Endgame: Chapter 18 (Patreon)

Endgame: Chapter 18

The locker room was buzzing with excited and nervous chatter as I folded my sock down over my shin guard. Morgan was sitting on the bench beside me, and passed me the second shin guard from my bag on the other side of her. Even though she couldn’t play, she was still wearing her jersey, had a ball cap with our school logo on it, and had painted one green stripe and one silver on each of her cheeks.

“How you feeling?” she asked.

Before I could answer, Zulema said, “Nervous as hell.” She turned from her spot on the opposite side of my bag as Morgan. “Oh, you mean Audrey. She’s ready to kick ass.”

Morgan laughed and looked at me, and I said, “I guess I’m ready to kick ass.”

“Seriously, though,” ZuZu added, “you don’t look as nervous as usual.”

“Oh, I am,” I told them. “But I’m also just really excited. I mean, we made it to the championship. Even if we lose, we made it.”

“Hell yeah, we did!” Zulema held out both her hands, and Morgan slapped hers against them. Then she cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, “Championship!” and every other girl in the locker room screamed happily. But she wasn’t done. She stood, repeating ‘champs’ in a beatbox rhythm while she danced around the bench to me. “Let’s see it, Captain.”

And how could I refuse when we’d made it to championships? I gave a tiny sigh so she’d know not to take my compliance lightly, but was still smiling as I stood and copied her running man while she kept chanting. I danced with her for half a minute while Morgan watched with a grin, and then I was blushing too much to continue. I dropped back onto the bench while ZuZu danced back to her spot.

It didn’t take much longer to get ready, and then Morgan followed me out onto the field and took a seat on the bench while I went to warm up. Between the nervousness and the excitement, the drills, warm-up laps, and stretches went by in a blur. Before I knew it, the coin toss was over, and we were taking the kick-off. I watched the ball sail down the pitch. Washington caught it, and the game was on.

They dribbled, passed, and battled the ball toward our goal, taking a chancy shot from about fifty yards out. Zulema stopped it easily, and kicked it back in without a pause. We followed suit. I received a pass from our center back and immediately sent the ball up to our side midfielder. She went into a full-on sprint to get around her defender and passed up to our center forward. Cusatelli took a shot that was blocked, and then we were running back down the field.

I stayed on my mark as best as I could, but as we passed the center circle, Rockhardt’s mark made the perfect amount of space between them to receive a clear pass. The Washington attacker dribbled in, and it didn’t matter how hard any of the remaining defenders ran, that player took the ball into the goal area and didn’t wait for her shot. She lobbed it toward the upper right corner. It caught the edges of Zulema’s fingers and flew right past them, hitting the back of the goal.

My eyes went to the time on the scoreboard as Zulema dug the ball out of the net. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and I didn’t dare look toward the bench for fear of seeing whether Morgan was disappointed. It’s not what she’d want anyway. She’d want me to focus, so that’s what I did.

We all walked crestfallen back to our positions while the other team celebrated their goal. I gave a few of my best words of encouragement to the teammates I passed along the way, and soon the ball was placed back at center field. Cusatelli passed back to me to restart the play, and I gave it back to Guppa so we had more time to set up our offense. Guppa tossed the ball up to Judith, Judith dribbled in until she had a clear pass to me. I received it and dashed forward, whirling around my defender and past center field. As I scanned the pitch ahead of me, I saw that Rockhardt could get clear for a pass, so I kicked the ball just ahead of her while she sprinted after it. My own defender had swiveled around to track my pass, and I saw an opportunity, so I took it. I ran past her and in as fast as my legs would carry me, breaking free so I could book it toward the penalty area.

Cusatelli’s defender saw me going for it, and left Cusatelli on the far side to make her way inward toward me. There wouldn’t be long before I was covered again, but Rockhardt had received my pass perfectly and was looking for her next move. She didn’t hesitate to send the ball straight back to me. I caught it on the inside of my foot and eyed the goalie – my last obstacle – as I drew my leg back for a shot. I let it fly before the goalie could come too far out of the net, and it soared to the right as she made a dive to try and catch it.

