Page 64 of Spectacular Things
Clean Sheets
In early June, Cricket lies on the balcony of her Chicago apartment listening to the birds welcome in summer with their song.
A dreamy breeze from Lake Michigan rolls over her skin, and the savory smoke of a charcoal grill on the building’s communal patio gives way to a severe cheeseburger craving, in which Cricket will not indulge.
Instead, she checks the time and makes sure her ringer ison.
She is trying to wait patiently.
It’s getting harder by the minute.
With her phone balanced on her chest, Cricket looks like any other twenty-three-year-old sunbathing on the first truly hot day of the year.
Under a flat-brimmed hat and behind reflective sunglasses, an onlooker might assume she’s daydreaming or even napping.
But in reality, Cricket has never been more acutely conscious than right now.
After checking her phone yet again, Cricket wonders if Teague making her wait over an hour is a good or bad sign for what is to come.
It’s impossible to know. It’s silly to guess.
The fact of the matter is that it’s Sunday afternoon and Cricket’s stomach has been a mess all weekend from the nerves of anticipating this, because this is everything, and everything is happening any second.
And here it is. The cheerful ring of a FaceTime call when the theme music from Halloween would be far more appropriate because Cricket can’t run or hide from what happens next. She instinctively gets to her feet before answering, as if standing might save her from ruin.
“Cricket,” Teague says, her expression set in a professional neutral. “Congratulations.”
That one word brings Cricket to her knees, and from hundreds of miles away, the head coach of the U.S.
Women’s National Team pauses to give Cricket a moment to collect herself.
She is trying her hardest not to cry, but for several weeks now, Cricket has prepared herself for the worst, and so the sudden flood of relief overwhelms her system because congratulations can only mean one thing.
“You’ve been selected to the Olympic roster,” Teague continues, sounding like an automated machine, like she is just the messenger and not the grandmaster of Cricket’s fate.
It’s well known that Teague makes the heartbreaking calls first, telling the contenders from the most recent training camp that they did not make the squad.
Now she gets to call twenty-two players and make their dreams come true.
Cricket Lowe is going to the 2028 Olympics in Los Angeles.
“I’ve obviously been watching you for years,” Teague says.
“And while I’ve always valued your talent, I’ve got to tell you, Cricket, your performance in the past six months has been nothing short of phenomenal.
We’re bringing you for your ability on the field, of course—it’s you and Sloane, by the way, our two keepers for this tournament, with Emma as an alternate—but we’re also bringing you for your attributes off the pitch. ”
“Thank you, Coach,” Cricket musters.
“I see so much potential in you as a future leader of this team,” Teague says in response.
She is used to talking through players’ tears—it’s part of the job.
“Starting at January Camp, you’ve made yourself an asset, and to be fully transparent, I’m interested to see you and Sloane compete for the starting spot this summer. ”
Cricket can hardly believe what she’s hearing.
As soon as Alyssa Naeher retired, Sloane stepped into her place, the natural heir apparent.
But ever since Des dropped out of January Camp for mental health reasons and Teague invited Cricket to take her place, Cricket has felt like she’s outperformed Sloane.
Nevertheless, Sloane has still played every minute of every game in the smaller tournaments of the last six months.
But now Teague is telling her, straight up, that the Olympics are up for grabs.
“Thank you, Coach,” Cricket says again, wiping her eyes and waiting until they hang up to blow her nose. Teague may have several more calls to place, but Cricket only has one.
“Oh my God!” Mia screams as soon as Cricket tells her. “You did it!”
“Well done, Keep!” Oliver shouts, his gruff coach voice cracking with affection as he reminds her that this is her opportunity.
“You so deserve this,” Mia says, and as Cricket grabs yet another tissue, she can tell her sister is crying, too. “You’ve worked so hard to get here, and Mom would be so proud—”
Cricket almost tells Mia it’s okay, that she knows their mom is proud, that Liz was with her every day of the multiple training camps, and the Gold Cup and SheBelieves Cup, and that she’ll come with her to the Olympics since Mia will be too pregnant to fly.
