Page 33 of Tricky Girls

Almost.

By the time we’re grouped up for scrimmage, I’m red faced and sweaty.

And of course Tilda’s on my team.

She’s in forward position, ass jutting from those dumb little gym shorts. She bangs her stick, moving it in waves along the floor. She’s ready.

But so am I.

The whistle blows. I pitch forward. Coach is facing the other way, and it only takes me a second to reach out and hook my stick around Tilda’s ankle.

She goes down. Hard.

I sweep past, hoping to fuck no one witnessed that.

Coach didn’t, at least. Though she’s frowning at Tilda now, the game faltering until she’s back on her feet, dusting herself off.

I’m almost disappointed when she doesn’t react. Just blows out a breath, mind back on the game.

I put mine on it too, reminding Coach exactly why I belong here.

By the time the final whistle blows, I’m shaking from exertion. My tattoos are shiny with sweat, my hair probably too.

Despite that green-eyed hiccup, I’m not disappointed in my effort.

Sucking up further, I spend some time gathering equipment, watching the others file out. Tilda stands before Coach, fingers twisting her hair. Eyes squinted, I try to decipher the verdict. It’s hard though. Tilda’s face remains expressionless. She nods a couple of times and at last turns away with a satisfied smile.

She made one team then, but which?

Dropping the remaining cones in the net bag, I swipe my water bottle and make my way to Coach.

She doesn’t look approving, but when does she ever?

‘Not going to let me down again, are you?’ she says, eyebrow raised.

I shake my head. ‘I’m better now.’

‘I need actions, not words.’ She pushes past me with a backhand to my arm. ‘Next Wednesday 5pm. First team.’

It’s only then I allow my first smile of the day.

I raise my bottle to my lips as I exit the hall. I’ve barely cleared it when I’m shoved viciously from behind, shoulder bouncing off the wall, rim of the bottle clanging painfully against my teeth.

Tilda storms past, eyes spitting venom, her cheeks red with splotches of exertion.

So she hadn’t been indifferent, merely concealed her fury until the right time.

She’d been committed to the bit, just like me. Maybe more than.

Sizing each other up in the corridor, I expect her to say something, anything, but she only turns and flounces off.

Off to her date with Haz.

The high of making first team dissolves, an empty kind of anger in its place.

Scab wholly picked, the infection’s spreading fast.

CHAPTER 11

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