Chapter 3
After the success of the first game, a 2-0 shutout win, Angela is finally understanding her role on the team. Gone are the days of feeling like an island, alone and solely responsible for their successes and failures, now she is a member of their team. She’s beginning to actually enjoy soccer for what it is: a game. She’s putting her all into drills, she’s staying late after practices to further her conditioning and run plays, she’s taking detailed notes and asking questions during film sessions, she’s the quintessential player. People, not just her coaches and teammates, are beginning to notice. She’s selected as the Big Ten Conference’s ‘Freshman of the Week’, she’s getting straight A’s in all of her classes, and even her biweekly calls with her parents have them commenting on just how happy she sounds. Life really couldn’t get better for Angela Giarratana.
Coincidentally, she’s also been spending every single day with one Amanda Lehan.
She’s not exactly sure what it is, but there’s something about her teammate that brings out the best in Angela. Amanda makes her smile, makes her laugh, makes her try harder in practice, makes her focus in class when all she wants to do is lay her head down on the desk, makes her ask questions when she would’ve just given up, makes her wake up excited for another day. Amanda makes her want to be the best version of herself that she can possibly be.
And maybe there’s something to that. Maybe, just maybe, there are some feelings that go deeper than friendship whenever she locks eyes with Amanda. Perhaps the flutter in her stomach and the hitch in her heartbeat isn’t just because she’s excited to see a familiar face in class. There’s a chance that all of these things point to something else, something that she should probably figure out before it takes hold of her life.
Angela doesn’t care. That’s something she’ll have to take care of in the future, if it is really anything at all. Chances are, it’s just a figment of her imagination and she’ll forget about any stomach butterflies or stolen glances or rosy cheeks in a week or two. Right now, she’s riding high, she’s scoring goals, and she’s loving life.
***
Amanda feels like she’s in the trenches. She’s fighting a war against herself and she’s losing. Badly.
She’s been hanging out with the one and only Angela Giarratana for about two months now, and there’s this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that for some inexplicable reason makes her want to sing from the rooftops, cry until she shrivels up into dust, or curl up with a bottle of wine and watch a true crime documentary until she falls asleep.
She decides that rather than drown them, she’ll bury whatever potential feelings may or may not be there. For the sake of her own sanity and the good of the team, of course. It’s better that way. Having feelings for a teammate can be oh so complicated, she’s seen it happen to many friends and opponents, and it’s never gone well. It always ends up with someone getting hurt and the team failing. That’s just something that she can’t risk, so rather than going deep inside herself to flesh out could-be feelings, she’d rather focus on her studies and her sport.
It turns out that while she’s burying these feelings, the world is still spinning. The days are passing. Life is still going on. She’s still attending class and practice, still showing up late to every party, still doing pre-game breakfast dates with the freshmen, still forcing herself to look forward.
Angela’s birthday falls on the team’s day off after a big win against Oregon the night before. To celebrate, Courtney and Amanda take the whole team out to a hibachi restaurant about five minutes away from campus. Angela’s wide smile and bright eyes as they sing to her in the small, overheated restaurant are almost enough to break Amanda’s will then and there. But she holds strong, despite some very difficult truths.
The first truth: Angela turns out to be a very touchy friend.
It starts out with simple high fives and fist bumps, but before she knows it, it escalates into five second hugs and for some unknown reason, piggy back rides. Amanda’s always been one for a gentle hand on someone’s shoulder or a hug amongst friends, but Angela is an entirely different beast. She’s reaching out for Amanda whenever there’s something funny, scary, sweet, surprising, anything really. And Amanda is always in reach. It’s incredibly hard to ignore your unrealised feelings for a person who won’t stop clinging to your arm.
It’s one of the many reasons that Amanda decides not to drink at the party the men’s soccer team is set to host that night. As a self aware person, she knows just how unpredictable she can be when she’s drunk, and when Spencer excitedly tells them that ‘everyone will be drinking,’ he means everyone. After all, it’s not just a regular party, it’s a victory party, thrown in celebration of the men’s team beating the Bruins’ top rivals, the nasty USC Trojans. So it’s for everyone’s benefit that Amanda stays sober tonight.
