I'm Your Wreck

10- Like Little Leagues

I was shocked at how many people showed up at the practice field on Saturday. Some people showed up because they were my friends and wanted me to do well at tryouts on Thursday. Others were there because they knew there were kegs and bottles of cheap vodka waiting at the house after the game.

Morgan, who seemed to be the only person on the field with a semblance of knowledge of the sport, was the other team captain and we drew our teams. Making sure that we each had the same amount of men and women while Kenji passed out bandannas- blue for my team, red for Morgan's.

I ended up with Abigail and Cara from the neighbor house, two of Ollie's business school friends, Sam and one of her friends, and Walker.

Morgan's team consisted of her other roommate, Tory, Beth, Banks, Ollie, Kenji and one of his friends from art school, and Quinn.

Even before the game started, I was getting sweaty. The shake in my hands were becoming familiar to me now, so I quickly stuffed them into my pockets so that nobody could see. Everybody was joking around before the game, tying their bandannas around their wrists or foreheads, excited for the after party.

I sat in the grass, staring at the menacing soccer ball beside me. Not only was I going to choke, but I was going to do it in front of all of my friends, and the girl I was hooking up with, and my sister. I wouldn't make it to tryouts, I'd never play soccer again and it wouldn't be because of my injury. It would just be because I'm weak and afraid and-

"MacGyver." Banks invited himself into the grass beside me. "Game's about to start. Don't tell me your chickening out now, I'm playing forward wing against you and I've already mentally prepared myself to kick your ass."

Pulling some grass out of the ground, I said, "Don't have a choice now, do I? Everybody's here just for me."

"At least half of us are just here for the booze," he assured me jokingly.

"And what makes you think you'll kick my ass? Have you ever even kicked a ball before?" I raised my brow at him.

He let out an easy laugh. "Absolutely not, but how hard can it be?"

I glanced down at the Vans he wore with a pair of sweats that I'd never seen him wear outside of the house before. Working out clearly wasn't something he was accustomed to.

"Care to give me any pointers? Since you're the expert and all."

"No way," I said with a scoff. "You're playing opposite my position, you'll have to figure it out on your own."

"I'll just do what you do."

"If you're caught up trying to mimic my footwork, you'll always be a second behind me," I responded, letting my ego inflate a little bit even though I was aware that there was a ninety percent chance I was going to get on the field and blow it completely.

I was surprised that Banks was the one to approach and, in his own way, maybe try to help with the anxiety. Maybe nobody else could detect how anxious I really was. When we got wings together, he did mention going through similar anxieties, so maybe he was more sympathetic to the issue.

It would be more helpful if he had some actionable advice to get over it, but from what he said, it didn't seem like he'd figured that out yet. Still, it did kind of help to know that I wasn't the only nut case out there who couldn't complete simple tasks due to some sort of trauma.

"Oh, and I got you something," he said, reaching into his sling back and pulling out a square juice box. "It's not the fancy kind that the rich moms would get from Whole Foods, but it should do in a pinch?"

Surprising both of us, a laugh escaped my chest as I took the box from his extended hand. "Like little leagues. Thanks."

"Hey, you ready?" Sam appeared in front of me wearing black bike shorts and a sports bra, her blond hair tied up in a stubby pony tail with her blue bandanna tied around her wrist. "Everything's all set up."