Chapter 1
“Do you think they’ll be any good?” Courtney Miller asks, assessing the scene before them. They’re standing at the top of the hill overlooking the practice fields of the UCLA Bruins’ state of the art soccer facilities. The returning players have formed a circle of sorts in the middle of the field, passing sporadically as they chat with one another.
Amanda Lehan looks at the same scene, then her gaze drifts leftward. “Hopefully. I think coach is insane for only recruiting two freshmen though.”
Off to the side, a bearded man with short brown hair and thinly rimmed glasses speaks with two girls in pristine practice kits.
“He has his plan,” Courtney assures, looking down proudly at their team.
Skeptical, Amanda replies. “Sure, but he knows just as well as everyone that we’re gonna need some help this year, especially with our seniors gone.”
Since both of last season’s captains, Jackie and Mari, had both been signed to professional contracts over the summer, Coach Hecox had looked to Amanda and Courtney as the new leaders of the UCLA women’s soccer team. The Bruins had been good last season, and their captains had been excellent sources of inspiration and encouragement, but now, with the captain’s band fit snug around her bicep, Amanda can see a brighter future for her team. One that includes Courtney and her hoisting a shiny trophy come season’s end. She can hear the roar of the crowd, the screams of the fans, the chants of her name. ‘Amanda! Amanda! Amanda!’
“Amanda,” Courtney says, elongating the vowels of her name, “Hello? Earth to Mandy?”
Amanda tunes back in to see Courtney’s hand waving across her line of sight. “What?”
“Coach Hecox wants us, now,” Courtney says, and Amanda conveniently hears the sound of Coach Hecox’s whistle blaring from the field below.
“Right, sorry,” Amanda says, and she and Courtney jog down the hill to where the rest of the team stands in matching practice uniforms.
“Hey guys,” Coach Hecox greets them with a smile. He adjusts his glasses, “Team, these are your new captains, Courtney Miller and Amanda Lehan.”
The group of women clap as Amanda and Courtney stand awkwardly before them. When the applause subsides, Coach Hecox speaks again.
“Now for the rundown. I know most of you guys have gone through this already, but for you new guys or anyone who forgot over the past year, welcome to preseason. The next two weeks will consist of scrimmages, shooting, run tests, conditioning, team bonding, and lots and lots of soccer. Before we get started, we’re going to do a quick icebreaker, stretch, two laps around the field, and then a scrimmage. After that, I’ll let you know what’s next on the agenda. Don’t be afraid to ask any questions, and let us know if you need a break. I don’t want anyone passing out on us. LA summers are no joke.”
One of the freshmen, a shorter brunette with chin length hair, chuckles at that. Before Amanda can roll her eyes, Coach Hecox’s phone rings, playing an 8-bit version of a song by a 90s British rock band.
“Amanda, Courtney, can you guys lead the intros? I’m going to take this.”
Courtney nods.
“Thanks Court. Welcome to Bruins soccer everyone,” Coach Hecox says before turning away to answer his phone.
Courtney steps up to address the group, “Hey guys, if you just wanna get in a circle, let’s do some introductions and then we’ll head into a stretch. How about just your name and where you’re from? Mandy’ll go first.”
Amanda whips her head around at being volunteered by Courtney.
“Wh-,” Amanda starts to mouth, but Courtney cuts her off.
“Just do it,” they hiss.
Amanda puts on a smile. “Well, like Coach and Court said, I’m Amanda, and I’m from Massachusetts. Specifically the Boston area.”
“Hi guys, I’m Courtney, or ‘Court’ or whatever you want, and I’m from around Malibu.”
Olivia, a returning midfielder, introduces herself next. Amanda listens at about 70% effort as the rest of the team introduces themselves. After all, she knows all these girls– has played on a team with them, has seen them with drool hanging out of their gaping mouths while sleeping on the team bus, and has been with them during wins and losses. She only tunes back in for the last two, the only new faces on the roster.
“Hi, I’m Arasha Lalani, I was born in India, but I’m from San Antonio,” the taller of the two freshmen introduces. She’s pretty, her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her clear skin is highlighted by the Los Angeles sun.
The brunette from before looks to either side of her before speaking. “Uh… hi, I’m Angela. Giarratana. I’m from here. California.”
