She hurries past the bathroom and into the stairwell, quietly pushes on one of the metal doors leading outside, and then sprints toward her mother’s car idling in the parking lot. Every muscle feels sore.
Her mother is in the front seat, dabbing at her white lab coat with a Clorox bleach pen. The plan was to grab lunch together before her shift. When she was still in med school, Luci’s mother kept more of a normal schedule, but now that she’s begun her residency, she’s on two to eleven. Once school starts back up, they’ll be running on entirely opposite schedules.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mom. I thought I’d be dismissed by now.”
“No sweat. If we don’t have the time to sit down someplace, we’ll hit a drive-through.”
Lots of people comment that Luci and her mother look like sisters. Yes, her mother is young, and that’s part of it. Both have skin that will tan in the weakest sunshine, eyes the color of honey, brown hair streaked with copper and gold. Still, Luci knows it’s a generous compliment, because her mother is full-bloom beautiful while she’s a bud.
“Actually … there’s this thing about the older girls giving rides to the new girls on the team.” Luci shyly adds, as a way to not feel like such a jerk, “I made varsity. The only one from my grade.”
Her mother tosses her bleach pen aside and squeals. “I didn’t want to ask, just in case! Wow, Luci! This is a big deal, isn’t it?”
“Kinda. Coach is already talking to me about college scholarships and stuff.”
“For real?” Luci dodges as her mother tries swatting her through the open window. They both laugh giddily, because even after these last few days of tryouts, it still feels surreal—practically divine—to discover that Luci might be gifted at something she only just tried. Her mother kisses two of her fingers and presses them to the cross that dangles from the rearview mirror. “Okay, well, if you’re sleeping when I get home from the hospital, I’m waking you up. I want all the details.”
Luci bites her lip. “Actually, there’s a mandatory team sleepover tonight. They call it a Psych-Up. Our first scrimmage is tomorrow afternoon.” There’s a dip in her mother’s gorgeous smile—the one Luci hopes to have when, at last, her braces come off—because she’ll need to be back at the hospital. Luci leans half inside the car window and hugs her mother tightly, absolving her. “Don’t worry. I doubt I’ll even play. Anyway, the season doesn’t officially start for another two weeks.” Luci then jogs backward from the car, calling out, “Bye, Mom! Love you!” before she spins and runs full sprint back toward the high school. She’s been out here too long already.
Luci pulls on the same door she exited from and is aghast to find it has locked behind her. No no no no no. She races to another set of doors a few feet away and finds them locked too.
Her heart beats a second pulse in her ears. Luci might not know much about being a Wildcat, but something instinctual kicks in, the heightening of senses when you suspect you may be in danger. She bangs her fists against the small glass window, kicks the base of the door with her foot, feeling pain from neither, only the desperate hope that someone will hear her and let her back inside.
Mercifully, the door opens.
Mel has changed out of her practice gear and into pale blue denim cutoffs and a pretty floral tank. She looks like a girl from a movie about girls.
“What are you doing out here, Luci? Coach is waiting on you.”
“I, um, got lost looking for the girls’ bathroom.”
Mel tilts her head, as if contemplating this ridiculous possibility. “Well … you’re lucky I’m here to save you.”
It is said not unkindly. More like a gentle warning, which Luci gratefully heeds, lowering her head to slip under Mel’s arm. Once inside, Luci takes off down the hall as fast as her leaden legs will carry her.
“And hey!” Mel calls out. “Just so you know, I’m your ride home!”
Luci thinks she hears a hesitation in Mel’s voice. As if Mel extended this invitation despite some lingering reservations. Or perhaps Mel isn’t sure if Luci can even hear her now that Luci’s rounded the corner.
Whatever the reason, Luci doesn’t slow down.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 26
1:12 P.M.
GRACE
Even with the roof off, the Jeep is a vanilla hotbox. No fewer than seven air fresheners dangle from the rearview mirror, a forest of yellow cardboard trees. And Grace Mosure, buckled snugly into shotgun, is delightfully high.
Ali Park is next to her, kneeling on the driver’s seat, squeezing the trigger of a Febreze spray bottle rapid-fire, and misting the back seat, where Ali’s enormous goalie bag takes up any remaining passenger space.
“I’m kind of obsessed with making sure my gear doesn’t get stinky,” Ali admits. “Some goalies? I swear you can smell their BO from across the field.” She pauses, her finger on the trigger. “Which, come to think of it, might be some weird strategy. Anyway. You’ll want to hold your breath for a second.”
Instead, Grace closes her eyes and deeply inhales.
She is a world away from her brother Chuck’s beater Honda, the grimy interior camo’ed in peeling stickers placed to suture splits in the vinyl seats, the back left passenger window forever sealed, its missing crank rolling around somewhere underfoot with empty cigarette packs and crushed soda cans. When their grandfather lost the ability to drive, Chuck was granted full automotive privileges with the caveat he would give his sister rides anywhere she needed to go. A promise Chuck has mostly kept. But when he picked up Grace from tryouts this week, usually on his way home from being out all night, Grace had to ride perched as delicately as she could on one of Chuck’s sleeping bandmates’ laps, hoping she wouldn’t wake them up by sweating on their glitter-dusted skin.
“Okay, that should do it,” Ali says, tossing the spray bottle aside, spinning around, and dropping into her seat. She turns the key and her stereo kicks on mid-song, hip-hop bass thundering. A cluster of her JV teammates turn toward the music.
Ahem.
Former teammates.
Grace hadn’t expected them to still be lingering near the flagpole more than an hour after Coach had read his varsity picks, stunned to near paralysis by the disappointment of having not made the cut. This must be a rare situation for girls like Marissa Szabo and Quinn LaPlace. To be on the outside when they’re so used to being in. Their already hushed conversation had quieted completely when Grace passed by with Ali on the way to Ali’s Jeep.
The JV team is majorly cliquey, and for the past year Grace felt barely tolerated at team activities. The slights were small though numerous. A seat not saved. An invitation delivered at the last possible minute, if at all. An inside joke never explained.
Grace began varsity tryouts on Monday cautiously optimistic. Knowing there were two spots open on varsity defense, she played the very best she could on the field. But Grace also took it upon herself to carry the huge Gatorade cooler in and out of the athletic office each day of tryouts, and picked up any discarded stick tape or trash from the sidelines before heading home, all in the hopes Coach would notice her extra hustle. She would have done anything, honestly, to make it off JV.
When she did, Grace expected no congratulations and received no congratulations from the other JV girls. But she wonders if they will at least try to fake some happiness when they see Kearson Wagner. It wouldn’t even be hard to fool her, since fake is all she’s ever known.