It was just out of her reach as it sailed into the goal. I threw my arms up as I ran to the rest of my teammates, jumping onto them to celebrate with hugs and back pats and cheers. I tossed a quick glance at the bench to see that Morgan was screaming, and I couldn’t resist. I sprinted over and nearly plowed her backward over the bench with a hug, and then I high-fived Coach and every other girl on the bench.

After that, I jogged back to my spot below center field, and soon Washington had restarted the game with a backward pass to their center mid. Judith ran in to cover her. She dribbled around Judith and Judith gave chase, but she stopped just as Judith got close and passed backwards to a teammate. That teammate came in and tried to give it back, but Judith toed the ball at the same time as Washington’s player and it went careening inward as they chased after it. And Judith was faster.

She’d get there first, and in my excitement at such a quick turnover, I overestimated exactly how fast that would happen. I darted toward the goal thinking Cusatelli would follow with her own defender, to get in position for another hopeful pass as Judith gained possession and sent the ball far up to me, but I’d barely touched it before a whistle sounded and stopped the play. Checking in with the referee let me know that I’d run alone. I’d been offside, and I dropped my head back to sigh my frustration. As I panted for breath amidst the exertion and the adrenaline – and got back into position – I looked at the teammates behind me. Two goals in less than ten minutes, and I’d also messed up. This game was too fast-paced. Both of our teams desperately wanted this win, but we weren’t going to get it by scrambling.

“Slow it down,” I called to my teammates. And to the ones not close enough to hear me, I gestured my palms downward to signal the same thing, and then tapped my temple and mouthed, ‘play smart.’ Everyone who saw it nodded, and the game started up again.

We did play smarter. We took our time with the ball, putting more importance on cleaner, better passes than simply trying to rush up the field for a shot, and it kept either team from scoring again so quickly. But Washington was in this championship against us for a reason. They matched our playstyle with measured patience, fighting for turnovers anytime we had the ball, and doing their best to get close enough to shoot when they had the ball.

It went back and forth, and by the time the first half was over, neither of us had scored again. I walked to the bench with the rest of the team, my hands on my hips as I regained my breath. Morgan passed me my water bottle when I got there, and I gasped my thanks before gulping down half of it.

“You’re killing it,” Morgan said.

“Thanks,” I panted.

“Seriously,” she added. “That goal was gorgeous. And Cusatelli’s really picking up the slack for me.”

“She’s doing great. They all are.” I threw an arm over her shoulders and squeezed her to me. “And here, since I know you miss the sweat.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, grimacing when I planted a kiss to her cheek that was as equally sweaty with the moisture on my face.

Coach gave us another few minutes of rest before bringing us in for a pep talk. “It was a weird start,” she said, “but you’re all playing amazing. You’re making great decisions. Your passes are spot on. I don’t have much to say other than keep it up and you could win this.” She looked around at all of us. “Champions?” Everyone cheered, with a ‘hell yeah’ or two mixed in. “Alright, rest up. I want to see just as much energy going into the second half.”

We did our ‘comets’ cheer, and then took the remainder of the break to hydrate and regain some strength. Then, with two fresh subs, we started the second half. The short amount of rest was exactly what we needed, and we went into it exactly like Coach wanted – with the same energy as we started.

Washington battled us to a turnover shortly after the start, but their opportunity to shoot was cut off by Lopez, and she kicked it up to Guppa as the rest of us started our run up the field. Guppa passed it to Judith, Judith dodged her defender and passed it to me as I sprinted past mine. I dribbled left to meet Cusatelli near her mark, and in a quick give-and-go, I passed it to her and ran ahead of her defender only for her to pass it right back to me.

The Washington goalie came out to try and cut me off, but I sprinted toward the corner line with the ball as Rockhardt burst inward beyond her own defender and cleared herself for a shot. I toed it hard into the penalty area, and she received it in front of a wide-open net. Her shot was spot on. The ball sailed into the goal, and Cusatelli and I sprinted at her to give her a giant group hug before we had to run back to position.

It was two to one, and as I hurried back to my spot, I shouted to my team, “Hard on D!”

