I've never felt so drained in my entire life. My legs are weak, barely able to keep up with me while I walk over to my football bag, shoving all my gear inside along with the rest of the team. My knees stained with grass, my body bruised from taking some hard hitsânoticeably harder than usual ones from Austin Tebow, no surprise being he's a dick.
Coach Truman gives me a nod of approval as he walks by, acknowledging that what I just went through was a bit over the top, even for him. Then again, I did fuck up and get benched for a home game, so I can see why the team would be pissed off. Though I'm not the captainâthat title belongs to Demarcus Trentâlike hell could I carry the responsibility of the whole team. One of the first conversations I had with Truman was when he commented that I was his first "best player" who wasn't captain in all his years of coaching, not sure how I should take that.
I grab my bag off the grass and head over to the bleachers, where Delezar is leaning over her arms folded against the metal bar, one leg bent and forward in a relaxed position. She sports a tight bodysuit tank, hair falling down her back, and sunglasses loosely fitted on her face.
"Enjoy the show?" I ask, hauling my bag over as she walks closer to me.
"I did," she starts, a warm smile stretching across her lips. "It was refreshing to see you getting hit." Her short-lived smile fades as she walks past me.
I quickly match her pace until we're walking side by side toward the parking lot. "C'mon, your heart didn't break for me at all?" I ask, earning a sideways glare. Her face shifts from mine to some of the players still making their way off the field.
"Surprised you're the only one wearing a shirt," she states.
"Why? You wanna see me shirtless?"
She doesn't respond, but I don't need to see behind her glasses to know her eyes are rolled. We continue the rest of the way in silence, just the sounds of our footsteps and the distant chatter of my teammates filling the air. No surprise, we've barely exchanged words since that night at JAB.
"What do you flip a switch? Does acting like an asshole make you feel like a big man?" She sneers, her face close to mine, so close I can smell her vanilla sent radiating off her. I know I should shut up, back down, and let her have the win.
But I can't. If there's one thing I hate, its losing.
"No, being your only solution does." My voice is barely audible; I'm unsure if I even spoke. But her face tells me I did; her angry expression falls. I anticipate a reactionâcursing me out, slapping me, anything. Instead, she backs down and walks away in silence.
The silence and her lingering anger still present four days later. Still lingering as we stop where the walkway ends and the parking lot begins. She waits impatiently, checking her smart watch, not for a notification but for an excuse not to acknowledge me.
"Del..."
She cuts me off. "Can he see us?" She questions, and I look ahead to see my father talking to coach Truman by his car, eyes lingering over to me and then briefly to Sofia.
"No." I lie.
"Then what?" She pushes her sunglasses up her head, pushing some of her hair back and narrowing her brown eyes, which now look a deep gold as the sun consumes them.
"About the other night-" Before I can finish, she quickly looks over her shoulder and back at me, pushing her sunglasses back down.
"He saw." She walks away, continuing straight. I watch as my father stares at her, then at me. I exhale, then make my way over, watching as they exchange a handshake before Truman heads to the school.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, placing my gear in the back.
"You forgot I was picking you up." He asks more flatly, barely sounding like a question and more like an annoyed statement.
"Yes." no.
"Get in the car," he demands.
The car ride is awkwardly silent, which isn't necessarily a bad thing coming from him, considering I'd rather his silence than his scoldings. I'm assuming he's cooled down since I'm back at school, although I have no classes today. Although I can't start celebrating just yet, his 'coolness' will be short-lived when he watches me on the bench tomorrow.
+++
I sit at the dinner table, picking at the lasagna my mom cooked, its good, don't get me wrong but I can sense the stiffness at the table radiating off of my parents, My father to no surprise but my mothers extra quietness and overly sweet comments have me concerned.
"You gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna tell me whats going on?" I look up at both of them and i'm greeted with my fathers glare and my moms stiffened smile.
"Theres a football camp in Italy this summer; it extends through first semester of next year, but their very strict with academics and dedicate a portion to online classes." My father states while he continues to eat casually.
"You want me to go to Italy?" My fork drops and the table rings silent, Sloan pausing her chewing.
"Let me reword; you're going." His pale eyes shift to mine.
"Getting rid of me that easy, huh?" My eyes narrow and it turns into a heated staring contest.
"What you're father's saying is this could be a great opportunity." Mom chimes in, attempting to ease the tension.
"Opportunity, right." I pick up my phone, not willing to put up with this conversation much longer, when a notification for UFN's women's soccer pops up. I press it and i'm met with a video of what looks like a fundraiserâsome outside movie on the soccer field.
I get up, grabbing the keys off the small hanger in the kitchen.
"Where do you think your going." My fathers voice is firm.
"Fundraiser." I don't care to see the expressions on their faces and instead head to the door to be met with the warm air and darkened sky.
I hear the faint whisper of my mother, "I think he's serious," before closing the door and making my way to the car."
+++
I pull up to the school and in sight a large screen at one end of the soccer field projecting "She's the Man," one of my sister's favourite movies and also one I've seen an unhealthy amount of times.
I head over and hand over a measly $5 to get in. I've never been to a fundraiser before, but if my opinion holds any significance, this one looks perfect. Scanning my eyes across the event, I see organized stands distributing popcorn, drinks, games, and other snacks. Each stand is dressed with the same soccer theme, and the field is sprawled with blankets, chairs, and bean bags.
I spot Sofia at a stand decorated with fairy lights, setting up what looks like cookies. I make my way over and watch how focused she is. She's bent down, cleaning something up. I pick up one of the sugar cookies iced to look like a soccer ball with "Women in Sports" written in edible silver letters.
"Would you like a cookie? They're complimentary," she says as she gets up, her smile wideâuntil she sees it's me.
"Being replaced already?" I nod toward one of the soccer guys at the stand, placing another batch of cookies on the table behind Sofia.
"What are you doing here?" She looks unimpressed, a look I'm all too familiar with, especially from her.
"I wouldn't want to miss it." I smile, eyeing the blond guy behind her as his eyes shift from Sofia to me and back to her.
"Thanks, Max." She smiles at him as he walks away, then turns back to face me.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I was giving you an out." She begins to walk, shooting a couple of "how are you's" and "thanks for coming's" as I follow until we enter the storage shed.
"An out? Since when do we have outs?" I state, watching her putter around, grabbing a couple folding chairs, and leaning them against the table.
"Since I don't want to be around you,"
"Delezarâ" I start, and her eyes narrow. "Sofia."
"I don't want to hear it," she pauses. "I don't want anything from you." That comment doesn't fly over my head.
"I shouldn't have said what I said."
"Well, you did." She picks up the chairs, and I step forward, putting them back down.
"Look, I have things to attend to, so unless you want to do it, we're done here."
"We aren't, not until the attitudes dropped."
"Why?" She laughs, "Is it that hard for you that somebody doesn't like you?"
"No, many people don't like me," I shrug. "You? It bothers me."
Her face falls expressionless, and she's left in silence, eyes slightly squinted.
"You want an out? I'll give you an out. Say the words, and right here, right now, we pretend this didn't happen." My voice is firm yet soft.
I step even closer, her chest slowing close to mine, our faces inches apart. Her brown eyes stare up at me, and I can tell she's contemplating. She brings her hands to my shoulders, one of her fingers gently tracing the fabric.
"As much as I dislike you..." she whispers, her hands lowering to my chest.
"I hate quitting even more." With that, her touch hardens, and she pushes me off, grabbing the plastic chairs and shutting the door behind her.