m sharing with Mackenzie for the remainder of the week, I drop on the double bed and sigh in content as my head hits the pillow.

I don’t know how we got away with rooming together, what with it being common knowledge that we’re in a relationship. I wonder if Coach is genuinely clueless about it or if she’s just turning a blind eye because we’re both girls and there’s no chance of a pregnancy scare.

Not that we’ve been able to enjoy it.

For the three days that we’ve been here, we’ve barely been anywhere but the pitch and the hotel spa. If we’re not playing a match, we’re training. It’s not as intense as we’re used to, simply because we don’t want to risk injury or go into a game tired. We’re then eating as a team with a nutrition plan that Mr. Walker’s wife drew up for us before returning to the rooms so exhausted most of us are going to sleep before 8 pm.

The school has gone all out for the girls this year after our budget was increased following a massive fundraiser last year. They splurged on a hotel where the top floors are specially designed to cater to sports teams, each room fit for three people, with a central hub designed for quick recovery, and it even has a physio suite.

We didn’t have this last year, and if the week wasn’t so full on, I’d definitely be enjoying everything a whole lot more. So far, all I’ve seen of the hotel is my bed and the ice bath.

I was hoping to find some time to revise in the evenings this week for my SATs, but so far, we’ve had no luck when it comes to the schedule. We played a game the first day, followed by another game today, on Thursday. We still have the semi-finals on Saturday, and if we’re successful, the final will be on Monday.

A rest day between each game isn’t ideal, but that’s the way the tournament works for the State Championship, purely because of the number of girls teams across the state; there was just no easier way to do it.

I’m exhausted. My hair is still damp from the shower and my muscles ache despite the ice bath coach forced us to endure as soon as we got back from the game. I’m so tired I barely notice the bed dip as Mackenzie crawls in beside me, tossing her sweatshirt on the floor and dropping her head beside mine.

I crack open an eye and smile softly, dropping my arm over her waist and pulling her closer, enjoying the closeness between us. “Hey.”

“Hey,” She mumbles, brushing her nose against mine. “How was the bath?”

“Cold,” I respond, my smile creeping into a quick smirk before I peck her quickly on her lips. They’re soft, as usual, but they taste like honey today, not like her normal strawberry lip balm. “New lip balm?”

“No.” Mackenzie smiles guiltily. “I snuck a honeycomb puff from the dessert table when Coach wasn’t looking.”

“What would Mr. Walker’s nutrition plan think?” I chuckle, running my fingers through her soft hair. “And you didn’t get me one?”

“How do you know I didn’t get you one?” She teases, tracing her finger across my jaw before rolling over and grabbing a folded-up napkin.

Lo and behold, despite it looking like it’s been through a few rounds with Mike Tyson, a battered-looking chocolate dessert is concealed within the thin layers of a napkin.

“You definitely had to smuggle these.” I snort, picking up the dessert tentatively and watching the chocolate melt in my fingers. “But thank you, I need the sugar.”

I break a piece off and pop it into my mouth, taking small moments between bites to place gentle kisses on Mackenzie’s lips, cheeks, and nose. Her face brightens, and despite her obvious exhaustion, she stays awake with me whilst I eat.

I feel her bury her fingers in my hair, her nails soothing my aching scalp as she peppers gentle kisses across my freezing skin, smile warming the full length of my body as I force myself to stay awake, just a little longer.

I want to stay awake just to stare at her, to memorise the corners of her smile. To listen to the way she breathes, to revel in the way she looks at me. To get lost in those deep grey eyes, those gorgeous stormy orbs that always look at me in a way that makes butterflies fill my stomach. In a way that makes me feel so beautiful.

“Kens, I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” she mumbles, resting her head in the crook of my neck, ghosting kisses across the skin of my collarbone, cheek, the hollow of my throat. “When we get back, I don’t think I’ll wake up all weekend.”

“You staying at mine?” I mutter quietly, my eyes drifting shut.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

~•~

“I swear, States didn’t feel this stressful last year,” April mutters as she slides her shin pads into her socks.

