Kate Christie (16 page)

After a minute, I cleared my throat. “Beer’s in the fridge.”

The tension in the room eased a bit. Jamie and Mel put their heads together at the stereo in the corner of the living room, lining up CDs for the evening, while Kate and Sara left the beer they’d brought in the kitchen and grabbed bottles from the fridge. The doorbell rang again and a whole mess of freshmen and sophomores wandered in, almost unfamiliar to me in street clothes. We got everyone beer, except for a couple of freshmen who’d brought wine coolers. They didn’t like beer.

Jamie grinned malevolently. “We’ll have to take care of that, won’t we, Mel?”

Mel nodded, unsmiling, playing the mean butch. “We certainly will.”

The two freshmen exchanged a wide-eyed look and cradled their wine coolers closer to their chests. They were probably afraid of Mel. Then again, even I had been intimidated when I first met her. Mel caught my eye and turned away, hiding a smile.

It might seem strange, but I always felt like I really got to know my teammates during the off-season. At this point in the semester, we’d spent countless hours together on buses, at practice and in locker rooms, but we were basically a group of strangers still. We knew who could chest trap the ball well and who was good at crosses or volleys, who was on scholarship and who was a walk-on, who had bad ankles and how long most of us had played soccer. But beyond the neat rectangle of the soccer field, we didn’t know each other that well.

At off-season parties, I finally got to know the teammates I hadn’t talked to much at practice. The cliques were still obvious, Beautiful Game 117

but as soon as everyone gathered around the table for a game of quarters, the barriers dropped and laughter bonded everyone.

Seniors learned the names of freshmen. Juniors and sophomores cemented friendships. And freshmen forgot to be shy as they tried to catch their teammates with a quarter in a shot glass.

When the doorbell rang half an hour after the last soccer player had arrived, Mel and I exchanged a look. I went to open the door and discovered Jess and a dozen or so of her teammates waiting outside. Judging from their bright eyes and the tall plastic cups they nearly all carried, they had pre-partied somewhere along the way. My bet was on a frat party.

“Hey,” Jess said, smiling at me.

“Come on in,” I said, holding the door wide. This was going to be interesting.

At first the tennis players were more reserved than we were, accustomed as they were to a sport in which any display of emotion resulted in point penalties. The drunker they got, though, the rowdier they were and the more fun everyone seemed to have. As I’d predicted, the soccer team drank the tennis team under the table. But it took a while, and most of the beer in the apartment was gone before the tennis team finally folded.

Unlike the rest of her team, Jess didn’t drink much. She had to drive home, she said. Mel told her she was welcome to stay in one of the rooms upstairs—her fourth roommate had dropped out of school, and friends were always staying over in the empty room. At this suggestion, though, Jess just shook her head and got all quiet. Then she excused herself and went upstairs to the bathroom, and I got caught up in my turn in the drinking game. By the time I noticed she was back a little later, everything seemed normal again. Well on my way to getting drunk, I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t imagined the odd look in her eyes at Mel’s suggestion.

The party was more fun than I’d expected. The music was good, and people from disparate social strata actually got along.

The one bummer was that Holly left early. She’d promised Becca she would meet her for a drink at midnight—
booty call
, we all razzed her as she pulled on her team jacket and resolutely headed for the door. The party raged on for another hour before soccer 11 Kate Christie

players and tennis players began to stagger off toward central campus in twos and threes.

Finally it was only Mel, Jeni, Anna, Jess and me left. Jess and I were sitting on the orange couch in the living room talking about nothing. The other three were at the dining table doing the same. The stereo was crooning the Eagles’
Greatest Hits
.

“Awesome party,” Jess said. “Even if you did kick our butts.”

“Told you so.”

I wasn’t quite drunk, more like happily buzzed. The buzz was beginning to wear off, though, and I was starting to get sleepy. I leaned my head against the back of the couch and squinted down at our feet. We were sitting close together in the middle of the wide couch, our jeaned legs barely touching, sneakered feet up on the wooden coffee table.

Jess was watching me. “You’re so cute,” she murmured, and reached out to touch my cheek, her fingers gliding gently over my alcohol-flushed skin.

