Free Kate Christie by Beautiful Game Page A

something else, I wasn’t sure.
    “She should have stopped,” I said to Jamie. “I don’t know why she didn’t. You would have, right?”

    62 Kate Christie
    She patted my shoulder. “You didn’t mean it. I’m sure she knows that.”
    Holly caught up to me and slipped her arm around my neck.
    “You’re limping. Are you hurt?”
    “Yeah, I’m hurt.”
    She gave me a squeeze as we neared the edge of the field.
    “Take it easy. Don’t worry about it. Shake it off, okay?”
    I didn’t answer. Head down, I made my way to the bench even before Coach waved me off. My foot hurt, but not as much as the other girl’s ankle must have. The trainers were still working on her.I could feel people in the stands staring at me in silence as I approached the bench. Then someone started to clap, and the rest of our fans joined in. I passed a hand over my face, swiping at the tears, and sat down at the far end of the bench. The clapping died away. I looked out at the field. No, she was still down. The clapping must have been for me. I wiped my face on my shirt sleeve, ignored my teammates’ hesitant looks. She should have seen the slide coming. She should have pulled up. Shouldn’t she?
    But as the moments dropped away one after another, my certainty began to ebb too, until I wasn’t sure I hadn’t hit her on purpose after all. Maybe Jamie was right. Maybe I was a dirty player.
    Mel sat down next to me, wincing as the ice pack shifted, and slipped her arm around my shoulders.
    “Don’t worry yourself, little one,” she said. “That was a clean slide. Just bad luck is all.”
    I shook my head and looked into Mel’s dark eyes. She looked so mean, but she was really one of the kindest women I knew.
    She liked to talk about how many kids she was going to have, three or maybe four someday.
    “I don’t know.” I sniffed. “She’s the one who took you out.
    Maybe I meant it.”
    “Not your style,” Mel said. “I appreciate the thought, though.”
    Coach Eliot approached, kneeling in front of me and looking up into my face. “You okay, champ?”
    I nodded. “Just bruised.” I looked at the clock. Four minutes left. “I’m sitting the rest?”

    Beautiful Game 63
    “You’ve done your part today. More than your part.” He stood up and caught the eye of a student trainer. “Steve, a bag of ice for Cam here, please.” Then he walked back to the other end of the bench to confer with his assistants.
    They finally took the injured player off in an ambulance.
    Play resumed with an SDC throw-in where I had knocked it out.
    The final four minutes passed quickly. Our defense, guided by Jeni and Anna, shut down the deflated SDC team easily. The game ended 1-0.
    My foot was bruised, the trainer agreed, so at the end of the game I got to ride back to the gym in a golf cart, foot swathed in ice. Before I took off, I limped over to the SDC bench, ignoring the glares some of the players shot me. I walked up to the coach, holding his gaze.
    “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t trying to hurt her, okay?
    Will you tell her that?”
    He paused, eyeing me. Then he nodded once, sharply. “I’ll tell her.”
    I walked away, head high, and climbed into the golf cart.
    Holly hopped in beside me. In the driver’s seat, Steve started forward.
    “I couldn’t let you take this fun ride all alone,” Holly said.
    “Anyway, I have your bag. And your sweats. And your shoe.”
    “Thanks.” Suddenly I could barely hold my head up. The adrenaline was wearing off, and all that was left was a dull ache in my foot and a sharper pang of guilt. I had ended the SDC
    player’s season, maybe even her soccer career. I stared down at my bare foot, where an Ace bandage held the ice in place against my heel. The ice hurt more than the actual injury.
    Holly pulled me against her side. “Rough game, huh, Cam?”
    “Yeah.” I sighed and leaned against her shoulder, avoiding the curious looks of the spectators we passed leaving the field.
    “Rough