Page 64 of Stealing for Keeps
Austin
Rowan looks over the seat in front of me. “What are you drawing?”
“Nothing, really, just messing around.” I flip the book shut. We’re on the bus home from Stoutland. We won, but it was close. I’m aggravated with how I played and the stupid mistakes we made as a team.
“Do you want to play cards with us?” he asks, motioning with his head for me to move up a row to where he, Hunter, and Blake are sitting, legs angled to the aisle, playing cards.
“Nah, thanks though.”
He hesitates a beat as if he thinks I might change my mind. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say easily. Then because it’s Rowan, I add, “Frustrated about the game.”
No matter how many I’ve played in—hundreds at this point—the expectations for myself and others get harder to meet. At least for me. My teammate looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“We all struggled with their defensive setup. We’ve seen it, and we’ll adjust before we play them again later this season.”
It’s a calm, mature response that gets a half smile out of me. “How are you so chill all the time?”
“It’s just soccer,” he says and flashes a grin, turning back around in his seat.
I don’t think it’s been just soccer for me since I was nine and realized that the better I performed, the more people noticed. Coaches, parents, peers.
I shut my sketchbook and put it away, then glance back to where Vaughn is sitting. He has his headphones on and sits alone. Getting up, I move toward him. His gaze flicks to mine as I take a seat next to him.
“Hey,” I say.
He has his laptop open and is doing some sort of multiple-choice math assignment.
“Homework?”
“Practice test.” He moves one side of his headphones slightly off his ear. He doesn’t look back at me but asks, “What’s up?”
“Stoutland was good. Better than I expected.” And I expected them to be good. Since coming to Frost Lake, working with Coach Collins, and playing with top-tier high school talents had made me think we were unbeatable. Now I know that’s a myth.
“They were ready, and we weren’t,” he says, still not looking away from the screen. “They’re in better shape, work better as a team, and they have five seniors that have been playing together forever.”
“And here I thought talking to you was going to make me feel better,” I mutter.
He stops what he’s doing and sits back in his seat. “Do you know how we’ve managed to win the past two years?”
“By being the best team in the state?” I ask with a slight smirk.
“Good teams get beaten all the time. We have a lot of talented players, but it doesn’t mean much if we can’t find a way to work together. They came at us strong tonight, and we didn’t have that mesh as a team to deviate from plays and adjust.”
Shit, this really is the most depressing after-game pep talk I’ve ever heard. Vaughn isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows, but I thought with soccer he’d be the most likely to understand this gnawing desire to step off the bus and go immediately to practice.
“I can’t fuck this up,” I say, more to myself than him. But since I’ve said it, I turn to him. “My family moved a thousand miles for me to play at Frost Lake. For me to win here.”
“I hear you, but if you let one bad game get into your head, we’re already screwed.”
He’s right about that. I used to let things roll off me a little easier, but now every chance feels like a make-or-break moment.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I know. I really hate being caught off guard.”
One side of his mouth pulls up in the slightest smile. “And here I thought I’d been doing a good job of keeping you on your toes in practice. Guess I’ll have to step it up.”
I’m sure he means it as a threat, but I welcome the competition. Vaughn is the best guy on the team, maybe in the state. If I can play with him, I can play with anyone at our level. Not that I’d ever admit that to him.
