The Soccer Match

Saturday mornings had always been a favorite of Rebbecas. In high school, these lazy hours had been a lone peaceful respite during weeks of early morning practices and study sessions. A time to recollect and reload, and not feel guilty about sleeping in until nine or sneaking a cupcake out of her mom's kitchen.

This particular day looked to be a beauty. As she stared out her curtains, Rebbeca felt the warmth of the window on her finger tips.Her second story bedroom overlooked a peaceful  suburban block.

A few early morning joggers and an old woman walking a huge black dog passed by on the far sidewalk. Rebbeca grinned as the small woman leaned away from the hound, trying desperately to dictate which speed the duo would move along.

The beasts jowls flopped and its tail thumped as it paid its owner little mind. Outside, a light wind rustled all things from the leaves of the trees to the joggers hair. Behind the glass, however, Rebecca was beyond its reach.

Sighing, the young woman looked around her new room. She had spent much of the little free time she had over the last three days decorating it to her liking. There hadnt been room to do much. But she had found a place to put her television. It rested on top of her dresser next to the door and was positioned so she could sit in bed and watch. She had placed her computer desk in the opposing corner, next to the window.

The walls were draped with things she found precious. A banner for Barcelona Football Club occupied the free wall. Above her television were posters of various soccer players. Every time she looked at them, a smile was never far away. Memories of triumphs and heart breaks they had put her through flooded in.

Next to her cabinet was a solid oak coffee table. The trophies on top of it were the shape of a soccer boot and spray painted gold. Apparently the state of California Athletic association didn’t have the trophy budget of the Premier League, but they shimmered all the same.

Four of them sat in a row, identical singular golden boots on top of black bases. The only noticeable difference was that each base had a small silver plate with a unique year written onto it. 2046, 2047, 2048, 2049. Hanging on a hook over them was a singular medal. A strange sense of melancholy hit Rebecca as she watched the shiny pendant sway ever so slightly back and forth.

With a slight gimp, Rebecca took a few steps and sat down on the bed. Grimacing, she began to extend her right leg fully and point her toes hard towards the ceiling. A little grunt escaped her as the muscles in her knee refused to release for a moment before suddenly relaxing all at once. After receiving this permission from her body, Rebecca reached out to grab her toe and stretch it fully.

She went about her work mechanically. This was daily maintenance now and neglecting it would be irresponsible. Finally, when her body had agreed to cooperate with her for the morning. Rebecca took a deep breath and looked down.

It was never easy for her. But she forced herself to stare at her leg. The compression shorts she wore now gave none of the cover that she loved her blue jeans for. A knotted and scarred line of flesh ran from her inner thigh, over her knee and wrapped around to the back of her calf. Rebecca hated it.

Her skin was so pale that the red and pink jetted out even more conspicuously than it otherwise would have. The thing on her leg was ugly, cumbersome, inefficient and weak.

Its very existence offended her and reminded her of everything she used to have But still, she forced herself to focus her gaze onto it. If she woke up every day and reminded herself, maybe one morning it would begin to feel real.

“This is your life.” She said to herself, plainly. “This is what you have now. It’s not getting any better or any worse. So learn to live with it.”

With that part of her morning ritual out of the way, Rebecca laid back and stared at the ceiling. A special kind of boredom began to shuffle across the edges of her mind. The kind of boredom that only seems to find an opening when it's paired with loneliness and bad memories.

Rebecca bolted into a seated position and quickly rolled out of bed and walked to her laptop, which was laying next to a pile of books on her desk. Opening the device, she scrolled her mouse across the desktop and double clicked on a video file. Title: Westridge vs  Chariton, March 16th, 2049.

As the screen went black and the small rotating loading ring came to life in the middle, Rebecca placed the laptop next to her television on the top of the dresser. Plugging the cable dangling off of her TV into the device, Rebecca sat down on the edge of the bed. She felt a little better already as the video sprung to life.

A top-down shot of a soccer pitch appeared as a jolly sounding and elegant old man's voice filled the room.

“Hello!” The announcer chimed, “ And welcome to the California Girls Division Four State Championship. And boy will this one be a treat. I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve called ten matches in the last two weeks and there have been some barn burners. But, I’ve been eager to get to this one. Westridge vs Chariton. It feels like the entire season has been a long, dramatic collision course between these two. Surely the best. Chariton comes into this game off a 4-0 dismantling of AWOP in the semi-final. Throughout the year, they’ve been sterling. A 25-2-3 record and the very stingiest defense the state of California has to offer.”