Angela’s already tipsy when Amanda arrives. She’s standing by the entrance, dressed immaculately, each piece of hair falling perfectly into place, and being talked at by someone Amanda’s never seen. The second Amanda crosses the threshold, Angela turns.
“Mandy!” she shrieks, her face lighting up.
The second truth: Angela loves nicknames. Amanda’s been called every name in the book, but Angela still finds new ways to make her stomach flip. Everytime she says Mandy or Manda or even just Lehan, another part of Amanda’s armour breaks. She’s tried to combat this by throwing in a babe or boo of her own but gets drunk on the way it registers on Angela’s face.
Angela hands her drink to the guy she had been talking to and launches herself into Amanda’s arms. Amanda catches the woman easily and sets her back down on the ground.
“Hey, want something to drink?” Angela asks, looking up at Amanda with that same awestruck expression she always has. It’s unfair.
“Nah, I’m not drinking tonight,” Amanda says.
Angela nods seriously.
That lasts for about ten seconds and about three sips of her water when Amanda finds out first hand that Angela’s even clingier when drunk. It only takes Angela nuzzling her face into the crook of Amanda’s neck for Amanda to reach for the nearest drink and down it, Angela still attached to her as she gulps it down. The messily poured shot is something that stings, probably tequila because it’s been that kind of day, and she wishes she had prepared with salt and lime for the flavour. It only takes two more shots for Amanda to sign Angela and herself up for a game of beer pong versus Tommy and Spencer, the self-proclaimed ‘Florida Boys.’
She handles herself well through the losing game of beer pong, they’re no match for The Florida Boys’ skill and experience, but Amanda’s long gone once Angela destroys her in Rage Cage, wincing as the mix of several cheap drinks stings her throat. She wipes the tears forming in her eyes and looks over at Angela, who gives her a lopsided grin.
Across the room, Trevor is jumping on the kitchen counter, a drink in each hand. “What the fuck is a trojan?” He screams before launching himself into the small crowd of men’s soccer players who cheer, spilling the entirety of both cups onto his cheering crowd. She watches as two of his teammates lift Trevor by the feet, pulling him up to a handstand position on the keg. When he nods, she sees Arasha lift the party pump to his mouth. The group cheers again, then suddenly the scene before her doubles.
“Ange,” Amanda says, reaching out for Angela’s arm, “I think I need to sit down.”
“Yeah, sure, let’s go sit down,” Angela says, leading her to the couches. When they half-walk half-stumble over, Shayne and Courtney are already there. Courtney is laying on Shayne’s lap, and he’s gently running his fingers through their shoulder length blonde hair. They’re quietly talking about something, probably how in love they are with one another, Amanda guesses.
She plops down in the loveseat across from them, briefly losing her balance.
“Hey Mandy!” Court says excitedly.
Amanda gives them a small wave, trying her best to look sober.
“Oh, she’s drunk drunk,” Courtney says to Angela.
“Yeah, I just demolished her in Rage Cage,” Angela says with a grin.
Shayne gives the two of them a knowing look. It’s a look of a man who’s been burned by drinking games before and come out a different person.
Just then, Amanda is distinctly aware that she is alone on the couch. “Where did she go?” Amanda asks, making herself dizzy when she whirls her head around rapidly.
“She’s okay, don’t worry. She’ll be back,” Courtney says, a mix of pity and laughter on their face.
True to Courtney’s word, Angela does return, now with a cup of water in hand. She joins Amanda on the loveseat before offering the drink.
“No, I’m okay, I’m not drinking tonight,” Amanda says, pawing the cup away from her.
Angela insists. “I think you should.”
Seeing that as bulletproof reasoning in her drunken state, Amanda grabs the cup and downs its contents.
“Whipped,” she hears Courtney mumble to Shayne, but she’s too drunk to respond.
“Hey Angela, do you have a ride home?” Shayne asks.
“No, I was thinking about going with Liv, but I think that ship has sailed,” Angela motions to Olivia, who’s laying on the kitchen counter, laughing about something.
“Don’t worry, you can ride with us,” Amanda slurs, reaching for Angela’s hand and clasping it in her own. If Sober Amanda were here, she would’ve ripped their hands apart and slapped herself in the face. Unfortunately, she can’t even be sure how much she’s had to drink tonight.
