Tales From the Field: Olivia's Redemption by Katie L. Carroll

(See part 1 of this story “Olivia’s Camp Fail” here.)

To free yourself from guilt you must forgive yourself.

The game is about to start. The strategizing, the pep talks, the warm-ups are done. My stomach is a pit of tingling nerves, the good kind, the ones that keep my reflexes sharp. I let out a long exhale, my breath smoking in the cool evening air. Our undefeated season is on the line tonight.

My ten teammates line up in front of me, their white home uniforms bright under the lights. I clap my goalie gloves together and stare down our gold-clad rivals, the Valley High women’s soccer team.

Time to get in the zone.

For some inexplicable reason, I glance into the stands, the side where the Valley fans sit. It takes me right out of the game. Marco. He’s here. I knew he would be, but seeing him is worse than I imagined. The tingling, game-ready nerves turn to anxious, stomach-twisting ones.

Marco, of course surrounded by his entourage of teammates from the Valley High boys’ team, stands down by the fence separating the field from the stands. He faces the crowd, his back to me, thank God. I don’t think I could handle seeing his chipped-tooth smile right now. He’s wearing the blues of the Italian National Team, not the Valley High black and gold. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe our kiss at camp this summer actually meant something to him.

Then I remember him cheering on his schoolmate as she sprinted to the ball, my hesitation, the ball bouncing off her foot and over the goal line. The shame of losing the camp championship for my team, all because of some stupid boy, creeps up my face in a blush.

Megan, the team captain, hisses, “Olivia, you ready?” The referee is waving her hand, trying to get my attention.

Can’t think about Marco right now. The game is about to start!

I wave to let the referee know I’m ready. She signals to the other goalie, who quickly shakes a gloved hand. Everyone is anxious to start the game. I better get my head on straight.

My team came ready to play and quickly takes possession of the ball. Watching them pass and dribble around the other team and listening to the roar of the crowd as Brooke puts a shot on goal that the goalie has to stretch all the way out to save grounds me in the game.

I’m back in the zone.

We take control of the tempo of the game, but the score is 0-0 as the minutes tick closer to the end of the first half. I have yet to be tested when the ball arcs over our defensive line. A Valley forward, the Valley forward who scored the winning goal at camp, darts to the ball. I charge to the top of the 18-yard box and beat her to it.

I boot the ball over the half-line and the referee lets out two short blasts on the whistle to signal the end of the first half.

Like a magnet to metal my gaze zooms toward Marco. He’s staring right at me. The field lights are behind him, so his face is slightly shadowed and unreadable. Though he does lift his hand above the chain-link fence and offers a little wave.

To me? I glance around to see all my teammates are already on the sidelines. I’m the only one still dumbly standing on the field. So, yeah, the tiny wave must be for me.

I shake my head and sprint to the bench before Megan can yell at me again. I yell at myself instead. Head in the game, Olivia!

My teammates greet me with pats on the shoulder and it pops my bubble of distraction.

Sadie, a big grin on her face, shakes my shoulders. “Great grab.” Then so only I can hear, she whispers, “Did you see him?”

I bite the inside of my lower lip and shake my head. I can’t talk about it, not even with her. I’m already struggling to keep the lump in my throat from choking me, and I would totally die of embarrassment if I cried on the soccer field.

Sadie senses my struggle and elbows me in the side. “There’s no crying in soccer, right?”

I nod and suck down some water, listening to Megan’s half-time ramblings. It’s part pep talk, part critique of all the thing we did wrong in the first half, and full-on passionate. No one matches her level of intensity, but we all huddle in and there’s a gleam in each one of my teammate’s eyes.

“No ties today,” Megan says. “We win this one.”

We put our hands in and on three we yell, “Win!”

I jog out to my place in goal, thankful that the switch of sides means Marco and his friends are down the other end where I can’t make out their features.

Valley High comes out strong. They pass the ball past the midfield and get a shot off, but it sails high over the crossbar. “Field goal!” I hear from our side of the crowd, probably someone from our guys’ team mocking the bad shot. It brings a smile of confidence to my face.

Megan shouts at Denise, one of our defenders, for letting her player take the shot. I catch Denise’s gaze and shake my hands to let her know it was no big deal. Even if it had been on goal, no way would I have let a shot from that far go in.

After that we get back into the rhythm of our game. Valley sends a few more shots my way, but nothing I can’t handle. On a goal kick, I send the ball up to Brooke on offense. She passes it back to Haley at midfield, who kicks the ball past Valley’s defense. Tight pressure from Brooke forces the defender to kick the ball out, giving us a corner kick.

Haley curves a beauty of a kick in toward the goal. Mac, the tallest player on our team, charges in and heads the ball. Goal!