The screen shifted to a shot of two players in Red jerseys stretching and talking to one another, smiling. The girl on the left was tall, about 5’11. She had short cut blonde hair and long powerful legs. On the right was a smaller girl, only up to her teammate's chest. Brown hair was wrapped up in a ponytail. She had a scrappy look to her and a devilish shine in her eyes.

“There they are. Smith and Denton. They’re smiling, and why shouldn’t they be? They occupy the center of this Chariton back line. They’re the glue that keeps this machine together. And what a machine! They’ve kept a clean sheet in over 60 percent of their matches. In 30 contests, they've given up just 21 goals. That’s as good as it gets folks.”

Rebecca felt her chest tighten up a little bit as the screen changed to show a girl in a white uniform. The young woman was about 5’8, slender-framed, with Scarlet red hair chopped off at neck length.

Her eyes stared across the field at the opposition as she lazily passed a ball back and forth with a nearby teammate. She looked calm, but not in a passive way. Not the calm of a priest. The calm of a lioness surrounded by gazelles. A predator who just hadn’t quite decided it was time to eat yet.

“And speaking of the best. Does she look bothered by the moment folks?” the announcer said, clearly joking. “Rebecca Clark ladies and gentlemen. She’s back. She’s hungry. She’s as talented as you are ever going to see and she has been on an absolute warpath. She is the story. Perhaps the greatest individual resume in the history of American High School Soccer. A four-time California Player of the year. Her Freshman year she broke the California record for goals in a season. And she’s done nothing but break her own record each year since. In three of those years, she’s lead the state in assists as well. This year, 52 Goals in 30 matches. A future University of Southern California Trojan. And after that, surely a United States Women's National Team Starter. And they can’t wait to have her. If it sounds like I’m gushing, I invite you to come try and read this stat sheet in a way that doesn’t. The only thing missing? A state title. She didn’t have much support around her until her junior year. Last season she led her team all the way to the finals and lost a year to the day ago in a 4-3 thriller against Clark in which she scored a hat-trick. It’s the one trophy missing. And if you ask her, she’ll tell you it’s the one that matters most.”

As the announcer spoke, the players on the screen began to gather towards the center of the pitch. The announcer's voice drifted into her subconscious as she slipped back into her memories.

---

It was a slightly overcast day. Rebecca loved that. She could see the whole pitch without squinting or straining. The stands were full. A rarity for American high school soccer, but the town had rallied around Rebecca for three years now. They wanted to see a storybook ending.

Nerves swarmed around Rebecca's stomach as she walked towards the circle in the middle of the playing field. An official walked over and placed the ball on the ground and stepped away. No time to show it now, though. Never show anything that’ll make the enemy more comfortable.

“On my whistle.” said the official. He put the whistle up to his mouth. There was a second of silent anticipation. Then the blow of the whistle cut through it like a knife. Rebecca put her foot through the ball softly. As it rolled to the nearest teammate, A midfielder named Sarah, the game began.

Rebecca turned around quickly to see how the opposing team had moved. Unsurprisingly, the answer was typically and with discipline. There were two lines of defense between her and the goal. Wanting to pounce while the game was fresh, she put her foot in the ground and sprinted past the first line, putting her hand up for visibility.

Sarah hit her in stride. She usually did. Rebecca slowed down half a step to collect the ball on her left foot and then looked up. The back defensive line contained four players. As usual, The middle two were paying particularly close attention to her. Giving up extra room on their sides, they pinched in towards Rebecca, taking away the middle of the field.

Seeing this, Rebecca turned and fired a pass to her scoring partner, Lolita Rondon. A girl who never got as much credit in the papers as Rebecca knew she deserved. A great dribbler and a good enough shooter to make a  defense think.

However, the pass must have been slightly telegraphed and didn’t come off Rebeccas foot with the right speed. As, unexpectedly, Smith came out of her position and in two explosive steps cut the ball off harmlessly just before it reached Rondon’s foot. Throwing a hip check into Lolita to gain space, Smith fired the ball upfield. As the play drifted, Smith dropped back and walked next to Rebecca.

“I thought you were supposed to be unpredictable. “The defender said, grinning a little.