In front of the TV are several people, hunched over their controllers and concentrating hard. They’re playing Mario Kart and Spencer is in first place while simultaneously shotgunning a beer. Amanda watches with rapt attention, still holding Angela’s hand.
The cars on the screen are moving far too fast for Amanda’s tired eyes to track, but she can assume from the players’ body language what is happening in the game. Just as Spencer is about to secure his victory, Chanse pulls into the lead. His character, a white blob, celebrates in his car on the screen. In the far corner of the TV screen, Spencer’s character shakes its fists in rage.
“Woo! Come on down to the Catfish Cabin!” Chanse shouts to no one in particular.
Amanda and Angela look at each other. They both burst out laughing.
Angela shrugs. “Tennessee,” she supplies.
They stay on the couch cuddled up with each other, chatting with Shayne and Courtney about whatever pops into their minds for longer than Amanda expects. When the party dies down, Courtney, Shayne, Amanda, Angela, and Spencer pile into Shayne’s car. Somehow Amanda ends up in the middle seat of the back row despite being almost half a foot taller than her seat neighbours. She’s still clutching Angela’s hand in her own.
Soon enough, Shayne pulls up to Angela’s dorm. When she gets out of the car, she tugs on Amanda’s arm for her to follow. Amanda looks at her inquisitively.
“Walk me up to my dorm?”
There’s nothing that Amanda can do except nod and shut the car door behind her.
The stairwell of the freshman dorm is echoey, and Angela’s giggles bounce off the walls as she races up the steps faster than Amanda can think.
When she finally catches up, Angela’s waiting next to a door with two little cartoon characters taped next to it. Above Arasha’s name is Candace from Phineas and Ferb, and above Angela’s name is a blonde boy in a blue t-shirt and green shorts from a show Amanda doesn’t know.
Angela sees her looking at it. “I have no idea who this guy is. I guess our RA really likes cartoons or something, and everyone else got something cool like Powerpuff Girls or Ninja Turtles for their name tags and I got this guy.”
Amanda laughs. She always laughs at whatever ridiculous thing Angela has to say. Sometimes it’s not even funny, sometimes she hasn’t said anything at all, and Amanda will still be holding the stitch in her side.
“Do you want to see my room?” Angela suggests, one hand on the doorknob.
And she so badly wants to say yes, but she feels her final ounce of sobriety slipping away, sacrificing itself for one last heroic move. She shakes her head.
“Nah, I should get back. Maybe another time though.”
“Sure,” Angela says, looking down. She smiles as she pushes her short brown hair behind her ear.
The third and final truth: Amanda’s caught feelings.
So she does what any drunk person would do when left all alone with their crush. She leans in for a kiss. She regrets it the second it pops into her head, but it’s too late now. She’s doing it. She’s going to kiss the girl, and she’s going to deal with the consequences. She, Amanda Lehan, captain of the UCLA women’s soccer team, is going to press her own lips against the lips of Angela Giarratana, soccer prodigy and freshman phenom, right now in this dingy campus housing hallway.
Down the hall, a door slams.
Amanda swerves, startled sober by the noise, giving Angela a light peck on the cheek, and then books it down the hall and into the safety of the stairwell without another word. She takes the steps two at a time, almost tripping down the final four, and joins Spencer in the safety of Shayne’s backseat. She’s still breathing hard from her run down the stairs, and she slumps in the seat.
“I like Angela,” Shayne says before Amanda’s even pulled her seatbelt across herself, reversing out of the freshman parking lot, “she seems cool.”
“Amanda likes her too,” Courtney says suggestively.
Amanda scoffs, still trying to breathe normally. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno, I’m drunk,” Courtney says.
Shayne turns to them. “You’ve had one High Noon.”
Courtney slaps him lightly and he winces but doesn’t say anything else.
The car falls silent. Through the window, trees are passing quickly in the night, and Amanda tries to focus on them, rather than the events of ten minutes ago.
In the quiet, something possesses Amanda. She turns to Spencer and finds his gaze already trained on her.
“Wanna make out?” She hears herself ask.
“Sure,” he shrugs, closing the space between them and slotting his lips on hers.
It’s not bad, it’s not great, but they’re both drunk. She’s always thought there was something about Spencer that was attractive, and what the hell, why not kiss at least one person before the end of the night?
