Page 91 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Go, team!”
“We need a way cooler call to action,” I said, as the first string took their positions on the field.
“How about ‘destroy the enemy’?” Vicky suggested as we walked back to the bench. The stands were still mostly empty, but the number of spectators was growing, slowly.
“How about ‘fuck off, Coach Vince’?”
Jake was sitting with my parents, and it looked like Dietrich made it out tonight too. I gave them all a little wave and tried to swallow the nerves that were turning my stomach into a roller coaster.
I felt a shiver run up my spine. Evil was near. Turning around, I spotted Lisabeth Hooper, flanked by the bronzer triplets and… “Is that? It can’t be?” I murmured.
She was still blonde. Still had a terrifying resting bitch face. She was fifty pounds heavier but still annoyingly attractive.
“Steffi Lynn?” Vicky supplied. “Yeah. Didn’t you know she’s Lisabeth’s mom? After she flunked out of cosmetology school, she moved back in with her parents and took a job as an assistant to an insurance agent in Centerville. She got knocked up by her boss, which was a shame because he was married. Anyway, she’s been married and divorced like three times. She was a massage therapist until she got sued when her essential oil blend ate the skin off of a couple of her clients. Still lives with her parents. She’s broke and going through another divorce.”
“Wow.”
Steffi Lynn took a step closer to the fence and glared down at me. “Once a loser, always a loser,” she said snidely.
There was something less monstrous, more sad about her than I remembered. Had I somehow cursed Steffi Lynn all those years ago at our showdown or was it just cumulative karma?
Lisabeth stared me down coldly and mouthed “fuck you.”
“Thanks for coming to show your support,” I said, giving them a little finger wave.
“Didn’t she get suspended? Should we call security?” Vicky whispered out of the side of her mouth.
Stadium security consisted of a seventy-year-old partially deaf man who carried a walkie-talkie and napped in the ambulance.
“It was a day of in-school suspension. And let’s just rub her face in our victory,” I said grimly.
40
Marley
My heart was pounding away in my throat when the ref blew the whistle to start the game. I’d always felt like this before my own games. Nerves. Anticipation. The hope that I’d somehow magically unlock my untapped athletic ability and be the team hero.
I guess twenty years wasn’t quite long enough to dull the muscle memory of a home game under the lights. And now I had even more riding on the game. I had three enemies in the stands and a point to prove to everyone else.
I watched the Blue Jays mount a credible offense and move the ball into our territory. We were nervous, clunky. The team’s collective horror was palpable as, pass by pass, the Jays advanced on our goal. A tall forward trapped the cross and lined up her shot.
“Please no. Please no. Please no,” I chanted helplessly from the sidelines.
She fired a wild shot on goal, and Ashlynn dove and rolled.
“Did she—”
Vicky’s question was cut off by the roar of the crowd. Okay, more like approving murmur. Ashlynn climbed back to her feet, ball safely clutched in her hands.
“Oh, thank God!”
I wondered if most coaches were on anxiety medications or if they just played fast and loose with potential heart attacks.
The Jays dominated the next run and the next, but every time they crossed half-field, our defense got tougher. They were warming to the challenge. In both of our previous games, we’d been down by two goals already. This was improvement. However, I greedily wanted more than improvement.
I wanted victory.
The ball rolled out of bounds at half-field, and I felt my phone vibrate against my hip. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
