Page 8 of The Keeper
I quickly put on my practice gear before peeking into Charlie’s room to see if she made it home the night before. Nope. I cross my fingers, hoping she didn’t go home with the idiot.
After shoving a few bites of banana into my mouth, I drive out to the college soccer field wishing that I was still snuggled in bed, thinking about Mack and what our date will look like. Practice on a Saturday morning feels particularly mean. Normally we just practice during the weekdays, but with only one loss this season and a top ten ranking, Glendale College is currently a real hopeful for a spot in the playoffs for the first time in the college’s history. So, extra practices it is.
We’re stretching when Coach Walker joins us at seven and gets us running the field. After we finish a few laps, she pulls us into a circle.
“Alright ladies, as I’ve been saying the past few weeks, our focus needs to remain on endurance training. You’ve all done a great job adjusting to the difficult drills I’ve thrown at you so far this season, and that shows dedication. But keep up your extra training in your off time to boost that endurance. Regulations dictate I can only have two hours with you this morning, so we’re gonna focus on high-intensity drills. We’re more than halfway there, but you still have eight games left.”
Several of the girls let out groans at Coach Walker’s statements.
“I hate high-intensity drills,” I hear from my right.
I turn to see Piper Mills, one of our first-year strikers, and I give a small nod of agreement. We goalkeepers have it easier during high-intensity drills, because it mainly focuses on ball maneuvering and quick feet.
But none of us get to lay back and watch. And from the looks of it, Piper wants to curl up in a ball and sleep away that hangover. Her eyes are dull and she still has makeup crusted on her face from whatever she was doing the night before. Someone didn’t get enough sleep. Rookie mistake.
Coach Walker grins at the complaints.
“No moaning, ladies. You’re in a solid position, but you still have a lot of things to work on. Let’s get moving.”
With a clap of Coach Walker’s hands, everyone sluggishly begins getting into groups and maneuvering the field with cones and soccer balls, and practice begins.
When Coach Walker finally calls it a day, I shout a quick goodbye to a few of the girls, jog quickly to my car and drive back to the apartment. I can finally put my mind towards what I’ve been willing myself not to think about all morning.
It’s date day.
I’m not normally this person. I don’t get excited about dates. I have too much going on in my life at any given moment to get excited about watching someone of the opposite sex chew with their mouth open.
School work, soccer practice, my part-time job, family drama… those take up way too much of my time already. Not to mention my handful of friendships, my social calendar - which, to be honest, isn’t completely off-the-charts-packed with fun things, but it should still be a priority - and the endurance and strength training I pack into my free time. Plus sleeping and allowing myself time to relax.
That literally leaves like, six hours of my week available for dating. I’ve always used those hours for extra study or to eat stupid amounts of food, or more time at the gym. But today, Mack gets those hours. And I’m entirely positive it will be my best use of time in months.
When I open the door to the apartment as I return from practice, I see Charlie’s heels and purse tossed haphazardly on the floor in the entryway.
“Char?” I call out.
For a second I hear nothing. Then a small grunt comes from the living room. When I walk in, I find her face down on the sofa, a bottle of water and a package of head meds on the coffee table.
“Rough night?” I ask softly, crouching next to her and pulling her hair out of her face.
She rolls onto her side and looks up at me, remorse written in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I give her a small smile. “Me too.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead, then head into the bathroom where I quickly disrobe and crawl under the hot water.
A few minutes pass before I hear a faint knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say, knowing that Charlie has come to do our ‘post-argument’ chat. Any time we have something important to talk about, she waits until I’m in the shower so she can sit outside the curtain and can talk without a face-to-face conversation. I don’t really get it, but I guess it’s just a thing with her.
I hear Charlie drop the lid on the toilet and sit down. Without even looking I know exactly how she’s sitting. She has her feet on the seat, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. We may have done this once or twice.
“So, I have to tell you something,” she says in a voice I can barely hear over the rushing water.
My hands drop from where they were scrubbing shampoo into my hair.
“Please, Charlie. Please tell me you didn’t sleep with that dick from last night.”
“No!” she quickly shouts. “No, no, no. Yeah, that guy was a total dick. You were completely right.”
I sigh with relief.
