Page 22 of Goalie Lessons

“Where is she?” Georgia is already pushing out, and the authoritative tone she’s using now is so different from the bright, sunshiny one she used on me that my brain takes a moment to parse that this is the same woman.

I follow Georgia, who follows the teen, and we make our way across the playground, eventually coming across the little jungle gym with a yellow tube stretching from one side to the other. It smells of warm plastic, painted metal, and the wood chips beneath my feet take me right back to being a kid, racing through the playground, thinking of cooties and playing tag.

Georgia steps forward and knocks on the tube gently. “Hello?” she calls, and while we can see the shadowed figure in the tube, it doesn’t answer. Georgia waits a moment, then calls again, “Hello. My name is Georgia. It’s time to come inside.”

“No, thank you,” the voice from the tube is muffled, small and girlish, but propped up by disdain. We can see her shifting, and from this angle, I can imagine she has her arms crossed, her elbows tucked in close to her body.

“Who is it?” Georgia whispers to the teen, who whispers back, “I think her name is Callie?”

I blink, look over at my office window, realize this is the corner of the playground I saw Calliope moving toward earlier.

“Calliope?” I ask, stepping forward, which seems to surprise Georgia. She’s quiet, though, watching as—instead of talking through the tube—I climb up the latticed stairs on my hands and knees, feeling the texture of the metal pressing into my skin.

“Don’t call me that,” she says, her last word hiccupping in surprise when she looks over and sees me on my hands and knees, my badge hanging around my neck as I look at her.

“Hey,” I say, trying to give her what I hope is an unoffensive smile. “What should I call you then?”

She hesitates. “Callie.”

“Okay, Callie. Mind if I join you?”

The shock on her face is clear, but she shakes her head and scoots over. I take a deep breath and fold myself into the tube, which is hot and smells, somehow, like skinned knees. I’m already sweating—and feeling rather claustrophobic—but this feels important.

I know what it’s like to be the girl in the tube, and remember that all I wanted was for someone to come in after me.

“Hey,” I say, letting my head fall against my shoulder. It’s the most comfortable way to look at her. Jokingly, I hold out my hand to her, like she’s an adult. “I’m Astrid. Not sure if we met, but I was at the barbecue last weekend.”

Callie stares at it for a moment, then reaches out and takes it. Her hand is small, soft, and somehow cold to the touch.

“I’m Callie,” she repeats. “NotCalliope.”

“Okay.” I glance around the tunnel. I’m itching to get out of this tube and implore her to come with me, but something on her face tells me that would be the wrong move. So instead, I relax like this isexactlywhere I want to spend my time.

“I’m new here, too,” I say. “From California. West Coast, kind of like you.”

“It’s so…wethere,” she says, lifting her fingers to her face and pressing against her cheekbones. “It makes my face hurt.”

I tilt my head at her, thinking of the allergy pills I’ve been taking since I got here. “You know what, Callie? The plants here are different than they are out west. I’d bet your body is still trying to get used to them. Have you had a stuffy nose?”

She nods.

“Makes sense.” I lift my fingers to my own face to mirror hers. “These are your sinuses, and they’ll react if you have allergies. We can talk to your guardian about getting you some medicine. That should make it feel better.”

To my surprise, Callie looks down at the tube under her legs, and tears spring to her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, her voice warbling.

The seconds slink past, and I don’t have to think about what to say to her. It just comes naturally, like I’m talking to Sloane. “Things have been pretty hard, huh?”

Her eyes are glassy when they meet mine, her chin quivering with the effort of holding back her tears.

“Yeah,” she says, using her shoulder to wipe away the first tear that breaks free. “I—I just want to make sure my sister is okay, you know?”

I nod, even though I’m an only child. “You’re a good big sister.”

“My dad—” Callie pauses, sucks in a big breath of air, and lets the words all tumble out, “My dad always saidIt’s you and Thena against the world. I’m her big sister. And I can’t—”

She cuts off, and I work hard to keep tears from coming to my own eyes. Callie is the big sister, but she can’t be older than thirteen. Feeling like she needs to take care of someone when she doesn’t yet know how to take care of herself.

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