The Princess, The Knight, and The Monster

Part Two

For the next three weeks, we went to war. In class, it was the battle of who would look away first. In the halls, it was who would look first. On the off-chance that the girls’ and boys’ soccer teams had a co-ed practice, it was about how close we could get without actually touching. Our nightly practices became a battle. Ten games became twenty and twenty became forty.

Every night ended with Elliot’s proposition, ‘Go out with me.’ Each night, I’d remind him of our pledge. ‘First to win ten consecutive games.’ There was a part of me that felt that he pitied me so much that he was allowing me to win some of the games. In the past two weeks, I’d learned just how good a soccer player he was. He was also just as good in AP Calculus as he was on the field, and he made a decent chocolate chip cookie and didn’t shy away from sharing.

It had to end, though. Elliot had won nine games consecutively, and tonight, I planned to make him lose; to tell him that these little games were fun but there’d be no more. I’d enjoyed myself enough.

I walked out onto the field with my head held high, prepared to play dirty to make him lose.

“This is it!” Elliot reminded me as he greeted me with a hug. As I placed my hand on his back, he winced slightly. Before I could ask him if he was okay, he was already taunting me, “You’re gonna lose tonight and then,” he dropped the ball onto the grass. “We’ll head over to Otto’s. I called ahead, that’s how I know I’m gonna win.” 

My poker face lasted only a second before I was bursting out laughing. “You’re dumb, you know that, right?” I giggled. “Come on, let’s go.” I stood back seven paces from the ball as he did the same. He yelled ‘Go’ and then we were off, battling for the ball, shoving each other and kicking.

Different touches elicited different responses and memories. His shoulder shoved into my chest brought back memories of Silas and his hands around my neck. Elliott’s hands brushing over my waist reminded me of a school dance where Silas held me so tight, he left a mark.  I struggled between maintaining distance between us and playing the game the way it was meant to be played. 

He scored a point, then I scored. It was a tug of war for thirty minutes, before he got the ball and raced down the field. I chased after him, my heart pumping madly. I couldn’t let him score. I’d do anything to prevent it.

Anything meant pretending to fall and screaming on my way down. With a face etched with concern, Elliott turned and raced for me, his mouth twisted in a grimace. He carefully bent down onto his knees and frantically asked what was wrong. 

“Where are you hurt?” He gingerly inspected my knee and then my shin. 

The moment had arrived. I’d already practiced my cry in my head. As I glanced up at Elliot, my eyes were distracted by the ball lying tantalizingly still on the field. I waited for my body to push me upright, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend to be damaged just to win a damn game. Because that’s all it was, right? A game.

“Nothing.” I exhaled. “Phantom pain. Um, you win. You win.” I conceded. I could tell Elliott wasn’t convinced. He helped me stand and attempted to hold me in his arms, but I pulled away in time.

“You sure?” he asked me. I nodded. 

“Otto’s, right?” I said.

Without another word, Elliott offered me his hand and led me back inside the gym. We separated only to change back into our regular clothes before reuniting in the tunnel and walking back through the field and around the corner towards the parking lot. Elliott dug out his key from his pocket and unlocked his gray Nissan. He went around and opened the door for me.