“Great,” Amanda says, clapping her hands the second Angela whatever her last name was finishes speaking, “let’s get to stretching.”
The team follows Amanda’s lead through a few different stretches with relative ease, and then two laps around the field. By the time they get back to their starting point, Coach Hecox has finished his phone call and is standing with a bag of practice bibs. He hands them out at random.
As Amanda pulls the velcro straps of her goalie gloves tighter, she tries to centre herself in the net– a mindfulness technique she’d been practicing ever since she began her goaltending career at age six. She believes in herself and she believes in her team. This is their year.
***
Angela pulls the white practice bib over her head, cursing herself for ever listening to her parents. Angela hadn’t wanted to attend UCLA, in fact, she hadn’t wanted to go to college at all. If she had actually listened to her heart, she would’ve gone straight into plays or musicals or whatever nerdy stuff LA had to offer at 12 dollars an hour. Of course, when she told her hardworking mother and father about her plans to be an unemployed teenage Shakespeare enthusiast, they were less than thrilled, especially with top ten schools knocking on her door with full ride scholarships. So she was given a choice: attend school on a sports scholarship and study something she was passionate about, or attend one of her parents’ chosen universities studying something that would make her a six figure income. She had been ready to say screw it and throw their ultimatum in the trash, but unfortunately, her parents had gotten into her head. So now here she is, a five star recruit at one of the nation’s top programs, wishing she could be in bed with her dog and a bowl of ice cream, waiting for a callback to some stupid show.
She had easily outpaced the majority of the team during their laps around the field, matching stride with tall woman whose name she couldn’t remember, but had been left in the dust by the girl who had introduced herself as Olivia.
Angela takes her place on the field, having been randomly placed on the white team alongside Arasha and the blonde captain. Coach Hecox blows the starting whistle, she kicks the ball to the central midfielder, and the game begins.
It’s not that Angela doesn’t enjoy soccer, she does. She enjoys everything she’s good at, and soccer is very much one of those things. It’s just that it’s not her main priority in life, and it certainly isn’t one of her passions. She enjoys staying active, she enjoys having a group of girls that feel more like family than teammates, and most of all, she enjoys winning. Fortunately, those are all things that come with being a soccer player. Unfortunately though, it also comes with sportsmanship, conditioning, and meeting new people, all things Angela tries to avoid.
In short, she hogs the ball. When Olivia passes the ball back to Angela, she takes it up the field herself, ignoring the calls from her teammates to pass, and takes an arguably risky shot on goal that the opposing goaltender, the captain, has to dive for, her fingertips just barely grazing the ball off of its path towards the net.
“You’re insane,” the goalie says while scanning the field.
“So are you.”
Angela stands on the penalty box line and grimaces. She could’ve made that shot– should’ve made that shot. Damn.
The goalie rolls the ball to her defender, and Angela jogs back calmly. Instead of dropping back with the rest of her team, she stays at the half line and redoes her short ponytail. When her team regains possession in the midfield, she attempts another shot, just as powerful as her first but a little bit closer to scoring. Again, the goalie slides to the shot and smothers the ball before Angela can tap in the rebound.
In her peripheral, Angela’s teammate huffs, having been in a perfect scoring position.
Unsurprisingly, after failing to score on not one, but two greedy shots, Coach Hecox subs Angela out, sending in a girl with a wavy dark ponytail. A boy with curly brown hair and hazel eyes wearing a UCLA polo shirt hands her a paper cup of water.
“Thanks,” she pants out, downing the water in a single gulp.
“Angela,” Coach Hecox calls, and beckons to her. She jogs over, still breathless.
Coach Hecox smiles. “You’re looking really good out there, but I know they taught you how to read a person in performing arts school, so if you’re going to take those shots, don’t shoot directly at the goalie. Amanda is one of the best keepers in the country, but even she can’t make herself grow eight feet tall and cover the entire net,” he advises, and Angela nods along.
“Good, now get some rest, you’re going in soon,” he says, and then he walks past her to address another player.
“Hey,” the boy in the polo shirt from before starts, “try shooting for the bottom left. You’ve been shooting nothing but top right, and that’s her best area. If you just send a floater down low and just out of reach, you should be good.”
