Thursdays After School

One

I STEP ONTO THE SOCCER PITCH, and Dad takes his hand off my shoulder. I want him to watch the match. I want him to be with me, to see me kicking the ball across the pitch. I want him to stay there, and to cheer me on.
       "Can't you stay?" I ask. I hate how babyishly my voice comes out. This is a conversation I could have had when playing under sixes.
      "No, no, no." he says. It's uncanny, the way he says that. It can't just be one no, but it has to be three. I've never really considered this before. It's just been how I've grown up. The field is lit up already, and the harsh overhead lights have turned on. I have to squint at Dad until he turns blurry. I can only just see his lips, as they make out the words "No parents, remember."
      I point at the adults bunching up at the gate. Bunching is definitely the right word to describe them. They stand near the fence, leaning casually on it. Dad glares at them, but they just ignore him. I can tell that they aren't making his job any easier. I don't want him to cheer me on, but I want him to be there. I want him to see my soccer training, the first interaction I ever have with my team.
      I sidestep to the gate, hanging in the pathway. Teams members grumble as they pass me, annoyed that I'm taking up all that space. I quickly step to the side. Somebody taking up all the space is not a good first impression to make. They go to the ground, and kick balls to each other, chattering like old friends reunited. That confirms it then. I'm the only new member on this team.
      I sigh and turn back to Dad. Now that I'm not looking into those unforgiving lights, I can see the lines of worry on his face. I never get so fussed about soccer training. Not even my first one. But the truth is, I've never had to start over with soccer teams. I've just been there, playing in matches every week, sprinting across the pitch. I've comforted new people, telling them that they're good at soccer when they really aren't.
      That was back then they needed all the female players that they could get. The boys team flourished, and the girls team decreased, dying in a slow, agonising way. It was like Jenga - how many blocks can you take out before it all crumbles? I was the person that was always on the team, watching others leave, and new people come. I watched the numbers decrease. And then I left.
      I still feel guilty about leaving, even though it wasn't my choice. I shouldn't have left the team. Without me, it collapsed. I don't know if the Seekers FC girls team survived. I know that a lot of girls were leaving at the end of last season, and a lot of those were people who had been with the team for nearly as long as I had been, girls that we couldn't afford to have leaving.
      I feel myself slouch. It might be my fault that the team isn't a team anymore. It might be my fault that everyone's left, and Seekers FC does not exist anymore.
      "Are you thinking about the Seekers again?" says Dad. I'm not sure whether it's good or bad that he can always seem to read my mind. It strengthens the Father-daughter connection, but he doesn't know where to stop with the whole charade. He keeps pressing me, until I tell him. It's like he's always forcing the words out of me
      "Yeah." I say, loudly and rudely. I do not want to talk about the Seekers. I want to pretend that they never existed. "Look, I'll go Dad, and you can too. I'll tell you all about it afterwards."
      Dad looks at me, concerned. Worry lines crease up on his forehead now deeper than ever, and I just want to leap into his arms. But I can't. I look at the team. Now they're kicking the ball to each other. There is no coach in sight, but I guess I have to roll with that, Some of them are tapping their feet impatiently, all the while looking directly at me. I shudder. I don't' want to be that soppy kid that gets all emotional at a soccer training.
      "Bye." I call, grabbing my drink bottle out of his hands. At first, he seems to hold it tight and for a second it's a tug of war. But then he seems to understand. He lets go, and his finger slide out of the handle. I want to say sorry, but I'm not like that any more.
       Dad doesn't even reply. He just nods, looking confused and heartbroken. I feel so bad that I've pushed him to this sadness, making him confused and everything. But I can't mention the Seekers. Not to him. Not to anyone on my new team.
      I turn on my heel, and walk into the gates. It feels like I've started something just by doing that gesture. This is the official start of joining a new team. I walk in, taking deep breaths. The lights are now turned fully on, yet the sun is barely through its first minute of setting. I look down at my shoes. The battered soccer boots that have gone through three seasons. I just need to begin.
      "Hi." I say awkwardly, looking at all the girls faces in turn.
      "Hi." says one of them. None of the others really do much. They just pass the ball to each other. The ball flies into the distance, and two girls run for it. They're so fast. I guess that's why they're called Accelerate SC. I'm tempted to say that, but it'll probably come across as lame.
      "You played soccer before?" says a girl with a gravelly voice. I nod eagerly, and then immediately regret it. I can't look eager. I have to be cool. It's my fault that I'm here, so I may as well play soccer and seem cool. "Nice. What team?" they say.
      I feel my muscles tense up. I don't want to say The Seekers. The Seekers have a reputation for losing every match, and being terrible players in general. I know I should be honest, but I so desperately want to fit in that I say "Oh, different team. It's not one from around here. I played umm, for a team that isn't here."
      I can tell they don't believe me. Well, the girl who asked me doesn't seem to believe me. She raises an eyebrow, swishing her light brown ponytail around. Has she played me before in a match? Does she recognise me from the Seekers? But instead of inquiring any further, she just says "Nice."
      I let out a silent sigh of relief. For a second I'm scared that it'll fog up in the air, but then I remember that it's autumn, not winter. Dad told me that Accelerate does training five weeks before the actual season starts. The air has a crisp, autumn feel to it, and it isn't that cold. It's a lovely night, and it still isn't even started yet. I have a good feeling about this team, I really do.
      "So, what do we do now?" I say. a few girls snigger at this question, like it's a dumb thing to ask. I want to glare at them, and tell them that it's fine not to know, but instead I say nothing.
      But then the coach arrives, swiftly coming to my rescue. She has brilliant blue eyes, and hair as white as the lights. She doesn't seem old. Well, she might be, but there's a buzz that surrounds her. She's a woman that clearly enjoys being alive.
      "We start training of course." she says, beaming at us.