Mac

Trouble On The Field

It was the beginning of soccer season and I had exceptionally shown my ass on the field for tryouts. It was now the first day of practice and the worst thing ever happened. No, the two worst things: One, I had cramps, two, I had heartburn. I didn't want to be one of those athletes who started off on the wrong foot, but I could barely move my left arm. I think it was because my brother and I had been play fighting the day before, unfortunately.
I stepped into the designated locker room and was met with a few hesistant glances. Dang, had I shown out so much that no one wanted to talk to me? I mean, I was never cocky or- well.....hmm...
"Good job yesterday," my best friend commented slapping my back as she walked out of the shower. She was surely odd. She showered before practice, and she had just had gym for her last class period. "Thanks," I slapped her butt, "it was because of your mom's cookies." She narrowed her eyes at me, catching the underlying meaning, "I'll "my-mom's-cookies" your face, Mac." I smirked, "When and where, Trisa?" She rolled her eyes, roughly rubbing a blue towel through her damp, lank hair. "Gay ass," she retorted. I stuck out my tongue and continued to unpack my soccer bag. I had club soccer afterwards and I wanted to make sure I had everything for our scrimmage.
I pulled my hair into an uncaring ponytail and eyed my bottle of medicine. The only thing I had eaten for lunch today was a bit of the school's tamales and that was for sure dangerous. I hurriedly took off my jeans and slipped on my soccer shorts. I hadn't shave my crotch in a while and the whole gym room did not need to know that. I tied the string to my shorts tighter and tucked them into my dark green shorts. I pulled my school shirt over my head and searched for some deodorant only wearing my lime green sports bra and my soccer shorts. I'll wear more dim colors from now on, I could feel my skin crackle at the attention I was getting from my tryouts.
"Nice abs," a girl who was walking into the locker room commented, obviously in here for next year's cheer tryouts with her old cheer jersey on. I didn't know her that well but she was in my GT math class. That I was about to get kicked out of. "Thanks," I gave her a nod. I gave up looking for my deodorant and turned to Beatrisa.
"Deordant?" I asked.
"Huh," she leaned forward; the locker room was getting louder. "Do you have any deodorant?" I asked. She moved back and looked through her things already in her soccer gear, the only thing missing, her cleats. She pulled out a body of aerosol deodorant, then just as she was about to throw it to me, she paused and asked if I had any cleats. I let out an "I-don't-know" noise and went through my other bag. "Yeah, but they might be a little sm-"
"Attention ladies," our coach shouted into the locker room. He was a tall, stern-looking man that I had seen the playful side of few times too few. "We have a late arrival to the team, she'll be an extra to our team for when your unfit bodies get sick, and she's a damn good player," he said narrowly, "Introduce yourself," he looked down at her, his 5'7 demeanor looking extra tall compared to the short girl.
I let go of the gasp that almost left my lips. Hanna. But what was she doing here? She should have been in 10th grade by now. I shot Beatrisa a look behind me, relaying to her that I didn't like the girl.
"Hi, I'm Hanna," she said in her bold voice. It seemed to shock everyone. Honest to God, when I first had heard her in the halls in elementary school her doll-like appearance had tripped me out. But I knew better.
Coach waved his hand, dismissing our team discussion and everyone's voices rocketed across the walls as the conversation level rose back to the norm for a large group of teens and tweens. Hanna immediately planted herself into the mainstream of popular kids that was on our team. Why did she transfer so late into the year, and why this school?
This neighborhood had three middle schools, this school being some type of intermediate thingy, but still considered a middle school because of the 8th graders. I was a 9th grader. "Phone. Now," I said to Beatrisa, knowing we had a good ten minutes before we had to rush out onto the unruly field.
Beatrisa scrambled for her cracked iPhone 4 and I pulled out my Samsung 7. I furiously began texting her about Hanna and her horrible antics, and by the time I was done, Beatrisa was ready to hop over three sets of lockers for the kindergartener-look alike.
"Fucks no, what the hell," Beatrisa hissed. Two girls looked up at me and my best friend from their phones, curious about our discussion. I tugged Trisa away from the center of the aisles and led her back towards our bags. "Let's just finish getting ready, then we can talk outside."
Unfortunately, by the time I had gotten done helping Beatrisa struggle my old cleats on, it was already time to warm up, and Hanna had gained the hearts of one of the school's worst bitches and the school's most notorious follower. I sighed and began doing high knees towards the field as Beatrisa mirrored me but in a shorter version.
"The worst things come in small packages," Trisa murmured as Hanna passed by. I'm surprised she hadn't noticed me yet, or perhaps she was doing this to play with my mind. I had to pause from my stretches to calm myself down. I knew that I was turning red because Trisa gently pulled me over by the old water fountains that didn't work anymore that rusted outside.