Angela opens her mouth to respond, but Coach Hecox calls her over again, subbing her out for a red-faced girl who twisted her ankle on a fast break.
The next time she finds herself with a scoring opportunity, she sends the ball low and again, straight into Amanda’s grasp. She can hear both teams on the sideline gasping, and she whirls around, making eye contact with the boy as she throws her hands in the air.
“Other left!” He calls.
Angela puts her hands out in front of her, forming them both into an ‘L’ shape with the thumb and pointer fingers. She groans.
It’s a beautiful goal in every way. It starts with a save from her own team’s goaltender. Next, it makes its way to Arasha who bumps it up the sideline to Olivia who somehow manages to get through three defenders, where Angela is waiting and ready to shoot the ball low and to the left. The ball connects perfectly with Angela’s new soccer cleats. Amanda has no chance. The net swishes as the shot sails in past her outstretched hands.
Coach Hecox whistles for a water break, and several members of the team high five Angela as she jogs in.
“How did you know where to shoot?” Angela asks the boy. The team is scattered around on the sidelines, drinking from various squeeze bottles and energy drinks.
“Oh, I know everyone’s habits. I’m Chanse, I’m Coach’s assistant, but I’m also a video analyst and a skills coach, and sometimes a medical trainer. Basically, if there’s anything to do for the team, I do it,” Chanse offers his hand, and Angela shakes it.
“Nice to meet you, Chanse. I’m Angela,” she introduces.
Chanse smiles. “I know,” then, seeing the mix of confusion and concern in Angela’s eyes, he adds, “I helped Coach recruit you. You were a tough one to pin down. I mean, five star recruits are always hard in general, but you, you were something special.”
Angela shrugs.
“You’re funny, I like you,” Chanse says.
“At least someone here does,” Angela grumbles.
Chanse laughs. “I think Coach is calling you, but let me know if you want to go out after practice. You can’t drink, obviously, since it’s preseason, but me and some friends are having a little get together tonight. You should come.”
“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” Angela says, and turns around to join the rest of the group.
The rest of practice goes well for Angela. She ends up scoring another goal as well as an assist, and ends their cool-down stretch feeling somewhat hopeful about the upcoming season. That is, until Amanda passes her on the way to the locker room, ripping off her goalie gloves and muttering something about such a big ego for such a small person.
Not sure if she’s still in earshot, Angela mutters back, “Asshole.”
And that’s exactly what she calls her captain as she recounts the experience to Chanse and his friends when she shows up at the bar five hours later, now freshly showered and dressed in something slightly more fashionable than the UCLA practice jerseys and reversibles.
Chanse just laughs and hands her a shirley temple.
Chanse’s friends are nice. Most of them are on the men’s soccer team, and they remind Angela of her friends from high school. She imagines that in a few weeks, if she’s still here, she could seamlessly join the group of friends. There’s Spencer, a midfield transfer student from the University of Florida who switches between playing a game on his phone and playing a game on Chanse’s phone, Trevor, another midfielder who seems to know the lyrics to every single song the bar plays, and Tommy, a defender who is wearing a bandana in every single photo he excitedly shows Angela.
“Yeah, that’s Mandy. She seems blunt sometimes, but that’s just because she’s from the East coast and tall. She’s actually a huge sweetheart.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Angela snorts, eying the bar.
Chanse tracks her line of sight and sighs. “No Ange, can I call you Ange? I’m gonna. Do not. It’s your first day of preseason and you already pissed off half the team, do not show up hungover on your second day,” he advises.
Angela huffs, but she turns away from the tray of shots being prepared behind the bar.
“So Spence, where’s Shayne?” Chanse asks.
Spencer, the man in a jean jacket with black glasses, looks up from the phone briefly to answer, “he stayed in tonight. I thought he was gonna go out, but Court wanted to watch a movie or something.”
“Court, your captain, is dating Shayne, Spence’s roommate and another member of the soccer team,” Chanse explains. Angela barely follows, but nods along anyway.