Apparently, not everyone in the car is on board with the idea.
“Oh my gosh, what the fuck?” Shayne shrieks in horror, making the whole car swerve. Amanda uses Spencer’s shoulders to steady herself, still not breaking away. The kiss is getting better now, both of them familiarising themselves with the other’s mouth.
“What? What? Are you hurt? What’s happening?” Courtney panics, turning their head from side to side like a maniac.
Shayne jerks his head back sharply. Courtney follows his motion, eyes widening as they take in the sight before them. They scream.
Amanda and Spencer pull away simultaneously.
“Thanks,” Spencer says with a small grin as Amanda wipes her mouth.
“No problem,” she says cooly.
They sit in the silent car for the rest of the drive, keeping their hands and mouths to themselves. Shayne pulls up to their dorm, giving Court a quick kiss before they step outside, dragging Amanda with them.
When the two are back in the safety of their dorm, Courtney turns to Amanda.
“You’re going to bed now. I’m putting a glass of water and an Advil right here on your nightstand, and when you throw up tomorrow, I’ll be here to hold your hair back. But after that, we’re going to talk about what the hell happened tonight, got it?”
Amanda nods, smiling.
“Goodnight, Mandy,” then Courtney shuts the door.
***
Angela wakes up in the morning feeling just as fresh and well rested as she has every other day for the past month. She’s chipper at breakfast with Arasha and Chanse, despite the fact that Amanda hasn’t answered any of her messages.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Chanse asks from behind his sunglasses.
Angela hums as she cuts her chocolate chip pancakes. Next to her, Arasha is slumped onto the table in front of them with her hoodie cinched and pulled over her head.
“I dunno,” Angela says through bites of pancake, “just feeling good. I get to see my family and my dog next week.”
“Oh yeah,” Arasha says, her voice muffled by the table, “we’re playing your hometown team, right?”
Angela nods at Arasha. She’s had the game circled on her calendar since committing to UCLA. Her hometown just so happened to have a university with a division one soccer team, and next weekend they would have the immense honour of hosting the UCLA Bruins for a Saturday matinée game.
Before they leave the dining hall, Angela shoots another text to Amanda, watching as it joins its unanswered brothers and sisters.
‘Thanks 4 dropping me off arpreciate it’
‘Hey amanda hope ur feeling well !!!’
‘Last nite was crazy thanks for coming out tho it was supper fun <3’
‘Hey mandy just cheching in again bc you went pretty hard last nite u Good?’
‘Hey amanda lmk when u get these texts xoxo Ange’
***
In the morning, well, around 1:45 pm, Courtney’s prophecy comes true. Amanda does in fact wake up with a raging headache, downs the water and Advil left on her nightstand, then promptly stumbles to the bathroom and vomits both up. Court is by her side in an instant, holding her hair and rubbing circles on her back. When there’s nothing left in her stomach, Amanda stands up shakily.
Court looks at Amanda for a moment before speaking. “You good?”
Amanda nods. “I think so.”
In truth, she’s the opposite of good. For a proud Bostonian who can handle her liquor, even she can admit that she went way too hard last night. The memories that do come to her mind are less than flattering, and she’s almost glad that all her vomiting has washed the taste of someone else’s spit from her mouth. She’s confused, embarrassed, and very hungover. But still, she nods at Courtney’s question.
“Good,” they say, “here’s the plan: I’m going to make you breakfast, you’re gonna take a shower, and after that, we’re gonna sit on the couch and eat bacon and eggs while you tell me why the hell you were making out with Spence in the back of Shayne’s Honda Civic and got absolutely shitfaced despite saying you weren’t going to drink.”
Amanda nods and shuts the bathroom door. As she steps into the scalding hot shower, a flash of Angela’s brown doe eyes as she’d leaned in to kiss the girl hits Amanda like a truck. She holds onto the wall for stability, trying to concentrate on washing her hair and not the look of pure adoration Angela had showered her with the entire night before.
Just as she’s finishing up, Courtney knocks on the bathroom door.
“Breakfast is ready when you’re done,” they say.
Amanda throws on an old Red Sox t-shirt and makes her way to the kitchenette, where Courtney has put two plates of classic hangover remedy breakfast foods on the small school provided dining set.