“Enjoy it.” Rebecca replied flatly. “You get one.” Looking over, Rebecca caught Rondon’s eye. The two teammates exchanged a knowing glance. Rebecca cocked her head slightly towards the opposing goal. Understanding, Lolita gave a quick stiff nod.

Chariton kept control of the ball for several minutes. Short, quick, and riskless passes were their primary tool as they crept their lines closer and closer to the goal. A little bit of anxiety filled Rebecca as she was forced to watch from her offensive position.

Finally, Chariton broke their defenses down completely. One of their strikers made a beautiful dribble inside the box. Beating two defenders, the rest of the defense converged on her. The striker took advantage and placed a pass to a wide open teammate at the edge of the box with nothing but green in front of her. The shot was well struck, and true. Rebecca watched as it sailed off the foot like a missile, rising away from the diving goalkeeper. Towards the open net. Rising and whistling and then….

The crossbar rattled as the shot struck it squarely. The ball careened off of it and back into the box where one of Rebecca's teammates took control of it. Most of the Chariton squad had rushed forward to help with the scoring opportunity. This was a chance.

“Middle! Middle!” Rebecca screamed, taking off in a dead sprint. The pass was a long one, so when it got to her, it was moving a little slow. She had to stop for a split second to allow it to catch up. This gave a midfield player time to catch up and try to make a challenge. As the player pressured and bumped her left hip, Rebecca Simply flicked the ball forward and to her right. Her speed advantage made the escape act effortless.

In desperation, another player came at her from her left, almost parallel. The defender made a sliding attempt to either stop Rebecca cold or give the foul. But Rebecca popped the ball up with her left foot, sailing innocently over the effort. She then hurtled the girl and spirited forward with the ball at her feet, never breaking stride in the process.

Now she had open space in front of her, Lolita to her right, and only the back line to beat. Looking up, she saw that they were positioned just like before. But now Rebecca had a full head of steam charging at them. The set up a line at about mid field. It was time to make them make a decision.

Like a freight train, Rebecca bared down, closing distance quickly and running directly at Denton. When she was about ten feet away, she stopped on a dime and made a few choppy steps. She gave a glance over to Lolita. Setting the bait. Rebecca saw Smiths body weight shift away from her. Perfect.

This time Rebecca made sure to strike her pass with more speed. As she did so, Lolita sprinted towards her, shortening the distance between the two players. Smith came out of position again. Almost instantaneously, Rebecca took off with all of her might towards the patch of green field the defender had just vacated.

The speed of the pass and Lolitas positioning made it impossible for Smith to intercept in time. The ball sailed to Lolita's foot past the panicked defenders out stretched leg. Without a second's thought, Lolita slung the ball about fifteen feet in front of Rebecca, who had nothing but grass and a goalkeeper in front of her. The Chariton defense had been split open.

Rebecca could feel Denton right behind her left hip as she got her first touch of the ball. It was a foot race now. Rebecca clawed and focused on the ball as the defender bared down on her. As they got close to the box, Rebecca felt some resistance as Denton grabbed on to her jersey and began to tug as she fell a little farther behind. With a great pump of her legs, she felt the hand slip off. She was in free.

The Charition Goalkeeper rushed towards her, trying to take away the shooting angle. Rebecca dashed with the ball on a straight line towards the right goal post. It was just her and the keeper in the middle of the box now. She waited until the keeper was close to her. Maybe five feet away.

Finally, the goalie had to commit. She dove towards the ball at Rebecca's feet.

Rebecca slid her right foot under the ball and chipped it off the ground. As she did, the keeper crashed in to her shins and sent her tumbling to the dirt. Rebecca felt no pain as she landed on her stomach and tumbled out of bounds. Looking up eagerly, she saw the ball float through the air, take one bounce, and then roll over the goal line.

The announcer's voice filled Rebecca's room as she came back to herself for a moment. “ Oh it’s Brilliant! It’s the kind of goal they’re capable of, and it’s fallen to them so early in the match! Rebecca Clark just drove through the entire Chariton defense. She got the ball with three quarters off the field left to clear.  80 meters and two passes later, she’s beat five defenders, eviscerated them and chipped the ball over a desperate keeper. Absolutely Magic!”