And I don’t think we’d ever gone harder on defense. We gave it everything we had, and then some. We battled, we passed, we blocked, we volleyed the ball back down the field multiple times just to reorganize, and we made it so hard for them to shoot that whenever they did, Zulema made easy work of her position. For almost twenty minutes, our defense was near impenetrable.

But Lyons. The reason Morgan predicted we’d play against Washington in the first place. She received a beautiful pass from one of her teammates and dribbled so perfectly around Lopez that Lopez tripped and fell. And just when it looked like Lyons was going to shoot, she passed it to her teammate on the other side of the net. Zulema had positioned herself to block Lyons, and there was no way for her to recover in time to block the shot from the other player. They tied up the score with only ten minutes left in the game.

No matter how much we worked to score after that, Washington was trying just as hard. We dipped into energy reserves we didn’t even have, pushing ourselves well past our limits to get even a fraction of a second ahead of our competition. It was a mad dash on both sides – just like at the start of the game – to try and get the final goal. And that’s probably the reason nobody scored again.

With the game ending two to two, we’d go into overtime.

Coach gathered us around quickly for water and a talk before overtime would start. “Okay, take a breather,” she said. “I know you want to go out there and give it two hundred percent, but I want you to use your heads. This is it, it’s make or break. Don’t rush in, I don’t want you committing too many players to offense. We play defense first, alright? The only thing worse than not scoring is if they do. Got it?”

We all said, “Got it.”

“Lopez,” she added, “I want you back on sweeper. Cusatelli, play striker. Audrey, get up on attacking mid but not too deep, yeah?”

I nodded. “Got it, Coach.”

“The rest of you know what to do?” she asked. Everyone nodded. “You got this. Get out there, let’s go.”

Morgan had stood with the rest of us, and before I went back onto the field, she grabbed the back of my head and pulled it down so she could kiss the top of it. Then she swatted at my back. “Go get ‘em.”

I jogged out, adjusting my spot to the change of positions Coach had wanted, and the game was back on. As much as I felt compelled to dive with the other offensive players when we had the ball, I kept repeating to myself not to go too deep. The last thing I wanted was to overcommit and leave too few players back on defense. It wasn’t easy. Knowing that the game was on its last legs, the pressure to score was heavy, and I was desperate to see that ball go into Washington’s net one last time.

We played the first ten-minute period without a goal on either side and went into the second period with all the determination and control we could muster. We came so close multiple times, and had I been farther in, we might’ve even scored. But it was worth it not to let them get a goal, and as the minutes ticked up, I reminded my teammates every chance I got to keep playing smart.

And when there was just one minute left in the game, we got our opportunity. I ran headfirst into offense because the chances were that they wouldn’t have time to take advantage of it. I went deep with Cusatelli and Rockhardt, passing to Rockhardt. She passed it back. I gave it to Cusatelli. Cusatelli immediately sent it to Rockhardt and headed for the net. Rockhardt faked a pass to me but sent it up instead as Cusatelli booked it to reach the pass. She didn’t even receive it to set herself up better. She saw her chance and she wound up for the kick.

She shot. The ball soared. And Washington’s goalie made a gorgeous dive to catch it right against her chest.

The goalie knew they didn’t have time to score, so instead of giving us another opportunity, she punted the ball as hard as she could down the field. The second overtime period ended before we could even get it back up field.

My heart was pounding as we all ran to the bench to get directions for the shootout, and if I’d thought the pressure of scoring was bad during overtime, I was wrong. A shootout was infinitely more terrifying, and I could only imagine the stress Zulema felt as Coach called out our ten shooters. Once Coach had named us all, I threw my arm around ZuZu’s shoulders while we walked back onto the field.

“You good?” I asked.

She blew a hard breath through her lips. “Fuck if I know.”

I huffed a laugh and patted her on the chest. “You’re the best goalie I’ve ever met. You can do this.”

She nodded, returned my pat with one to my back, and jogged off toward the net. I joined the rest of my teammates in the center circle at mid field, standing with them shoulder to shoulder, our arms around each other as Judith went up to the penalty spot for the first shot. She lined up the ball, took several measured steps back, and trotted forward for her shot. She did perfectly at not giving anything away to Washington’s goalie, and the ball sailed right into the net.