“Ten minutes left!” Megan yells to all of us.

Valley’s in panic mode now, frantically kicking the ball around, which allows us to regain possession. We pass it around, the minutes ticking off the clock. Mac dribbles the ball into our offensive corner and plays around with it there, burning more time.

The shrill of three sharp blasts on the whistle ends the game without Valley ever getting the ball back.

Megan jumps up and down, shouting, “We won! We won! We won!”

The team surrounds her, everyone hugging and congratulating Mac for scoring the game winner. Haley gets her share of the accolades for the assist. We won, and I didn’t screw up, but I can’t seem to enjoy the moment. I stand to the side, a haze settling over me. I force a smile and half-heartedly celebrate with the team, doing my best not to show my indifference.

What is wrong with me? Will I ever be free of the guilt from losing my team the camp championship?

As the fans disperse, my teammates and I take off our cleats and shin guards and throw on warmer clothes. A cold, autumn drizzle begins to fall. It fits my sullen mood. Sadie stands over me as I pack up my things.

“You need a ride?” she asks. “My dad’s waiting in the car.”

“Nah.” I shrug. “My mom let me take the van.” It’s a hideous old minivan, but I don’t care so long as it’s something I can drive by myself. I need the alone time right now.

Sadie doesn’t leave. “You okay?”

I look up and try to smile but my lip quivers. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Marco’s an idiot,” she says, which makes me laugh. “No one cares who wins the summer camp championship. And we won this time when it really counts.” She hesitates, like she has something important to tell me, but only says, “See you tomorrow at practice.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I say quietly, but she’s already disappeared into the darkness beyond the lights. The rain has forced everyone to make a quick exit. The stands are empty and I’m the only one left on the field.

I spot my lucky water bottle where I left it by the goal. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I jog over to retrieve it. I’m staring out over the field, unsuccessfully trying to be excited about beating our rivals and keeping our unbeaten streak alive, when a husky voice from behind startles me.

“Good game.” I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Marco. The scent of his cologne reaches me before he does. His shoes squeak on the turf as she walks around the goal to stand in front of me. His hair is especially slick-looking. I squint, the light bouncing off the tiny mist droplets shrouding the field. I can barely breathe with him this close.

Undeterred by my silence, he goes on. “You’re team played well. That was a nice goal on the corner kick.”

I turn to leave, utter, “I have to go.”

He grabs my hand, says, “Wait. Please.” It’s the please that catches me, holds me in place, just like last time. Cocky Marco using manners always catches me by surprise.

“What?” I demand, all attitude. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.

“I never got a chance to explain,” he says, which is true. He tried to talk to me that last day of camp, but my teammates protected me, wouldn’t let him get close. “I got caught up in the moment.”

“It’s fine.” My brief moment of bravery is gone, the lump in my throat back. Our kiss was more than getting caught up in a moment for me, but clearly it’s time for me to move on, for real this time. “We shouldn’t have kissed. It was silly.”

“No.” He smiles, never self-conscious of his chipped tooth…or anything really. “I didn’t mean our kiss. The cheering. I got caught up cheering for the team. I didn’t mean to make you miss the save.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Not until I hear him say it, do I realize that all these months since camp, I’ve been hoping it was somehow a misunderstanding. That our night together was special and meaningful.

He nervously rubs the back of his head, and I think maybe I was wrong to think he couldn’t be self-conscious. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

My heart is in my throat, competing with the lump for space. “Like on a date?”

“Yeah. Maybe to a movie…or something.” His normally oversized ego is a deflated balloon as he waits for me to answer.

I take in the scene around me. The field and stands are empty now, but I’m picturing them full and loud as we win the state championship. I need the freedom, the space, to be focused on this one goal. I can’t afford any distractions right now.

“Sure,” I say. “But not until the season is over.”

The balloon is back at full capacity; even a sort-of yes can’t touch his ego. “Great. Can I have your number?”

“No.” His smile falters. “But you can give me yours.” I program his number into my phone.

Before he leaves, he takes my hand. “I’m expecting a call as soon as you win that championship.”

I just shake my head and laugh as he runs off, presumably to brag to his buddies about our future date. As I start up the old minivan engine, I feel more focused than I’ve felt all season. Camp is in the past, and I’m looking forward to play-offs and a run at the championship. And after that, who knows…I think I will call Marco and go on a date. What do I have to lose?

***

Don't miss all of Central High women's Tales From the Field here! 

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.

Tales from the Field: Haley’s Unbelievable Save by Katie L. Carroll

In matters of life and death, it’s hard to believe that sports matter.

“Haley, pay attention!” Megan, the team captain, shouts. The sound echoes in the small utility room the Central High women’s soccer team uses for our meetings. “It’s important you know where to be when we’re defending a corner kick.”

