Page 30

Chapter 30

Home Game

Robyn

“ W elcome to the field your USA Valor!” The announcer booms through the stadium speakers and we all burst out of the tunnel like a confetti cannon. I wave my hands in the air to get the crowd pumped and I roar along with them.

South Africa took the field first and was on the pitch waiting for us. It feels good to be on home soil for today’s game. I’m rested, my lipstick and braids are on point, and I think I’ve done a bang-up job infusing my team with the energetic attitude we all need.

I’m ready to kick some ass.

After this game, we have a three-week break before our final game of the summer, and a small group of us are going on a girls’ trip to the Outer Banks. The team has been going for the last nine years for bonding as well as some much needed relaxation.

But right now, all of that is forgotten as we set up in a flat line for kick off. I spot Isaiah and Coach Bob on the sidelines. In crisp slacks and a dress shirt, Zay’s looking sharp and sophisticated, like a man with a plan. I noticed a slight change in his coaching style after I confronted him at the bar. He certainly growled less, despite our continued confusion during phase play. I hope it clicks today. I want to make him proud.

Suddenly my eyes catch on someone sitting in the stands right above our coaches .

Dell’s here. Butterflies erupt in my belly and my mind shifts to the sweet and salacious moments we’ve shared. Focus!

Serwaa lines up and dropkicks the ball to begin the game as we all charge toward South Africa in a flat line. One of South Africa's backs catches the ball and sprints toward her goal line. Before that can happen, I wrap up around her waist and haul her down, making the first tackle of the game.

The crowd lights up in cheers, and several of my teammates do the same as I quickly stand up and sprint for the next phase.

That’s the last positive thing I hear before the other team gets the ball out of the ruck and down to the edge of the field where their winger makes a breakaway through our line and scores a try—not even five minutes into the game.

I can hear Isaiah bellowing, “That was your tackle, Skirt! Come on! Get there!”

After that, it’s a fucking domino effect of negativity that I’m trying uselessly to counteract. Casshole is chirping at Khaos for not getting the ball to the back line sooner. Skirt is chirping at Serwaa for not being deep enough in the offensive line. Isaiah is barking at everyone.

My encouraging words are not meeting anyone’s ears.

In the second half, Toni is able to exploit a gap and score our one try and Serwaa kicks to make the conversion. When I chance a look over to our coaches, Isaiah simply has his arms folded then gives a perfunctory clap. “Set it up, Valor!”

That’s it? South Africa is kicking our asses and we finally make a good play, and that’s all we get from him? Why isn’t he getting it? We need him to cheer us on. Where is my supportive friend?

“Let’s do it again, ladies!” I shout, jogging back to midfield. I shake Toni’s shoulders and cheer, “Great job!” But all she does is let out a huff in response.

God, I hate when games go like this. Once the team starts feeling down, it can be next to impossible to lift everyone up again.

Needless to say, we lose 33–7.

Dejected and laden with feelings of failure, we march back into the tunnel and head for the locker room. Just before I file in, there’s a high-pitch whistle, and I turn to see my personal trainer leaning against the opposite wall with a smile, blue jeans, and white Valor T-shirt. He gestures for me to hold my head up high.

I could cry this very instant from that reminder alone, but I need to keep myself together because I know what’s about to happen.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened out there,” Isaiah says once we’re all sitting in the locker room. “So I’m gonna take a back seat for a minute, and you all are gonna tell me what went wrong in your eyes.”

When no one says anything, I speak up. “I think a lot of us were in a negative head space once they had that first breakaway.”

Isaiah nods. “I’d say I agree.”

Serwaa speaks next. “But I think the forwards had a good handle on their pods. That seemed to work most of the time.”

“What does that even matter when you’re biting each other’s heads off?” he bellows.

“That’s fuckin’ rich,” Casshole mutters next to me, and I close my eyes and sigh.

“Excuse me?” Isaiah asks. “If you’re going to say something, Cass, say it with your whole fucking chest.”

“I said that’s rich coming from you, Coach,” she scoffs. “All you do is find the negative and push our faces in it. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘ What goes around comes around?’ ”

“You’re professional athletes! You are in charge of your mental game.” Isaiah seems to realize he was too loud and he takes a deep breath. “I want you all to take these next coming weeks and find new ways to get in the right headspace when things start to go sideways. We can’t afford to have the whole team spiraling just because we make a few bad moves. Is that understood?”

A dozen Yeah ’s and solemn nods answer him before he turns on his heel and walks out.

Serwaa shakes her head and lifts off her jersey. “I thought you said you talked to him.”

“I did. I mean, we saw some improvement this last week at practice, didn’t we?”

“It’s not enough and you know it, Birdie.”

“Just give him some more time,” I plead. “I know he’s capable of being an amazing coach.”

“He’s right though,” Casshole says. “We should be able to pull ourselves out of these black holes instead of pulling each other in. Khaos,” Cass sighs, peeling off her sock, “I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Thanks,” they say with a sad smile. “I’m sorry too.”

I muster up a smile. “Let’s all take his advice and with this time off, let’s remember why we love each other and deserve to treat each other with nothing but respect and admiration on that fuckin’ field, okay? Now can I get a group hug because I need one right now or I’m gonna lose it.”

“Aww, Birdie,” Serwaa coos, and everyone scrunches in for the stankiest group hug ever.