Page 72 of Catch and Cradle
I promised her I’d find a way to make this work, and I meant it. I just haven’t been able to find that way, no matter how many hours I spend lying awake at night thinking it over. I don’t want to pull Hope into the mess of my past without being able to offer her some glimpse of a solution.
It all comes back to the same thing: if I mess this up or if things between Hope and I don’t work out, it will have an impact on the team. That part is inevitable. It may not have as big of an impact as I think it will, like Kala pointed out, but there’s no denying there will be some impact.
No matter what, there’s a chance I’ll lose the team. I’ll lose my captaincy and my scholarship, but more than that, I’ll lose the most important thing in my life: my place on this team.
But is it?
A little part of my brain that’s been getting louder and louder these past few days speaks up as I stand tensed and ready for the result of the face-off.
Is it the most important thing in your life, or the only thing in your life?
It hit me during one of my late-night worry sessions: maybe those aren’t the same thing.
The team is my home. It gives me something I never had growing up: a place that’s really mine. Lacrosse is even the thing that bonded me and my dad when our idea of home fell apart, but when have I ever tried looking for a home somewhere else? When have I ever looked beyond the walls I’ve boxed myself inside?
I only have another year left before I’ll be forced to look beyond lacrosse whether I want to or not. I haven’t even thought much about my career, or where I want to live, or who I want to be when I’m no longer captain of the UNS lacrosse team.
“Becca! MOVE!”
Paulina, one of our midfielders, shouts the command around her mouth guard as she swerves past me with the ball in her basket. A flurry of players from both teams follows in her wake, closing in to block her or spreading out to vie for a pass.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter around the edges of my own mouth guard as I scramble to get into a more helpful position. The McGill defender who’s marking me is good at her job, and after my delayed start, I can’t get close enough to help Paulina.
I edge my way forward, unable to do anything but watch as Paulina passes to Bailey, who passes to Hope, who aims at the net and just manages to clear the goalie’s reach by a fraction of an inch. The ball whacks the back of the net and drops to the ground.
“YES!” I scream as the groans from the crowd fill the air. “YES!”
We’re still down by two and closing in on the end of the game, but the goal is just what we need. It’s just what I need. I glance over at Coach, and we use the personal sign language we’ve developed over the years to debate whether or not we should call a time out. He agrees, and a couple minutes later, we’re all crowded around him on the side of the field.
He whips off his aviators—a true sign that things are getting serious.
“Okay, lax rats.” He scans all our faces. “I know things look bad, but we’ve been in worse trouble before. We’ve still got fifteen minutes left, and you’ve had some great goals in this game already. You can do this. When you guys are on, you’re on. You’re unstoppable. We just need to get you back there.”
A moment of silence passes, and everyone starts shifting around while trying not to stare at me. I feel their eyes anyway. We all know I’m the reason we’re off.
I need to own it.
“I haven’t been playing my best,” I announce. “I know that. I’ve cost us a couple goals.”
I glance at Hope on the other end of the semicircle of players. Most of her face is obscured by her goggles, but I can still see her watching me. I don’t look away as I continue.
“You deserve all my focus, and you have it. I promise. Let’s win this thing!”
“Fuck yeah!” a few people shout. Half the team still has their mouth guards in, so the agreement is a garbled mix of words and grunts.
Hope nods at me and then punches the air before leading the team back onto the field.
I’m still not at peak performance, but I’m no longer a menace to the game when it picks up again. We orchestrate another goal within a couple minutes, and our defence keeps the McGill players from getting anywhere near our net. By the time we’re down to four minutes on the clock, we’ve tied the game.
The air is thick with anticipation now, tension obscuring the atmosphere like cloudy breaths on a cold day. My muscles are burning, my heart a constant thumping in my ears as I strain my body to give its all to these last few minutes.
We can score. I know we can.
We lose the face-off after our tying goal, and the McGill team gets the ball all the way down to our net just to have their shot blocked by our goalie. Two minutes tick by without either team scoring.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I chant around the plastic in my mouth as one of our midfielders takes possession and clears a few metres up the field, cradling the ball as she searches for someone to pass to.
Another midfielder gains some ground ahead of her, and she sends the ball flying into their basket. A defender is on her immediately, keeping her locked in place, and I see my chance.