Rebecca Grinned a little sitting on her bed. Rising to her feet, she fast forwarded the game. By this point she had the timeline of events memorized like the back of her hand. When the match on the television resumed, Charition had the ball.

Rebecca felt a warm breeze brush against her cheek as a Chariton player dribbled the ball down the right side line and whipped it in to the box, head high and dangerous. Desperately, Rebecca tried to stay with Smith, who had made a sprint to the incoming pass.

But the height advantage was too much. Rebecca jumped in a last-ditch attempt to beat the tall blonde to the ball.  But Smith cleared her easily and with a powerful whip of her kneck, rocketed the ball past the keeper and into the waiting net. It was a tied game. Just then, the official blew his whistle signaling half time.

Rebecca remembered the halftime talk as short and pointed. Coach Peterson, a slender grey old man, had always been a believer in staying business like in any situation. He mostly focused on little adjustments here or there and seemed to deliberately stay away from mentioning the importance of the next 45 minutes.  After he was done he stopped and looked at Rebecca. “Anything to add?” He asked.

“We’re here because we do what we do better than anyone. Do it for 45 more minutes and we’re champions.” She didn’t say any more. There was no need.

The second half was hard fought and physical. Chariton was determined not to allow Rebecca to hold the ball without some kind of pressure or punishment. Several times they opted to simply take her legs out from under her and give up the foul rather than take their chances with her dribbling.

Westridge maintained possession and control of the ball. But no matter how creative they got, were unable to get in to any kind of dangerous position. Until Lolita showed what made her so special. Catching her defender being a little too aggressive, she quickly changed directions and left the off-balance challenger in her wake as she entered the box. As the defense rotated to defend against the gap she’d just created, Rebecca found herself with some much needed space.

Lolita saw her instantly and turned to fire a pass back to the edge of the box on to Rebeccas waiting foot. Now the defense was strung out. Unsure whether to defend a potential shot from Rebecca or stay with Lolita in case of a pass. Two of the four defenders hesitated before taking a step out to meet the shooter.

Without thinking, Rebecca put the point of her toe under the ball and scooped it over the nearest defenders head Towards Lolita, who was still standing near the goal post. The ball inched  over the Chariton player and reached the height of its arch about two feet short of Lolita before diving downwards towards her feet.

Lolita turned her hips and swung her left foot clean through the ball inches before it would have hit the ground. From five feet away, the goalie had no chance as the ball whistled past her and bulged the net. Goal! Rebecca pumped her fist and ran to hug her team mate. They were fifteen minutes from a state championship.

“Oh what a goal! What a dribble, what a pass, what a finish! The advantage they’ve had for much of the second half has finally manifested on the score sheet. We’re 75 minutes in here, And Westridge has put their noses in front! And you can hear it from the crowd's reaction, they’re beginning to feel that long elusive state championship is a very real possibility.”  

The whole team had gathered to give their support to Lolita after the goal. When the mob of girls broke free from one another. Rebecca simply put both her palms to the ground with her hands out in front of her. She didn’t have words at the moment, but the order was clear. “Calm Down.”

The next ten minutes were a blur to Rebecca. Chariton got possession and was relentless with it. Desperation was creeping in and they attacked with every ounce of ferocity left in their tired legs as Westridge defenders fought tooth and nail to hang on t0 the lead they had earned.

Then it happened. The kind of mistake that turns a game on its head. Sarah, normally a midfielder, had dropped back into a defensive position when her team had grabbed the lead. After a failed Chariton pass, she found herself in possession of a ball she didn’t know what to do with. One Chariton player swarmed her. Not wanting to give the ball up in front of her own goal, she panicked.

Sarah tried to get a pass off to her nearest teammate, but she didn’t see the Chariton forward laying in wait. The opponent jumped on the pass and in one swoop, found herself running free towards goal.

Everything went in slow motion in Rebecca's mind. She was way to far away to help. All she could do was watch the back of the opponents jersey motor down the center of the pitch with no resistance. It was a helpless feeling.

Time crawled as Rebecca, along with every pair of eyes in the crowd, held their breaths. The only thing left to do now was pray for a miss. The Chariton Forward was at the edge of the box now. As the keeper rushed out to meet her, she stopped, took a big step, and rifled the ball in to the wide open net. Rebecca's heart sank.

