Page 21 of Catch and Cradle

Everyone starts screaming and stomping around, doing the weird lobster-inspired dance we made up on one of our road trips. Coach covers Khadija’s ears to protect her from the noise, but he’s laughing as I join the group and lift my arms up to make them into claws.

They weren’t just pretty words; this is my family. This is the family I’ll always fight to keep.

* * *

The locker room is empty when I head in to take a shower. We’ve had it pretty much to ourselves all week, but it’ll be packed on a regular basis now that the semester is starting up. Coach and I stayed out on the field strategizing long after the team left. They’ve all headed home to get ready for our team dinner at the campus sports bar by the time I make it to my locker.

The clang of the metal echoes through the empty room when I swing my locker door shut and head for the showers. My clothes are still damp and stuck to my body. It’s hot enough outside that I’ll probably have to rinse off again after I walk the few blocks home, but I can’t go another minute without washing the practice sweat off.

I strip out of my clothes and gear before setting the spray of water as cold as it will go. My muscles tense from the shock but relax after a few seconds. I sigh as I tip my head back and start massaging my scalp.

There’s nothing like a cold shower after a long, sweaty practice.

I stay in for longer than I normally do. By the time I’m patting myself dry with a towel, my hands have gone a little pruney. I throw my stuff over my shoulder and leave the stall with my towel wrapped around me like a dress.

Back at my locker, I pull on some fresh underwear and a pair of old grey sweatpants I cut into shorts. I have my head shoved in my locker as I dig around for the extra sports bra I know I have in here somewhere when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Oh hey, I didn’t—oh.”

The greeting starts out loud and confident before ending with a soft, almost breathless oh as the footsteps come to a halt.

My own breath catches, and my whole chest blooms with heat. I’m hyperaware of every bare inch of my skin as I turn my head to look over my shoulder.

Hope is standing there in a baggy t-shirt and tight running shorts. Her hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, the ends of it beaded with water like she just had a shower too. She’s staring at my back, her eyes wide behind her glasses. Even under her oversized shirt, I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

My whole body is tingling, and I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t do anything except stand there half-naked as she raises her gaze to look at my face.

Her neck is starting to flush a deep pink.

“You, uh—you have a tattoo,” she stammers, her voice so much softer than when she’s out joking around on the field.

For a second, I don’t even register the meaning of the words.

“Huh?”

“Your, uh, yeah. Tattoo. I didn’t know you—you had that.”

I force myself to swallow so I can speak. “Oh. Yeah.”

It would help if I actually had words to say. I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if she stepped closer, if I turned around.

My hands have started digging through my locker again of their own accord, like they need something to keep themselves busy. I feel my fingers catch on the fabric I was looking for.

I swivel my head back around and pull my bra all the way out of the locker. My hands shake a little as I lift them up to pull the bra over my head, tugging it down past the two lines of text inked onto my upper back. My arms don’t even feel like they’re attached to my body. I hear Hope clear her throat behind me.

“I didn’t know anyone was in here. I, uh, forgot something in my locker.”

I hear her take a few steps, and then the clicking and whirring sound of a combination lock fills the silence. I risk turning to take another look at her. I can see the tension in her shoulders. There are a few drops of water sliding from her hair and down the back of her neck.

I want to lick them off her skin.

“That tattoo,” she says after she gets her locker open. I look down and start digging for a shirt in my backpack before she can catch me staring.

“Yeah?” I ask after a few moments pass.

I look back up, and this time she’s watching me. Her eyes are on my bare stomach, and her lips are parted just a bit.

There’s no way I’m imagining this. I can’t be. That is not how you look at someone you haven’t thought about touching.