Page 41 of Catch and Cradle
She lifts her head and holds her cup up. I clink the side of it with mine, and we make a silent toast to whatever the hell we just agreed to get ourselves into.
9
Becca
“Okay, first question. How many of you have played lacrosse before?”
We’re halfway through the second week of the semester, and today is the first of our two lacrosse tryout sessions. There are a dozen girls standing on the field in front of me while Hope and Bailey flank me on either side. Coach Jamal is yet again dealing with a baby care emergency, so for now, it’s on me to lead the tryouts.
About half the girls raise their hands. Most of them are freshmen, but there are a couple upper years looking to give lacrosse a go too.
“Don’t worry about experience.” Hope takes a step forward, smiling at the girls who’ve never played before. “Lacrosse is a pretty straightforward game to learn, and you never know who’s going to be a natural with a stick.”
She says the last part in an exaggerated seductive voice, and everyone laughs. I force a chuckle too and try to ignore the way that voice makes heat bloom somewhere low in my stomach.
I start leading the group through a quick warm-up, and Hope keeps cracking jokes that wipe all the nerves off the prospective players’ faces and have them chatting and making jokes of their own. She just sparkles when she’s doing stuff like this. I knew she was the perfect person to help out with tryouts. She’s a natural at lacrosse, but over the years she’s been on the team, I’ve seen her step up as a natural leader too. She doesn’t look for the chance to lead, but when Coach happens to give it to her, she excels.
“Let’s go over some really basic game rules,” I announce once the warm-up is done, “and then we’ll work through some simple drills to get us going.”
I review the objective and general rules for lacrosse, along with a quick description of the different positions. Hope, Bailey, and I make up three quarters of the team’s attackers—or offence—and the team also includes four defenders, three midfielders, and the goalie.
“We’ll partner up and start with some basic throwing and catching, and the more experienced people can add in some cradling too.” I pick up my stick and take a few steps back. “Cradling is the technique we use to keep the ball in the stick’s basket while we’re moving it up the field. We’ll go over all the important points for stick handling, but first, Hope, do you want to demo with me?”
She raises one hand in a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
I shake my head and grin. She’s such a dork. As I watch her run over to grab her stick and then jog back to meet me, I realize it didn’t really matter whether we decided to do this whole ‘being friends’ thing or not. I never could have ignored her, not really. I’m tuned into her now, like a radio signal that lets me adjust the volume but never fully turn things off.
Deciding to be friends with her last week has been a lot more effective than I thought it would. Talking to her feels so natural, even when it’s still laced with the memory of how she tasted. We haven’t had our proposed second run of specialty lattes yet, but we’ve hung around talking after practice and texted a bit during the week.
I never realized how little I actually socialize. Kala and I keep up with each other’s lives, but scheduling hangouts around lacrosse is hard. Scheduling anything around lacrosse is hard. I barely even have time to get phone calls in with my dad. I’ve taken on so many projects as captain that with the exception of schoolwork, I’m basically doing or thinking about something lacrosse-related from the minute I get up to the minute I go to bed.
Even though she’s on the team, hanging out with Hope makes me feel like I can let that all go. It makes me feel like I can just be me—which is confusing, because for most of my life, lacrosse has been me.
Hope sets up with the ball a few metres away. I get my stick in position and wait for her pass. She sends the ball in a perfect arc through the air, and I tip my basket back to feel it land with a light thud. I jog a few feet up the field, flicking my wrists in the cradling motion, and she sprints ahead of me to accept my throw.
We move like two parts of the same machine as we complete the pattern a few more times. We’ve drilled this enough that we’re moving on pure muscle memory, caught up in a dance that’s as effortless as breathing.
Catch and cradle. Catch and cradle.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
By the time I accept the final pass and rest my stick on my shoulder, the whole field has gone silent.
“Okay, okay, stop showing off,” Bailey jokes while the tryout candidates gawk at us. “You’re going to make them think it’s as easy as it looks.”
Hope jogs up to stand beside me. I glance at her, and she flashes me a grin. My pulse has kicked up from the exercise, and I smile back as the rush of endorphins washes over me. Nothing feels as good as being on the field. I can tell the same thrill of energy is moving through her too.
“Let’s do this!” I call out. “Partner up!”
The rest of tryouts take the better part of an hour to get through. There are a few standout experienced players, and one of the girls who’s never even held a stick before shows a lot of promise.
Coach showed up about halfway through. He comes over with the clipboard he’s been taking notes on when it’s only Bailey, Hope, and me left on the field.
“Good work today, girls. Sorry again for being late. We have a new nanny starting next week, so I won’t be running into any more problems.”
Hope leans on her stick and pretends to pout. “No more Khadija at practice?”
“The wife will still bring her on game days. We’ll make a Lobster of her yet.” He taps his clipboard. “Speaking of, let’s talk about possible new recruits. Hastings, who are your picks?”