“DID YOU THINK I wasn’t going to find out?”
I swallow the small bite of chili and tap the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before setting it down. I look over at Macon’s hand, watching the screen of the phone that he holds in my face. The video of Megan and me plays, and Iron, Army, and Dallas crowd around him to see.
Aracely sits in the stool, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, and very interested in what the guys are talking about, because she’s relishing it. She brought it to their attention, I’m sure.
I turn off the burner and grab a bowl for myself. “What were you going to do about it?”
It’s not like I was trying to hide it. I reposted it, didn’t I? I just didn’t make him aware of it. There’s a lot I don’t make him aware of.
“Is this why you left school?” Army chimes in.
“I’m still a student.”
I scoop up a bowlful and place the lid on the pot. Adding some oyster crackers, I pick a spoon out of the drawer and walk into the living room.
“You let them get away with everything,” Macon barks. “And now you let them drive you away.”
“Look what they did to the house,” Aracely chimes in, swinging her arm around as if I’ve yet to notice the destruction that took place when the Saints snuck in Saturday night. They all blame me, because I’d invited them over the tracks.
“Good thing it’s not your house,” I reply.
She casts a glare to Macon as if he’s going to make me respect her.
I sit down on the couch and prop my elbows on my knees as I lean over my bowl on the coffee table. “And I didn’t let them get away with anything.” I look up at Macon. “I took away their entertainment. I won.”
“That’s not how they see it.”
He steps into the living room, approaching me, and I look away, scooping up some chili. So this is about his pride. Got it.
“We’re not letting it go this time,” Dallas tells me.
“And you’re going back to school,” Macon adds.
“Not likely.” I blow on my food.
Macon advances, tossing his phone to a chair on my right, but Trace inches in. “Just leave her alone.”
“You shut up,” Macon growls.
I put the spoon into my mouth, ignoring the fire in my brothers’ eyes. Except Trace’s, because he always takes my side, and Iron’s, because he doesn’t ever get mad at me.
Army picks up Macon’s phone again, studying the screen. “Is this that assistant coach?” he asks, peering over at me.
I eat another bite, everyone’s eyes and ears trained on me, and I’m so damn tired of putting out fires that I didn’t start. Damn her.
“Is it?” Macon asks when I don’t answer.
I shake my head, smashing the beans as I mix up the chili and crackers. “Don’t.”
“Livvy…”
“Just let me be!” I shout, glaring up at them. Jesus! This doesn’t have to be a family-fucking-meeting, Macon. I shoot daggers at him, tired of everyone on my back. Even at home, I’m not safe.
They have no idea what it’s been like for me. What every day is like for me in this town. I made a decision. Just support me. Please!
Macon blinks, hesitating. The last time I’d yelled at him I was ten, in tears, and thrashing. He’d hugged me until I couldn’t hurt myself anymore.
When he speaks, his tone is gentler. “You are the only one ever getting out of here,” he tells me. “Don’t you think I’ve always known that? You have three months left. If you let them win now, it will follow you forever.”
I scoop up more chili. “Clay Collins won’t feel like she’s won anything six months from now.”
“Clay Collins,” he says. “That’s who did this.”
He holds up his phone, smart enough to know someone had to take the video of the assistant coach and me.
I ignore the question. “I’m a fighter,” I inform him. “But that is something you never understood. Not everything is worth a fight. What do I care what they think about me in twenty years? I won’t be thinking about them at all.”
“Well, that’s just great,” he says, tossing his phone back down. “Because as usual, everything is all about you.”
“On the contrary, finally something is.” I stare hard at him. “I don’t have to stay in a community that hates me. I don’t have to put up with anything.”
“Then bite back!”
I shake my head. I bit back in that shower with her, and I loved seeing how much she wanted it. I loved it too much. That was the problem.
Biting back could hurt me more than her. I can’t.
So, fuck it. I’m out. I’m eighteen. I got into Dartmouth. All I have to do now is graduate high school, and it really doesn’t matter how or from where. If Marymount decided to send me packing when I withdrew this week, I could go to the public high school to finish my credits, and I’d still be going to Dartmouth in the fall. Living my life. Free. Happy. I win.
The doorbell rings, and I see Trace head for it as Macon and my gazes stay locked on each other. I eat another bite, finally looking away, rather than play his infantile game of “Who’s Going to Blink First?”
I know what he’s saying. And part of me agrees. Part of me is consumed by pride, and I hate that Clay Collins and her friends will get even a moment’s satisfaction by running me off, but it’s not my responsibility to educate them. It’s not my lot in life to survive them. Fuck them.
