Page 47 of Spectacular Things
Commencement
After tossing their caps into the sky, the newly minted Victory High School graduates find their friends at the center of the football field.
Parents rush toward them and let their camera shutters rip.
In rowdy, weepy clusters, the graduates glom together, equally shell-shocked and ecstatic. It’s all over.
Cricket is no different, throwing her arms around her teammates for their blood-related paparazzi.
The senior squad reconfigures their faces every few seconds for a goofy picture, a normal one, a sexy one that makes Mia cringe, especially as the moms on either side of her seem to encourage it.
“Ears forward, ladies!” one mom in a denim jumpsuit directs, walking in front of Mia to model what she calls her fail-proof pose.
That night at Primo Bistro, Cricket spots their reserved table from the hostess stand and tells Lucia it’s just the three of them; they don’t need a fourth place setting.
“Actually,” Mia says reticently, “we do.”
She is still wondering if this was a good idea when the door behind them opens and twenty blue and gold balloons wedge themselves ungracefully into the restaurant.
“Surprise!” Sloane Jackson yells. “Sorry! I didn’t realize these would take up so much space!”
Blinded by the balloons, Mia can’t see Cricket’s face, so she listens intently for her sister’s reaction, but there isn’t one.
“How festive,” Oliver says, punching one gold balloon out of his way, and then another, until Mia can see him and the entire scene before them.
Cricket has thrown both arms around Sloane, but over her shoulder and between all the balloons, Cricket looks at Mia and asks with wary eyes, What’s this about?
Introductions are made swiftly on their way to the table, even though Oliver and Mia feel like they already know Sloane, and vice versa.
When Sloane sheds her jean jacket to reveal a bright blue UCLA soccer jersey, Cricket jokes that only a thin line separates fans from stalkers.
From across the table, Mia watches with relief as her sister’s armor melts in Sloane’s presence; clever banter and obvious affection quickly replace Cricket’s initial suspicion.
“You know, Sloane, you’re kinda tied to our story,” Oliver says, surprising everyone. “If Cricket hadn’t been having such a good time with you at that first National Team camp, Mia never would have agreed to go out with me.”
“You’re welcome,” Sloane says, slapping him on the back while grinning mischievously at Cricket, who pretends her laugh is a cough.
Mia wants to ask them what’s so funny, but the server appears just then and so they order two baskets of garlic bread, a blooming onion, a family-size salad, and four Shirley Temples.
“It’s a celebration,” Mia informs their server.
“And celebrations call for gifts,” Sloane declares, beaming at Cricket as she slides a small box across the table.
“But I didn’t get you anything for graduating,” Cricket says, sagging in her seat and tossing her napkin on the table. “You flew all the way here,” she points out with genuine appreciation. “And I didn’t even think to send you, like, a card.”
The week before, Sloane had graduated from a private academy in North Palm Beach.
For an undisclosed sum, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson had given the commencement speech, and the photo Sloane had posted of herself pretending to arm wrestle him while wearing her graduation gown had garnered over thirteen thousand likes.
The comments section was dominated by members of the current National Team and the Washington Spirit, which picked Sloane in the NWSL draft back in January.
Now, Cricket flushes with guilt remembering how she had fixated on all those likes, and the chance to rub elbows with The Rock, instead of actually reaching out to congratulate her friend.
“Further proof I’m a better person,” Sloane deadpans. “Open it!”
Cricket is still unwrapping the box when Sloane tells her it’s a charm bracelet with a soccer ball on it. “Same as this one,” she says, holding up her own wrist. “My mom got it for me when—” she says before stopping midsentence.
“Yeah, our mom would’ve loved this, too,” Cricket says, putting Sloane at ease. She sticks out her arm and Sloane dutifully clasps the bracelet on Cricket’s wrist. “Thank you,” Cricket says. “And thanks for being here.”
“Okay, me next then,” Oliver says, handing Cricket an envelope over the blooming onion. “It’s kind of a selfish gift, but I think you’ll be happy to use it.”
“Compelling,” Cricket teases. She peeks inside the envelope and her whole face sweeps back as if blown by a high wind. “What the what?” she asks, pulling out the credit card.
“It’s the best credit card for flying, so whenever you want to come home, we’ll use that card. It’ll help you build credit, and eventually you’ll earn some free trips.”
Cricket flings herself at her former coach, who pats her on the back and tells her it’s no big deal, she’s more than earnedit.
“I guess I’m glad we didn’t break you two up,” Sloane says, just as their pasta dishes arrive.
