Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

“That’s a good sign, right?” I peek up toward the register. Bianca is manning the front alone, but there’s no line. She can hang for a few while Micah and I trade intel.

“I’m not getting my hopes up.” He yanks a paper towel from the dispenser above the sink and starts writing himself a to-do list on it. Caribou Cookies. Banana bread. Pizza dough.

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking that when people break up there’s usually a reason, and whatever it is, it’s still going to be there even if we do get back together.” He grabs a pair of warped, silver sheet pans and lays them out on the counter.

“You’re having second thoughts?” I can hardly believe it. “Dude, you sound like Leo.”

Micah grabs a deep silver bowl from beneath the electric mixer. “Yeah? Well, Leo is one of the smartest people I know.”

“But you’ve been pining away for her. And now she wants to meet up and you’re having doubts?” For a split second it occurs to me I had these same thoughts about Jason. But I didn’t, not really. I was just mad at him. Amber didn’t dump Micah in public. She didn’t blow him off for some other guy. He’s not angry with her. His situation is totally different.

Micah disappears into the walk-in cooler without answering. He comes back with a carton of eggs and a stick of butter.

“Are you just afraid you’ll mess it up again?” I persist.

He stops unwrapping the butter long enough to give me a hard look. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I only miss the idea of her—”

Footsteps approach from the front. Micah and I both turn toward the sound. Bianca slides around the corner into the prep area with a magazine in her hand. She skids to a stop when she sees us. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“No,” Micah and I say simultaneously.

Bee’s eyes widen. “Wow, you two are becoming the same person.”

I frown. “Highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, I find that insulting,” Micah adds.

Bee holds the magazine out in my direction. “I was just wondering if you saw this interview with Caleb Waters. My mom subscribes to Hollywood Insider.”

“Lame,” Micah mutters under his breath. He tosses a stick of butter into the mixing bowl and flips it on low speed.

“Whatever.” Grabbing the magazine, I scan the article and accompanying pictures. There’s nothing here that I haven’t already seen online.

Micah adds two cups of sugar to the mixer and then disappears into the walk-in cooler again.

“I’m going to grab some gum out of my purse and then I’ll be back up front, okay?” Bianca heads toward the lockers.

“I’m going up there right now.” Tucking the magazine under my arm, I head out to the front.

Bee joins me a few minutes later. “So what’s Micah’s problem?”

I shrug. “Too much angry music, probably.” I grab Bee’s hands and spin her around in a circle. “Guess what. Things might be finally coming together in the old war on Jason.” I give her a condensed version of the disaster at Beat, and then my phone calls from Jay and Kendall last night.

“He talked to you and immediately called his sister for more information? That sounds highly promising.”

“Micah is going to come to the game on Saturday,” I say. “You should come too. You can probably sub in with me.” I have no idea how many players Jason has on his team, but I’m going to be nervous and it would help to have Bianca there with me, even if she only ends up warming the bench.

“I can’t. I’m going hiking with my family that day.”

“Can you cancel?” I ask. “Come on. Wouldn’t you rather play soccer?”

“Not this time. We’re going out to Elephant Rocks State Park and my mom has been looking forward to this trip forever.” She toys with the end of her braid. “You don’t need me anyway. It sounds like you and Micah have things all figured out.”

I reach out and give her braid a friendly tug. “I always need you, Bee.”

When Saturday morning rolls around, I spend a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for the game at Forest Park. Jason texted me and said to wear black shorts and that he’d give me a shirt when I get there. You’d think it’d be easy then—cleats, shin guards, socks, sports bra, ponytail, done.

I don all of these items and check myself out in the mirror. I sigh. I might as well be a boy. It’s hard for me to look hot playing soccer. I trade the ponytail for a pair of fish-bone braids, pinning my bangs back with bobby pins so they won’t flap in my eyes and distract me. My Jersey-shaped blotch of freckles stands out like some old lady’s liver spots. I dot a bit of concealer over the mark and then line my eyes with brown pencil. It’s going to have to be good enough. There’s only so much makeup I can get away with wearing before it’ll be obvious to everyone that I’m trying to look good for Jason. Be deceptive, I tell myself. Today has to be all about soccer.

