Page 23 of Rock Bottom Girl
Plopping down on the hot metal bench, I waited. The sky was full of dull, gray, humidity-laden clouds. We could use a good rainstorm. My parents’ yard was turning brown. The Hostetters’ lawn was still a brilliant emerald green. Either their lawn service worked mid-summer miracles, or swan shit was the caviar of fertilizers.
Enough wallowing and whining, I decided. It was time to count the ol’ blessings.
I had a car that ran and cooled and heated—even though I couldn’t afford the payments. I had my parents and my sister. My health, such as it was, I thought, pinching the flesh at my waistband. I hadn’t been unceremoniously fired this afternoon. I was kind of like a human version of Schrodinger’s cat, both fired and unfired. Employed and unemployed. But in this exact moment, I was okay.
A car door slammed in the parking lot, and I perked up. Another door slammed, and my heart burst into a hopeful little ditty. Was that a giggle? God, half my team was the giggling little sister fromPride & Prejudicethat I’d wanted to punch in the giggling face. But I could forgive them for that since they were showing up.
One by one, they wandered up the hill. In groups and twosomes, gabbing as if I hadn’t almost put them all in the hospital this morning.
All was forgiven.
11
Marley
Nothing was forgiven. They lined up in front of me and eyed me suspiciously in that way only teenage girls can. With disgust and pity and annoyance in their mascaraed eyes.Ah, youth.
“Since we had such a rough morning—” I began.
“You mean puke fest,” one of the girls interjected helpfully.
Ha. Hilarious.I was already well aware of the fact that I’d committed the ultimate faux pas when it came to being in charge of teenagers. I’d shown my weakness, exposed my underbelly.
“Anyway. I thought we’d have a little fun this afternoon with a scrimmage.” Were those actual smiles on their judgmental little faces? It felt like a very small, very satisfying win. I’d loved scrimmaging when I played. We got to let loose and forget about drills and just play the damn game. For fun. And I’d hoped that feeling was mutual with this generation.
“I’d like to see you all play your assigned positions and be open to moving around the field a bit to see what you can do. Oh, and I brought some music.” Fishing the phone out of my pocket, I queued up the playlist, and the Spice Girls warbled to life through my Bluetooth speaker.
Those were full-fledged grins now, and I patted myself on my already sweaty back.
“Line up and count off,” I instructed. I thought I was being smart not letting them choose their own teams. However, Sophie S. ducked behind one of the Morgans and made herself a 2 instead of a 1. Putting her on the team opposite Ruby.
So they didn’t like each other. They didn’t have to. They just had to play together. I’d let it go for now, I decided.
Ruby and Sophie S. were immediately nominated team captains, making me swear under my breath.
I started play with a clap of my hands since I was still a coach without a whistle.
The Spice Girls gave way to Pitbull and then Macklemore as the JV and varsity girls soccer teams danced, skipped, and jogged their way down the field. They weren’t taking it seriously, but at least they were playing. I could determine who had footwork, who had speed, and who was a brick wall to get around. Who just wasn’t very good.
And who was the Marley of the team. It seemed to be the small-statured, quiet sophomore named Rachel. She hunched her shoulders when she ran as if she were warding off the spiritual blows of unpopularity. I watched that damn Lisabeth with her curly ponytail hip check Rachel after the play, sending the much smaller girl to the ground.
“You!” I shouted.
“Me?” Lisabeth pointed to herself innocently.
“Laps.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, mentally switching her from first string to bench warmer for the first game.
“For what?” She crossed her arms over her chest, challenging me.
“For being a shitty team player and having a craptastic attitude. Newsflash, you want to act like a jerk, do it at home to your parents who made you this way. Now, run.”
The rest of the team was staring at me openmouthed as Lisabeth lumbered off under a cloud of rage. Damn. That felt good. Really good. I felt like I’d finally stood up to my own bullies.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked the rest of the team. “Play!”
I took notes on my clipboard and swiped at the sweat as it beaded my forehead. I’d spent the last few years in Illinois and Colorado and had forgotten how oppressive Pennsylvania summers could be.
There were some hoots and cheers from each team as two of the girls tangled for the ball. They laughed it off and high-fived. Nice sportsmanship, I noted. But there was no communication. No camaraderie. It was like the teams were made up of two- and three-person cliques. Ruled from a distance by dictators including Ruby, Sophie S., and Lisabeth. I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