“What the hell?” I hear Trace gripe.
We all turn our heads as he opens the door wide, and I watch as Krisjen steps into the house, her lacrosse uniform on and her hair in French braids.
My brothers stare at her, knowing exactly who she is. Her grandfather is the judge Iron always gets every time he’s in trouble, and the judge who would just love to be there when my brother gets his third strike.
“Really brave or really stupid,” Trace says, sounding amused. He turns his head to me. “Any idea, Liv?”
“She’s not brave,” I tell him, scooping up more food and pinning Krisjen with a stare. “Or smart.”
Just stupid.
“You have twenty seconds,” I tell her.
She casts a nervous glance around the room, looking apprehensive to say whatever she has to say in front of my whole family, but whatever.
“The game is today,” she says.
“And?”
“The car is running.” She tips her chin up, bracing herself. “I have your uniform. Please.”
I laugh under my breath. “Get out.”
I take a bite, everyone else remaining silent.
But Krisjen doesn’t back down. “Gibbon’s Cross, Jaeger! I can’t beat them.”
“I’m no longer on the team.”
“You’re still a student,” she retorts. “You could be back on the team with the snap of a finger.”
I shake my head. “I said get out.”
“Just this game.” She moves in, hovering over me. “This is your team, too. You worked for months for this.”
And for what? I stir the food, refusing to look up. Gibbon’s Cross is the team to beat, and I wanted to be there, because winning would feel great, but I could only hold on for so long. Joining that team was never about lacrosse. It was me stupidly thinking that people would like me when they got to know me. I’d bond with the girls on the team. I’d be respected by classmates, being part of their world. The administration would value me and treat me as worthy of what I deserved if I was a team player in that one aspect.
And all I got was shit for my trouble. Let them learn the hard way how fucking valuable I am.
“Why should she lift a finger to help all of you?” Dallas says. “It’s not like you won’t go back to treating her like shit the moment you have the win off of her.”
“Fuck ’em.” Army folds his arms across his chest. “Let them lose.”
A car horn honks outside, and I don’t know if it’s her mom, or maybe it’s Clay, sending her in here to do her dirty work.
I meet Krisjen’s eyes. “Tell Clay she can go fuck herself.”
“Clay’s not even playing,” she tells me.
I stop and look up at her.
“She’s benched,” Krisjen goes on.
I drop my gaze, staring at my bowl, absently stirring as thoughts whirl in my head. Clay’s not playing. Will she even be there? What the hell happened?
I’ll admit, the prospect of not having to deal with her bullshit on the field is enticing. But if I play today, they’ll just try to coerce me into playing again, and eventually she will be back.
I’m done with Marymount.
Krisjen stands there waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, she sighs and walks for the door, giving up.
“I’m sorry about it, you know?” She pauses with her hand on the knob. “There’s no excuse for our behavior.”
I drop my eyes to my bowl again, steeling my jaw.
“But there is a reason,” she says. “There is always a reason why people are the way they are. Even Clay.”
My throat tightens, and I listen as she opens the door, walks out, and closes it behind her.
“That took nerve.” I hear Army say.
“Or stupidity,” Dallas adds.
Maybe both. Or maybe it’s just humility. Krisjen is a follower, but I always knew she wouldn’t be the way she is without Clay and Amy and their pressure. She might be a nice person otherwise.
Iron speaks up. “I’m not playing nice if those little pricks cross the tracks again, Macon. Without Liv at Marymount anymore, there’s no reason for us to keep the peace.”
“You’ll do and not do what I tell you to,” Macon fires back.
“Like Liv.” Trace laughs. “You get her to do what you want so well.”
“What…” Macon says. “I’m glad she refused her. I always hated that she was on that team anyway. It was a waste of time.”
Aracely laughs from her stool against the wall, I hear the engine outside rev, and I drop the spoon back into the bowl, clenching my fists.
Only one thing I want to piss off more than Clay Collins, and that’s the people who love me, relishing for me to fail. In four years, Macon has been to one of my games. One. At least I have no expectations of Clay. All he cares about is my future. Never my happiness. He never listens.
Pushing off the couch, I slip on my leather jacket, grab my keys and shoes, and slip my purse over my body.
“Liv!” Macon yells.
But I don’t look back. Racing out the front door, I see Krisjen’s mom’s Range Rover pulling down the dirt road, and I run after it, pounding on the rear window.
They stop, and I hear the door unlock.
I swing open the back door and climb in.
“I’ve got a spare toothbrush,” Krisjen says from the driver’s seat as she looks at me in her rearview mirror, smiling.