She ran back to us happily as Washington sent their first shooter up. The player went for a high right shot, and even though Zulema misread and dove left, the ball hit the crossbar and missed. Rockhardt was up next, and left our line for the penalty area. She loped forward for her shot and stopped short to try and fake out Washington’s goalie, but the goalie got lucky. As she dove early, Rockhardt shot, and the ball collided with the goalie’s thighs and was blocked.

Washington’s next player was up. She shot and scored in the upper left corner. Lopez shot, scored. Washington shot, scored. Cusatelli and Washington’s fourth shooter both scored. It was four to four and I was up.

I set the ball down on its mark and stepped back as I made eye contact with the goalie. She stopped looking at my face to watch my body language, and as I cantered forward for my shot, I did my best not to foretell my move. I leaned my balance hard left as I took my shot so she’d think I was shooting left, but twisted at the last second. As the goalie dove left, the ball went flying into the right side of the net. I turned around with a clap, running back to my cheering teammates as Washington set up for their final shot. If they made it, we’d keep going. But if ZuZu kept that ball out of the net, it was all over.

And Zulema’s face as she stared the player down was set with determination. Her knees were bent and wide, strung tight with the tension to dive as soon as she guessed the direction of the kick. I’d never seen her focus as hard as she did while the player lined up.

It was like slow motion as that player ran forward. Her foot connected with the ball. Zulema dove right with her arms stretched out as far as she could reach. The ball sped through the air in the same direction, and there was the loud thud of it hitting ZuZu’s gloved palms as she dropped to the ground in the most glorious save I’d witnessed in my entire life.

The ball ricocheted away from the net, and Zulema was on her feet instantly, arms outstretched in triumph as we sprinted toward each other. She jumped as she reached me, and we collided so hard into each other in our excitement that I almost toppled over. But my teammates were right behind me, and crowded in as I wrapped Zulema in a tight hug amidst the screams of victory.

We embraced our way to the bench, and I grabbed Morgan to squeeze her and kiss her for the few moments I could before we were both pulled away by the enthusiasm of everyone else around us as we were delivered the trophy. There were no words for the emotions I felt when I set a hand on it, but it was so overwhelming that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Champions. We were goddamn champions. And the only thing that really kept me from crying was the unparalleled amount of jostling I got from my euphoric teammates as we celebrated, jumping and hugging and yelling. It was hard work rounding us all up for pictures, but somehow the photographers managed to snap a few before we were released for more celebrating, and we cheered our way clear to the locker room. 

Even when we got there, everyone was still practically screaming, taking pictures of themselves and each other with the trophy. Coach stood by the door with a grin on her face, watching the antics and letting us all celebrate for a few more minutes. When she was ready, she called us all around, and the girl who was holding the trophy dropped to one knee to present it to her.

“Thank you,” Coach laughed, taking the trophy and cradling it against her hip. “Listen up,” she announced, and with some difficulty, everyone slowly fell quiet. “You all worked so hard this season, so thank you, for all the dedication and heart that you poured into every practice and every game. You earned this!” She held the trophy over her head, and everyone screamed and cheered until she lowered it again. “You’re an amazing group of young women, and not only did you make it easy for me to work with you this season, you made it a blast. I am so proud to have been your coach, so I want you to give a round of applause for yourselves and for your team captain.”

More screaming and cheering as everyone clapped, and I shouted over the ruckus, “Give it up for Coach!”

Somehow, the girls got louder, and after a few seconds of cheering for Coach, Lopez yelled, “And honorable mention to ZuZu for that game-winning save!”

Zulema waved off the applause and shouts of ‘MVP’ with exaggerated humility, and Coach let us all cheer for a long minute before holding up her hand so she could speak again.