I smile shakily, trying to calm my quaking fingers as they attempt to tie my laces. There is a suppressed lull around the changing rooms, all the girls lost in thought in a world of their own. Gemma is strapping and re-strapping her gloves, flexing her fingers as she nods her head to the music blasting from her AirPods. Raven is tightening her ponytail, plaiting the long threads of her fringe and pinning them to the side of her head.

“States had a lot less pressure last year,” I mutter, pulling the knots on my laces right and tucking them in. “Last year, the scouts weren’t watching us.”

I feel physically sick. Scouts from Florida, Penn State, and Clemson haven’t attended any games this season prior to this year’s State championship, so this game will be the most important one of my life. Freya is lucky – Stanford already came to one of the games and saw her score two goals and get player of the match, so she doesn’t have as much pressure as the rest of us.

All eyes are going to be on the stands tonight, checking to see if the scout from the university the girls are so desperate to go to is watching. We then have to still try and work as a team and swallow our wish to make ourselves stand out because we also want to win a trophy. Pairing that with the fact I am captaining us through a semi-final today and potentially a final in three days’ time, I’m shaking like a leaf in the fall.

It’s almost a shame that UK scouts don’t come this way. I was tempted to apply for UCL in London, just so I could gain the attention of the women’s teams there, including Arsenal. I know my dad would be made up at the thought, but the way my stomach dropped every time I thought of leaving behind my family at 18 years of age, flying 3000 miles away without a solid prospect grounded my fairy-tale dreaming.

Plus, a small part of me that grows bigger every day is terrified at the thought of leaving Mackenzie behind. Even though Arsenal has been a dream of mine since my dad laced up my first pair of cleats and I thought nothing would get in my way, Mackenzie is now in the picture. I’m starting to think she’s more important to me than playing soccer in England, which has been my number one focus since I was 7. And that realisation scares the shit out of me.

So now it all comes down to this. A semi-final match against the best team in the state. A team which we have never beaten in the four years I have played for my school.

Tonight, I have to put on the best defensive display of my life and at the very least hold them to a draw. I have to captain this team to the best performance they have ever shown in front of scouts that six players on this team are desperate to impress.

The burden I feel pressing down on my shoulder is so heavy that I fear even Atlas himself would struggle to take the weight.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot focus. I’ve laced and re-laced my cleats until the pads of my fingers ache with the burn of the fabric. I can feel sweat trickling from my hairline and I haven’t even run anywhere yet. I didn’t even run to the coach from the hotel. I walked in a tense numbness.

“Hey,” Freya says quietly, resting her hand on my knee. I look up at her and I think she recognises the panic in my eyes because her shoulders set in a determined line. “This team is not the same as it was last year. Four seniors have left, including their captain, and they’ve replaced them with sophomores. We will be fine. We’re better than them. We have you.”

“We had me last season,” I mumble, tying my laces again. “I got nutmegged and they scored the winner.”

“So keep your legs closed this time,” Freya smirks, her statement pulling an exasperated chuckle from my lips. “You’re making it very hard for me to continue being nice. This is new to me and I hate it.”

Freya’s nose scrunches up in mock disgust, eyes twinkling with amusement before her expression softens. “We’ll be fine, I know it. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re a great captain Alex. We all trust you, and you’re better than you were last year. We’ve barely conceded a goal all season.”

She taps my knee comfortingly before standing up and walking over to the locker assigned to her. I let out a long breath before tying my laces for the final time and tucking them beneath the tongue of my cleats.

I don’t have enough time to keep tying my laces, and it’s clearly not working at this point. I opt to sit on my hands, hoping that making them numb will stop them from shaking uncontrollably.

I feel another presence as she takes the space Freya once occupied. I can smell the scent of her vanilla shampoo, warmth spreading from the palm of her hand into the skin of my thigh. I left the room earlier than her this morning as Coach Sanders wanted to see me before the rest of the girls this morning to discuss strategy, and even asked for my opinion on the line-up for the game.

When I asked her why, Coach merely smiled at me and told me that she trusted my judgement. I played the game last season and she knew I remembered the weaknesses in our game plan. I remember mentioning that I was at fault as well as the rest of the team, but that we needed to trust the team that’s started all season, not make any changes, and play the game we’ve been playing all season.