As she looked up in to the sky in exasperation, suddenly Rebecca's mind began to take account of her bodies condition. Her hamstrings were tight and burned with every step. There was a little soreness in her left ankle where a defender had crashed in to her. Suddenly Rebeca was very conscious of the fact that she was breathing heavy. Every gasp was a struggle as her body demanded more air.

Her body was crying out. Begging for a moment's rest. Her mind was in a frizzled panicked. A certain victory had just turned back into a dog fight. However, it was at that moment that the conscious part of her mind, the part that she still had control of, showed itself.

“No.” She said to herself. “Wake up.” The fog of tired frustration cleared from Rebecca's head as she jogged back to the center of the field to restart play. “Everybody on me!” She yelled.

The team was gathered around her now.  As Rebecca looked out over her crew, she saw a sea of tired eyes and puffing chests. Sarah hung her head, shoulders slouched.  It was an assortment of people who had given everything they had, and a group Rebecca trusted unconditionally. Now they all fixated on their captain.

“We aren’t dead until they drag us kicking and screaming on to the bus, you guys got that?” A few of the eyes narrowed, and Rebecca thought she saw a fire begin to return as several of her teammates nodded. “Look at me.” Sarah's eyes strayed from her shoes and snapped on to Rebecca's.

“Relax. It’s soccer, they’re allowed to score to. Nobody said this was going to be easy. Tomorrow we’ll rest as champions. But today's a work day. Midfielders and defenders stay back, leave the scoring to me and Lolita. Don't give up an inch and feed us when you can. Let’s take this home.”

The official walked over to the huddle. “Gotta keep the play going, girls. C’mon.”

Rebecca put her arm in the air and the team huddled around her, piling their fists into the middle of the circle. “Finish on three. One. Two. Three. Finish!” The whole team roared out the final word. As it echoed around the pitch, the team sprinted to their positions with new found pep. Rebecca grabbed Sarah by the shoulder and turned her around. The two again locked eyes. This time much closer.

“You’ve saved my a*s a million times.” Said Rebecca, with a little wink and grin, she continued, “I’m gonna go get one for you.” The tired burn returned to Rebecca's hamstring as she jaunted to the middle of the field to kick the ball off. Eight minutes remained in the game as she booted the ball back to Sarah and the game sprung back in to motion.

The next eight minutes were a blur of motion and exhaustion. Time after time, the mid fielders flung the ball in to Lolita and Rebecca. Time after time the Chariton Defense was able to corral and control the forwards and force them to pass the ball backwards.

After being forced to sling a pass all the way back to her own goalkeeper, Rebecca frustratedly looked at the clock. It was the eighty-eighth minute. A sense of urgency came rushing in to her.

She didn’t want to risk over time, and certainly didn’t want to face the random coin flip nature of a shoot out. Lolita gathered the ball at at about mid field, and with this urgency in mind, Rebecca made a sprint past the Chariton back defensive line.

Lolitas pass was perfect, hitting her right foot in stride as she skillfully met it with the top of her laces and angled it in front of her without slowing. She was clear. The goal in front of her and Two Chariton defenders just behind her hip. She shrugged on off and stepped in to the box with room to shoot. She eyed the keeper, found an open spot near the right post to shoot at, took a big step with her left, loaded her hips and got ready to deliver the bullet.

Suddenly Rebecca felt as if she had been whacked across the hamstrings with a bat, she tumbled to the ground knowing immediately what had happened. Smith had been chasing her, and smartly given the foul instead of allowing a free shot on goal. As Rebecca tried to gather her wind, she stared at the gray mass of clouds above her for a moment before sitting up.

The official was pointing to the penalty circle. Of course he was, that call was clear as day. Smith gave no complaints as she jogged to the outside of the box, ready to watch the game deciding shot along with everyone else. Rebecca rose to her feet, and stretched out her still aching hamstrings as she took a peek up at the clock. Ninety minutes of play had passed. This would be the last shot of regulation.

The penalty circle is the funniest place in sports. All of your teammates are standing feet away from you. But you are alone. It’s an easy scoring situation, but with everyone looking at you and the knowledge that you ought to score easily planted in your mind, The center of the box becomes a strange twilight zone where the simple becomes unimaginably complicated.

The air around Rebecca became a bubble of silence as she walked in to the spotlight. She focused on the ball, a lonely white island in an ocean of green as she tried to settle herself.

The walk was twenty feet. It felt like two hundred.

