Thunder rumbles in the distance, and it’s a foreboding sound if I’ve ever heard one.
“Is it supposed to rain?” I ask Becca.
She shrugs. “No idea. I don’t bother to check the weather. It’s usually wrong.”
My question is answered a few minutes later, as the second quarter is just about to start. The rumbling is no longer in the distance. Menacing black clouds encroach the sky overhead. Rain begins to pour. And a flash of lightning illuminates the entire world for a split second.
Both teams halt their progression onto the field, looking at their coaches. There’s a cover over most of the bleachers, but the field is completely exposed to the elements. And the deluge of water is rapidly puddling on the field.
My father walks over to the referees, with the Alleghany coach close behind him. They huddle briefly, and then the loudspeaker comes to life. “Looks like that’ll have to be it for the night, folks. We’ll discuss with both teams and reschedule.”
The whole audience sits in shock. Not a single other game I’ve attended has been halted due to the weather, and this is the game against Alleghany.
“Well, all right then,” Becca states, standing. “You guys all coming to Sam’s?”
Everyone confirms they are, and more people begin to stand, accepting the unexpected ending to the game. I finally do as well.
We join the rest of the crowd that’s filing out of the stands. Each group pauses before leaving the coverage and then makes a mad dash through the rain. When it’s our turn to make a break for it, I halt too. But not to locate the sedan, or to assess the buckets of water still falling from the sky.
I hesitate to watch the line of blue jerseys filing onto the coach bus withAlleghany Athleticsprinted across the side. There’s a solitary figure trailing behind the rest of the team. I don’t need to look at the name or number on the back of the jersey to know who it is.
Wes doesn’t look domineering or stoic now. He looks broken.
Head down.
Shoulders slumped.
He looks like he just lost. I watch him board the bus, and the leaden weight on my chest doubles in size.
“Maeve! Let’s go!” Becca calls out, already bolting through the rain toward my car. I follow her, with a few more of our teammates close behind.
The mood at Sam’s is exuberant. We were losing, and now Glenmont is going to have a clean slate. Also, I’m guessing most of the team is aware there’s a good chance they won’t be celebrating after the rescheduled game. This is a partial victory all of its own.
I don’t see Liam, and I avoid Matt. I mostly stick to the living room, talking with my teammates. Brooke and Sarah show up about an hour after we arrive.
“I had to change out of my cheerleading outfit,” Brooke explains when they walk into the living room. “We got totally soaked out there.”
I’m talking to Becca about some drills I came up with for morning practices when I feel my phone buzz. My heart quickens. I pull it out, but it’s not him. It’s Maggie.
“Hey,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Can you come get me? There’s something wrong with my car, and my mom’s in Vermont for some girl’s weekend. I’d try to talk someone here into driving me, but they’re all wasted.”
“Sure,” I respond. “Where are you?”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Maggie replies. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Okay.” I hang up and look over at Becca. “I’m going to head out. Maggie needs a ride, and then I’ll probably just go home. Early practice, you know?”
Becca grins. “Yeah, my captain’s a real hard-ass, too.”
“Hilarious, Collins.”
I head over to where Brooke and Sarah are standing. “I’m headed out, guys,” I reply.
“What? Why?” Brooke asks, pouting.
“Maggie called. She needs a designated driver to pick her up. Plus, I’m exhausted. I’m running extra morning practices all week to prepare for the championship next week.”