SATURDAY, AUGUST 27

4:27 A.M.

ALI

Ali lets go of Kearson and picks up her pillow again, hugging it the way a kid who’s afraid of the boogeyman hugs his teddy bear in the dark.

What is she scared of?

It’s not seeing Darlene Maguire tomorrow. Ali’s known this day would come.

It’s not what Darlene Maguire will do. Of course she’ll pull the same stunt again, seeing how well it worked last season. Tomorrow she, or someone else on Oak Knolls, will most certainly pull her eyes into slits. Maybe call Ali a Chink, too. Throw in some Ching Chong Chinaman, because who cares if Ali is Korean? Gooks all look the same. Maybe bust out a karate move, a high-pitched hieeeeeeeeeeee yah, a jump kick, the crane.

Ali’s not even afraid that her teammates won’t be sympathetic. She knows they will.

So she finally spills her guts. Tells them exactly what happened after that first goal during the championship game, Darlene’s charming little “bet you didn’t see that one coming” setup for the eye slits.

It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had said or done racist stuff to her. She’s gotten plenty of little comments like “You speak perfect English!” Or, the opposite, when people come up to her and start speaking in whatever Asian dialect they know, expecting Ali to understand it. And that’s just the normal, everyday stuff. There’d been plenty of bigger, more agressive moments too. But it always threw Ali when a person her age did it.

The girls on her team look ashamed that they had no idea this sort of thing happened. They must be shocked that a girl like Darlene Maguire, who seems like the kind of girl they are, could ever do such a disgusting thing. Embarrassed, maybe, that they never thought of all this before, what it might be like for Ali. And so deeply sorry, because Ali is clearly hurting, has been hurting for months.

And finally, after peeling back all the layers, Ali sees the thing she’s afraid of.

She tilts her head back, pulls her long hair over her shoulder, takes a deep breath. But it catches, that shuddering that happens right before you start to cry.

“My whole family is away this weekend at my nephew’s first birthday party, which is a big Korean thing. My brother’s wife’s family is flying in from Seoul. I wanted to go so badly. But I didn’t even ask. I didn’t want to have to explain it to Coach, and also, I thought it was better that my parents won’t be there tomorrow.” Ali begins to lose it, tears spilling out. “Even though the same thing has happened to my mom and dad too. Multiple times. And to both of my brothers. And will happen to baby John-John, and that breaks my heart. It’s just a part of life that I know I need to get used to. But I don’t think I ever will.”

Luci has her eyes narrowed, fierce with determination. “Coach needs to know about this before tomorrow’s game. If you feel weird going to talk to him alone, Ali, I’ll come with you. I will stand next to you.”

Ali feels a surge of love for her. “Thank you for offering that. But Coach already knows. I told him right after it happened the first time.”

Luci flinches. “Wait, what?”

Ali had immediately signaled for time from the ref. Something she’d never done before. None of the girls called for time-outs. That was Coach’s decision.

She looked across the field to their sideline and Coach speeding at her, a practically lethal look on his face. She immediately regretted what she’d done. But it was too late to take it back.

“Why the fuck are you using a time-out?”

Ali pulled her mask off her face and wiped away the tears. “That girl, she …” It felt so disgusting to say.

Coach snarled, “She just scored on you!”

“That girl … she just made Asian eyes at me.”

Coach seemed taken aback. “Are you sure? Maybe she was … I don’t know, wiping her eyes or something.”

“I’m positive. There’s no question what she did.” Ali said it loud, hoping that the girl, the girl she didn’t yet know was Darlene Maguire, would hear Ali tell on her. Ali wanted her to be thrown out of the game. Maybe suspended. Maybe banned from ever playing field hockey again.

Coach groaned. “Ali, some players just talk trash. It’s part of the game. Any game.”

“It was more than talking trash. It was racist.”

“Either way. She was trying to get under your skin and you let her. Look at you right now. You’ve lost all focus.” He gave her a tap on the helmet. Not light. Kind of hard actually. A wake-up call. A slap to the back of the head. “This is the state championship, Ali.”

“Well … can you go say something to her coach?” Ali glanced over at the Oak Knolls bench. And then back at Coach, who was shaking his head at her like she was a tattling child. “I don’t want her doing it again.”

He stared at her hard, unbelieving, disappointed that they were still discussing this. “If I do that, you’ll only be made a bigger target. This is a you problem.”