I sit down next to Ruby, Amy in the front passenger seat, and slam the door. “I’m not staying the night.”
Just for the game.
• • •
The stadium in Gibbon’s Cross is like walking into a lobster tank surrounded by butchers looking for the perfect specimen for tonight’s special. It’s small—smaller than ours—so no matter if it’s a football game or peewee soccer, the stands always seem filled with homefield advantage. Not a single empty spot on the bleachers remains, the benches overflowing with cheering parents and students, not because anyone here particularly gives a shit about girls’ lacrosse, but they do like to win against St. Carmen. Private schools brim with people used to getting what they want for a certain price, so when anything is left to chance, it’s stressful. And exciting. They show up for it.
We jog to the sidelines, everyone on the field stretching and warming up.
“You’re late!” Coach yells at Krisjen, panicked. “I’d bench you right now if I didn’t need you.”
We stop in front of Coomer, and I see Clay, in uniform, on the bench off to the left as Coomer’s eyes flash to me.
“She’s still a student,” Krisjen tells her. “I can’t keep up with this team. Please.”
Coach studies me, probably wondering about the change in heart after I’d stalked into her office Monday morning, told her I was out, and promptly left without a conversation. I hop on the balls of my feet, stretching my arms over my head, because we have no time for warm-ups before play starts.
“I’m not going to force you, Jaeger,” Coach tells me. “Do you want to be here?”
“No.”
Krisjen levels a glare at me.
“I want you to pay for victory pizza,” I say instead.
Coach smiles despite herself and turns back to the field. “Get your gear on.”
Coomer always takes us out to dinner when we win, but I never go. I go home.
But I’m going tonight, and I don’t give a shit who doesn’t want me there. We’re going to win, because of me.
Getting my shit on, I dart onto the field, Krisjen joining and taking up her position, protecting our goal. I look left and right, between the other two midfielders. “Stay sharp,” I tell them. “Watch for me!”
They nod, sticks up, and I press mine to the grass, eye to eye with the other team.
“Oh, yay,” Elle Costa from the other team snickers. “I was almost disappointed this was going to be too easy.”
“I couldn’t let you down, baby.”
“No Clay today?” she cracks, her eyes flashing to the bench.
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’ll still have your hands full.”
The ref drops the ball, and I slam into her, my legs charged with some kind of juice, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I have to admit I’ve missed this.
Completing school work at home is lonely, and the last thing I needed this week is more quality time with Macon, but I’ve kept busy even though Macon was right. In some ways, my decision to withdraw and retreat had made perfect sense, but I also felt like I’d missed an opportunity.
Marymount isn’t the only challenge I’ll have in life. What happens next time? Most people , he’d once told me, don’t do great things, because great things don’t feel great when you’re doing them . I shouldn’t have run from them. I should’ve learned from them.
I snap the ball to Rodriguez who passes it to Sinclair, and I race ahead, covering her as she passes it to Amy. Amy leaps, catches the ball and swings, hitting the post, and the ball bounces out.
“It’s okay!” I shout, taking the lead, since our captain is busy warming her ass.
Play continues, Clay’s presence heavy on my right, but I refuse to look. I’m surprised she even showed up, but I suppose she had to in case someone gets injured. What the hell got her benched?
Dinah Leister from Gibbon’s Cross catches the ball and races toward our goal, but I dive in and snatch it, firing it over to Amy, running ahead just in time for her to shoot it back, and I snap it, holding my breath and watching as it rolls right into their goal.
“Yeah!” Krisjen shouts, our team celebrating.
Amy flips her stick around like a baton, all smiles, and I spare two seconds to feel the glow before I run back to get in play again.
Time moves fast, Gibbon’s Cross scoring one, and us scoring two more in the second.
I bang my stick on the ground. “Amy!” I shout.
She flashes her eyes to me, hits the ball just as someone knocks her to the ground, elbowing her head. I grab the ball, shooting it into the net, and more boos erupt from the stands.
I smile, but I don’t celebrate, running over and not thinking. I slam Costa in the shoulder while everyone is distracted, watching her land on the ground next to Amy and getting her comeuppance. This is the third time she’s done that to one of us, and the refs aren’t seeing it. Or pretending they’re not seeing it.
I pull Amy back to her feet. “Thanks,” she says.
I jog back down the field, throwing out my hands at the ref. “You gonna call something at some point?” I yell.
“Jaeger!” Coach yells, because I’m getting smart with the ref.
Fuck it. They’re throwing cheap shots. We win nothing taking the high road.