Forest Park is home to the zoo, several museums, a lake, tennis courts, and lots of sports fields and picnic pavilions. I turn into the main entrance and wind my way past Art Hill, where kids from nearby Washington University go to play guitars, sunbathe, and snuggle together on blankets.

A siren shrills from behind me. Pulling over, I watch a bright red ambulance roar past. It’s probably on the way to the big city hospital just outside of the park where Bianca’s mom works.

The soccer fields are located around the corner from the tennis courts. As I pull up, there’s a huddle of players in red on the near side of the field and a sprinkling of players in yellow on the other side.

Jason stands in the middle of the red players, towering over most of them, his sandy-blond hair blowing in the wind. I check the stands for Alexandra, but she’s nowhere to be found. Slowly I approach the team, looking for anyone familiar. Dan Spencer is there, and Matt Clifton from the Hazelton boys team. And there’s Jaime Martinez, another varsity starter. But no one I would call a friend, and at least ten people who are complete strangers. I wish Micah were here now instead of showing up later after his community service. I’m kind of used to having him around during my “battles.”

Jason sees me crossing the field and breaks free of the huddle. “I knew you’d come.” He strides up to me, a red shirt balled in his hand. “Here.”

I take the jersey. It’s a number 5—the number I’ve worn since freshman year. The shirt is new. He either just had it made or ordered it for me at the beginning of the summer and never let anyone use it. “Jay.” I look up at him. “Any old T-shirt would have worked.”

“I’ve been saving that for you.” His face is perfectly neutral but there’s a softness in his voice I haven’t heard in a while.

“Thank you.” I slip the jersey over my tank. It fits perfectly. It feels right. All of this feels very right. “I don’t know what to say.”

He angles his head toward the opposing team. “Say you’re going to help kick these guys’ asses.”

We both turn around to check out the Yellow Jackets. There are only fourteen players and six are girls. They’re down on the ground doing sit-ups with varying degrees of success.

“Look at all the chicks. We should be able to beat them blindfolded,” I joke.

“Yeah. Girls can’t play soccer,” Jason says. “They ought to be at home baking bread and doing woman things.”

I grin. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.” He holds out his hand for a high five. I go to slap it, but he grabs my fingers and squeezes them as he pulls me in close. “I’m glad you came.”

And just like that, last night’s doubts melt away. Everything I love about Jason is amplified on the soccer field. At school he might be a class clown or a troublemaker, but when he puts on his uniform, he becomes the kind of guy that everyone is in awe of. His walk, the fit of his jersey, the way he doesn’t stop fighting until the last whistle is blown—it all says “champion.” It’s the way I want people to think of me when I play.

It occurs to me that he’s waiting for a response. “Yeah. Me too,” I mumble. Real smooth, Lainey. It’s like Jason’s proximity has transported me back in time. Good-bye, Dead Chinese Warlord. Hello, Tongue-tied Freshman.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s figure out where you’re going to play.”

Jason drags me back to the huddle and announces that I’ll be starting at striker with him. An Indian kid I don’t know looks less than thrilled at this, but agrees to switch from striker to winger forward. One of the winger forwards switches to left halfback, which is apparently the spot that’s actually needing to be filled today. There are only three girls here, including me. League rules require at least two girls on the field at all time. It’s going to be a tiring game, but I’m up for it.

We split into lines and run some practice formations against our goalie. Doing drills with Jason reminds me of how perfect we are together. We’ve played together so long we know exactly how to anticipate each other’s moves. I know how far to lead him on a pass. He can adjust for how fast I run, for the length of my stride.

The referees show up and both teams head for the sidelines. The Yellow Jackets now have twenty players. That’s more than we have. I notice they’re wearing real jerseys, not flimsy T-shirts with numbers printed on them. They seem much tougher than they did when Jason and I were joking around. The hummingbirds take flight in my gut, but it’s a good kind of nervousness.