I try to—really I do—but the X’s and O’s blur on the whiteboard as unshed tears hang in the corner of my eyes. The thought comes, the one I’ve had over and over since my mom died last winter: Why do I bother playing? Sports seem so…unimportant, trivial, pointless. Shouldn’t I be doing something more worthwhile with my precious time on Earth?

When I told my dad I was considering not going out for soccer this year, my senior year, he gave me the old “That’s not what your mother would have wanted” speech. So I tried out and made varsity again.

For the most part, I manage to put aside my ambivalence and give my all during the games, but practices and meetings are tougher. At least no one’s complained about my performance, and I’m leading the team in assists, so there’s that. But that’s just it: I don’t really care if we win or lose.

It’s my commitment to the team that’s gotten me through the season so far…and my dad. He shows up for every game, cheering and smiling from the sidelines. It’s one of the only times I see him smile.

I heave a sigh and rest my head on my hand. Megan’s pre-game strategy session drags on, her voice and the tick of the clock not enough to keep thoughts of my mother at bay. How I would visit her in the hospital when she was in for chemotherapy, reading to her until she fell asleep. The silence in the room when the doctor said the cancer was terminal and recommended stopping treatment. The feel of her limp hand in mine when she took her last breaths. At least she was home with me and my father when she died, like she had wanted.

I look around and no one else seems to notice how warm the room has become. Brooke and Sadie both sit upright, raptly paying attention to Megan. Denise picks her nails and exchanges a look of boredom with Mac, both of them probably figuring they can get away with not paying attention because they’re seniors.

And I’m remembering my mom, not the pink hue of her cheeks when she would come back in from her early morning runs. Nope, all I can picture is the sallow, sunken look of her face right before she died. My chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe, like my insides are filling with molten lead. It’s like this at school, too. I can’t focus in class and my grades have slipped, but the teachers are all cutting me some slack, given my “situation.”

The meeting ends and we head to the locker rooms to change into our uniforms. As I lace up my cleats, I try to force the heaviness from my chest. Pretty soon the noise of the game will drown out my sorrow and I’ll be able to focus on playing.

Once warm-ups are done, I take my place at center midfield and wait for the whistle to blow. I catch my dad’s eye and wave. A wide grin spreads across his face and he waves at me with one hand. His other holds a mini school flag, which is red with a white bulldog on it.

“Go dogs!” he shouts. I can’t help but smile back. His enthusiasm is catching and helps me focus on the game.

The tough match demands all of my attention. The bliss of being lost in the moment overtakes me. We’re locked up 0-0 at half, neither team able to put one into the net. The second half is just as brutal as the first.

Megan is a tornado on the field, screaming directions to the team and doing some of the best defending of her life. Olivia, the goalie, makes a spectacular save to keep the game scoreless. By the 85^th minutes, my body is heavy, but not because of grief; it’s simply the fatigue of a hard fought game.

One of the opposing team’s forwards bends a nasty shot toward Olivia, who just manages to swat it away. The ball bounces off Denise on defense and out of bounds. It’s a corner kick for the other team.

Megan screams, “Remember your positions!”

My heart drops as I think about the strategy session…and my mom. I try to push those thoughts away, but my vision blurs. The aching heaviness of mourning compounds the fatigue of playing. I have no idea where I’m supposed to be, so I stand next to a random opponent and hope the ball doesn’t come my way.

The ball thumps across the field from the corner and soars into the box in front of the goal. I can barely see it though my tears. The player I’m supposed to be covering is several feet away, and I’m dumbly standing on the goal line. She volleys it right for the net. Olivia is too far right to make the save.

Of its own accord, my body dives feet first to the left. I have no recollection of doing it myself, like someone else has taken over my faculties. The ball hits my shin and bounces away before being cleared by Megan.

The referee blows three long toots on the whistle, signaling the end of the game. My teammates crowd around me, while I remain on the ground, stunned over what has just happened. They help me stand and despite the fatigue, a lightness has taken over my body.

Megan squeals in delight, “We’re still undefeated!” Mac, Denise, and Olivia surround me. Brooke pats me on the back and says, “Nice save, Haley.”

I glance into the stands. My dad is hugging the other parents. Then he’s bounding down the stairs and onto the field. He rushes over and wraps me in a hug.

“I think mom was watching,” he whispers into my ear. “She would be so proud.”

I nod into his shoulder and burst into tears. I don’t stay it to my dad, but I think my mom was more than watching. As unbelievable as sounds, I think she helped me make that save.

I watch my dad cheer and celebrate with my teammates and realize that although sports may not cure cancer or stop wars, they are healing in their own way. Like a good book or movie, they let us forget our troubles for a little while and revel in the moment. I guess my mom wanted to remind me of that.