I look over, seeing Clay standing now, her arms folded over her chest, concern or tension etched across her brow.
I get back in the game, Ruby passing the ball to Krisjen and Krisjen passing it back quickly. “Liv!” she shouts, shooting it to me.
Second and third period passes, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead, hair loose from my ponytail tickling my neck. We’re up two goals, but everyone is exhausted and Gibbon’s Cross doesn’t always play their best players first. They’re about to get a second wind.
I debate for a moment and then walk over to Coach. “Bring Clay in,” I tell her. “Ruby’s exhausted.”
But Coach shakes her head. “I’ll make the decisions. Get back in the game.”
I hesitate, ready to argue, but they’re teeing off.
Running backward onto the field again, I growl at Clay, “So you just gonna sit there the whole night?”
Make her put you in the game. You can make anyone do anything, right?
But Clay just sits, her elbows on her knees, watching me. Making no move, like she’s given up.
Cross scores again, and we’re almost tied, all of us digging in our heels. I breathe hard, wanting this win so badly. I don’t want them to say I came back and they still lost. I’d have swallowed my pride for nothing.
Ang shoots the ball. I catch it, a Cross player on my hide, and I let out a yell, shooting the ball and watching it get past the goalie and into the net.
“Yeah!”
“Woohoo!”
Someone grabs onto my shoulder and about five people hug me. We’re back up two goals, and I glance at the clock, nine minutes left.
I run back to position, looking over at Clay. “That’s okay,” I taunt. “We’re doing fine. Never needed you.”
I smile, turning my eyes away, and resume play, but a minute later, I hear the whistle blow. Coach calls Ruby off the field, and I see Clay putting on her gear.
She heads right for me, brushing my shoulder as she passes. “Teammates doesn’t mean team.”
“Friendly ain’t friends,” I say.
“Just so we’re clear.”
Fuck yeah. We’re clear. Help me score, and you’re useful. Otherwise, you’re not.
We play, the ebb and flow of our game settling back into familiar territory as I look over and see Clay always there when I need her. She anticipates me, and I guess it’s from playing together so long, but I don’t have that dynamic with all the girls. I pass, she catches, she runs, and I cover her.
“Here!” I call.
She doesn’t hesitate. She passes me the ball, and I shoot it to Amy, Clay running ahead, taking the ball back and scoring.
Everyone cheers while the people in the stands boo, and Clay smiles, her friends jumping on her.
I pass her.
“Good job,” she tells me.
I blow spit out, it landing an inch from her shoe.
She looks down and then at me, her smile gone.
“You trashed my house,” I say as everyone moves into position around us. “You desecrated our flag.”
She doesn’t try to defend herself, and I don’t want her to. I’m just reminding her that we’re not a team.
“Liv!” someone yells.
Clay and I turn our heads, seeing Megan next to the coach, her blonde hair spilling out of her baseball cap and a look in her eyes that warns me not to get myself in trouble.
Clay waves at someone, and I follow her gaze, seeing Callum and his friends sitting on the hood of his car on the other side of the chain-link fence in the parking lot. He watches us with that look in his eyes that reminds me of what my lactose intolerance feels like when it kicks in.
“You didn’t feel like he does,” Clay whispers, moving in close as play starts around us. “You didn’t feel powerful.”
He felt powerful? He’s had her? I pause, staring at her. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s fucked him already. I don’t why I thought she hadn’t gone that far. Maybe because Clay Collins is such a priss, she wouldn’t want to get dirty.
She looks at me. “You can’t do to me what he can do.”
“I can do anything he can do,” I grit out. “You want me inside of you?”
I watch her eyes fall to my mouth, a hint of my tongue showing itself.
“You want to ride me?” I offer. “I can do anything you want.”
I can do anything to her a man can do.
“But I will never touch you,” I tell her, casting a glance to the sidelines and Megan. “I like her. She’s so ready.”
Clay’s eyes narrow, a fire lighting inside.
“You’re bland and repressed, boring and bitchy.” I grin. “Good thing is, rich or not, those things can be fixed.”
Her own words thrown back at her from when she wrote on me in Sharpie and the knowledge that I’ll have a good-fucking-time with anyone but her makes her eyes turn red. She growls, shoving me in the chest, and I laugh, fisting her shirt and dragging her down to the grass with me.
We roll, whistles sound, and the crowd goes wild, the showdown they expected by two rival teams taking a twist they didn’t expect.
“Oh, you wanna be on top, huh?” I tease, Clay straddling me.
She screams, more pissed off, and I just laugh, barely noticing all the arms trying to pull us apart.
