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DANA SADECKI. 1996, WISKAYOK, NEW JERSEY.
"LET'S GO, ALLIE!"
Dana Sadecki rose from the substitution bench and cupped both hands around her mouth, amplifying her cheers of encouragement so that they boomed around the field and bled into the ears of her fellow ── participating ── teammates who were already running twenty minutes over the intended match time.
Allie was the youngest of them all, newly fifteen and often overwhelmed by the spotlight joining the soccer team had shone upon her. It tugged at Dana's heartstrings ── seeing the disappointment shrouding the girl's face when she made the wrong move in the public eye.
The ball was expertly manoeuvred from Allie's possession with one swift swipe of the leg, rolling into the control of the opposition.
Having heard her cheers, Allie's eyes pinned Dana in a desperate stare and the latter forced a reassuring smile despite the way her heart was barrelling into her ribcage.
If they lost this game. . . All would be for nought. Jackie, Shauna, Taissa, Natalie ── all of the seniors would graduate without ever gaining the victory that was winning nationals. Their efforts for the past two years would be rendered futile with one devastating match.
Dana gritted her teeth and clenched her fists around the cuffs of her blue and yellow letterman, silently hoping that Laura Lee's pre-match prayer would garner some much-needed divine intervention and secure their victory.
Sure as sun-up, intervention was dealt but there was nothing angelic about it.
Nico Torres glided across the turf, the back of her thighs uprooting the artificial grass as she slid into the opposition member's path and drove a foot through the narrow gap between their legs, propelling the ball across the field to Taissa's nimble feet.
With the odds back in their favour, Dana resumed a regular breathing pattern, but her heart sunk down to the depths of her stomach ── that would never be her on the field, saving the day and proving she was worthy. The substitution bench was a second home to her, and it would undoubtedly be the same next year, only then she'd be without her friends and stuck with a bunch of JVS who were humiliatingly far more talented than she was.
Taissa was one with the ball, steering it toward the opposition's goalpost with no room for interception. Cinched brows and a mouth drawn tightly, she was the poster girl for determination.
The girls donning red ── their opponents ── closed in on Taissa like vultures to prey, and for a moment all seemed bleak again.