“I’m not going to stand in the way of any celebrations tonight,” she said. “Go out, have fun, but don’t get too wild. The flight home is at eleven tomorrow, and the bus leaves the hotel at eight. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

There was more celebration as Coach made her retreat to wait for us on the bus back to the hotel. For what might’ve been the hundredth time already, I had to resist the urge to jump into Morgan’s arms when I turned and caught her beaming at me, but I still threw my arms around her neck and planted an enthusiastic kiss to her lips.

“You did it,” she said. “You really freaking did it.”

“We did it.” I couldn’t stop smiling, and grabbed her face to give her another hard kiss. “You’ve got a championship to your name.”

She heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I really thought I was going to have to flunk out so I could play again next year.”

I laughed and kissed her one more time before we met ZuZu at the lockers we’d chosen. It didn’t seem like anyone bothered to change out of their uniform as we got onto the bus outside – everyone was too eager to get back to the hotel to shower and then celebrate. Which is exactly what we did. We got cleaned up and then took a few rideshares to a local bar that some of the other girls had picked out. The moment we walked in, the other half of our teammates who were already there screamed and cheered. It seemed like some of the regular patrons had experienced it already and knew what was happening, because a few of them clapped along when each new teammate walked in.

It didn’t seem like the kind of bar that was usually service to large groups of people – it was more of a dive bar that didn’t even have an official dance floor – but that didn’t stop our teammates from having fun. And, fortunately, the staff were happy to cater to us. They’d already turned up the music and pushed aside a few tables to provide somewhere to dance.

“I’m going to get us some shots,” Zulema announced.

We nodded, and Morgan and I grabbed a high table right as Cusatelli and Guppa walked in, so we cheered and clapped for them along with the rest of the team and some patrons.

“You know,” Morgan said, “this entire season, I never really got the chance to sit back and just watch you. You played like hell today.”

I grinned. “Scale of one to ten, how hot was it?”

She teasingly swiped at her forehead. “Twenty. I might kick ZuZu out of the room tonight.”

“No, you won’t,” Zulema said, sliding onto a chair and setting three shots on the table. “You’ll wait twenty-four hours like respectable adults.”

Morgan passed me a wink and said, “I might need help getting to the bathroom on the plane tomorrow.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Zulema passed us both a shot and held hers up. “To the best team in the nation.”

I raised mine. “To my best friends.”

Morgan lifted hers. “To one beautiful freaking trophy.”

“Woo!” Zulema shouted, and we clinked our glasses together and tossed the shots back. “Okay, serious question,” she asked. I lifted my eyebrows at her. “What are my chances of getting you to dance with me?”

I squinted toward where the rest of the team already was, but Morgan grabbed her single crutch and hopped off her seat, saying, “It might not be pretty, but I’m definitely dancing.”

And she and ZuZu both looked at me.

I looked from them to the dance floor, and then back at them. “Screw it. Let’s dance.”

“Yes!” Zulema screamed, and barely waited for Morgan and me to follow her over.

And normally, I would’ve been self-conscious about the fact that we were in a small bar. About how there weren’t a bunch of bodies all packed together to reduce the amount of people that might be looking at me. But we were champions, and if there was one thing that I wanted to do to celebrate, it was make sure that the rest of the team and I were having the night of our lives.

So I danced. I danced with Zulema and every other teammate in that tiny area. I danced with Morgan, and laughed with her about how clumsy she looked because of her knee. She bopped her head and swung her arms, running through every obnoxious dance move she could think of – including the sprinkler. And I was so happy that after I got over the initial hesitation, I didn’t think once about who might be watching. I was having fun. So much so that when Morgan needed a break because her knee started hurting, I stayed. I kept dancing with Zulema and the other girls, every once in a while glancing toward Morgan just so I could smile or blow a kiss at her.

It must have been an hour before I was ready for a break too. I headed for the table to see if Morgan wanted me to grab her a beer, but when I turned, she wasn’t sitting there. I checked for her at the bar because I thought she’d beat me to it, but she wasn’t there either. Nor was she in the bathroom. I poked my head outside, and almost missed her because I didn’t see her, but then I heard her voice from around the side of the building.

“I don’t care about prestige,” she said into her phone, glancing up as I rounded the corner. She held the phone away from her face and told me, “It’s my dad.”

“Do you want me to go back in?” I whispered.

