We are the Wildcats, always ready for a fight!
Luci needs to learn names, too. She’s picked up only a few. Not from any introductions or pleasantries but because the best players simply make themselves known.
One, a senior named Phoebe, breaks the horizon of bobbing heads by hopping up on a classroom chair. Phoebe’s knee is double wrapped—an Ace bandage under a compression sleeve—and by her euphoric grin, you’d think she’d reached the summit of Everest. Phoebe reaches down into the crowd and starts pulling another girl up with her.
Mel. The Wildcats’ varsity team captain.
Luci watches Mel try to gently wriggle free, but it is no use—Phoebe won’t let her go—so she relents. The two girls then deftly negotiate their small, shared platform, finding their balance, turning butt to butt so they both can fit, their toes cantilevered off the seat’s edge. Mel knots up her silky chestnut hair, lifts a fist, and punches the air with a cheerleader’s precision, her face beaming joy and hope and pride.
Don’t mess with the Wildcats, we won’t accept defeat,
For we are the Wildcats, and we just can’t be beat!
Arms are thrown over shoulders, zipping the cluster into a tight, impenetrable spiral. They sing the last verse to one another.
Three cheers for the Wildcats, your honor we’ll defend,
’Cause when you’re a Wildcat, you’re a Wildcat till the end!
The chant fades like a summer firework and everyone exhales a breath collectively held for an entire week. The girls slowly untangle themselves from one another, though not before one last bit of tenderness. Squeezing each other’s hands, patting each other on the head, swatting a whip of ponytail.
Even from across the classroom, Luci feels the warmth.
Coach enters the room a moment later. He signals for Mel to follow him with a crooked finger. The other girls get busy straightening desks, resuming order.
The dental tech checks his clipboard. “Grace Mosure! You’re up next!”
Luci recognizes the girl who walks over. During most of the scrimmages, Grace played defense to Luci’s offense. Grace operated at one speed—full-throttle charge—and she was relentless in trying to strip Luci of the ball. Most intimidating were Grace’s eyes, wide and desperately hungry behind the metal cage of her face mask, like a stray dog’s. Now that the mask is off, Grace exudes a cooler, more relaxed vibe, though a faint pink ring remains etched in her skin from its suction.
Grace hops up on a desk and pulls her mousy hair into a sprout of ponytail at the top of her head. After scribbling a signature down for the dental tech, she gently peels the tape back from the rims of her ears, exposing on each a ladder of tiny silver hoops climbing the cartilage.
Grace’s style is definitely edgy. Not what Luci has come to think of as the typical West Essex look. And yet Grace eagerly bites off the tag on a new Wildcat windbreaker and pulls it over her head. It is navy blue with a white zipper, a white paw print over the heart, and “Varsity Field Hockey” across the shoulder blades in blocky white letters. Grace cracks the entire length of her spine peering over her shoulder to admire it.
Grace becomes yet another piece of the puzzle Luci’s trying to solve on the fly. Despite her incongruence, Grace clearly fits here somehow. It gives Luci hope that she might too.
Behind them, navy-blue-and-white Wildcat gear is bricked in neat stacks, along with folders of permission slips to be taken home for signature. Lastly, twenty white three-ring binders. The Wildcats Varsity Field Hockey Playbook. Luci takes one into her lap, opens it with reverence.
The first page is their schedule. For the next three months, there will be games once or twice a week and nearly every Saturday afternoon.
Luci turns the page and finds the Wildcats Varsity Field Hockey Code of Conduct. Any hairbands, wristbands, or headbands must be either white or navy. Makeup and jewelry and perfume are expressly forbidden from practices and games. Varsity players are expected to dress up for school on game days. Skirts or dresses, no jeans. There is a mandatory 10 p.m. curfew imposed on nights before games. Attendance at Psych-Up Dinners is mandatory. Attendance at practices and meetings is mandatory. There are many, many more.
Centered at the bottom of the last page, in capital letters, a catchall:
TEAM FIRST, ALWAYS.
Me, Luci thinks, dumbfounded. This includes me.
The remaining pages, comprising the bulk of the binder, each depict a different chaos, Xs and Os and arrows zooming across a rectangular representation of the field. Squinting, Luci wants this section to make more sense than it does. Maybe she’s dehydrated? Her temples throb. She pinches the bridge of her nose.
If only.
She closes the binder and sees that Grace is watching her.
Luci tries to smile around the dental tray. A trickle of drool drips from the corner of her mouth.
Both girls laugh.
Grace benevolently says, “Supposedly, these custom mouth guards are amazing. You have to spit, like, significantly less. A dentist in town makes them for the varsity players every year, free of charge. His daughter got a full ride to play at Falk.” Grace swings her legs, childlike. “I’m Grace, by the way. I’m new too. I started JV last year as a freshman.”
The dental tech’s watch beeps and Luci’s mouth guard mold is popped out with more force than she was expecting. She runs her tongue across her teeth, makes sure her braces are still attached. “I’m Luci,” she says, massaging her jaw.
“So … do you know who’s taking you home yet?”
“My mom. Why?”
Grace holds up her hand to prevent the dental tech from inserting the tray into her mouth. “No, see. It’s kind of a Wildcat thing that the younger girls who can’t drive yet get adopted by the older girls with cars. You basically never have to worry about getting a ride home from practice or a game.” Grace discreetly points across the room. “Ali Park picked me,” she whispers, almost giddy, a strange show of emotion for someone projecting that much cool. “Ali was all-state goalie last year. Practically unstoppable for most of the season. Except … well. You know.”
Luci doesn’t. What happened? She’s too insecure to ask. Luckily, Grace keeps talking.
“Anyway, I bet Mel already called dibs on you. She made varsity as an incoming freshman too. Plus you’re both left forwards. Kinda makes sense she’d take you under her wing this season.”
Luci scans the classroom and finds Mel seated at a desk near the front, dutifully copying what appears to be some of Coach’s notes onto a strip of white stick tape. To Grace, she says quietly, “So I should tell my mom I’ll meet her at home? Even though Mel hasn’t said anything? I really don’t mind not getting a ride. I might be out of the way, and—”
Full of confidence, Grace explains, “That’s how it works on this team. The Wildcats look out for each other.”
“Right.” Luci digs in her bag and finds her phone is dead. She looks to the classroom clock—12:45. Her mother is likely already here. She’ll have to run outside. “Hey, thanks for clueing me in on this stuff, Grace.”
The dental tray has already been pushed into Grace’s mouth but it doesn’t stop her from answering, “That’s what teammates are for.”