Free Kate Christie by Beautiful Game Page B

game.”
    I was the last one to leave the gym that night. The trainer made me visit with her for a little while, just to make sure my foot was okay. Holly and Laura came into the training room to hear the verdict: just a bruise. Even though they were finished 64 Kate Christie
    showering, they offered to drive me and my car up to the student center. They even insisted. But when I told them I just wanted to be alone, that I would meet them at dinner, they reluctantly left.Alone in the locker room, I took a long, leisurely shower, then dressed in a pair of comfy Levi’s and an SDU soccer Tshirt. I taped a piece of Dr. Shoal’s tough skin in a crescent shape at the edge of my heel, as the trainer had directed, and pulled my Sambas on, leaving the right shoe mostly unlaced. The four Advil I had taken were kicking in. Now it just hurt to walk. I was supposed to use a crutch, so I tried it out in the locker room. It felt weird. I didn’t think I liked being injured.
    When I hobbled out of the locker room, I found, to my astonishment, Jess Maxwell curled up on a couch in the lounge reading a textbook.
    She glanced up. “Hey, Cam.”
    “Hey.” I was too tired to feel more than a flicker of happiness at seeing her. “What are you doing here?”
    “I was at the game. Coach gave us practice off today.” She closed her book, slid it into her athletic bag and stood up. “Are you okay?”
    I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “It’s just a bruise.
    But thanks.”
    “Do you need a ride?”
    I hesitated. I could always pick up my car tomorrow. “You going to the student center?”
    “Yep.”
    “Okay, then. Thanks, Jess.”
    “De nada.”
    In the elevator she took my bag from me. I started to protest but thought better of it. My jock pride was misplaced now that I was temporarily disabled. We walked out to the car in silence.
    By the time I’d maneuvered into the car, my foot was throbbing again.
    “Good thing you saw this game,” I said. “The game where I manage to hurt myself breaking someone else’s leg.”
    “I thought you played really well.” She put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “You had the winning assist.

    Beautiful Game 65
    Everyone in the stands was saying how you guys could go all the way this year with you in back and Jamie Betz up front. When you and that woman collided at the end, mostly people were just scared you weren’t going to get up.”
    We were still sitting in the parking lot, U2 rolling from the car stereo. Jess seemed so earnest. She was probably just being nice.“We didn’t collide. I took her out. You got to see someone carried off on a stretcher because of me, after all. Jamie’s right, I am a dirty player. Not…” I stopped. I’d been about to say, Not All-American material .
    Jess frowned, her brow furrowing. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You wouldn’t do that.”
    I shook my head again. “You don’t know.” The phrase reminded me of the words she had tossed out a few weeks before when I’d told her how talented she was. Did she remember, too?
    She started the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hesitate before shifting into reverse and backing out of the parking space. The sun was setting behind the hill, streaking the sky pink. Sometimes I thought it was odd that we lived our lives just out of sight of the Pacific. Sometimes I imagined I could hear it late at night, breakers storming the beach. But you couldn’t see the ocean from campus.
    “What are you doing this Sunday?” Jess asked suddenly.
    “I don’t know. Nothing. I think I have a paper due sometime next week. Maybe I’ll get started.”
    She turned in to the student center parking lot. “You’re actually considering getting a paper done early?”
    I had to smile. “Why, what are you doing Sunday?”
    She shrugged and stopped the car near the door to the student center, letting the engine idle. “I was thinking of going down to Balboa Park for a bike ride.”