She shook her head and put the phone back to her ear. “No, you’re not listening. That’s bullshit and I’m not doing it.” There was a pause as he said something. “Are you fucking serious right now? … No, I’m not going to watch my tone. You’re being fucking ridiculous.” Whatever he said next, she gave a dry laugh. “You know what? I’m not doing this tonight. Bye.”

She hung up on him, and growled as she squeezed her phone so hard that her knuckles went white.

“Are you okay?”

She stared down at the phone for several seconds before looking at me so I could see the tears in her eyes.

I rushed to her and wrapped my arms around her neck. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t say anything at first, and just slid her arms around my waist and hugged me tight. Then she sniffled and lifted a hand behind my back to wipe at her eyes. “Not tonight,” she said. “I don’t want to ruin the fun.”

But I was already concerned, and there was no way I’d be able to go back in without worrying or assuming the worst. I let her go so I could look at her. “Morgan, what’s going on?”

Her soggy eyes watched mine for a handful of moments while she thought about it, and then she took in a deep breath, using it to say, “My old school isn’t going to accept all of my credits from this semester because they’re so high and mighty.”

I didn’t understand right away what that meant, and I stared at her blankly until it sank in, and my heart sank with it. “But… that would mean you’d have to repeat classes.” She nodded, and I tried to keep the fear that was creeping through my gut off my face. “What does… what did he say?”

“He wants me to graduate there.” She sighed and leaned against the wall behind her, dropping her head back. “He thinks it’s worth it because it’s a private school, and it’s prestigious in the art scene.”

I was already trying to form arguments in my head. It would delay her graduating for an entire semester. It would cost him more money because she’d have to retake classes she’d taken here. But she’d been outside the bar for some time before I’d found her, and I didn’t doubt that she’d tried to convince him. And sure, all that stuff mattered, but it didn’t matter as much as the pressing question that made my throat tighten.

“How long would…” I couldn’t even get the whole question out, but I could see the fear on her face as she studied mine.

“Next semester, over summer, and fall.”

A year. She’d be gone for a year, and my gaze dropped as the reality struck me of how long that was.

“I tried, Audrey,” she murmured. “I tried to tell him.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “But he said he won’t pay for school if I don’t come back and I don’t know what to do. I’m just…” She wiped at her cheek again. “I’m frustrated. I’m so frustrated. And you were scared about me going for one semester and now it’s a year.”

“No, it’s okay.” I pulled her into another hug, because that was the right thing to say, wasn’t it? She was frustrated, and scared, and I didn’t want her to cry. And whatever concerns I might’ve had, whatever fear I might’ve felt, this wasn’t the place to talk about it. I wouldn’t have even known what to say if we did talk about it because, other than the fear, I didn’t know yet how I felt. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Her arms hugged me tight as she asked, “Yeah?” and I nodded against her. “Because my first thought when he said it was that I was worried how you’d take it.”

How was I taking it? What could either of us do about it even if I did tell her I was holding back panic? I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s night. I didn’t want to start an argument with her or cause tension between us about something we couldn’t change. I wanted everything to be okay because that was the only option, even if it wasn’t. I could make it okay. I could handle it. I had to.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said again.

She let me go just enough to look at me, searching my eyes for the same comfort my words offered. I cupped her face and kissed her because it was a comfort I needed too, and she relaxed against me and kissed me back for a long handful of moments before I felt her smile.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning her forehead against mine.

“For what?”

“For being so amazing any time I have a problem with my parents.” She pecked my forehead and leaned back against the wall. “For being the best girlfriend in the world.”

I smiled, hoping it would cover the pang I felt when I said, “I try.”

She reached for my hand and laced her fingers with mine. “Are we good? Do you want to go back in?”

That was my chance. I could tell her how hard I was trying to be okay with it all, but I hadn’t even given myself enough of a chance to try yet, and I didn’t want to make her worry any more if she didn’t have to. So I nodded and let her lead me back in, because we’d just won a championship and this was supposed to be the night of our lives. Because I wanted to be the best captain. And, more than that, I wanted to be the best girlfriend.