That woke me up. I looked over at her quickly. “Jess,” I said, my voice low. Then I stopped. My hand caught hers, our fingers interlacing almost of their own accord. Our eyes held, an unspoken undercurrent passing between us.

Then, blinking, she looked away, glanced at her watch. “It’s late. I should go.” She released my hand with a quick squeeze and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

I sat where I was, wondering what had just happened. Had she really touched my cheek and called me cute and looked at me with that rare wide open look? I stared at her back, muscles visible beneath her long-sleeved shirt, and had to resist an urge to slip my arms around her from behind. I drained the last of my beer and closed my eyes. Maybe I was drunk after all. Or maybe I had just been celibate for too long. Five months felt like a lifetime.

Beside me, Jess started humming along to “I Can’t Tell You Why,” one of my all-time favorite Eagles songs. Her voice was good, I could tell. I felt her lean back next to me again, our thighs touching. I was afraid that if I opened my eyes, she would move away.When the song was over, she touched my leg briefly, her Beautiful Game 11

hand warm through the denim of my jeans. “Hey, champ. You awake?”

Reluctantly I opened my eyes and blinked in the lamplight.

Jeni and Anna were standing up now, looking over at us and laughing at something Mel had said. Jess was watching me, her eyes shuttered again.

“Unfortunately,” I said.

The party was over. We walked out together—Anna, Jeni, Jess and me. Jess’s car was parked on a nearby street, so I walked her to it while Anna and Jeni waited for me under a streetlamp.

At the Volkswagen, Jess turned to me and held up her hand. I slapped it automatically even though I would rather have given her a hug. Jess wasn’t the hugging type.

“You know,” I said, “you could stay at my place tonight if you don’t want to drive.”

As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. I hadn’t intended to say that.

She looked down at the keys in her hand and shook her head.

“Thanks anyway, but I should go.”

I cleared my throat quickly. “That’s cool.” Why had I said anything? All at once I felt like a lecherous lesbian, though I hadn’t meant anything by the invitation. At least I didn’t think I had. I stepped back. “Okay, well, drive safely.”

“I will.” She watched me backing away. I spun on my heel and headed toward my teammates. Behind me, I heard Jess get into her car and start the engine. I didn’t look back as she drove away.Anna, Jeni and I walked quickly through the cooling California night, chatting and gossiping about the party. Jeni kept talking about Mel. I would have to remember to tell Mel that, I thought. Jeni didn’t look gay. With Anna, though, it was obvious. Her hair was cropped short except in front where it was bleached blonde. She wore a black triangle earring in her left ear and walked with this cocky, jock-dyke walk. She actually reminded me of myself back in my radical days, as Holly liked to call them. I sighed a little and looked up at the faint stars, nearly blotted out by the San Diego lights. I must be getting old. The thought of dating practically any attractive 120 Kate Christie

woman who showed interest, as I’d done my first two years of college, no longer appealed to me in the least.

“What’s up with you and that tennis player, Cam?” Anna asked as we neared central campus.

Bold little baby dyke. I could almost respect that. “What’s it to you?”

She smiled disarmingly at me. “I was just going to say you guys look good together.”

“Right.” I recognized that smile too. “We’re just friends. But as long as we’re on the topic of dating girls, I’m going to give you two a few tips passed along to me by another soccer player my first year at SDU. Number one, never date anyone on your team.

At least, not anyone who will be on your team next season,” I amended, catching Jeni’s frown out of the corner of my eye.

“Number two, try to date people who are about your size. That way you can share clothes.” They giggled. “Number three, never date anyone who lives on your hall. If you break up, bathroom scenes can get pretty ugly. And last, don’t date straight girls. It only gets you into trouble.” A tip I would do well to remember, apparently.

“Cool,” Anna said, and held out her hand for a fist bump.

I complied. We’d reached my dorm, and I fished in my jeans pocket for my keys. “Be safe, you two. Watch out for scary frat boys.”

A couple of gay guys had been beaten up the month before walking home from a party, not to mention the usual date-rapes and random rapes that plagued a university this size. The administration had installed extra security lights and phones, but you still had to be careful.