She makes small talk with much of the men’s team, but sneaks off to order a rum and coke while Chanse is distracted. At least, she means to order just the one, but before she knows it, she’s doing tequila shots with a group of random frat bros from USC. Chanse clocks her in the middle of her third shot and gives her a disapproving look. Whatever, that’s Future Angela’s issue.
***
“Can you pass the popcorn?” Amanda asks, and the blonde man with his arm around Courtney’s shoulder does just that.
She, Courtney, and Courtney’s boyfriend, Shayne, have been sitting on the couch for the past half-hour watching Cars. It’s not an unusual thing for them to be doing on an average night. In their first year, it had just been Courtney and Amanda watching movies in the freshman dorms, but Shayne had become an integral part of their movie nights once he and Courtney started dating.
They sit watching for another five minutes, until Shayne speaks. “Hey, can you pause it? I have to pee.”
Amanda fumbles with the remote but eventually the screen stops moving and Shayne stands up.
“So, what do you think of the new recruits?” Courtney asks, and Amanda smiles.
“I like them,” she answers simply.
Courtney purses their lips. “Okay… say more.”
“I mean, they both seem really talented. I really liked what I saw from Arasha on defense, even from afar. She really just has good soccer IQ and like, a real physicality to her. She was pushing people off the ball on her very first day. I can definitely see her being a really big part of our team. What did you think?”
“I thought she was really good, too. I mean, she got me off the ball more than a few times and I wasn’t going easy on her. She’s gonna be a huge problem for other teams’ offenses, that’s for sure.”
Amanda laughs.
“And Angela?”
“Angela Ghiratoni?”
“There’s only one Angela on the team,” Courtney points out.
Amanda smirks. “She’s good. She’s definitely good. Maybe the best on the team, besides you of course. But I feel like she’s got a big head on her shoulders and it’s gonna blow up at any moment, if that makes any sense. I mean, did you see her first shot on goal? She tore through the entire team and barely looked at her passing options for a millisecond. I would think that if you were a freshman on your first day of preseason, you might consider passing to an upperclassman in a considerably better scoring position.”
Courtney reaches over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “I have high hopes for both of them.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Shayne returns with a box of Sno-Caps.
“Hey, did you get those from the bathroom?” Amanda jokes.
“Ha ha.” Shayne deadpans, “just play the movie.”
Amanda hits the play button on the remote, and the kind eyes of an anthropomorphic tow truck reappear on the television screen. She settles back into the cushions and focuses on the movie, letting preseason become Future Amanda’s problem.
Angela shows up to practice ten minutes late and looking about as hungover as a person can look, at least, judging from the part of her face not covered by the ridiculous reflective sunglasses sitting atop the bridge of her nose. Amanda immediately stops stretching and jogs over to Courtney, who is passing with Arasha.
“She’s just dicking around at this point,” she whispers.
“Dude, I tried to wake her up this morning, she told me to go fuck myself and kept sleeping,” Arasha tells them.
“You’re her roommate, right?” Courtney asks.
Arasha nods and Amanda gives her a look of pity.
The three stand together and watch as Angela attempts to join the passing with a group of defenders, but is quickly intercepted by Coach Hecox, who pulls her off to the side.
“Do you think they’re gonna kick her off?” Amanda asks.
“Nah, she’s a five star recruit, Coach Hecox isn’t dumb enough to give that up. I think she’s probably just gonna get sessions with one of us,” Courtney responds, and Amanda groans.
“She got back at like two in the morning,” Arasha recounts, “bumping into stuff and laughing at everything. I asked her what she drank and she said, and I quote, ‘everything.’ So, that’s just great.”
Amanda laughs until Courtney elbows her, gesturing to Coach Hecox. He’s finished speaking with Angela, and she starts at an 80% effort run around the field, not stopping to remove her shades.
“Hey coach,” Courtney greets when they make their way over.
“Hi guys. So, I’ll just get to the elephant in the room,” Coach Hecox starts. All three of their gazes drift to Angela, who has stopped her run to vomit into the grass. Once she’s finished, she wipes her mouth and continues running. Amanda would almost feel bad for the girl if she weren’t so stupid.
“Angela,” Amanda supplies.
“Angela,” Coach Hecox repeats. “I think she’s got so much potential, she just needs someone to help her on that path. I saw her play in high school, she was winning games five-nothing, six-nothing with her whole team on her back. She’s a young, talented kid who’s just found a taste of freedom, and she’s drunk on it.”
