Page 28 of Playing the Field
“Both of us?”
She shrugs. “I’ve never played before, so I won’t know the difference, and it’ll keep us both off the injured list.”
I spin a ball on my index finger and drop it to my foot, where I start juggling it from knee to foot to knee. “It might be slippery,” I warn.
She takes an exaggerated step onto the court and slides a few feet in her socks like a kid trying to skate across the kitchen floor. “Works for me. It’ll give me some speed.”
So I set us up on opposite sides of the court and put the ball into play, fully expecting to go easy while she gets her soccer legs under her. There’s no need. Gracie charges at me and goes straight for the ball, kicking it away from me and windmilling past me like a tumbleweed in her slippery socks.
I turn and chase her, so within seconds I’m back in front, defending my goal as she tries to advance. I keep some distance between us and shift from side to side, making it hard for her to choose a direction and charge forward.
She goes left, but I’m there faster, blocking her again. Frustration builds in her eyes, and she squints at me like a truck about to hit the gas. Before she can move, I dive in and sweep the ballaway from her feet, dribbling it easily in the other direction while she gives chase.
I want it to be a fair fight, so I don’t go full speed toward the goal. She catches me in seconds. She runs alongside me and suddenly disappears outside my peripheral vision, so I turn to find her, right as she leaps up and clings to my back like a koala. “Hey! Ref! Player interference,” I yell, and she giggles. The soft sound of her laughter right next to my ear is a kind of music I’ve never heard before. Light and carefree like tiny windchimes. It makes me lose sight of what game we’re playing when all I want is to elicit more of that sound.
I spin around, but Gracie hangs on tight. I lose track of the ball for enough time that it rolls a few feet away. Never letting the ball out of her sight, she’s off my back in an instant and running to retrieve it. “Didn’t hear the ref blow a whistle, so game on!” she shrieks, taking the ball and all the speed she can muster straight to the goal.
Pausing to look over her shoulder, she smiles. I’m not even trying to catch her at this point. Watching her in action is too good.
She brings her foot back, boots the ball into the net, and raises both fists in victory. When she trots back to me, taking tiny steps to keep from sliding in her socks, she holds a hand up. “One-nil, and I think you let me have that one, but I’m a foot shorter than you, so I’ll take it.”
I give her a high five even though we’re on opposing teams. “No, that was a legitimate goal. Of course, jumping on my back goes against just about every rule in soccer.”
“Yeah?” She feigns innocence, batting her eyes. I like this lighter side of her and wonder why she hides it most of the time.
“Yeah.” I jog to the goal and retrieve the ball. “Okay, loser buys dinner, so you better believe I’m gonna bring my A game now.”
“Dinner? Who said anything about dinner?” she teases. “Though if my winning streak continues, I could go for a steak, I suppose…”
I drop the ball between us at midcourt and let her dribble it for a few seconds before I swoop in on defense. The court isn’t very big, and I’m tall, so it only takes me a few long strides to get from the midline to the goal. I need to rein in my tendency to go hard, especially since the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt her.
Gracie slips in her socks and whiffs the ball as she attempts to keep it away from me, but I cut to the side and intercept it before it can go out of bounds. Now I’m in control, and I take the opportunity to mess with her a little bit. I pass the ball from foot to foot, staying in one place and daring her to try to take it away from me.
Her brows drop in concentration, and she watches the ball with a determination that explains why she’s so good at her job. I cut to the side, and she follows, but her socks make her slide. I start to laugh as her legs do the splits, but she quickly recovers and comes charging at me. I go the other way with her hot on my heels.
That’s the great thing about the futsal court—it’s small, so the game becomes much more technical and doesn’t require much running. She’s small but quick, and that gives her an advantage.
I take the ball toward the goal, and Gracie runs with me. As I’m about to take my shot, she comes in with a last-ditch attempt to stop me, her foot shooting out to meet the ball. It meets my foot instead, right after the ball has left it. I lose my balance and fall on my ass, and the ball sails into the net.
Gracie’s hands shoot to her face, covering her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” The muffled words and her horrified look make me laugh.
“All part of the game. Nice D,” I tell her, enjoying her pink cheeks and guilty expression. “And if you didn’t notice, it’s one-all.” I swivel around so I’m sitting facing her with my knees bent.
“You’re not calling a foul? Do you get a PK or something?”
“You didn’t foul me. That was great defense. Relax, Tink. It’s all good.”
She extends a hand to help me up, but I’m twice her weight. When she tries to pull me up, I end up pulling her down instead. She lands in my lap, looking surprised.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“My fault.” I scramble up, pulling us both onto our feet. When she lets go of my hand, I’m struck by how empty I feel without it in my grasp.
I scramble toward the goal to retrieve the ball before I can overthink it. “Okay, game point.”
“We’re only playing to two?” she asks.
“You want to go for more? Depends on how hungry you are. I figured this could be the tie breaker.”
