Soccer
BY PAIGE PENDERGRAST
The soft grass stuck to the backs of her legs as she sat off to the side in the shade. She rested one arm on her upright knee as she combed her fingers through the grass; slowly picking out clover flowers and pulling them apart. The air was humid and too hot, and again and again she brushed the same small ants off her legs.
A beetle picked its way over the dirt. She pulled a dandelion up and split open its hollow stem. The milk coated her fingers as she squeezed the unrolled stem until it flattened. It darkened and turned to a green pulp before she threw it into the grass, away from her.
In the haze of summer, soccer players on the nearest field appeared to move too slow. Sound felt far away, and she rested back on her elbows as she squinted to see what was going on. A whistle blew somewhere, but she couldn't find the ball from the distance she was at. Her shin itched. She tried to scratch beneath the guard, but her socks were too tight on her calves. She looked for her friend’s jersey as she tried to scratch harder.
Her neck ached but she wouldn't let her head rest on the ground. She sat back up and curved her back so her chin rested on her knees. A soft padding on the grass behind her told her she could no longer hide. She dug her cleats into the damp dirt and crouched before standing up.
"I'm already moving", she said. "Good", she heard.
She began a slow walk to the playing field before setting off at a jog, feeling self conscious of him behind her. By the time she reached the bench where two other silent girls in red sat, her body felt tired. She wanted to lie down.
The grooves on the metal bench burned the backs of her thighs as she leaned forward. She drank some warm water and asked what the score was.
"Two to two", her friend said, "we may actually win."
"And the quarter?" she asked.
"Third. Still." Her friend replied.
She dropped her head down and brushed the top of the grass with her fingertips. She wanted to leave.