That’s probably why I’m feeling so much pressure right now. I am responsible for the girls who are starting this game today, so undoubtedly, I’ve convinced myself that I’m responsible for the result.

Not even Mackenzie knows that.

“You good?” She asks quietly, her hand taking a grip of my thigh and squeezing gently, her grey eyes light and warm. “You can talk to me, Alex, you know that, right?”

I blow out a nervous puff of air, laying my hand atop hers. “I’m just nervous.” I can’t stop my knee from bouncing, despite Mackenzie’s nails digging into my skin. “The UPenn scouts haven’t come to watch a single game yet. I can’t have them watch me lose today.”

“They won’t,” Mackenzie says seriously, her gaze boring into mine. “We can beat these girls, I know it.”

She says it with such assurance, such confidence that I find myself breathing slower. I find my nerves slowly but surely settling until they’re no longer a heavy knot in my stomach. Her eyes soften as she raises my hand to her lips, kissing my skin softly and leaving a fire in their wake.

“How do you do that?” I mumble, my stomach stirring when her eyes flick up to mine again.

“Do what?” She asks gently, caressing my knuckles with her thumb.

“Make me feel at ease,” I mumble. “You just have to talk to me and all the anxiety I’ve been feeling since I woke up this morning just goes away.”

Mack smiles, kissing me softly on the back of my hand before we’re interrupted by Coach Sanders walking into the room.

“Right, girls.” Coach’s commanding voice silences the nervous chattering filling the echoey space of the changing rooms, all eyes turning to her. Her ironic timing cuts my conversation with my girlfriend short, but she just smiles and lets go of my hand before Coach Sanders can see. It’s one thing for her to turn a blind eye towards our relationship, but it’s a different kind of disrespect to flaunt it whilst she’s offering to ignore it for a week. I’m not that stupid. “Let’s take a minute to listen before we head out there.”

Coach’s arms are crossed over her chest, her signature hat tucked underneath them alongside the notebook we got her. In the four years I’ve known her, she’s barely aged a day. Her dirty blonde hair shows no signs of greying, and her eyes are still bright, no wrinkles to be seen.

We always used to joke it was because she never laughed or smiled at school. She always had a stern, stoic expression on display, barking at us to run faster, to put more effort in. But this year, it’s been less about being authoritative for her. We’ve all noticed it. She’s enjoyed this year a little bit more than before. She’s cracked a few smiles, enjoyed the wins a little bit more.

“I just want to say to all of you that I’m proud.” Coach smiles. “I don’t care how this match finishes or if we reach the finals. You guys are putting enough pressure on yourselves for me to make it worse.”

Coach looks around the room before patting Mr. Walker on the shoulder, pushing him forward slightly. “I’m proud of this team and everything you’ve done this year. You’ve shown me you’re all ready for college soccer and that I can step down leaving a very successful bunch of girls in Mr. Walker’s hands.”

A quiet murmur filters throughout the changing room, disbelief across all our faces. Coach has been in charge for as long as I can remember. My dad knows her from going to school with her, and she’s definitely not old enough to retire.

“Now, I can see the looks on your faces. I’m not retiring, and frankly, I’m insulted you think I’m old enough,” she barks, snapping us all out of our disbelief. “I’ve been offered a position to coach a college team in the fall. So I will be leaving everyone in Mr. Walker’s hands. And no, I’m not telling you which college.”

For the first time in a long time, Coach Sanders smiles. It’s a smile full of warmth, full of trust. “Now, I don’t need to say this to you girls because you should all know it already. You’re exceptional. Every single one of you, whether you start or come on as a substitute. You girls are the reason I’ve been given a chance at coaching college soccer. I cannot thank you enough. Win or lose tonight and I will be proud of you either way.”

Coach sends a glance to Mr. Walker, who coughs and steps forward. “Coach has given me the honour of taking the lead on this game. I get to walk you through this one. Let’s win for her, hey?”

The next five minutes are Mr. Walker running through the line-up and what tactics he expects the other team to use.

