Original fiction: High and Left
Mia is fourteen years old. She has a large orange cat, four purple seashell barrettes, and a baseball cap staring at her from the bathroom counter, vying for her attention. Only the cat wins, with a brief stroke and scratch on the face as Miya ties her long black hair into a ponytail. He purrs.
It is time for soccer practice.
Mia is not the fastest, nor is she the strongest, nor is she the best kicker. She runs and kicks well enough, and is powerful enough to keep from being knocked over, but that's not something she worries about. That's for the strikers. What she is best at, and she is very, very good indeed, is keeping the ball out of the net. She jumps, pivots, and stretches better than any of the other girls.
Mia can follow the course of a ball from midfield to the crease and stop it before it crosses the line.
Giving the cat one last pet, she leaves the bathroom, grabbing her bag along the way. Her cleats and shin guards and and mouth guard and gloves are inside. The thick leather gloves shroud her sweaty palms, shielding them from the sting of a well-placed header, or the bite of sliding against the ground. The mouth guard is ugly yellow and tastes bad. She wears it because her mother insists. Her mother insists because two years ago the boy next door lost two teeth when a ball hit him in the face.
It is chilly outside, but not cold. It rarely gets cold in San Antonio. The live oaks are still green, of course, they don't drop their leaves until February when they drop them all at once, but all of the other trees are nude. The grass on the field is brown. Mia pulls on her long-sleeved goalie shirt, not to keep off the chill, but because sliding on that scratchy dry grass hurts. Elisabeth, her best friend, gives her a hug. Elisabeth is a defender and the biggest girl on the team. She doesn't move very fast, but she blocks well and is especially good at taking the ball off somebody.
Practice today is agility drills. Coach has them running amok amongst little orange cones, touch the ground, jump here. Mia trips when her shoe comes unlaced and she steps on it. Elisabeth and Ynez help pick her up. Coach dusts her off and checks her legs. Mia is glad for the long-sleeve shirt.
Finally they get to play. Mia takes her hair down and puts it up again, catching the strands that have worked their way out. Ynez does the same. Mia has always liked Ynez, who is the calmest, most focused person she has ever met. Coach divides them up, hands out red and blue vests, and the girls line up facing one another. Ynez and Elisabeth are on the red team. Mia is on the blue team with Lacey, Martha, and Jeannie. Lacey and Martha are fast but not very good shots. Jeannie is Coach's daughter. Mia thinks she needs to be on another team. She still looks like the eleven-year-old she is, and even though she tries hard, she just can't keep up with the older girls. It's kind of sad watching her get outrun day after day.
The whistle blows, and the ball flies into the air. Mia tracks it from a half-crouch, fingers pulsing every time a red shirt gets possession. Back and forth, foot to foot. Mia creeps forward out of the crease, and smiles when Jeannie gets a rare steal from one of the older girls.
It's nice to be able to watch sometimes.
Then Elisabeth steals the ball off of Jeannie and passes it to Maddie. Mia jerks to attention. Maddie is a striker, fast and dangerous, and worse yet, the blue defenders are all chasing her and leaving Ynez alone on the left side. Maddie surges forward with a mighty kick and sprint, and Ynez follows, wide open.
Mia yells for her team. They do this every single time. The only player left to cover the left is Jeannie, and she's too small and to slow to catch Ynez. Ynez hears her calling, and grins, and for a moment, she reminds Mia of the time her cat caught a hummingbird.
Mia braces herself.
Maddie passes the ball, just as Mia expected, and her teammates are caught flat-footed, just as Mia expected. But this is why they practice, and why Mia is in the crease. Ynez dribbles in and the blue defenders race toward her. But Mia knows Ynez, and knows that even with her calm and focus Ynez kicks high and to the left. If she were on the other side of the field, Mia wouldn't have a chance. On the left side of the field, it means Mia only has to defend half of the goal box.
Ynez shoots. Mia tracks the ball, high and to the left as always, springing into the air with all her power. It works; the ball glances off her fingertips, barely grazing the leather, and bounces onto the top bar of the goal and over the back.
Coach blows the whistle. “Corner kick Red!”
While Mia pants, more from the adrenaline than the exertion, Ynez gives her a thumbs up.
“Good shot,” Mia calls.
“Good save,” Ynez calls back.
When the practice ends, Mia sits on the bleachers, waiting for her older sister to come pick her up. She has a bruise on her left calf from when she fell. It is ugly and purple, but doesn't hurt, or at least, doesn't hurt yet. She picks at it, plays with her shin guards, bored, waiting for her sister in the fading light.