The ref came over, the whistle held between his clenched teeth. “Everything okay?” His eyes went to Ali. “You okay?”

“I’m going to sub you out,” Coach said, and spun on his heel.

“No.” Ali reached out, grabbed his arm. “I’m … I’ve got this.”

And now, to the girls, Ali concedes with deep regret, “Except I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Darlene Maguire is the one who’s going to be sorry.” Mel presses her lips together and lifts her chin. “Ali, I know I speak for the entire team when I promise we will do everything in our power to make sure this never happens to you on our field again.”

The girls nod in agreement. All except for one. Luci. She’s deep in thought, a fist pressed to her lips.

“It’s okay. I’m over it,” Ali tells her. With a sly grin, she adds, “Mostly,” because she knows Luci gets it.

Luci doesn’t acknowledge Ali’s jokey caveat. “I can’t believe Coach would say something like that to you. That it’s a you problem.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I mean, is it any wonder you froze up for Darlene’s second shot? How could you ever get your focus back after that?”

Mel puts a hand on Luci’s back. “I’m sure Coach didn’t understand what was happening at the time.”

“Really?” Luci twists to face Mel. “Because it seems pretty clear-cut. And even if he didn’t, Coach should have had Ali’s back regardless.” To the rest of the girls, she pleads, “I mean … isn’t that what he’s always preaching to us? Team first, always?”

Mel struggles to answer Luci’s charge for a few painfully awkward seconds.

Ali, on the other hand, doesn’t even try. Instead, she lets herself get swept away, imagining an entirely different version of the Darlene Maguire incident. If Coach had shown Ali more support in those moments, would that second goal have gotten past her?

Hell no.

Though it might not have made a difference in how the championship game ultimately shook out, it would have made all the difference to Ali.

“Hold up,” Phoebe says, scanning around the room. “Where’s Grace?”

“Oh my God.” Ali jumps up. She never should have let Grace do this. Never ever ever. She rushes to the bathroom, pounds on the door. “Grace, it’s Ali. Let me in, okay?”

Phoebe and Mel arrive next to her.

“What’s happening?” Phoebe whispers.

Ali says, “She’s dyeing her hair.”

Phoebe jerks her head back. “Now? At four in the morning? Why?”

Ali is livid. She knew it was wrong at the time; she should have been more forceful. She will not make the same mistake now. She turns to face Mel as she answers Phoebe’s question. “Mel told her that Coach didn’t like it.”

“Oh my God, Mel. You didn’t,” Phoebe says.

“Grace asked me. And I didn’t want to lie. But I didn’t tell her to dye it!”

“But you didn’t tell her not to either,” Ali snaps. “All you care about is finishing the thing for Coach tonight. I bet you probably led Grace into feeling like she needed to.”

Mel is incredulous. She puts her hand up to her mouth. “How could you think I’d do that?”

“Because you’d do anything Coach asked.” Ali’s hands go to her hips. She knows the team is watching. But she doesn’t care. She’s so upset for Grace. For Kearson. For herself. So upset at everything. So tired. She’s never once had a fight with one of the girls. But she can’t stop herself, even seeing the flush drain from Mel’s cheeks. “Always so quick to defend him. Always happy to shine a positive light on him.”

Grace’s voice, small, comes from behind the bathroom door. “Please don’t fight. Ali, it was my decision. Mel didn’t pressure me at all. And I was the one who asked her, basically forced her, to tell me what Coach thought about my hair, because I already knew it.”

Ali’s mouth snaps shut shamefully. “Mel. I’m sorry.”

Mel shakes her head, as if to say forget it, and fiddles with her necklace. Ali can tell Mel is upset. She tries to reach for Mel’s hand, but Mel slips away before Ali can grab it. Ali turns to Phoebe, ready to offer another apology to her in Mel’s stead. Phoebe scratches her cheek and turns her attention back to the bathroom door.

“Grace. Please. Just come out.”

The door creaks open. Grace walks out with her head down, her hair still blue. “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. You know I would do anything for this team. I’d do anything you asked me. But this wasn’t about you. The only one who cares what my hair looks like tomorrow is Coach. And if he doesn’t give me a varsity jersey because of it, I’m okay with that.”

Ali wraps her arms around Grace, kisses her square on the forehead with a smack.

The basement lights flash on and off and on and off and on and off.

Mel is standing at the switch.