Olivia Harrow, a name I will never forget after it was chanted over and over again after she scored past me last season, is still in the line-up. Mr. Walker and Coach Sanders are explaining how they will utilize her, not that I could ever forget.

“She’s fast, nimble, and can handle a ball over the top just as well as taking the ball at her feet and dribbling with it.” Mr. Walker says to us, pointing at the board behind him. “Now, I know I don’t need to tell you, Alex, but she is your priority this game. Mark her off the pitch, put in some strong tackles, show her you’re better this year.”

I blow out a deep breath and square my shoulders. I look around at all of the girls that have worked so hard this year to get where we are. All we need to do is win two more games and we’re state champions. So if I have to do my bit and mark one girl until the final whistle, then I’m going to work my ass off so everyone else can do their jobs.

“Game on, girls.”

~•~

I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead and taste the salt as it passes my lips. My heart is beating hard and fast, almost like it’s trying to break out of my chest, slamming against my ribcage. You would think I had finished a marathon, yet I haven’t run an inch.

I’m hyper-aware of the bright lights highlighting the pitch, the loud cheers from everyone who came to cheer us on. I’m aware of the referee asking me to choose heads or tails, but I can’t even remember winning the coin toss.

I remember the shrill of the whistle calling me over to the centre circle, I remember the mean and aggressive look in their captain’s eyes as she shook my hand, her grip a little too tight. She reminded me of a bulldog in the way she was posturing, shoulders pushed out in a way that makes it look like she’s carrying carpets.

I don’t remember the walk back to my position, but I still remember the murderous look in her eyes.

The heat in the air is surprising for an evening in March, though given the way that the weather has been recently, it really isn’t all that surprising. There’s a warm mugginess that clings to every laboured breath escaping my lungs, no doubt making my sweating worse. Though I could put the sweating and laboured breathing down to the almost incapacitating nerves flooding my system.

Never have I felt nerves like this before, and I hope I never feel them again. My stomach feels tight, my eyes trying to focus on the pitch whilst I attempt to block out the noise around me. I can see everything. I can see all of the girls lined up, waiting in a tense silence as we await the whistle to kick the game off. I can see the stark contrast in the colours, our school wearing black and a deep purple, whilst our opposition, Pennridge High, wears white and bright green.

“The Rams.” I hear Raven spit out beside me, though it sounds like she’s speaking through water. “I hate this goddamn team.”

I scan our team and notice the grim determination set on their faces, all of them staring with varying degrees of hatred and worry set across their committed features. I know there is a collective desperation amongst my players, my team, to beat these girls. To better ourselves from last year. I want nothing more than to win the States in my senior year, and the girls want the same for all the seniors on this team.

I can see April bouncing at the edge of the centre circle, Emma stretching her legs as she sets herself to sprint off at first kick. Freya is standing next to the ball, hands on her hips, eyes scanning for her first pass.

I breathe out heavily as I scan the pitch for Olivia Harrow to find her already staring at me. I glare at the smug look on her face, the cheeky wink her icy blue eyes send my way, raising my temper and spiking my anger.

She doesn’t look any different to last year. Her blonde hair is still in the same stupid bun on the top of her head. She has the same cleats, the same roll in her shirt sleeves, the same tattoo peaking out from the bottom of her shorts.

I see her mouth something to me, her lips moving to form “good luck.”

Before I had the displeasure of going up against Gee, Mackenzie’s vicious ex-girlfriend, there was only one girl in the state I hated more than Whitney Sandoval, and she’s still giving me reasons why. She’s arrogant, entitled, and acts way above her station. She’s not even that good, though it pains me to say that knowing she nutmegged me last season, but really, she’s just a glorified poacher.

But. I know she’s attracted a lot of offers from scouts since the final last year, so they must see something I don’t.

The shrill whistle breaks my trance, and like a switch going off in my head, I begin to focus. My shoulders square as I release my final nervous breath for the rest of the game. I need to focus – not just for myself but for my team as well.

Both Raven and I are the last line of defence before it gets to Gemma. Gemma is an incredible goalkeeper, but if we can avoid anything getting past us and making it easier for her, then I’m going to work my ass off to make sure that happens.

