Page 75 of Enemy Crush
“You don’t need to buy something new and fancy,” Miller said, lifting the crates from the back of the truck. “You know my favorite version of you is old jeans, flannel shirt, wild hair and dirt on your nose,” he said as he bopped my nose.
“And sweaty?” I bounced back, bopping his nose.
He sniffed in an exaggerated way, then scrunched his face up. I punched his bicep and he wrapped me in his arms, holding me hostage. I didn’t fight it.
His chin rested on the top of my head and I leaned into him.
There was this feeling that I was his completely and I didn’t want to let go.
Being in Miller’s arms was my favorite place and Miller Trask was fast becoming my favorite person.
NOBODY BLINKED AN EYEto see us in our matching Spud Harvest clothes and carrying potato crates. Miller had chosen to keep his crate natural, while I’d spray painted mine gold and glued sparkles and glitter over it. Mom had suggested spray painting a few potatoes gold too and they’d turned out amazing.It was somewhat surprising when some kids asked if they were real.
And crazily enough, I’d been nominated for one of the awards in the creative section. It was won by a boy who rolled around a tractor tire like it was his mobile locker, and silliest went to a girl who pushed a baby stroller around full of books and stuffed toys. I was actually jealous of that one, wishing I’d thought to bring my Squishmallows. Elise won the funnest award for her giant paper-mâche donut which was filled with mini donuts she handed out. One kid pushed around his friend in a wheelbarrow, and one boy carried a birdcage complete with a budgie and books in it. Kids really put in a lot of effort, and I couldn’t help but think it was more fun than Brizendine. I remembered back to Wacky Hat day last year, where no one wore anything wacky. It was all floral headpieces and silk fascinators, fedoras and vintage golf caps. No one actually dared to look wacky. Just stylish, elegant, refined.
I think I liked the Snow Ridge High way better.
After school, it was a dash to the locker room, potato crate in tow. Because I hadn’t kicked a soccer ball for weeks, I wanted to get a decent warmup and run through some drills. Livvy joined me, intent of telling me of the 4-4-2- formation and the game plays they’d been working on.
I wasn’t expecting to be in the starting lineup, but Coach put me out there and from the first whistle blow, my adrenaline surged. The crowd was close and noisy compared to Brizendine games where spectators sat primly in the stands, and I quickly spotted Miller, Mason, Brayden and Elise on the sidelines. I almost teared up when Mason waved his homemade sign saying, “Go Quinn!” It was the sweetest thing.
But there was no time for sentimentality when I had a point to prove. I wanted to show Coach that she’d been wrong about me, that I was a team player. For all of the 4-4-2 formation thatCoach talked about, the Sonics lacked structure. Players were everywhere—or nowhere. I found myself constantly tracking back to play defense when the center backs went missing.
At the end of the first half, the game was scoreless and Coach treated this like a victory. Usually they’d be down several goals by now. With an electrolyte drink and a few gummy bears for an energy boost and a wave to Miller, I was pumped to get back out there. The pace of the game slowed as players fatigued, but my legs were relatively fresh and with a lunge, I managed to steal the ball away from a Timbervue defender. Without hesitation, I made a break, staying wide and sprinting down the sideline. With no one in front of me, I kept going, shouts echoing from all around, “Go, go! All the way!”
But I wasn’t thinking about scoring. In my peripheral vision, I could see Livvy wide open in front of the box. I couldn’t hesitate. My pass was inch perfect, the ball landing at Livvy’s feet. She controlled it, tapping it in before the goalie could make a move.
The sidelines erupted and the team swarmed around Livvy. I ran in to join my teammates. Livvy brushed off the girls and stood in front of me and squealed. In a completely spontaneous move, we raised our arms out wide and fluttered them like wings before hugging tightly.
And we did that for the next two goals she scored from very similar moves. When I had space on the wing, no one could catch me on a 40 - 50 meter sprint.
Miller and his friends ambushed me after the game and my teammates celebrated like it was the World Cup final.
Coach’s congratulations were bold and honest. “I was wrong about you Devereaux,” she said. “Thanks for proving me wrong.”
But it was seeing Mom on the sideline, standing next to Mr. Trask who was with Mason, that really set my heart racing. Iwondered if she’d seen any of the game or had just arrived to pick me up. I had told her I’d text her when we finished.
“You were awesome,” Mason said in a croaky voice, still proudly displaying his sign.
“Thanks,” I said, “your yelling was very inspiring.”
“That was a standout performance,” Mr. Trask said, shaking my hand. “Quite the athlete.”
“Yes,” Mom piped up. “I’m glad I got here in time. I was racing to close the salon. That was so much fun to watch.”
My mouth twitched at Mom’s compliment, especially in front of the Trasks. Luckily, Miller reappeared, lifting me up from behind, causing me to shriek.
“Didn’t realize you werethatgood!” He dropped me down gently and spun me around, placing a kiss on my forehead. “What’d you know? My girlfriend’s a superstar.”
Now I really did want to cry. He’d unabashedly called me his girlfriend right in front of my mother and his father.
Coach rallied us all in for a team talk and cool down and then we gathered up the equipment and headed for the locker room. I didn’t want to keep Mom waiting, so opted to change my cleats and shower at home.
I came out into the parking lot, searching out her dark blue car. I couldn’t see it but I could see her. And she was with Miller. Not sure if Mom was his new best friend or blasting him for his PDA, I nonetheless sped up.
“Heyyyyy?” I said, neither of them seeing my arrival.
Both of them were inspecting the back bumper of a small blue hatchback, Mom frowning heavily.
