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Sandra spent every waking moment trying to learn soccer rules, and she felt she was making great progress. She had it in her mind that she wanted to pass the written test before her shadow game, even though Mike had told her that she had two weeks to do it. Mike had texted her several times “just to check in,” and she sensed a vague flirtatious vibe with each message. She answered him as briefly and professionally as possible. “Doing great. Will text you if I have any questions.” “Still studying. Will let you know if I need help.” But so far, she truly didn’t need help. The rules made sense. Most of them followed common sense, and those that didn’t, she worked to memorize. She highlighted. She took notes. She quizzed herself. She made Peter quiz her. She tried to make Nate quiz her, but he was too busy. She fell asleep reading the rule book and she watched clips on YouTube while she made dinner.
What she didn’t do was go for a run. She had good intentions, but it just never happened. She thought about running, planned to run, even bought herself a new pair of (expensive) regulation sneakers, but then they just sat by the door, staying shiny in the box. She didn’t have time to run. And she didn’t want to bother Ethel, not already, not when she would soon be bothering her for every single game. So she focused on the mental preparation, not the physical, not yet. There would be time for that, right?
Then Mike White called—three days after her first and only training meeting, during which precious little training had taken place. “Can you do a shadow game tomorrow at nine?”
“What?” She was certain she’d misheard him.
“I’m pairing you with Birch Kabouya.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He hadn’t said Birch, had he, as in a birch tree? And why was she suddenly craving kombucha?
“Birch Ka-boo-ya,” he said, over-enunciating this time. “He’s good people, one of my best, and he’s looking forward to helping you. He doesn’t want to do any more middle school games either.” Mike paused to laugh. “So he’s happy to have fresh meat.”
A wave of nausea washed over her. She didn’t like being called meat, no matter what the context.
“So, can you make it?”
She scanned her schedule. Yes, she thought she could. Oh wait, it was ladies’ craft day at church. She had already paid for the supplies. But she could miss it, couldn’t she? Sure. They probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone. “Sure. Where?”
“Fryeburg Middle School.”
Fryeburg? That was a kazillion miles away. “Seriously?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get paid mileage.”
“Okay.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Great. Did you get your uniform yet?”
Of course not. She’d only ordered it three days ago. “Nope.”
“No problem. Just wear something comfortable, and have fun.”
Her heart did a weird little leap at the word “fun.” This had the potential for fun? That hadn’t occurred to her yet. Several other thoughts had: When is Nate going to talk to Ethan’s and Jack’s parents? Did Mike White kill Frank, and how am I going to figure that out? Is Frank innocent, and if so, how can I clear his name? I need to learn the soccer rules. I need to study the soccer rules. How am I going to learn all these stupid soccer rules?
But she hadn’t thought about having fun. In fact, fun was a fairly foreign concept at this stage of her life. Sure, she had things she enjoyed: Sammy falling asleep and allowing her to watch an episode of Downton Abbey uninterrupted. Or ordering a pizza so she didn’t have to cook supper. Or eating chocolate chips straight out of the bag. But she wasn’t sure these things counted as fun. She’d stopped having fun years ago, hadn’t she? So the idea that fun was about to reenter her life sent an almost-guilty thrill coursing through her veins. Fun? Sure, why not? Let’s give it a shot! “Okay, I will. Thanks.”
“You bet. And check your online schedule. I’ve already assigned you some games.” Before she could express her disbelief at this announcement, he said goodbye and hung up. She hurried toward her laptop but then couldn’t find it. Where was it? She flung things around in a mad search and found it underneath a pile of unfolded laundry. She collapsed into said pile, flipped the computer open, and then waited impatiently as the system logged her in. And then there it was. Her first game. Monday afternoon. She swallowed hard. Suddenly, fun seemed unlikely.