The game is tense, neither team able to press the other too much, possession constantly given between the midfield players on both teams. I’ve touched the ball twice in the last fifteen minutes, merely for pass-backs in order to relieve pressure. Both times I managed to get the ball up the field towards Emma, but we couldn’t make much of the moves, and the ball was quickly overturned.

It’s been frustrating for both teams, but the small joy is that Olivia is getting more and more frustrated at the lack of supply she has received for this half. The ball hasn’t even been sent in her direction yet, with players like Raven stepping forward and moving the ball away, or April crunching through the girls that are trying.

The longer she goes without the ball, the angrier she gets, and knowing from last year, the dirtier her tactics will become. What will start as stamping subtly on your toes will progress to elbowing you in the face when contesting for a header. I speak from experience, remembering the black eye our goalkeeper had last year when it happened to her after a corner.

The only problem for her is the anger she shows makes her sloppy. She rushes passes, starts to shout at her teammates, makes mistakes. I’m banking on that happening today, without the potential of a black eye from her. And I know just what buttons I can push to force her into further mistakes.

The referee blew for an offside against Olivia herself at one point because of me. I stepped forwards, just before the ball was passed. It was a risky move, but I knew where my players were and I knew that she wouldn’t angle her run. She definitely didn’t like that, and when I shot her a smirk, she threw her elbow into my ribs as I was setting the ball on the ground for the free kick.

It didn’t stop there, and her tactics worsened in the second half of the game, especially after we went 1 nil up because of a lucky strike from Freya at the edge of the box.

The team had been working on overdrive since then. My legs are screaming at me to stop running, my body no longer sweating, my mouth desperate for a drink. The Rams became more aggressive, launching balls over the top that Raven and I had to chase again, and again, and again. Eloise cleaned up for us a few times, and once, they managed to get a shot off that Gemma tipped over the bar.

We’re now in the last two minutes of the game, and my lungs are telling me they’re done. I think everyone is feeling the same. Mackenzie looks exhausted, but beautiful, standing at the halfway line with her hands on her hips, her usually light hair darkened as it sticks to her forehead.

I want to stop concentrating, to just admire and adore every little thing about her, but I know that’s going to have to wait for the full-time whistle. Right now, my only focus is keeping Olivia Harrow away from my goal.

And in that moment, it happens. I break my eyes away from Mackenzie to see Olivia running past Raven, tripping her in the process and leaving me the only one anywhere near her. I force my legs to move, sprinting towards her as she runs closer to goal than she’s gotten all game. A sinking feeling develops in my chest knowing I don’t have a very good chance of reaching her without risking taking a card. If I do this, I won’t play in the final.

But if I don’t, none of my team, none of the girls who have given everything in this game may get a chance of playing in the final. I’ll still get a trophy on my record, whether I play or not.

So I sprint until I’m within stretching distance of Olivia, just outside of the box.

And I go to ground, stretching my foot past Olivia’s until I kick the ball out of reach. My trailing leg knocks her to the ground.

I scream in agony as I feel my hamstring snap, my own ears ringing with the sound of the final whistle punching through the air, the cheers from the fans that came to watch us sounding like they’re underwater.

I feel someone drop to their knees beside me, gentle hands wiping at the tears spilling from my eyes.

“Alex, you’re going to be fine…”

I stop listening, stop noticing the crowd of players surrounding me. I shut my eyes off to the pitying looks thrown my way as the realisation kicks in that I’ve put my team into the final, but I won’t be playing.

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to play again.  

~•~

Hello everyone!!

I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I’m sorry that it’s ended on a sour note. Who knows what’s going to happen in the next few chapters, who knows if Alex is going to recover…

hahahahahahahahah, I’m so evil

Please continue to leave messages and likes on my chapters, because who knows what horrible things may happen if there isn’t engagement…

Jokes aside, I love you guys and Alex and Mackenzie so much, I’m finding it hard to let these girls go. I don’t have long left now before this tale is over, and I don’t think I have the heart to break yours.

Love you all, and as always a big thanks to my editor in chief and friend Pinksterr12 for her inputs in this chapter, you have her to thank for it being a long one!!

Lauryn xoxo