But she won’t look up. She’s locked in to her own zone, and that’s okay. She looks great in warm-ups, not that I know a whole hell of a lot about soccer. But she looks just as good as the other girls out there—girls who have been training with the team, not just some two-bit college trainer in a wheelchair. In a way, it gives me a thrill that I’ve made her stronger. But I don’t think I really did much; I think maybe she was just stronger than everybody else all along.
She looks incredible in her soccer shorts. I sketch a mental picture of the high socks pulled up over her knee. That’s a look I’m going to have to beg her to replicate.
Coach subs her in pretty quickly. I can tell it pisses off the girl he subbed out. Good. She should be pissed. Cass is better, and that chick is going to lose her spot. Cass is faster than everyone out there. Her legs work the ball better. She anticipates, and then she capitalizes on her opponent’s errors. By the time the first half is done, she has one goal to her name, and plenty of attempts.
I try to get her attention again when they jog by, but she’s not looking my way. It’s okay—I don’t want to be a distraction. I do manage to catch coach, and I nod as he walks by, hoping he says something to give me an indication, something I can pass on to Cass.
“Looking good, Preeter. That girl? She might just save our season,” he says.
“Well, what can I say, I know how to scout,” I say back, making him laugh as he turns away. I can raise my hand to take the credit until I’m blue in the face. But all of that? The forty-five minutes of feet pounding turf that I just witnessed? That’s one hundred percent Cass and her drive. I can see she wants this, not just for me. And that feels damn good. I’ll take credit for waving the dream back in front of her, but she earns the right to have always wanted it in the first place.
Cass
Nothing is wrong. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Nothing hurts; my body feels good. I’m hydrating, and there’s nothing wrong. I lie here on the bench, an ice pack on the back of my neck, my eyes closed to gather my thoughts, the sounds of the other girls and lockers and chatter all melding together into one obnoxious cacophony around me. I’ve been playing the words over and over in my head, because if I don’t, if I let up the mantra for just one second, I know I’m going to cry.
And once I start, I’m not sure I’ll stop.
For once, it’s not my body that is caging me. My limitations, the ones I’m battling through today, are in my head. The ugly inside me right now is new. And I don’t deserve to have to have it there. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t go looking for it. But it found me anyway. I can’t deny that the last few hours have scarred me…again.
I shouldn’t have stayed. I should have just taken the F. But I can’t let my grades slip. That’s a deal-breaker for my parents. And just one F—risks it all.
Maybe I should have risked it? No…don’t let those thoughts in. Don’t think about it. Just think about the goal, your game—your mission. Your body is fine. Everything is fine. Your legs feel strong. You are winning.
Win. Win. Win!
I was the only one in the room. I knew that was wrong; it’s always wrong. But I slid into the small desk. I let him hand me the stapled packet for the retest. I wrote my answers, scribbling quickly, my mind too busy searching for answers and reeling from the excitement of finding them and knowing they were right. I didn’t notice how close he’d gotten. I didn’t see it coming.
And then his hand was on my thigh.
No. My body is strong—just forty-five more minutes of running. I want this. I can do this.
I jerked my leg quickly, startled, almost as I would be if a spider landed on me. A spider—this was so incredibly far from a spider. I would have gladly accepted venom instead. I can still hear it all in my head, his voice battling for dominance with my own. Every second, I fight to keep myself on top, to remain in control.
“Oh, I’m sorry Cassidy. I just wanted to check your work, make sure you were getting it this time,” he said. So condescending. His breath hot, the stench of stale coffee nauseatingly pungent.
I pretended it was nothing. I played along with the misunderstanding. I told him I felt pretty good this time, that I was sure my answers were right.
And then his hand slid back in place, his chair behind me pushed up against my own. His legs on either side of me, his fingers roaming up…slowly—he wasn’t going to stop. He. Was. Not. Going. To. Stop.
A single tear falls down my cheek. I catch it quickly, feeling it fast, and rubbing it away with the back of my hand. I open my eyes and am relieved that I am in a corner…alone. Coach has come in. I missed his entrance. I was lost for a few minutes, but I’m here now.