SATURDAY, AUGUST 27

4:16 A.M.

KEARSON

Kearson is in utter disbelief. Not over the act of quitting itself but because this is the first time since being called up to varsity that she was ahead of the play and not behind it.

Timing has been a huge issue for Kearson since last season. She’s always getting caught flat-footed. Always the last to see what’s coming. Not only on the field but in life too. She’s been burned just as many times on breakaways as she has by people she thought she could trust. Her reflexes are set on a frustrating time delay, her intuition suffocated by her overthinking.

And yet, somehow Kearson knew what Phoebe was about to do before she did it, anticipated exactly what was coming before it came. It’s a slight edge, gained perhaps because Kearson herself had been thinking about quitting the team since the girls hit up Waffle House; the words were already in her mouth. That Kearson would get to save Phoebe from having to speak them was all she needed to act.

Kearson lets out a sigh of deep relief. And then she steps over and wraps Phoebe in a big hug.

Phoebe is stiff with shock. “You can’t quit. I was going to quit.”

Kearson laughs, wipes her eyes. “I know.” She’s smiling. “Now you don’t have to.”

“Um, hello! Neither of you is quitting!” Mel says, throwing her hands up.

But Kearson is insistent. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make things harder for you. You should be focused on having a great senior season and getting a scholarship. I don’t want my being here to mess with your head.”

“Hold on, hold on. If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology. I’ve been a really shitty teammate. Believe me, even when I was being a bitch to you, I hated myself for it. If you quit, I’ll never forgive myself. And … look at me.”

Mel nods. “Last season you were given a spot on this team. This season, you earned it. You deserve to be here.”

“Plus, do I look like I’m in any shape to play tomorrow? Our team is going to need you!”

Kearson looks out at the rest of the girls. “I’ve caused so much trouble for this team. More than you girls even know.”

Phoebe eyes her. “What do you mean?”

Kearson feels her chin quiver. She lowers her head. “My mom called the athletic director and made a complaint about Coach at the end of the season. She tried to get him fired.”

Blurred in her periphery, the entire team exchanges uneasy looks. She wouldn’t blame them if they asked her to pack up her stuff and leave right now. She’d have to call her mother to be picked up.

No. She’ll just find someplace to go until morning. Maybe a park or something.

The girls begin to speak.

“Honestly? I’m surprised no one has complained before with the way he acts sometimes.”

“I used to think it was funny. The looks other teams gave us when Coach would lose his shit.”

“Oh my God, me too. I took this weird pride in it. Like it made us tougher than them.”

“This is my third year and I still get freaked out by how upset he gets.”

Kearson allows herself a small smile of relief. Someone puts a hand on Kearson’s shoulder. Mel.

“I get why you feel bad, but you really shouldn’t, Kearson. The girls are right. Everyone knows that’s Coach’s thing. Which is why I doubt Coach’s job was ever really in jeopardy,” Mel says, her voice getting warmer, brighter. “Plus we all know not to take it personally. It’s his way to motivate. I’m not saying it’s the best way, but it’s his way, and it has worked. We work harder than other teams because he pushes harder.” She sighs. “That’s something I think is tough for people to understand. From the outside looking in, it seems cruel. From inside we understand what Coach is trying to do.”

Kearson bites her lip. “It wasn’t just Coach’s yelling. My mom was upset about something else.” She sinks down on the floor.

The brightness on Mel’s face dims. “Oh. Okay.”

Ali hugs a pillow to her chest. “Do you want to talk about it, Kearson? You don’t have to. But … it might help.”

Kearson takes a deep breath. She doesn’t have to tell them, but the crazy thing is that she wants to. She knows the girls won’t spin her story into something bigger than it is … like her mother did. Nor will Kearson have to tell a watered-down version of events to not trigger any alarm bells … like she had to with the athletic director. And she won’t have to worry about anyone taking secret gleeful delight in the painful details … like with Marissa or Quinn.

She’s ready to share her truth. Kearson is in a safe place.

It happened during the last game of the regular season, immediately after Kearson’s near collision with Mel. The ref blew his whistle, recognizing Coach’s call for the Wildcats’ last available time-out.

Having almost injured Mel, Kearson was sick with shame. Not only was she unable to replace one injured star player, she nearly knocked their other star out. She was surely about to get eviscerated by Coach, probably the worst he’d ever given it to her. And with her mother there, watching.

Coach screamed for Kearson to come over for a sideline conference. She adopted the posture she’d found worked best for her—eyes on the ground, imagining the laces of her cleats were a ladder she could climb up to get herself out of here. But unlike other times, she went into a sort of fugue state. Like her body was shutting down. Her mind shutting down. Because she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I guess I didn’t hear something Coach said to me,” Kearson tells the girls. “Probably when he was telling me to get off the field.”

Out of frustration, Coach spiked his half-empty water bottle as hard as he could on the ground. He’d thrown it with so much force, it popped straight back up, end-over-end inertia. Kearson didn’t see it until it hit her square in the face. It came fast. An ice-cold fist. There was no time to protect herself.

The bottle then landed at her feet, water seeping out from a crack in the plastic onto the turf.

Kearson held still. No matter that her cheekbone took the brunt of it, the wind had been knocked out of her like a blow to the chest. With a shaky hand, she gently touched the epicenter of the sting on her cheek and then looked at her fingers, expecting to see blood . But there was none.

“When I looked up, I could tell Coach was as surprised as I was. Because it really was an accident. I know in my heart. He hadn’t meant for the bottle to hit me in the face. It was an unlucky bounce.”

Everyone is silent. Kearson can feel it, the elephant suddenly in the room. She knows what the girls are hoping she’ll say next. That—intentional or not—Coach immediately apologized for what happened.

“So … we just stared at each other like that for a few seconds. And then I walked over to the bench, like he’d told me.” Kearson shrugs. “That was the last time I was on the field as a varsity Wildcat.”

There is a part Kearson leaves out of the story. It is too humiliating to share. But she actually picked up the water bottle and handed it back to Coach before sitting down on the bench.

“My mom and I had a big fight about it. I kept telling her over and over again that I’d gotten the bruise during warm-ups. But after the season ended, she called the athletic director and told him what she suspected had happened. She never even told me she was doing it. I had no clue why I was suddenly getting called down into a meeting with the AD and Coach. Luckily I was able to smooth things over. I made her seem like some crazy helicopter mom. And I’ve barely spoken to her since.”

Ali says, “Kearson … maybe she waited until the end of the season because she wasn’t sure what she should do. And because she knew you still wanted to play.”

Kearson says, “She absolutely knew that. But my mom should have trusted me.”

Phoebe lowers herself onto the floor next to her. “But you were lying, Kearson. And she probably could tell.”

Luci says, “Maybe your mom never wanted you to know. She could have been hoping to have the incident documented or to just give the AD a heads-up or something.”

Kearson feels the squeeze of guilt come back and wring a concession out of her. “Maybe,” she says. Then, “Probably.” She forces a swallow. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to quit the team.”

Mel, the only one who’s still standing, folds her arms. “Nope. Request denied. I’m team captain and no one is quitting tonight. Not you and not Phoebe.”

“But what if my mom makes another complaint? I was able to talk Coach out of trouble once, but I don’t know if they’d believe me again.” The girls plead with her, but Kearson is resolved. “I’ve had the best night with you all. I love this team, but not enough to stay. Not when I’m a liability.”

Ali tosses her pillow aside, crawls toward Kearson on hands and knees, and hugs her. Ali pulls back, looks Kearson deep in the eyes, and says, “I know exactly how that feels. I’m a liability too.”