wrapped her arms around her.
"Say anything," Missy whispered in Sue's ear, "and you're dead."
Sue's breath on her neck. "Like I'd even bother."
They pulled apart as if on cue. Missy saw the brittleness behind Sue's fake grin, how it looked like she was trying to keep herself from screaming. Her sister was genuinely upset—but whether it was for Missy or because of Missy, Missy couldn't say.
Troubled, Missy adjusted her dead face, tightened the stopper on the glass jar, then followed her father out the door.
***
Breathing hard, Missy palmed her hair out of her eyes. She cursed herself yet again for forgetting a headband. She cursed herself for letting the ball get through that one time. Most of all, she cursed herself for being tired. She was sixteen. She was immortal. She wasn't supposed to be tired, not after only seventy-five minutes of game time.
Okay, so maybe she was supposed to be tired. Still. The last thing she wanted was for the coach to decide she wasn't a starter. So she mentally slapped herself, focused on the game, and bobbed back and forth in a ready position as the opposing team passed the ball closer and closer.
Here it comes, midfield to right forward, back to midfield and a fakeout to left before passing back to right forward, and then the attack on the goal.
Missy danced on the line, running side to side and biting back the urge to shout at her teammate Trudy to get her thumb out of her ass and block the kick. If this were war, Trudy would be the wide-eyed soldier who didn't duck to avoid the shrapnel.
Forget Trudy,
Missy told herself.
Watch the legs, watch the hips, watch the eyes.
A blur of footwork, and the forward left Trudy behind as she drove the ball to the net.
Don't let it through.
The striker was looking hard at Missy's left, even as she moved toward her right. Missy launched herself out of the box to her left just as the other girl cannoned the shot. Missy mistimed it, but she saved the goal with a parrying kick that blasted the soccer ball down the field. She landed hard on her shoulder, grunting from the impact.
Get up get up get up.
Missy pulled herself to her feet and saw Jenna working the ball center left. The opposing striker was making Jenna sweat, and Missy read the girl's body language easily. "She's going to come your way," she shouted to Trudy.
Trudy blatantly ignored her, as she had the entire game. As most of her teammates had the entire game.
T HEIR BLOOD IS AS RED AS ANYONE ELSE'S.
That thought hadn't come from Missy.
She gritted her teeth and shimmied left and right as the ball escaped Jenna. Down came the striker, with Trudy nipping at her heels. The forward cut right, and Missy pounced, stealing the ball. She threw it away, wiped sweat from her eyes, and glanced at Trudy as she got back inside the box.
Nothing. It was like Missy didn't exist.
Missy told herself it didn't matter. She told herself it didn't bother her. She told herself other things, too, every single one of them a lie.
The ball stayed downfield as Missy's team attacked. Successfully, rah. Now all they had to do was prevent the other team from scoring in the last two minutes of game time.
No pressure.
Missy shuffled side to side, her eyes on the field as she moved. She watched Jenna dribble the ball away from the opposing striker, watched as the striker wove her way from behind Jenna and snagged her leg in front of the girl, kicking the ball away and tripping Jenna beautifully. Watched Jenna hit the ground and glare at the striker, who was already moving away.
W EAK,
War thought. And Missy agreed. Glaring at the enemy didn't stop them. Jenna should have at least fallen on the other girl, or flailed out with her arms to accidentally clip the girl's face. If you go down in battle, you take your opponent with you.
The ball rocketed down the field, and Missy lunged out of the box. She scooped up the ball just as the striker slammed into her, knocking the ball free. Missy made a desperate grab
"Say anything," Missy whispered in Sue's ear, "and you're dead."
Sue's breath on her neck. "Like I'd even bother."
They pulled apart as if on cue. Missy saw the brittleness behind Sue's fake grin, how it looked like she was trying to keep herself from screaming. Her sister was genuinely upset—but whether it was for Missy or because of Missy, Missy couldn't say.
Troubled, Missy adjusted her dead face, tightened the stopper on the glass jar, then followed her father out the door.
***
Breathing hard, Missy palmed her hair out of her eyes. She cursed herself yet again for forgetting a headband. She cursed herself for letting the ball get through that one time. Most of all, she cursed herself for being tired. She was sixteen. She was immortal. She wasn't supposed to be tired, not after only seventy-five minutes of game time.
Okay, so maybe she was supposed to be tired. Still. The last thing she wanted was for the coach to decide she wasn't a starter. So she mentally slapped herself, focused on the game, and bobbed back and forth in a ready position as the opposing team passed the ball closer and closer.
Here it comes, midfield to right forward, back to midfield and a fakeout to left before passing back to right forward, and then the attack on the goal.
Missy danced on the line, running side to side and biting back the urge to shout at her teammate Trudy to get her thumb out of her ass and block the kick. If this were war, Trudy would be the wide-eyed soldier who didn't duck to avoid the shrapnel.
Forget Trudy,
Missy told herself.
Watch the legs, watch the hips, watch the eyes.
A blur of footwork, and the forward left Trudy behind as she drove the ball to the net.
Don't let it through.
The striker was looking hard at Missy's left, even as she moved toward her right. Missy launched herself out of the box to her left just as the other girl cannoned the shot. Missy mistimed it, but she saved the goal with a parrying kick that blasted the soccer ball down the field. She landed hard on her shoulder, grunting from the impact.
Get up get up get up.
Missy pulled herself to her feet and saw Jenna working the ball center left. The opposing striker was making Jenna sweat, and Missy read the girl's body language easily. "She's going to come your way," she shouted to Trudy.
Trudy blatantly ignored her, as she had the entire game. As most of her teammates had the entire game.
T HEIR BLOOD IS AS RED AS ANYONE ELSE'S.
That thought hadn't come from Missy.
She gritted her teeth and shimmied left and right as the ball escaped Jenna. Down came the striker, with Trudy nipping at her heels. The forward cut right, and Missy pounced, stealing the ball. She threw it away, wiped sweat from her eyes, and glanced at Trudy as she got back inside the box.
Nothing. It was like Missy didn't exist.
Missy told herself it didn't matter. She told herself it didn't bother her. She told herself other things, too, every single one of them a lie.
The ball stayed downfield as Missy's team attacked. Successfully, rah. Now all they had to do was prevent the other team from scoring in the last two minutes of game time.
No pressure.
Missy shuffled side to side, her eyes on the field as she moved. She watched Jenna dribble the ball away from the opposing striker, watched as the striker wove her way from behind Jenna and snagged her leg in front of the girl, kicking the ball away and tripping Jenna beautifully. Watched Jenna hit the ground and glare at the striker, who was already moving away.
W EAK,
War thought. And Missy agreed. Glaring at the enemy didn't stop them. Jenna should have at least fallen on the other girl, or flailed out with her arms to accidentally clip the girl's face. If you go down in battle, you take your opponent with you.
The ball rocketed down the field, and Missy lunged out of the box. She scooped up the ball just as the striker slammed into her, knocking the ball free. Missy made a desperate grab
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