They may be physically separated, but they’re all in this together.
After she hangs up with Mia and Oliver, Cricket is too thrilled to keep still so she heads out for a run in the middle of the afternoon.
She smiles the entire time, cranking out mile after mile despite the heat, and finds herself unwilling to stop.
Walkers and other joggers wave to her, as if they know how her life has just catapulted in the direction of her dreams, thus justifying every hard decision she’s had to make, even when it broke her heart.
This is who she is and what she is meant to do.
She will be an Olympian, just like her mom said she wouldbe.
When Cricket returns to her building, dripping sweat on the marble floor of the lobby, Tony the doorman waves her over. “You’ve got a package,” he tells her and then, seeing the small pool of perspiration collecting by her feet, he adds, “That must have been some run.”
When Tony disappears into the mail room, Cricket considers telling him she made the Olympic team, but she also wants to enjoy this achievement on her own.
In her world of professional soccer, there’s little time to savor the highs, and Cricket knows today is the time to do so because tomorrow it’s back to work.
No one understands what she’s sacrificed for the game. No one except maybe—
“Sloane Jackson?” Cricket says out loud, reading the sender’s name on the package as Tony hands it to her. She rips it open right there in the lobby, only to be further perplexed.
Sloane picks up on the first ring. “Congratulations!” she shouts before blowing into what sounds unmistakably like a kazoo.
“You too,” Cricket says. “Um, you sent me five-hundred-dollar sheets?”
“Yes,” Sloane answers definitively. “But you can’t open them, and you can’t use them.”
Cricket waits a beat for an explanation that doesn’t come. “Huh?”
“You really don’t get it?”
“I really don’t get it,” Cricket confesses, trying to scan her brain for the significance of expensive bed linens.
“We’re competing for them,” Sloane explains. “Whoever starts in the Olympics gets them—I’m guessing Teague told you the same thing she told me, that the starting spot is up for grabs—so do you want to Venmo me the five hundred bucks now? Or in August when you mail the sheets to my house?”
“What are you—”
“They’re clean sheets, Cricket!” Sloane says, annoyed by Cricket’s density. “Come on! Do you get it now?”
Oh. Wow. Yes, she does. A clean sheet is when a goalkeeper doesn’t allow in a single goal. Lowering her voice so Tony won’t hear, Cricket says, “You are out of your fucking mind.”
“Ambitious witches forever!” Sloane sings in response, blowing heartily into her kazoo before hangingup.
Amused, bewildered, and a little bit ticked off that Sloane has already muddied what was supposed to be her day of pure celebration, Cricket waves goodbye to Tony, tucks the package under her arm, and takes the stairs up to her sixth-floor apartment.
Sloane’s joke is only kind of a joke; it’s also a display of arrogance.
Mailing Cricket these expensive sheets only she can afford is Sloane flaunting her inherent advantage.
After all, Sloane is the team incumbent, the starting goalkeeper, and also America’s sweetheart with several lucrative endorsement deals.
She is the name and the face that everybody and their dad associates with the National Team.
She’s the new Alex Morgan, only probably more famous after her raunchy Bud Light commercial that played not once but twice during this year’s Super Bowl.
Fishing out her key from the tiny pocket of her running shorts, Cricket unlocks the door and lets herself in as the realization dawns on her: Sloane sent the sheets because, despite her advantages, she is worried Cricket could steal her starting spot.
Maybe, instead of it being a show of confidence, it’s a sign of weakness.
Sloane is desperate to knock Cricket off her game by messing with her head.
Cricket opens her hallway closet and is about to chuck the sheets into the back for some out-of-sight, out-of-mind peace, but then she thinks better of it. Instead, she cleans off her coffee table and places the packaged sheets in the middle, as a large, unconventional centerpiece.
Satisfied, Cricket smirks as she admires the new focal point of her living room. The clean sheets prove Sloane is nervous that her position on the National Team is in jeopardy.
Good, Cricket thinks. As she shouldbe.