“I went wicked hard last night,” Amanda says, taking her seat across from her roommate.
“Yeah, you did,” Court says, but there’s no judgement.
The two chew quietly, neither wanting to make the first move.
“So…” Courtney starts.
“Last night was kind of crazy,” Amanda says, “sorry for being a mess.”
“You don’t have to apologise, Mandy, but I just want to know you’re okay. You’ve been kind of lost these past few weeks, and I’m worried about you.”
It’s true. Amanda has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never felt these feelings for anyone before, much less for a 5’5 bundle of limbs and sarcasm. She’s still not sure they’re real, but the fact that there’s even a chance is worrying. It’s terrifying, it’s new, it’s unpredictable, and it’s everything Amanda despises. In her quest to rid herself of these feelings, she’d neglected the other parts of her life; her stability, her routines, and now her morals.
“I’m okay, Court. I’m just figuring stuff out,” is all Amanda can give them.
“I get that, and I relate to that. I think we’re all just figuring stuff out. I just didn’t think that would manifest itself in making out with Spencer,” Court says, and Amanda winces.
“It’s okay,” Courtney says quickly, seeing the look on Amanda’s face, “Spence and I already talked. I called him to check up since he also got wasted. He says he thinks it’s funny, but there’s no feelings or anything.”
If only that were true. She’d almost kissed Angela last night, and she can’t decide if she regrets trying it or not going through with it more.
“That’s good,” Amanda says through bites of breakfast.
“Look, Mandy, I love you, and because I love you, I’m gonna tell you something. And that’s that you need to figure out whatever’s going on with you, or you’re going to make yourself crazy. I know you, and I know that stuff buried inside doesn’t sit well with you. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I’m always here for you.”
“I know, thanks Court. You’re a good roommate.”
“I know,” Courtney says with a smile.
By Wednesday, Amanda still hasn’t answered Angela’s texts, and although there’s no real way of avoiding her teammate, she’s done a pretty good job of making herself scarce. She’s completely ignored Angela in practices and class, has turned every corner and made several wrong turns to avoid the girl, and has tried to avoid thinking about her every single second the way her mind wants her to.
Eventually, it seems like Angela gets the message. She no longer waves to Amanda’s quickly turning head in the hallways, changes seats in the lecture hall, and has started picking Courtney or Arasha to pass with. When they board the team bus on Friday afternoon, Angela walks right past her and Amanda’s usual third row seat and slides into the spot next to Courtney. Courtney tries to give Amanda a look, but she’s already ducked behind her book.
Amanda sees them talking during the ride, a stern but unreadable expression on the face that haunts her every time she closes her eyes.
If she thinks she feels awful, she plays ten times worse. They’re down 0-3 at the half, and by the looks of it, the home team is still hungry for goals and looking to tap in at least two more by the end. The score is not entirely on Amanda, although at least two of the goals could’ve been stopped if she were playing at her best. She’s not the only one playing poorly. Angela’s been off all day– she barely got a shot on target in warmups and has had a handful of chances on the opposing team’s goal, all of which have soared wide. She’s getting increasingly frustrated, and Amanda’s worried she may snap soon. It’s understandable. After all, they’re playing in Angela’s hometown. It’s normal to get nervous playing in front of friends and family, and no one blames Angela for her turnovers or less than perfect aim or the dark bags under her eyes.
It’s partly Amanda’s fault. She’s been out of it all game and she doesn’t see the girl at all. She’s diving for a loose ball that’s in danger of becoming a fast break if she doesn’t cover it. In her haste to try and recoup for her earlier mistakes, she doesn’t scan the field and launches herself at the ball. She doesn’t even see the other striker until it’s too late.
The girl’s cleat makes clean contact with her head, and Amanda’s body immediately curls itself up in pain upon impact.
The ringing in her ears threatens to split her skull in two, and her vision is doubled, but Amanda sees the girl turn on her heel as she picks her head up from the field, a bit of grass kicked up in her direction as the opposing striker walks away. Sure, it’s rude, but Amanda’s too focused on the throbbing in her temple to care.
