𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓.

𝐎𝐍𝐄.

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LADY MARAUDERS !
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SUN PELTING DOWN ON THE FURNESS FIELD, its rays ricocheting off the metallic frames of the old cages. The sidelines were coated with rambunctious crowds, a sea of white parted from others dressed in blue.

Parents rupture their vocal cords to encourage their daughters, thirty-something yards ahead of them, the flimsy black chainlink fence barely containing their harsh expectations.

Cheers of encouragement flood Naomi's sweaty ears, as the referee signals it's time for another faceoff. The voices of her teammates and coach echo through her brain, ringing that motivation bell. But it's one scream from the sidelines that reminds her what's at stake.

"Get the fucking ball, Nay! Don't let that happen again!" Her mother yells across the field, distracting the sunkissed beauty for a second. Her green eyes fly to the sound, watching as her mother is forced back by the field's security.

"Hey, Clark! Focus!" A second voice calls to her, stern but soft. Naomi looks towards her best friend, the girl strategically placed to the left on the circle. Marilyn Lewis has been with Clark since the early bathtub playdates, from family fights and heartbreaks to first kisses and every lacrosse goal.

The blonde with the high ponytail and black headgear smiles softly, automatically dismissing any insecurity or fear spurred by her captain's hardheaded mother.

"You good, 44?" The man dressed in black and white stripes asks, holding out the yellow, grass-stained ball. The opposing center midfield chuckles snarkily, the reddish-brown bangs swooping low in front of her dark eyes as she eyes up the "supposed" best player in their league.

Naomi nods, holding out her stick as the ref grabs the plastic head. The two girls get in their positions, entrapping the rubber ball between their tightened nets.

The Aurora Point Captain brushes her dark hair past her shoulder, squinting as the afternoon sunbeams in her direction. Her wrist bends back over the dark-colored shaft, angling the bottom of the stick towards her hips. The redhead inches in front of her grits against her mouthpiece, watching as the girl dressed in white furrows her brows in concentration.

The field quickly grows silent with anticipation, the girls on every boundary line waiting for the whistle to blow. Pressure builds as the two girls continue to press harder, their wrists growing weaker and their legs pushing into the ground, trying to hold their position and not give in to the temptation of being early. No one wants to do this again, nor give the ball to the opposing team.

Naomi steadies her breathing and focuses on getting the ball into the air, she won't let it drop again. She won't let her team down.

Suddenly the white blows, the shrilling sound penetrating the teams on the turf field. Twisting her right wrist so that her knuckles are facing her vision, Naomi flicks the top of her stick up in the air. The yellow ball flies out of the pocket, soaring into the air above them.

The brunette immediately uses her body to push the redhead away, excluding her out of the ball's way as gravity pulls it back to the Earth's surface. The dark plastic of the lacrosse head is raised into the air, meeting the ball a quarter way back down— landing into the sweet spot, surrounded by dark ropey mesh.

The crowd erupts in cheers, shouting and clapping in excitement as Naomi quickly races off to the sideline, going as wide as she possibly can with the guards trailing behind her. Cradling the ball, she swings her stick back and forth, cutting through the wind and propelling herself to go faster towards the opposition's end.