Game On

     Don't screw up.

The Sparrows of Waverly West had come back with a vengeance, making for a far more provocative play, but we hadn't been slacking off either. And I wasn't about to start now. It was the final minute; I could almost feel each tick on the clock, every beat of every second, every drop of sweat from every chin. It was as if the scoreboard was really counting down a bomb, a bomb that read 6-5.

Don't screw up.

The Sparrows had just slipped one past me, and their striker had the ball again. Coach had succumbed to the urge to bite his nails, but I was calm. I had to be. My body remained still, but for my fingers, which folded in and out of my palms to a rhythm of their own in anticipation of the striker's attempt at the goal.

Don't – screw – up.

I could hear the crowd chanting, yet their voices were muffled by my mantra, like voices in a bottle. Or perhaps I was the one in the bottle – me and the striker and the ball. She kicked. Suddenly, there was total silence, and then the walls of the bottle dissolved into the air and the roaring poured in, engulfing me and the striker, as she stained her knees on the grass. When I looked down, the ball was in my hands, and when I looked up again, I was stampeded by my team and squeezed.

"A beautiful save by Griffiths!" rumbled the announcer. "The Calypte Cove Talons are through to the finals!"

If Icould catch my breath, I might have laughed at the idea of being treated like ahero when all I'd done was catch a ball, but then it sank in. This was a bigdeal. It was kind of everythingactually. Was I still dreaming? Through the cluster of Talons, I could see ourcheerleaders in their blue-and-pink getups doing their victory cheer, whichpulsated in my ears as my teammates hoisted me into the air.

You bet we're quick,
We're Hummingbirds.
You've seen our Talons,
They'll come first.
You bet they're sharp,
You bet they're ready.
Won't see it coming,
Until we've won already!
Go, Talons, go-go!
Go, Talons!

I was being carried, bobbing over to where Kirkwood was receiving our prize. There were photographers, journalists, all anxious to get their slice of us for the local newspapers. One reporter asked how it had felt to save the last ball, to be the one everybody was cheering for. My immediate thought was that I hoped I'd play that well at finals, for the scouts.

"It's something I could get used to," I said instead, feigning confidence.

Coach looked the happiest of us all, taking to the spotlight like a moth. "Aimee is proud, of course, to bring it home for the team." More questions flooded in, and I was happy to pass each one over to him.

When all the pictures and quotes had been taken, Kirkwood announced that he was going to host a party to celebrate our victory. It was difficult to tell if this was a spur-of-the-moment decision or something he had been planning in secret for some time, but mostly we just appreciated the recognition and the reprieve. Well, except for the girl Em and I overheard in the locker room, saying that Coach was jinxing us.

"Shouldn't we celebrate finals after we, you know, win?" she added. The girl's name was Georgina, and she towered over her friend, Casey, like she towered over everyone else.

"It's to celebrate making finals, Gina. I think it's pretty cool," Casey argued, throwing a towel over her narrow shoulders.

Georgina retorted with a sigh, "Don't know how cool it can be if he wants us to bring our parents along. We'll literally be outnumbered."

Emma and I chuckled to ourselves, swapping mirrored glances as the pair grabbed their bags. If the party was going to be at Kirkwood's house, he had every right to invite whomever he wanted. More importantly, I knew we were comfortable with Coach and all, but I could see how not having parents there would only make things weirder: then it'd just be him, his spouse, and fourteen teenagers.

"By the way, my mom says she'll come get us in an hour, so we can take our time," she said, choosing her cubicle; everyone who hadn't gone home yet was moving towards the showers. Naturally, Em and I picked the two closest together, so that we could shout conversations at each other through the wall.

"Cool. Then, we can get some more ice-cream then, too, if you want."

"Yes!"

We dropped our bags outside the showers and undressed for our simmer down. As I turned my back to the water, the revitalizing droplets left whispers on my skin, the kind of whispers that made one lose oneself. My mind tried to lure me back to the nightmare I'd had the night before, but I altered its course; if I was going to reminisce about my parents, I wanted it to be a good memory. Mom and Dad's faces came to me in streaks of colors, not yet clear, but I knew it was them. I knew that Mom always kept our family photos on the mantle in the living room, and would smile at them from time to time, and Dad would pull her into a slow dance and remind her to stay in the present. Holding her close, he would say that the pictures would always be there, and that she was beautiful right now. And she would call him out for always saying that – not that she was complaining. I could hear my mom's laugh bubble through room as she put her head on my dad's shoulder, his stubble tickling her neck.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to the sound of a door drawing closed. Something was different; I could have sworn that light was on earlier. I called out for Emma, but heard nothing in return, save for the sound of running water. Closing the tap, I felt an instant chill, and this eerie sense that I was both alone and not. I wrapped myself in my towel and stepped out of the shower, head first, to scope my surroundings. The girls had left already. I didn't linger. I got dressed, grabbed the rest of my things and headed out – I did not want to be locked in there, alone or otherwise.

At first, I saw no one around, but then I spotted someone walking away from me, a figure in the distance. Something about them seemed nearly familiar, which must have been why I felt the urge to rush after them. Was it him? I caught up to the boy and latched onto his shoulder, turned him around. It was just another stranger with a similar jacket and a similar haircut.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know.

"S-Sorry, I thought..." I trailed off, but I returned with vigor. "Were you in that locker room just now?"

"What? No! Do I look like some kind of pervert to you?"

"I don't know; what do perverts look like?"

The boy stuck his earphones back into his ears and walked off, hoping to put as much distance between us as possible, while I stood there as if I'd been cemented in place. There was no one else in the area, so it seemed, but how? A person could not just disappear like that. Had I imagined it all?

"I couldn't have imagined it," I breathed, scanning the corridors beside the locker room and the balcony spanning above it – heck, the shrubs, too – but I was alone. Eventually, I managed to drag myself away from there. I had to find Em.