Suddenly, a shout breaks through the ringing. Angela is running full speed towards the girl, barrelling into her and pushing her to the ground twenty feet away from where Amanda is still laying in pain. The ringing takes control again, and Amanda watches as Angela throws punches with both fists before the ref can tear her away. Blood is streaming from the other girl’s nose and there’s a look of fury in her eyes that is doubled in Angela’s.
Kimmy, UCLA’s head medical trainer, is running towards her with the med kit, weaving her way through the subsequent scuffles that the rest of the players on each team have started since the brawling. Amanda holds on to her for support as she stands up shakily. Kimmy leads her to the trainer’s office and they go through the proper concussion test protocol. She answers the questions, follows the light with her eyes, balances on one leg, focuses on the various things Kimmy holds in her line of sight.
Although Amanda feels like she aces the test, Kimmy sends her to the locker room to collect her things.
When she enters the small visitor’s locker room, Angela’s already in there, sitting glumly on the bench, holding a sheet of gauze to her split forehead and an ice pack to her eye.
In an instant, Amanda is done burying her feelings and surges at Angela.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She spits, her head throbbing at the volume.
Angela’s head snaps up.
“Are you okay?”
Amanda takes a step back. “Am I okay? Are you okay?”
“Y–,” Angela starts, but Amanda’s not done.
“No, I’m seriously asking. Are you okay in the head? Surely I’m not the one who should be getting concussion tested by Kimmy when you’re the one who just fought a girl. I mean, how stupid can you be? You’re the best player on our team and now you’re going to be out for two games minimum.”
She’s seething, but even through her rage, she sees something change in Angela’s eyes. She stands up.
“I was defending you,” Angela explains, annoyance creeping into her voice, “that girl stomped your head open and kicked grass in your face and didn’t even stop to help you up.”
“And so exploding her nose with your fist was going to solve that?”
“No, but it helped. At least she won’t do it again.”
“The girl’s a freshman. She’s an idiot. She probably would’ve been pulled off by her coach anyway if you hadn’t sent her to the hospital, Angela. I mean, gosh, if you had stopped to think for one second.”
“You’re our captain! You shouldn’t be disrespected,” Angela defends, waving her hands with each word, the ice pack and gauze abandoned on the locker room floor.
Amanda lets out a loud sigh. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you jeopardised our entire season with one stupid move.”
Angela stifles a laugh. “Are you kidding? I saved our team from getting walked on like a rug because we’re all too soft to retaliate.”
“I’m done speaking with you, you’re an idiot.” She grabs her bag and turns sharply.
“And you’re a jerk,” Angela snaps back. Amanda whirls around, dropping her game bag back to the floor with a muffled sound. Blood is dripping down the other girl’s forehead, but she’s too enraged to notice.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, sorry. Actually, no, not sorry. You’re a jerk. You lure me into this team, you make me emotionally invested in it with your little speech about how we’re a family and we protect each other and I buy in like the fucking idiot I am because I never wanted to come here or be a teammate or make friends with anyone in the first place, but I did and now I’m here. You told me we’d be a family and I believed you when I should’ve pushed you away and what happens? What do I get for putting myself out here and trying to improve? I get jack shit. ‘Cause I think we’re friends and you tell me that you’re proud of me and you fuck with my head and then you don’t answer my texts, you ignore me during practice and you hide whenever you see me. What the fuck kind of family member does that to someone, Mandy?”
Amanda is startled by Angela’s rant. She steps closer to the girl. “Ange, I–”
“No,” Angela continues, cutting her off, “I don’t get it. Please, explain it to me, because I just don’t get it. I’ve been trying to understand it this past week. Luckily I’ve had a lot of free time since you decided to ghost me for the entire week. I thought we were friends, like maybe best friends. I mean, you’re the person I know the best on the team, I call my mom and tell her about you, and then you go and screw me over after the boys’ party and just totally disappear on me and then,” Angela lets out a laugh, “then I find out from Court that you were making out with Spencer the second I got out of the car and so I guess I’m just chopped liver to you. Some toy that you can take out when you’re bored and just throw away when you’ve decided I’m not fun anymore. Or is it that now that I’m fixed, your work is done and you can go on to the next lost cause and lead them on too? I bought into your little family bullshit and I stood up for you and then you call me an idiot? What a good captain you are.” She punctuates her point with a step in Amanda’s direction, swiping the blood threatening to drip into her eyebrow away.
