On My Mind

“Kai, you're goin' back in—sub on for Brooke, alright?”

Kaia surveyed the game in front of her with trepidation, shifting from foot to foot. The field in front of her had turned from grass to mud quicker than she expected—and the rain that was pouring down over them wasn't helping, slicking her hair to her face and the back of her neck. She had only been benched for ten minutes.

The little time she had had to rest had gone by in what she could have sworn was seconds, and her coach offered her a strained look and a pat on the back as she jogged back toward the offensive line. His mood seemed like it had improved, at least; their last conversation had started and ended when he pulled her off the field with a vicious you're falling asleep out there! What the hell are you doing? They weren't losing—the score had been tied before half time, and it stayed like that. Kaia couldn't find spaces to step around their defense, and the girls that were playing alongside her were having the same problem, faltering and fumbling around the other team's goal. Kaia had snapped back at him, her own annoyance sharp against the gray-blue field around them.

Around her, her teammates were muddy, soaking wet, their faces dotted here and there with flecks of the muck from the ground under them. The wind picked up as she approached the ball, slapping hands with the girl she replaced. When the ref blew the whistle, the game jumped back into action, and she lost herself there on the field.

From somewhere on the sidelines, she could hear her coach's vague yelling again, and she pushed forward, following the ball as it moved up the field under her teammate's feet. Caroline, the wing on the opposite side of the field, shot it through the legs of one of the defender's to reach Kaia, and they carried the ball up the field together, trying to break through the defensive line.

Kaia recognized the cool feeling of nerves twisting in her stomach as she raced back and forth across the field, the idea of another loss wavering at the back of her mind. They couldn't afford to lose another game—not after the loss in Chapel Hill, and not with the prospect of the quarter and semi-finals brewing on the horizon, starting to become tangible where they had been gray before. The last thing she wanted to do was watch the end of the season from the bleachers, full of regret and “if I had done this differently...”

There was something like five minutes left in the game when Kaia tripped over one of the other team's players, landing half on top of her, sprawled out in the mud.

“Watch where the fuck you're going,” the girl said, shoving at Kaia as she climbed to her feet.

Kaia took a quick step away, rubbing emptily at the wet slick of mud on her jersey. She wasn't in the mood for any of the aggression that the other team had been trying to unload on them since the beginning of the game.

“Ignore me,” the girl called. “Stupid bitch.”

Kaia knew better than to get involved in arguments on the field; she had learned, over the course of however many years, that it was never worth it. It was the rain, and the mud, and the scoreboard that almost seemed like it was mocking her—that was it. She turned on her heel, lip curled. “Shut the fuck up. We're trying to play a game.”

The girl smirked back at her, laughing. “Trying is a good word.”

“Great comeback,” Kaia spat, feeling anger rise up through her, hot against the cold rain. “Maybe if your team had their shit together, you would actually fucking have bragging rights—”

“My team?” The red head laughed again, and took a long step toward Kaia. She stood at least a head higher than her, and her hands were balled into fists. “Great comeback.”

Caroline stepped up between the two, pushing Kaia's shoulders back. “Not worth it, Kai.” She nodded toward the ref, who was hovering a few feet away, waiting for a fight to break out between the two. “Chill. We can do this.”

The annoyance seeped out of Kaia like a deflated balloon, but she still glared back at the red-head as she jogged into place, trying to pull her mind back into focus. Through the rain, the game picked back up, and she followed it, anxiously watching the last few minutes tick away on the scoreboard above the field. They got caught a few yards from the goal, fighting against the other team with short, precise passes, paused for a second. Kaia met eyes with Caroline, who nodded fiercely at the goal.

She shouted pass toward Caroline, and her teammate drove it toward her with everything that she had left—it soared over a few heads, some that tried to hit it back toward the opposite side of the field. Kaia jumped, back peddling through the air until it hit, swishing into the back of the net, and she fell.

There was a moment of empty silence before her coach started screaming and the team joined in, rushing toward her. The goalie stood awkwardly in the net, fingers threaded through the rope, the ball sitting adjacent to her feet. From somewhere else on the field, the ref blew the whistle, signaling that the game had ended, and Kaia's teammates pulled her onto her feet, grinning wildly through the rain.

~

It was the headline of the Sports page of the newspaper a few days later: a photo of mud-soaked Kaia, suspended in the air, the ball a few inches from her foot. Pitt Women's Soccer Climbs to the Top Again. They were the number one team in the country, something that the article heralded as almost “commonplace” for the team; Kaia, along with a few others, was credited with the win.

Sid was reading the article when Kaia got to the restaurant, and he left it on the table in front of him, grinning a little when he saw her eyes scan over it. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she offered, sliding into the chair opposite him. She eyed the cup of coffee in front of her almost excitedly. “Is this for me?”

He nodded, holding the newspaper out across the table. “So is this.”

She plucked the paper from him, her eyes surveying the picture. “Jesus Christ.”

“That's just impressive,” Sidney offered with a smile, gently taking it back from her. “You look great.”

“Dirty and desperate is a great look for me,” she said with a grin, opening the menu in front of her.

Sidney couldn't help but laugh at that, looking at her fondly in the few seconds that she wasn't paying attention. That morning, she was bundled up against the cold that had unexpectedly dropped over Pittsburgh, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, a knit hat pulled over her hair.

Sid leaned back in his chair. “What looks good?”

“Everything,” she mumbled. “I love breakfast.”

“Get whatever you want,” he said. “You deserve it after that game yesterday.”

She shook her head, laughing a little. “That article failed to mention how sloppy the game was for the other 89 minutes.”

“Was it a tough game?”

Kaia nodded, taking a long sip of the coffee he had ordered for her. “It sucked,” she said plainly. “I didn't think we were going to win.” She met his eyes, smiling almost sheepishly. “And I almost got in a fight, which—”

“What?” Sidney stared at her, trying to imagine the petite blonde fighting someone. His eyebrows drew together. “You have to explain that.”

“She was an asshole,” Kaia said delicately, drumming her fingers on the table. “And I was really frustrated.”

“What happened?”

She explained the entire game over breakfast—omelettes for both of them, Kaia having half-heartedly agreed that pancakes weren't a healthy option—and paused every once in awhile to explain the game to him: the rain, how the defense on the other team had been really good, how she was nervous, because of that, what they would face in their games in the upcoming weeks. He knew the feeling exactly, and felt an unexpected surge of admiration for the girl sitting across from him: if he understood her, then she would understand him, something that no other girl had ever been able to offer. As she spoke, her air of nonchalance and honesty almost calmed Sidney; she spoke with facts and statistics that she knew off the top of her head, but did so casually, her voice light.

“Maggie won't stop talking about the game,” Kaia said after awhile, offering him a smile. “Thanks for getting us tickets.”

He smiled at that. “Thanks for coming.”

“I wish I didn't need an interpreter to watch it, though.” She smiled at him, shrugging. “Someday I'll understand hockey.”

“It isn't that hard,” Sidney said, though he knew well enough that, for her, hockey was basically a foreign language. “I'll show you someday.”

“Private hockey lessons from Sidney Crosby?” She batted her eyelashes, holding back laughter. “How did I get so lucky?”

Sidney laughed out loud, shaking his head at her. “Don't push it.”

She giggled into her cup of coffee. "It'd be hard for you to teach me. I wasn't made for ice."

"Oh, you weren't?"

"I don't even know how to skate," she said almost hesitantly. "Never learned."