“And on alcohol,” Amanda mumbles.
“So while her behaviour is incredibly inappropriate and against the Bruins’ code of conduct, I’m not going to kick her off the team. Instead, I want one of you two to do a few sessions with her, just try to get her back into shape.”
“I can do it, Coach,” Courtney volunteers.
As much as Amanda is happy to let her fellow captain take care of the delinquent, she knows how much Courtney has on their plate, making sure everyone else on the team is doing well. And with both Court and Shayne being in preseason, they rarely had free time together.
“It’s okay, Court, I can do it. I know you’ve been super busy since the summer and have been looking for free time.”
Another added bonus: Amanda knows that if Angela’s behaviour somehow doesn’t get any better, Coach Hecox will be forced to kick her off the team. Amanda wouldn’t cry while saying goodbye.
“You sure?” Courtney asks.
Amanda gives them a smile, “I’m sure.”
“Great. Thanks, Amanda. I’ll talk with Angela about the plan, you guys just do some shooting?”
They jog away as Coach Hecox calls her over. Amanda is still close enough that she can hear Angela groan as the terms of their arrangement are spelled out to her. She is to meet with Amanda at the practice field every night from 10:30 to 12:00.
Amanda notices that Angela’s shots are a little harder, as if she’s taking out her anger on the ball. She’d rather it be the ball than her during their first session later in the day.
***
“Yeah, I know,” Angela huffs, cursing her luck and flopping back onto the bed. She’s been explaining the situation to Chanse, Tommy, and Trevor for the past hour, “it sucks.”
“You could just not go,” Trevor suggests, looking down at her from the top bunk.
They’re in Chanse’s room, a dorm that looks like it was furnished by a professional interior designer. Besides the obvious dorm decor of twin beds, dresser sets, and desks, there’s nothing about the room that suggests it belongs on the second floor of a college building.
“And get kicked off the team before orientation? I think I’d rather suck it up and go to training. I hate this option, but it’s infinitely better than going back home and standing in front of my parents as a failure. At least with this, Amanda will kill me before the shame does, ” Angela says.
“We know Mandy, she’s not that tough,” Tommy says from an armchair in the corner of the room.
“Yeah, I mean I don’t know her that well, but I met her at a few parties last year and she’s chill. It honestly shouldn’t be that bad. It’s just for the next two weeks of preseason too, right?” Trevor asks.
“Hopefully.”
“We’re really sorry, Ange. We wish we could do something,” Chanse says.
Angela waves him off. “No, it’s not your fault. You told me not to get drunk and instead I decided to get shitfaced on my first day of preseason with some Trojan dudebros.”
“Just let us know if anything juicy happens during your sessions. I am always trying to figure out what’s going on with the women’s team, and any little bit of info helps,” Tommy says, grinning.
“Sure, but I don’t think we’ll be doing a lot of talking,” Angela says.
***
Later, after she’s debriefed with Courtney at their favourite on-campus coffee shop, Amanda drives to the practice facilities for the second time in a day.
‘Hey Angela, this Amanda Lehan. Just reminding you about our mandatory practice session from 10:30-12:00,’ Amanda texts, twisting her key in the ignition. The car whirs down until it’s silent.
‘Thx may b 5 min late,’ Angela texts back a minute later as Amanda is walking down the path toward the soccer fields.
She rolls her eyes, unlocks the equipment shed, and flips on the field lights.
Fifteen minutes later, Angela saunters down the path connecting the facilities to the North lot.
“Yeah mom, I’m fine, you can stop worrying,” she says into the phone held to her ear by her shoulder.
Amanda watches as Angela pauses, presumably listening to her mother’s response.
“No, don’t tell dad, he’ll just get worried and drive up here. Please just trust me on this.”
Her voice is everything her face isn’t. She sounds confident, like she’s been called to this practice session not for behavioural misconduct, but because she’s receiving a raise for outstanding work. However her eyes, now behind wire rimmed glasses and thin lenses, look worried.
“Okay, love you too, bye,” she says, but her voice wavers lightly.
Maybe Amanda was too quick to judge the girl.