For the first time in a long time, I consider the idea of playing in college…as long as it doesn’t interfere with my studies to become a doctor.

***

Want more from the young women on the Central High School varsity team? Check out these other Tales from the Field: "Captain Megan", "Addison in Love?", and "Lucky Brooke".

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.

Tales from the Field: Lucky Brooke by Katie L. Carroll

It’s not luck if you’re always in the right place at the right time.

I angle my run up the field on the diagonal. With one eye on the last defender to keep from being caught offsides and the other on the ball, I bide my time, waiting to burst into full speed. I don’t really think about it as I’m doing it, almost like my brain and body are on autopilot. Years of training make it all happen naturally. I’m in the zone.

My teammate Haley dribbles the ball up the center of the field. She breezes past an opponent, but several more stand between her and the open field.

“Brooke!” she unnecessarily yells my name.

I’m ready and waiting. The ball zooms off her foot in a perfect arc over the last defender. In a full-out sprint, I beat everyone to the ball. Just me and the goalie now.

A shrill blast from the whistle brings me to a halt. Did something happen behind me, a foul off the ball maybe? Nope, the assistant referee is holding up her flag, signaling I’m offsides.

My arms fly up in indignation. “No way!”

The fans, mostly parents but a few students as well, shout their displeasure at the call. Megan, our team captain, runs from the back of the field right up to the main referee. Her face is bright red and her cheeks are puffed out, but she keeps her cool as she talks it over with the ref.

The rest of the team surrounds me because I’m about to “go into beast,” as my Italian grandmother would say of anyone who gets angry. I breathe in and store the anger deep inside to fuel my game instead of my temper. I’m the only freshman on the Central High varsity team, and it would be a very bad idea to get carded and kicked out of our first game of the season.

Megan jogs back to her position as sweeper and the other team takes their free kick. The first half ends a few minutes later, the score 0-0. My feet are almost literally itching to get another chance at scoring.

I pour water over my head and take sip of sports drink, the afternoon sun a scorcher in early September. Coach Walker—a male coach even though we’re a women’s team—gives us a pep talk and sends us back out on the field.

Megan pulls me aside. “Don’t worry about that call.”

“Coach didn’t mention it,” I say.

“Well I am mentioning it. It was total BS and everyone knows it.” She slaps me on the shoulder. “You’ll be ready when the next scoring chance comes. Prove those refs are idiots.”

I nod and internalize the words, more fuel to my fire. Seems the rest of the team is fueled up, too. We thunder down the field, passing seamlessly around our opponents. Haley receives the ball in striking range and lets a shot rip. The goalie knuckles it up and over the crossbar, earning us a corner kick.

Megan had us practice corner kicks last week. I position myself right next to the goalie as she instructed, doing my best to be an annoyance. Mac—as we all call Mackenzie when she’s on the field—sends a beauty of a corner kick right to the sweet spot, far enough out so the goalie doesn’t go for it but close enough for our players to have a good chance at scoring.

Megan, who as a defender probably doesn’t get many chances to score, barrels in and heads Mac’s kick. The goalie saves it but not cleanly. The ball rebounds right into my chest, which by anyone’s standards is pretty flat, and deflects into the back of the net. Goal by breasts! My breasts!

My teammates surround me, squealing with delight. I take off for the corner flag and dive headfirst toward it, my teammates following suit, a move Megan also had us practice. Gotta have a good celebration planned for the first goal of the season.

There’s no time to rest on my laurels—that’s an expression my non-Italian grandmother uses—as the other team is about to kick off. Despite our high from the goal, the rest of the second half passes without us scoring again, but neither does the other team. The game ends 1-0, my goal the one and only, the game winner.

We exchange handshakes with the other team, offering a less-than-heartfelt chant of “good game” down the line and rush back to our bench to celebrate.

Megan slaps me on the back. “See. I told you you’d get another chance and you’d be ready for it. And off my header, too.” I’ve hardly ever seen her smile, but her face is lit up brighter than a tinsel-doused Christmas tree.

Coach Walker calls us in for a huddle and reminds us about practice tomorrow morning. There are a few grumbles about having to get up early on a Saturday, but I’m too keyed up to care.

I’m about to find my parents in the stands when Coach calls for me. “Good team effort on that goal. Lucky you were in the right place at the right time.”

“Lucky?” I shrug. “I have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Scored a lot of goals that way. I’ve developed a good feel for the game, know how to capitalize on chances like that. Luck’s got nothing to do with it.”

He stares at me, mouth slightly open. No one—not even my coach—is going to diminish this moment for me. I’ve earned it.

***

Want more from the young women on the Central High School varsity team? Check out these other Tales from the Field: "Captain Megan" and "Addison in Love?".

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.