Jeni and Anna waved and strode off down the sidewalk, bellowing a song so out of tune I didn’t recognize it.

On my hall, I stopped in the bathroom to get ready for bed. I lived in a women-only dorm so there weren’t any football players puking in the stalls, fortunately, not like in Laura’s dorm. Even the bathrooms on Laura’s floor were co-ed. I wasn’t sure she’d ever mentioned this fact to her parents, conservative Republican types from Orange County.

As I brushed my teeth, I stared at my mirrored reflection. No Beautiful Game 121

wonder Jess had opted to go home alone. I looked terrible—my face was flushed, hair a mess, T-shirt disheveled. I raked a hand through my hair. No use. I still looked like shit.

Scowling, I filled a plastic cup with water and took it down the hall to bed with me. In my room I stripped down to my underwear, leaving my clothes where they fell. Then I flicked the light off and crawled into bed. In the dark, I made myself drink all of the water in the cup before I rolled over and burrowed into the sheets. My mouth was still dry when I fell asleep.

I didn’t sleep well that night. By five a.m. I was lying in bed noting the varied symptoms of my hangover. For the second time in three days, I stared at the ceiling through bleary eyes and tried to quiet the rumbling acid in my unhappy stomach. I’d been awake for less than a minute when the scene with Jess reasserted itself. Groaning, I rolled over on my side and buried my face in a pillow. My only hope was that she hadn’t thought I was hitting on her. But why would she? As far as she was concerned, we were buddies, the same as Holly and me. And buds didn’t hit on each other.

Once my stomach had calmed somewhat, I met Holly and Becca at the cafeteria for brunch. They were happier together than I’d seen in a while, and kept exchanging sugary smiles and furtive hand squeezes they thought no one would notice. Like, duh. Anyone who knew there were lesbians thriving on the SDU

campus knew that Holly and Becca were together.

Despite my best intentions, their bliss irritated me. When Becca got up to top off her coffee, casting a last secretive smile back at Holly, I had to bite back a sarcastic comment. Instead I went for mildly supportive: “Looks like you guys are doing better.”

Holly smiled, watching her girlfriend walk away. “Have I mentioned she’s really good in bed?”

“Dude,” I said, making a face. “I totally don’t need to hear that.”

Holly focused fully on me for the first time. “What’s up with you? Didn’t you have a good time last night? You and Jess were looking pretty tight when I left.”

“Shows how much you know,” I said, and told her about my inadvertent semi-proposition the night before.

122 Kate Christie

Holly seemed surprised. “You got dissed? That’s gotta be a first.”

I stared at her across the table. “I told you, I wasn’t hitting on her. And anyway, you know none of that gossip is true. Jesus, Holly.”

She held up a placating hand. “Take it easy. Calm down, Cam.”

“Why should I?” I stopped. I rarely called Holly on anything she did that annoyed me. I rarely called anyone on anything.

Except Jamie Betz, maybe. I stood up as Becca returned to the table. “I gotta go. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Fine,” Holly said shortly, her scowl matching mine.

Outside the student center, I pulled on my fleece, hopped on my bike and took off. When I got to my dorm, though, I didn’t stop. Instead, I veered onto a road that led off-campus.

I needed to get away. Thoughts of soccer and Holly and Jamie and Jess were all swirling through my mind, one unresolved problem after another. I wasn’t used to this. Usually I just let things happen as they might and didn’t worry about the end result. But nothing was working out the way it should. I was sick about soccer, uninterested in most of my classes, worried about the whole Jamie Betz thing, and now I wasn’t sure if the friendship I had going with Jess was really what I wanted. I’d thought it could be enough, but after the previous night, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I ended up at Seal Beach, standing on the wall at the end of the walkway letting the surf crash at my feet and splash me with spray. The ocean soothed me, its wildness something tangible I could taste in the salty dampness of my skin. It was a windy day, the waves high, gray clouds moving quickly overhead and blocking the sun. It probably wouldn’t rain, though. Southern California was in the grip of a drought that felt permanent. Not like lush Oregon. Or rainy Seattle.