Page 93 of Rock Bottom Girl
Vicky put her arms around me and two of the players. “We’re working as a team! Isn’t that exciting?” she squealed.
“Don’t make this weird, Coach V,” I warned.
The Blue Jays’ coach must have given one hell of a halftime pep talk because they came out swinging. Their offense was tighter and more bloodthirsty. But damn if our defense didn’t rise to the challenge. We were scoreless for another twenty minutes, each side battling for domination. Back and forth. Both defenses were getting tired, and I subbed in some fresh legs.
The clock was ticking down. Ties meant overtime, and I didn’t know if we had it in us. At least the crowd was more invested this half, and the attention seemed to feed my players.
Angela executed a sliding tackle with the precision of a pro and did a little celebratory shimmy when she popped back up. The crowd hooted its approval.
There was one minute left in the game, and I had no fingernails left to chew.
“One minute, ladies,” I yelled, clapping my hands.
It didn’t look good for us. A Blue Jay snaked her way around our midfield and started charging for the goal. I slapped a hand over the heart that was trying to explode out of my chest. Angela must have heard my fervent prayers. She stepped in front of the runaway forward and got mowed down.
I was already halfway to her when the ref whistled me onto the field.
“Angela! Are you alive?” She was crumpled on the grass, but her eyes were open. She had two perfect cleat marks on her cheek.
“Did I stop her?” she asked, rolling onto her side.
“Like a brick freaking wall,” I said.
One of the EMTs huffed and puffed over to us. She dropped a medical bag on the ground. The team huddled up a short distance away while we made sure Angela wasn’t concussed or missing any limbs.
There was a good-natured cheer when we got her back on her feet to hobble off the field.
Angela stopped and faced the team. “Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain. Win this, bitches,” she said.
Ruby approached and put her hand on Angela’s shoulder. “We will win this for you, Cleat Face.”
“Oh my God. Let’s just finish the game, okay?” I said, slapping an ice pack on Angela’s face.
The ref awarded us an indirect kick for the foul with twenty seconds left on the clock.
I dumped Angela on the bench where she received a hero’s welcome and returned to Vicky’s side.
“This is it,” she said.
“Yep.”
“Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“I don’t think water is going to calm me down.”
Without looking away from the field, Vicky unzipped her fanny pack. “I got tequila minis in here. For emergencies.”
I laughed, loud and long. I was still laughing when our defense took the kick. One of our midfielders got it and fired it up the field to Libby.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. Ten seconds.
Libby worked her fancy footwork around a defender and snuck closer to the goal. I grabbed Vicky’s arm, my fingers stabbing into her flesh. She had me around the neck in a chokehold.
Libby looked up at the goal and then away.
“What is she doing?” Vicky screeched.
Five…four…three…