AS she stood over the ball, she stared at the keeper. From here it felt like the two players were within touching distance. Two duelists ready to take their ten paces. The keeper was a tall, lanky girl with a black pony tail. Rebecca stared in to her slanted blue eyes and looked for any indication of weakness. She found none, and made sure to give none in return.

Would she guess left, or right? Would she stay in the middle? If Rebecca looked one way, would she dive in that direction, or expect it to be a fake and dive the other way? “Stop overthinking.” Rebecca scolded herself. “Just pick a spot and hit the ball there.” The spot she picked was the top right corner.

The official blew his whistle, signaling that Rebecca was allowed to shoot at any time. As she took a step back from the ball, she could feel the tiredness in her bones, and the exhaustion in her mind. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca cleared it all out of her head, stepped, and threw her whole lower body in to the shot.

The ball was a bullet fired from a gun giving its last breath. Aimed perfectly at the top corner, the keeper dove, but had no chance. Rebecca's heart skipped a beat, waiting to hear the sound of a celebrating crowd….CLANG.

The shot struck the top crossbar, stopped cold, and dropped downwards. The keeper bear crawled over and covered the ball quickly as the official blew his whistle twice. The game was going to over time.

Rebecca was in shock again. For a long moment, she stood motionless in the center of the field, not able to comprehend or process what had just happened. Her hands went to the top of her head as she tried her best to fend off the anger and exasperation that hit her like a wave. She had let her teammates down.

There was no time to feel sorry for herself though. As the break between regulation and extra time lasted only five minutes. Rebecca didn’t say much during the short team meeting. Her teammates saw the look in her eyes and must have known well enough not to force a smile.

As she worked through the guilt and self-directed fury that was balled up in her chest, one prevailing thought began to dominate her spirit. That was not going to be her last shot. If she had to die to get her foot on the ball one more time, that was not going to be how she said goodbye.

When she retook the field, it was with a head held high and a face of stone. Smith walked over to her before the sides had fully taken shape. The blonde girl, face wet with sweat and clothes covered in green stains, sneered at her.

“I’m disappointed.” She said, “I thought I was going to see the ‘Greatest Player in American High School History.’ Is that what all the hype is about?”

“No.” Said Rebecca, cooly. “But make sure you don’t blink and I’ll show you.”

The ten minute Over time was hell. Every player on the pitch moved at about three quarters speed and sloppy passes and lazy tackles became more common the longer it went on. Smith had slowed down noticeably. Rebecca could see that. The problem would be convincing her own exhausted legs that she hadn’t.

Chariton gave them a scare at about the five-minute mark, as one of their strikers made a strung out and tired defender miss before taking a hard rip at goal. Only a beautiful save on a one hopped bullet kept the game tied. Rebecca's heart skipped a beat and she realized that if they didn’t do something soon, it was only a matter of time before a shot like that found twine.

A few minutes passed before Westridge finally wrestled back possession and was able to control the ball in a good offensive position. Rebecca was careful to make sure the attack was patient. Even as the clock hit eight minutes. Short passes, back and forth, were the game plan. Forcing the defense to rotate and move. There were less than sixty seconds left in overtime when Rebecca received a pass before quickly passing it further away from goal to avoid a rushing double team.

Chariton was moving too well, even on tired legs passing wasn’t enough to open them up. Rebecca knew that if the game was going to be won, it was going to take something special. She ran away from the goal, giving up field position to open herself up to receive a pass. The ball came in with little pressure.

Rebecca was 30 yards from the goal when she turned. Five defenders stood between her and the net, spaced evenly like a white picket fence. Without thought or hesitation, Rebecca once again commanded her empty and used up legs forward.

Two defenders pinched on her, with a flick of her ankle, she shot the ball between them and hurtled their legs and knees to squirt out through the other side. Two of the three remaining defenders spaced out to defend potential passes. Rebecca was 25 meters from the goal, and one on one with Smith.

She dribbled towards her slowly for two steps, took a stutter step as if she was about to hold up, and then exploded as fast as she could towards the defenders right hip. Smith was slow to react but hung with her. Pressuring and refusing to allow Rebecca through. Finally, Rebecca stopped on a dime, Smith continued for one off balance step and staggered for a split second.

