Kicked Read Free Page B

whispering to each other.
    “Good work, princess.” Ethan smirked as I walked to my bench and retrieved my notebook.
    “Lay off.” Trent tossed his helmet to the equipment handler.
    “She loses the game, and you want me to lay off?” Ethan stepped toward Trent.
    I snagged my notebook and darted past them. I had to get off the field, away from Trent and Ethan, and somewhere private. Crying on the field wasn’t going to happen, but I didn’t have a rule against crying in the women’s locker room.
    “Cordy, wait,” Trent called.
    I sped faster, weaving between players until I made it to the tunnel and veered away from the crowd. I pushed into the empty women’s locker room and let the dam burst, tears flowing down my cheeks as I sank onto the nearest bench. I hadn’t failed this badly since I missed the winning goal in a junior varsity soccer practice.
    My side hurt as I stripped off my pads and tossed them onto the floor. With my head in my hands, I cried until I was a snotty, teary mess. I hated crying, but sometimes it was necessary. Losing the game and tanking the season? Definitely time for a cry. I lay down and stared up at the fluorescent lights above me as my tears tapered off.
    After a few quiet moments, a crazed snort escaped me. Because, at that moment, I empathized with the football. I finally knew what it felt like to be kicked.
     

 
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    C ORDY
     
     
     
    “ B ETTER LUCK NEXT TIME?” Landon, my best friend, forked a piece of my pancake into his mouth.
    I wasn’t hungry, my stomach still in knots from the previous night. The familiar hum of chatter and the intermittent kitchen noises soothed my jangled nerves, but I still kept picturing that kick. That total clusterfuck of a kick, the ensuing tears, ugly looks from players and students, and the self-loathing inherent in all of it. Shifting in my seat, I smoothed my hand along my ribs, still tender from the linebacker’s elbow.
    “There won’t be a next time.” I sipped my coffee and stared out across the quad.
    “What do you mean?” He leaned back and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. He had it cut close on the sides and long on top, giving him a hipster look that I enjoyed ridiculing him for. “Why not?”
    “They’re going to have walk-on tryouts.”
    He frowned, the morning light glinting from the spider bite piercings in his lower lip. “When?”
    “This week. They’ll need a new kicker before the game Saturday. They can’t risk using me again, and Jared is out for the season.”
    “What about the second-stringer, what’s-his-face?”
    “I don’t think they can count on Pate. Poor guy.” I winced at the memory of him hurling on the football. “So, a new kicker is in order. Now that they have one loss—”
    “A loss that was in no way your fault.” He pointed at me.
    I sighed. “Come on, Landon. It was completely my fault. If I’d made the field goal, or hell, if I’d manage to get it above the line of defenders even, we would have had a chance. But that touchdown killed us, and it was all my fault.”
    “No kicker is one hundred percent.”
    “I’m running at zero percent. Maybe even a negative percentage. I saw ESPN. They’re calling it the Kick Six of the century.” Mortifying . I set my coffee cup down and pulled my blue cable knit cardigan closer around me. “I wasn’t supposed to kick. That’s not my thing. I’m just there for appearances. The Mav.”
    He took a swig of his orange juice and stared at me. I knew that look—eyebrows up, mouth curled at one corner. He’d given it to me only a few times since we became best friends freshmen year, and it basically said, “you’re full of shit, Cordy.”
    I sighed. “Do you remember when we met?”
    “What is this, The Notebook ? Of course I remember. You stole my soccer ball.” He draped his arm over the back of the chair next to him, his long, lean frame taking up his side of the table.
    “I didn’t steal it. You kicked it into