Page 58 of A Voice In Chains
Harrison jogs back into position. “Visualize our win instead.”
The ball is back in play, and our team moves like a well-oiled machine. Pass, move, and find the space. Our rivals are intense, their defenders closing us down quickly.
Ryan intercepts a pass and sends the ball skimming toward Harrison on the left wing. I spot an opening and run forward, shouting to let them know my position. Harrison dribbles, outmaneuvering two defenders, then flicks the ball back with the outside of his foot.
It’s a perfect pass, and I surge forward. A defender shadows me, determined to stop the attack, but I feint right and my shoulder dips before I cut left. The defender falters just a fraction, enough to give me space.
I’m at the edge of the penalty box when the goalkeeper charges out. He narrows the angle, and it’s now or never, so I chip the ball, sending it soaring over the keeper’s outstretched hands.
The ball dips just in time, kissing the underside of the crossbar before bouncing into the net, but I barely have time to register the goal before someone jumps onto my back with a loud cheer, tackling me to the ground.
It’s mayhem from there, sweaty bodies piling on top of me.
We eventually return to our half of the pitch, and the referee’s whistle blows, signaling the restart. With only minutes left of the match, the win is almost ours.
When the final whistle blows, I’m on a high and grinning so big it hurts.
My sister wiggles her butt in a happy dance on the sidelines while Arkin watches her with a soft smile, but then he lifts his head, and we lock eyes.
If only I could run over there and kiss him. Celebrate this moment with him. The urge is strong, but we can’t.
“That was fucking amazing!” Harrison says as he grabs me in a headlock. “We’re celebrating tonight.”
I let him drag me away toward the rowdy locker rooms, where the cheers and hollers from my teammates drift through. I’ll see Arkin again soon once I’ve washed off the sweat and grime.
The locker room is a flurry of activity. Everyone is in great spirits.
I’m yanking off my football shirt when Harrison asks, “What’s the deal with you and Arkin?”
My movements falter. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Come on, you went from hating the guy to being inseparable.”
I sit down on the bench to remove my studded boots. “I got to know him, I guess.”
Harrison studies me, and I pretend I don’t notice while removing my socks and protective shin pads. There’s a slight tremble in my hands as I pack my items away.
“You know…” Harrison says carefully, retrieving his towel. “He’s sound.”
I lift my head, and we lock eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying…” He shrugs. “Arkin is a decent bloke.” A slight smirk curves Harrison’s lips as he collects his towel, and I stare after him as he saunters to the showers.
Did I imagine the knowing way he smiled at me just now. I must have done, right? There’s no way he’d know.
Heavy bass thudsthrough the walls, shaking the framed photographs on the mantel and rattling empty bottles on the coffee table. A couple makes out in the corner, unnoticed as someone stumbles, spilling beer across the floor. Girls in short, sparkly dresses dance on the makeshift dance floor.
I sink lower into the couch, nursing the half-empty red solo cup in my hand. Across the room, Ryan plays beer pong with a group of our teammates. Their cheers and hollers break through the loud music as I take a sip of lukewarm beer, watching Arkin dance with some random brunette in a short, glittery gold dress and sky-high ‘fuck me’ heels.
Sprawled on the armchair, Harrison stops making out with the busty girl on his lap and follows my gaze. I’m not in the mood for his comments, so I down the last of my beer before he can say anything.
“I’m grabbing another beer,” I announce, standing up. “Want one?”
He grins up at me while the girl sucks on his neck. “Sure.”
In the kitchen, a cluster of students jostle around a keg, laughing too loud and slurring their words as they pour foamy beer into red plastic cups.
A guy I’ve never spoken to notices me, and his face lights up. “Zach, my man,” he says as he hands me a drink. “Sick party!”
