Page 30 of End Game

Because of my class schedule, I don’t see any of my teammates until two o’clock, when we gather in the locker room to change and get ready. Johanna is stoic and silent, a vast departure from her usual bubbly self. Rosie, Rachel, Rebecca, and Robin are similarly quiet. It’s eerie. I’ve never been in such a quiet locker room before a game, especially before the first game of the season. They should be loud and excited, amping each other up. Not… dreading it.

I’ve played in big games before. Playoffs, championships. It’s different when everyone is quiet because they’re focused on the important game. This is a complete lack of enthusiasm. It’s like everyone has already decided that we’re going to lose this game and there’s no reason to get excited over it.

I can only worry about me, so I do my usual game prep. Stretching. Meditation. Visualization.

Even Coach Larsen is apathetic. Her pump up speech lacks the enthusiasm I’ve come to expect from coaches. She’s serious, focused, but doesn’t seem to care if we win or lose.

I don’t get it. Why does nobody give a shit?

The crowd is decidedly lukewarm. Maybe it’s the team’s losing record over the last few years. Maybe it’s the team itself—they recognize how unenthusiastic the players are, and are matching their lack of excitement.

The only people who seem to be having fun are the contingent of football players in the front row, right at the center of the field. Doing a quick count on a warm up lap around the field, I count six football players—Barrett, Miles, Tucker, Wes, Amir, and Greg, plus Sam and Mason. They’re cheering and waving navy and silver pom-poms, having a good time.

“Go Dee!” Barrett yells. “You’ve got this!”

“Let’s go, Newton!” chimes in Greg. He does a little shimmy in his seat, which makes me laugh.

Johanna looks over at me in disgust. “Can you please focus?”

I’m perfectly capable of multitasking. I can have a good time while I prepare for the game ahead. I can interact with our fans and still have a good game.

What I can’t do is abide people treating me poorly for something I haven’t done. So, ignoring the team captain, I turn and wave back to my new friends, who hoot and holler at the acknowledgement.

Yeah, my new team is fucking weird. My teammates are kind of awful. But I’m making friends, and they’re pretty damn awesome.

The game starts out slowly. Although the other team is ranked low in the conference, they’re at least three spots higher than us in the pre-season poll. As a transfer player, I expect to get minimal playing time as Coach cycles through the veterans.

Bea easily stops the first attempt at a goal then fumbles the rebound, and they score in the top right corner. Three minutes into the game, and we’re already down a goal.

It only gets worse from there.

I’m trying my hardest, but I can’t defend the entire backfield singlehandedly. Despite being the new person on the team, I play the most minutes out of the rest of the defense, almost as much as two of the left sweepers combined. The sun sets and the stadium lights come up. Half the meager crowd leaves at halftime, when the score is 0-3.

I keep expecting someone, anyone, to rally the troops. Johanna is the captain. Coach Larsen is in charge. The coaching staff is supremely qualified. So why is nobody giving a lecture or even an acknowledgement that we’re playing like shit? Nobody wants to try to change things. Nobody wants to put in any more effort than they already have.

Never have I ever played on a losing team. I’ve lost games, yeah. I’ve lost in important matches. But never have I played for a team that just didn’t give a fuck, and made that lack of interest known to the entire world. Why are they even on the team if they don’t care? Why do we practice every day and do suicide sprints and work out all the damn time if not to put in our best efforts on the field?

When I finally emerge from the locker room, it’s to find Barrett and his friends waiting for us. His smile is tinged with sadness as he opens his arms to me.

“Hey, Dee.”

Right now, I need a hug. So I step into my best friend’s arms and let him hold me for a moment.

“You played well,” he says quietly, so softly only I can hear, and I can’t hide my snort of derision. “You did. You were great. The rest of your team…” He chuckles, the sound laced with bitterness.

Clinging to him, I bury my face in his sternum and inhale the scent of him, honey and musk and a little bit of sweat from sitting in the heat for the last few hours.

“I don’t want to go through that again,” I admit, and he sighs. His hand cups the back of my head.

“I don’t blame you.”

“Can we just erase the last two hours?”

“I would if I could,” he promises, tightening his arms around me.

At long last, I feel mostly confident enough to face the real world again. I step back and immediately mourn the loss of contact. Clearing my throat, I turn my attention to the rest of the group assembled behind him: Miles and Sam, Tucker and Mason, Wes, Amir, Greg, and Mackenzie, all wearing Newton gear and showing up for the most depressing game ever.

“Thanks for coming, guys. Wish it was a better result for you.”