Rebecca took this chance to cross over and shoot to the left while Smith was still leaning right. She was beaten. Rebecca Knew it, and  Smith Knew it. As a last resort, the defender dove desperately, hooked Rebecca's shin with her foot, and flung her to the ground. The officials whistle blew.  Rebecca smiled a little. She knew that had been amazing work. More importantly, she knew she’d have a good chance with this free kick.

The ball was spotted 25 meters from the goal. Not a gimme. But not impossible. Luckily, it was also placed almost dead center in the pitch. Maybe a little to the right, but not enough to take away options. The clock said 10:03.

The defense formed a three-person wall five yards front of Rebecca. One player was significantly shorter than the other two. Rebecca took this in to account as she eyed the left and top corner of the goal. The keeper was cheating right, she closed her eyes and pictured the ball sailing over the jumping defender and knuckling in to the waiting net as everyone else watched it sail.

Not allowing herself to think this time, Rebecca took a deep breath and looked at the official and got his go ahead. As soon as she had confirmation, she stepped and fired.

The contact off her foot was sweet and square. From rebeccas view it floated away from her in frozen time. Almost as if it had eyes, the ball whispered past the intended defender. Rebecca swore she saw the wind from the shot move the girls hair.

It was a little higher than the crossbar at this point, but Rebecca had no worries. Her free kicks always dipped.The trajectory of the shot was perfect, a roping arching piece of art that dove under the crossbar and produced a jingling sound as it hit the net.

“Oh! Would you believe it if I told you?” The ecstatic announcer's voice rang through Rebecca's bedroom. “She’s a living storybook, ladies and gentleman. A fairy tale! Rebecca Clark has won Westridge the state championship with a swing of her magical foot in the most incredible, miraculous, jaw-dropping manner you could possibly imagine! A 25 Meter lighting bolt off a free kick as time expires. Amazing!”

Rebecca watched the magnificent young player on her screen sprint towards the stands with her teammates in tow, slapping her in the back as they went. When she got there, the redhead climbed the wall in front of the bleachers.

Elevated above the rest of the pitch, standing alone on top of the world, the girl spread her arms out and screamed something the cameras didn’t catch as a huge smile dominated her face. After a moment, you could see the adrenaline and conquest turn to an appreciation of the moment.

The young redheads face suddenly went blank as she looked out over a sea of her friends and family members. A tear rolled down her cheek and her hands dropped. “Thank you.” The girl's mouth formed, talking through tears. “Thank you all so much.”

Rebecca watched herself hop down from the wall and lead a charge of white jerseys into the stands. She felt her hand clench in to a fist and her chest tightened as the girl on the screen ran up to a young man standing in the front row and buried her face in to his chest, almost knocking him over in her enthusiasm.

Rebecca slammed the space button on her laptop, pausing the broadcast. A strange smell crept in to her memory. A musky cologne with an oak finish. The recollection froze her in place. Rebecca stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly into space as no coherent thought was able to pierce the lethargy that now dominated her.

“Tracy.” Rebecca whimpered, welling up. As she watched her  younger self, a bitterness filled her. Why did she keep watching this back? She knew why, but it was stupid. That moment, smiling, face beaming up at her boyfriend, was the last happy moment life had afforded her.

Rebecca's hand shook as she opened the top drawer on her dresser. Rifling frantically through piles of folded shirts, she pulled out an orange pill bottle. She didn’t bother to read the label. She knew it contained an expiration date from two weeks ago and a name that wasn’t hers.

Struggling with the lid for a moment, Rebecca poured three pills on to her palm and shoved them in to her mouth, swallowing them with a gulp. She sighed as a familiar warm feeling began to fuzzy her senses. Finally, she began to relax. The hurt in her knee faded. But the real hurt, the hurt she wanted gone most, stayed with her.

So she shoveled another two pills down the hatch. Now it was gone. Now she felt like someone with no past or future. Now she felt normal. Relieved, she tossed the pills back in to her drawer and sat down on the edge of her bed to stop the room from spinning.

“You’re quite the leader.”

Rebecca jumped in her skin, startled by the intrusion. She whipped her head to see the intruder. Reagan stood in the door frame, leaning his back on to the wood with lackadaisical posture.

“She can’t come!” He yelled down the stairwell. “A little under the weather. I’m gonna stay and look after her!”

Reagan looked at his team mate for a long moment before saying. “So, are you going to throw them up yourself or am I shoving a finger down your throat?”