I started with the ice-cream guy, or at least where I'd thought he would be. Freddie wasn't stationed in the same place as before, but thankfully, he was not impossible to find. The cart and its owner stood in the parking lot, and Emma was there, his sole customer. As I drew nearer, Em gazed upon me – wet, breathless, and barefooted – in either humor or horror, I couldn't tell.

"What happened to your shoes?"

I glanced down at where my shoes should have been. "They're in my bag." I'd forgotten about them entirely by then. I looked back up, through the wisps and webs of my hair, and took Emma aside.

"Why aren't you wearing them?" she asked slowly.

"I had to leave; I think... I think there was someone in the showers, someone who shouldn't have been there."

"Wait, what? Like who?"

The ice-cream man held up Emma's double-scoop chocolate sugar cone with rainbow sprinkles.

"I don't know," I croaked. "I didn't see anyone, but, like, I heard the door and the light went out and I had this feeling it might've been that Stefan guy, but when I came outside..."

"Okay, hang on," Emma paused, processed my words, and fetched her cone. "One: Stefan seeing you naked, probably not the worst thing ever, and two –" I smacked Emma's arm then. "I'm kidding, sorry! But seriously, why would he be in our locker room? Why would anyone for that matter?"

"Okay, but what about the light and the door?"

"A fuse? The wind, maybe? I don't know, I wasn't the last to leave, maybe it was one of the girls and you just missed them."

I sighed and fidgeted; this was doing nothing for my nerves. "Where were you?"

"What? Aim, I asked if I could meet you here and you said yes." Now, Emma eyed me, quiet and shivering, and she handed her ice-cream back to the vendor. It had already begun to melt. "Here, hold this," she said to him, before her free arms pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry. Let's just focus on getting you dry and back home."

Back home? I wondered if that was why Mom kept looking at those photographs; maybe they felt like home. I could understand why she found them appealing, their still, unchanging comfort. The version of her in those pictures belonged to one moment in time where she was safe. That version of her couldn't die.

"Yeah, okay."

"Maybe I should stay at yours tonight?" offered Emma. "I don't want to leave you like this."

"Yeah." I couldn't say more than that. Suddenly, I felt heavy, my body reminding me of how sleep deprived I was. Not to mention, all the energy I'd exerted on the field today.

Emma led me to the parking lot to wait for her parents – she might have forgotten her ice-cream if Freddie hadn't called her back. She offered to buy me another one, hoping it would cheer her up some, but I refused. I'd lost the appetite for it. We didn't stand for long before her folks arrived. The Lincolns were shiny, happy people, with an equally shiny car. For the longest time, I resented their happiness, but then I realized that harboring that kind of envy did not make me a very good friend. So, I was happy with them.

Emma and I made our way over to her dad as he climbed out the driver's seat and gave him a hug. He helped us with our bags, despite us insisting that he didn't have to, and then Emma's mom climbed out. We hugged her, too, before congregating at the trunk.

"Aimee, dear, don't you have a towel in one of these? You're dripping."

I blushed under her gaze and dug in my bag. "Yes, it's here somewhere."

"So, how was the game?" prompted Emma's dad.

"Oh, you know..." Emma teased, laying on the suspense. "We just won! Almost drew, but Aimee saved the ball at the literal last minute."

Aunt Kari squealed in a way that would serve as proof, if ever proof was needed, that she was Em's mother. "I'm so proud of you, girls!"

Uncle Jacob watched her snatch us into another tight hug. "Honey, you'll crush them." It sounded like an exaggeration, but the woman didn't know her own strength.

"Oh, right... sorry, girls." Aunt Kari pulled away.

"We forgive you," puffed Emma. "Coach Kirkwood invited everyone to his house for a little victory celebration, and I know you'll say I can go. Please?"

"This weekend?"

"Tonight – all homework will be completed beforehand, I promise. And I'd like to stay at Aim's after, if that's okay."

"Sure. As long as her parents don't mind..." said Kari, glancing inquisitively at me as I wrapped sections of my hair in my towel.

"Yeah, they won't mind." For a split second, I'd considered lying, to get me out of going to Kirkwood's; whichever part of me that wanted to go before had since dissolved, but I couldn't bring myself to let Emma or Coach down. At least I could look forward to chilling with Em afterwards and just watching a movie or something.

"He invited the whole team over?" asked her dad. "All you girls are going to his house?"

I followed Emma into the car, buckled in, and she explained, "Well, technically, our parents are invited, too."

"It's alright, Jacob, he's homosexual. And married."

I tried to keep my laugh in my throat, letting it ball up. Emma's dad gave her mom a look, unsure of how to respond to that, and so he just drove instead.

We got ready at Emma's place, which made sense because she had an outfit she wanted to inaugurate, while I was content going in my sweater and jeans, although, I would need to borrow her hairdryer. While I waited for Em, I endeavored to make sense of what had happened that day. I couldn't shake away the thought that someone had been in the locker room. Somehow, deep down, I knew it. That feeling of being observed was disturbingly familiar, only, it had never been so close – maybe that's what scared me the most. It was like whatever ghost had been haunting me all these years was finally ready to reap me.

"What do you think?" Like a beckoning bell, Emma's voice towed me back to reality, where I sat on the springy edge of her amaranth pink bed.

She was standing with her back turned to the mirror, showing off her outfit: a camo print shirt tucked tastefully into black high-rise jeans, a chunky jacket, and those sneakers with the platforms on them.

"You look great, as always."

"Aw, thanks," she cooed with a smile before taking one more glimpse at herself in the mirror – she had to be sure.

Emma's mom came in a moment later, rallying us up to go. "If we leave now, we'll make it there by seven," she said. And so we did.