"Mac, don't let her get to you," she whispered, her determined face piercing my teary eyes.
"But I've worked so hard to not become the victim anymore, Trisa. You don't understand," I said sternly, fluttering my eyelashes and holding my head upwards so the tears wouldn't drop. "Hey, hey, if you cry, you show how weak you are. Plus more attention is going to come on you. Come on, Mac. Don't be like this," Beatrisa said solemnly.
I sighed and rubbed the tears out of my eyes before they could fall and Trisa and I sprinted towards the field where the team stretches were about to start up.
"Alright, we're going to start off with high knees, push ups, and sprints," Coach bellowed.
"Question," Hanna said from the front, her tiny bob of red hair bouncing as she moved forward to differentiate herself from the huddle of more tall players.
Coach looked down at her disdainfully, I had been on his team last year. He didn't like being interrupted. "Yes?" he said.
"What are high knees?" Hanna questioned. One girl openly smacked her forehead, "God." I'm pretty sure everyone was thinking this too. Maybe Hanna had never played soccer and she was just one of those natural borns who could kick but didn't know the technicalities.
"You'll see," he grumbled.
Coach continued on about eveything we would do, and once again, Hanna raised her hand. "I'll answer all questions at the-"
"Will we be doing races and stuff for fun as a team before or after real competitions?" she budded in.
Coach seemed to be really reconsidering her as part of the team, and I was crossing my fingers for him to kick her out. A girl named Ashmey had annoyed him all last year, so he kicked her out for "unsportsmanship". Beatrisa tried to hide her cackle and I only shook my head. Playing a little with my ball from home. Thinking about home sent a pang through my chest. It had been a year since I had left my uncle who used to abuse me emotionally and physically, but thinking about home only made me think about that beautiful two story home that held some pretty vile secrets. I then felt a pang of heartburn and I had the urge to roll my eyes.
"After we're done warming up, you guys will be split into pairs that I choose based on how you perform on the field." Trisa's shoulders sagged, as we both knew she had a passion for soccer, but not the physical capabilities as one would say. She gave me an almost teary hug then split off towards the partner she knew she would have. Talia Gonzalez, the second worst player on our team. Talia gave me a meek wave which I returned out of courtesy since she would be working with my best friend. I looked around for the girl whose name I always forgot, but who I always ended up with, when Coach confirmed a fear that had been settled into the back of my mind.
Hanna.
I let out a slow breath.
I began counting.
Hanna joined me with a look of surprise on her face. Fuck. I picked up my ball and set it against the school. I didn't want her to touch my things. I chose the perfect ball out of the nearly deserted bin and headed back to her. "Alright, I'm Mac, and-"
"Macaria. When did you start going by Mac? When you became a stu-"
"That's no one's business," I said, feeling my food wanting to come out one way or another. Hanna looked at the other pairs practicing. "So they don't know?" My stomach soured along with my mouth. "No," I answered nonchalantly, kicking the ball around with my feet. Sometimes I felt like a dancer, like one of those Russian or Irish dancers that did those fast moves with their feet.
"Interesting, " Hanna murmured.
I glared, "Look, let's just warm up before we get in trouble and have to do planks. I have club soccer afterwards and club volleyball nex-"
"Okay, okay," Hanna said, rolling her eyes. She brushed a strand of hair our of her face, her pink lip gloss shining in the sweltering sun of Texas. I did a backwards trot across the field to distance us and let the ball drift to our center. "After we do a few stretches how about we play a game I made up. Whoever makes it to the ball three times has to make the other person either do planks while sitting on that person's back or push ups. And not those stupid kiddie, girly push ups," I smirked.
"But those are the only kind I know how to do," Hanna frowned. I had forgotten that she had came from one of those stereotypical private schools, meanwhile, mind had more drugs than a public school, although I had never gotten into any of that there. "Welp, you'll learn today," I grinned at her unsureness.
After we were done warming up finally, I immediately raced towards the ball, catching Hanna off guard. I guess she had been waiting for me to shout "go" or something. My fingers touched the tips of the ball first as Hanna was halfway to the ball and she attempted a baseball slide to get to the ball quicker but I had already slid fully onto the ball, my breasts protecting the hard circle as Hanna's school-borrowed cleats almost connected with my face. I grinned up at her, grass and mud from her slide across my face. "Pay attention, Hanna."
We both paused. My voice had sounded smooth and playful. Hanna then shot an annoyed glance at me from between her legs as I got up with the ball in my hands, her lip gloss gone and her hair in disarray. "Ugh," she pouted, trying to put her hair back into place, although she really was streaking mud through it. I had forgotten that it had rained three days before, seeing how sunny the weather was now, but Houston's weather was bipolar as hell. Kind of like my uncle.