“Hey,” she greets, and Angela tracks the sound quickly.
“Hi,” she responds, sliding her glasses onto her head.
“You’re late.”
Angela grimaces. “Yeah, sorry. Got stuck in traffic,” she says, but it sounds more like a suggestion than an excuse.
“At 10:30?”
“You know how L.A. is.”
Never mind. Amanda was perfectly right to want her off the team.
They do their own stretches and then head over to the far goal, where Angela takes shots on Amanda for around fifteen minutes.
“Water break?” Amanda suggests, and Angela nods. They both make their way over to the benches where they had left their belongings.
“Look,” Amanda starts, taking a drink of her gigantic water jug, “I want to be here just as much as you do, so how about instead of doing this for the next,” she pauses and looks at her watch face, “hour or so, you tell me why you decided to go out drinking?”
“Nah, I’m okay,” Angela says, kicking a nearby ball towards the goal. It soars halfway across the field and thunks against the goalpost before dropping in.
Sure, it’s impressive, but now Amanda’s a little bit pissed.
“I should make you run for that.”
Angela’s eyebrows soar but her voice stays steady. “Go ahead,” she challenges.
And so they run. Angela manages to keep pace with Amanda for about five laps, but after all the running from their morning practice, she’s lost her stamina and falls behind. By the tenth, Amanda has lapped the girl more than once. She’s ready to pity her when Angela collapses to the ground, face red and sweaty.
“You ready to talk yet?” Amanda asks, standing over where Angela lays in a snow angel on the field.
“Just… a… second…,” she pants.
Amanda brings the girl’s water bottle and sits down next to her.
“Thanks,” Angela breathes out, taking a swig of water.
“You know, when I got here, I had to clean up my act too.”
Angela stays silent.
“I actually got arrested by my D.A.R.E. officer once. Now I’m the captain of a Division One soccer team.”
That piques Angela’s interest. “Arrested? What for?”
“Oh you know, too much partying and all that,” Amanda says with a wave of her hand.
“Wow. I didn’t know the captain could drink.”
Amanda scoffs. “You don’t know a thing about me, baby. I’m from Boston. Alcohol flows through my veins.”
They’re silent for a moment as the space is filled by the sounds of crickets chirping and cars passing by.
“I have no idea why I did so many shots. I mean it was so so many. Chanse told me not to, and I even knew I never would’ve done it in high school even if the shots were sitting in front of me, already paid for. But for some reason last night I just did,” Angela admits.
“Do you think it’s because the change from high school to college was a lot more than you were expecting?”
Angela scoffs. “What are you, my therapist?”
“No,” Amanda says, “just your captain.”
“O Captain, my Captain,” Angela salutes, sitting up so she can make the motion with her hand.
“Hey now, Dead Poets is off limits,” Amanda says sternly.
“Look, I feel like this is an honest moment, so I’ll be honest. Respectively, I don’t even want to be here. I’m not even sure if I still like playing soccer, or if I even did at all. All I know is my parents gave me an impossible ultimatum and I chose what seemed like the better of two terrible options. But now I’m thinking maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.”
That intrigues Amanda. “An ultimatum?”
“Yeah. Go to school on a sports scholarship and major in something I like, or go somewhere else and do something meaningful,” Angela sighs as she explains. She fiddles with the handle of her water bottle.
“Wow. That’s cutthroat.”
“Yeah. That’s Italian parenting for you.”
“Try Portuguese and Irish Catholic. I’ve had at least two jobs since fourteen and I still wake up every day feeling like I’ve failed my entire bloodline,” Amanda admits.
Angela smiles at that.
“Look, Angela, I know we barely know each other, but if you’re gonna be on this team, you should know that this isn’t just a little thing. This is a commitment. This is a family. We support each other. We celebrate each others’ wins as our own and pick each other up when we fall. It may seem like you against the world right now, but it’s not. We’re here to support you, even if you don’t want it. That’s what being a team is.”
“That’s nice. I’m ready to keep running now,” Angela says, standing up.
Amanda swears under her breath, but stands up as well.
This girl was either going to be the best player the program had ever seen or the worst mistake of Amanda’s life, she just couldn’t be sure of which.