Cricket theatrically drills an elbow into her friend’s ribs, who continues, undeterred.
“On our Sunday calls, I came up with some pretty awesome ideas for how to drive a wedge between you—it usually involved fox piss or fake blood or both.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mia says as she laughs, leaning into Oliver.
“Yeah, but the important thing is that Cricket never followed through because she insisted you deserve to be happy,” Sloane says, pointing her fork at Mia. Sitting back in her chair like a lawyer resting her case, Sloane adds, “and I think she’s right.”
“She certainly is,” Oliver says, pretending to punch Cricket’s shoulder.
“Last but not least,” Mia says, reaching under the table to reveal her hidden gift. She gives Cricket a cardboard tube three feet long. “This is so you have a friend with you in California.” Her voice breaks on “California” but everyone pretends not to hearit.
Cricket pops open the lid and sticks her hand into the tube. She only unscrolls an inch before she rolls it back up. “No way,” she says to Mia, her face serious. “I can’t take him—he belongs at home.”
“No, he belongs with you,” Mia says, blaming the blooming onion as she rubs her eyes.
“Who the hell is he ?” Sloane asks through a mouthful of pasta. “Let me guess—Beckham? Is it young Beckham or current Beckham because I have thoughts.”
“It’s Steve,” Mia and Cricket say together.
“Steve Prefontaine,” Cricket elaborates, unfurling the tattered poster for Sloane to see.
“I used to think he was my dad,” she says, smiling at the memory.
She is back there in the cramped bathroom, standing between her mom and her sister.
“But yeah, anyway, this quote down here—it’s what I’ve lived by since I was little. ”
“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift,” Sloane reads aloud before looking at Cricket. “Wait, sorry, but how does that apply to you?”
Oliver chokes on his garlic bread as Mia stifles her laugh into her napkin and Cricket, hiding her own grin behind a scrunched nose and beady, indignant eyes, asks Sloane if she’d like to settle things in the parking lot. “To be honest, I’m not sure who’s more vicious,” Oliver says, clearly amused.
When the server comes around to offer coffee and dessert, everyone salivates before admitting they’re stuffed. Nevertheless, Lucia comes by with a tray a minute later. “Your mother would want you to try one of each,” she says. “And so doI.”
Despite their full stomachs, the tiramisu, cannoli, homemade cinnamon ice cream, and raspberry cheesecake are all devoured quickly.
Cricket and Sloane look like they’re about to pass out at the table.
As Oliver gathers up the gifts, Mia takes care of the bill—or at least tries to.
In the black leather book, there is a blank receipt scrawled over with Lucia’s tight cursive: Tonight is your mother’s and my treat. XOXO
Mia looks up, and Lucia locks eyes with her from across the busy dining room and blows several red-lipped air kisses. “We love you,” Lucia mouths with a comically dramatic enunciation, and Mia nods while biting down hard on the inside of her cheek.
“This was perfect,” Cricket says. She thanks Sloane, Oliver, and Mia for their gifts.
The bracelet, the credit card, the poster of Steve Prefontaine—they all serve as proof that everyone has bought into her dream.
They’re also a tacit reminder that Cricket’s entire identity, and the dimensions of her destiny, fall within the perimeter of a soccer field.
To focus on anything besides her own career would be to squander the only thing that makes her stand out.
—
“How long can you stay?” Cricket asks Sloane as they work to untie the twenty balloons from the back of Cricket’s chair.
“Tomorrow morning,” Sloane answers. “The Spirit has a bye this week,” she yawns. “But Teague suggested I use the time to train with Anders, so I’m flying from here to Carson.”
“Teague?” Cricket asks, agog and suddenly very much awake. “You’re going to work with Anders?”
“Yeah, during my one free weekend,” Sloane says, pretending to pout.
Mia hands the leather bill holder, now fat with a cash tip, back to the server and conveys to Oliver with a subtle eye flick that she had no idea. Tomorrow, they will have to weather Cricket’s unfiltered reaction to this announcement.
Full-time employees for U.S. Soccer, Teague and Anders are expected to prepare the current and future U.S.
Women’s National Team for greatness. And they are investing in Sloane this weekend, at the official facilities in California, while Cricket just sits around, taking photos with her high school friends and figuring out where to hang her tassel.
She has been an idiot, resting on her laurels as Sloane continues to plug into the system. Smushed between Sloane’s balloons on the car ride home, Cricket purses her lips to keep from laughing at herself: Maybe it’s a good thing she’s going to college, because she clearly needs to get smarter.