“What’s Spence got anything to do with this?” She asks, but then focuses on her point again, “And don’t try to turn this on me. You’re the one who’s gone into every single situation unprepared with fists flying. I don’t just mean today, I mean showing up to the second day of preseason still drunk, I mean falling asleep in lectures, I mean joining this team with your guard up higher than the sun and a blatant disregard for everyone.” They’re now less than a foot away from each other, both totally overcome with rage.
“Don’t you see? You’re showing me exactly why I was right to have my guard up,” Angela says, poking Amanda’s chest with her pointer finger.
“Oh yeah? Are you sure? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy not knowing anyone’s name and taking every single shot for yourself.”
“And I would’ve been perfectly happy doing just that if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to be my knight in shining armour. I got to be a five star recruit doing it my way. I got here on my terms and my rules, and the second I showed up, you changed everything about me because you thought I needed fixing. And maybe I did. Maybe I did need someone to save me. I just didn’t know that what I needed saving from the most was the absolute emotional hit and run you’d be pulling on me.”
“Sorry for having reasonable expectations for a literal adult. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are that you got here on your terms. You were a nightmare. It’s not my fault you’ve never been taken seriously or had an ounce of expectations placed on you before you waltzed onto campus.”
Their foreheads are almost touching now. She can feel every exhale on her cheeks, can see every speck of gold in Angela’s eyes, can almost hear her heartbeat through her grass-stained away jersey.
“You’re a bitch,” the girl says.
“And you’re an asshole,” she spits back.
And then the strangest thing happens. Angela breaks the space between them and attacks Amanda. No wait– it’s not an attack. No, it’s even stranger than that. The girl is… kissing her? Yes, that’s it. Angela is pressing her lips against Amanda’s and fisting a hand in her goalie jersey. She, Amanda Lehan, possibly concussed, is being kissed by Angela Giarratana, still bleeding slightly from the forehead.
Amanda leans into the kiss and Angela groans slightly into her mouth at the roughness. Her brain immediately memorises the sound.
Maybe it’s the fog of the concussion, maybe it’s the heat of the moment, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but it takes at least five uninterrupted seconds of Angela’s lips on hers before Amanda snaps out of it, pushing Angela away. The girl’s eyes are blown out and she’s breathing hard.
“I–,” she starts to say, but she’s interrupted.
“Angela?” An unfamiliar voice calls from outside the locker room.
Angela’s back goes ramrod straight and she freezes. Obviously, this is the last thing that she wanted to be happening right now. Her eyes are wide with panic, wider than the time Erin got a hold of Angela’s unlocked phone and airdropped herself Angela’s old school photo. There’s a slight tremble to her whole body.
“Wh–,” Amanda starts, but Angela holds a finger to Amanda’s lips, successfully quieting her. The girl gathers her belongings and rushes out, leaving Amanda confused. Her head throbs, and she wipes her lips with the back of her hand, staring at the shiny slick of another girl’s spit before she picks up her bag and exits the locker room.
***
Spork licks away Angela’s tears as she sobs in the back of her parents’ car. She’s trying to be quiet, but she can’t help the way her occasional sniffles or sighs fill the empty sound. How stupid could she possibly be? Acting on some stupid crush that she’d probably get over in a week or two? Gosh, she could punch herself in the face right now. Luckily, Angela’s on her way to the hospital because another girl had done the job for her.
“Ange,” her mother starts, “just let us know when you want to talk, okay?”
Angela nods, running her fingers through her chihuahua’s short fur. She envies him, blissfully unaware of her unwinnable situation with Amanda. Spork has no idea just how stupid his favourite human is, all he cares about is her salty stream of tears and when he’ll be able to take his next nap.
A few hours later, she leaves the emergency room with a diagnosis: no concussion, just a nasty case of a nasty right hook and some killer acrylic nails.
Her parents reluctantly pick up take-out from Buca di Beppo and drive her back home. Her mom spends the drive home cancelling the family dinner citing Angela’s rapidly developing black eye. She curls up with Spork in her childhood bed, watching some stupid Real Housewives of whatever whatever, wondering if it’s too late to drop out of school and off the face of the Earth entirely.