Smashed (6 page)

“Marcy’s crazy.”

“Maybe so. But why go out with her if he doesn’t even
like
her?”

“What could he say about me?” I said. “Nothing’s even happened. Besides, maybe he’s changed.”

“Since baseball season? Don’t be naive. And what actually happens has nothing to do with what he says.”

How could I respond? I knew Alec’s reputation. But the things I’d heard didn’t match the person I’d been getting to know.

“I just want you to see what’s going on, Katie. Alec is a guy who’s used to getting what he wants when he wants it. Right now, he wants
you
.”

Water lapped gently at the shore near my feet, a soft rhythm.

“Why?” I said quietly, more to myself than to Matt.

When I turned to him, his soft brown eyes searched my face. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said.

I had no answer. It was true; I didn’t.

“Why
wouldn’t
he?”

I had no answer for that, either. I
didn’t
understand why he was after me—if that’s what it was. I was nothing like the girls he usually hooked up with. And why, if he had so many damn options, would he pick
me
?

I could look in the mirror and see that I was pretty—tall, slim, strong. Everyone said I had a beautiful smile. Cassie said
I looked like a young Courteney Cox. But to me, I was nothing special. I was the opposite of special. Sometimes I even wondered why Matt and Cassie put up with me.

My eyes met Matt’s, and for a moment we just looked at each other. We were so familiar to each other, yet so different, too.

Matt had a big, close family. He complained sometimes that he couldn’t get one minute alone without someone barging into his room. He didn’t know what it was like to be so lonely you thought the hole in your gut would swallow you alive. He didn’t understand desperation: how I just wanted to feel good, to feel
right
, for even a few minutes when I was off the playing field; how I hadn’t felt right for a single day since my father left. He didn’t understand how one drink could calm me down, how two could make the world seem okay, how three could make anything seem possible—or how easy the fourth and fifth and sixth went down until I lost count.

Matt was still looking at me; I could see his face in the fading light.

“You deserve way better than Alec,” he said softly, and reached out for my hand.

A familiar lump lodged in my throat. Lying back on the smooth pine needles, my hand tight in his, Matt and I looked up and waited for the stars to emerge against the darkening sky.

Did I?

A few days after the camping trip, I got a phone call that changed everything.

It was the coach of the University of Maine field hockey team, Carol Hollyhock. Coach Riley had called her up and talked to her in the spring about my potential for a scholarship—I knew that. But this was different. This time Coach Hollyhock was calling
me
.

“I’ve heard some great things about you, Katie,” she said, “and I’d like to see you play. We have a lot of athletes to visit in the fall, and I can’t guarantee I’ll personally get to one of your games. But I’ve talked to your coach at the high school about making a video tape so that we can see you one way or the other. Have you thought about playing for Maine?”

“Yeah,” I said. I was so excited, I could barely catch my breath. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I mean, I’d really like to.”

“Well, that’s great to hear. Like I said, I’ve heard some very good things about you—and read about you, too. I know you’ve
made the Maine All-Star Team the last two years, and First Team All-Conference as a freshman.”

I couldn’t believe she knew that.

“Actually, I saw you play last summer when you were on the Maine Event Team. I was surprised I didn’t see you this June.”

“I couldn’t afford to travel with them this summer—plus I have two jobs.”

“Well, I hope we can help you afford to come to Maine. You have an exceptional record. We keep an eye out for the best players in the state, Katie, and you’re one of them.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be in touch, okay? We’ll see if we can get you up here to visit the campus, meet some of the other players this fall. Would you like to do that?”

“I’d love it.”

“Great. We’ll be in touch.”

I hung up the phone, my heart pounding in my chest. I’d wanted this since the day I picked up my first hockey stick. I couldn’t wait to tell Coach Riley, Matt—
everybody
.

“Wow!” Matt said. “I always said you’d play in the Olympics someday. You know, other coaches are going to call, too.”

“I’m wicked nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’ll be great. How many people even get this chance? All you have to do is play like you always do.”

“Yeah. I just don’t want to blow it, you know? I’ve been slacking off this summer, eating too much ice cream at work. I need to get in better shape.”

“Go for it,” Matt said. “When you want to do something, you’ve got more willpower than anyone I know.”

Matt was right: When I put my mind to something, I did it. I was the master of fresh starts, the queen of turning over new leaves. Sure, I’d get off course, slack off in my classes, party too much, stop doing my homework for a while, but I always made a comeback.
Always.

“I’m doing it,” I said. And I meant it.

*     *     *

My alarm rang at five thirty the next morning. By five fifty, I was on the road. The rubber soles of my sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, breaking the silence.

In front of Westland’s general store, workers pulled up in their pickup trucks and headed inside to grab a quick coffee and a doughnut.
BAILEY’S HEATING AND PLUMBING
arched across the side of a red truck, and Ron Bailey stepped out, clad head to foot in green work clothes. He looked at his watch and then at me.

“What you training for at this hour, girl, a marathon?” he said with a slow smile. He was always so nice. I wished now my mother would go back to dating
him
.

“Olympics.” I grinned and sped on by.

I was a bird moving effortlessly through the cool morning air, soaring, on top of my game. By September, I’d be in the best shape of my life.

The phone call from U. Maine had given me just what I needed: a purpose. For three years, Coach Riley had told me I
could get recruited if I worked hard, and she had always helped me whenever I needed her, working with me on my flick until the ball and cage disappeared in the dark, teaching me how to keep my head during a breakaway.

Once, when I was a freshman and my mother didn’t show up to drive me home from practice, Coach Riley brought me all the way out to Westland herself.

My mother’s car had been parked in the driveway when we pulled in.

“Mind if I come in for a minute?” Coach Riley asked.

“Okay,” I said. The truth was, I didn’t want her to meet my mother. It was bad enough that my mom forgot me, leaving me at the gym like I didn’t exist. But how could I say no to Coach Riley after she’d driven me a half hour home?

Coach Riley was perfect. When my mom said she’d gotten hung up at work, Coach Riley didn’t say,
Then why are you here and not on your way to get Katie?
Or,
Then why didn’t you just call?
No, she just looked from the jug of wine on the counter to my mother’s face to the glass in her hand, taking it all in.

Then she smiled and said, “You really should come and see Katie play sometime. She’s exceptionally talented.”

Exceptionally talented.

I was fourteen years old, and it was the nicest thing a grown-up had ever said to me. Every time I thought about why my dad had taken off and never bothered to call us or tell us where he lived, why my mother was never home long enough to know what the hell was going on with her own kids, why my
only brother had basically moved into his best friend’s house, I’d think,
Coach Riley thinks I’m exceptionally talented.

It was something to hang on to. Sometimes it felt like the only thing.

*     *     *

Alec hadn’t shown up at the beach in the week since my camping trip with Matt. Each day as I dove in alone and felt the cool water rush around my body, relief washed through me. I’d felt connected to Alec, that was true, but it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe Matt was right about him, or maybe I was, but there was one thing I wasn’t confused about: I wanted a full scholarship to a Division I school.

Nothing and nobody would divert me from that.

*     *     *

It was time to start playing. I pulled some teammates together and we met at the field a couple times a week, hitting the ball around, practicing corners, scrimmaging if we had enough bodies.

The first time, practically the whole team showed up. Megan, Cheryl, some sophomores competing for starting positions—even Marcy Mattison.

Marcy was a skilled halfback, but she had an attitude problem, too, and I worried about her impact on the team this year. With long, white-blond hair, high color in her cheeks, and striking green eyes, Marcy looked angelic, but anyone who knew her knew that was far from the truth. She was the only member of our team who’d ever gotten cards for misconduct—one for foul
language and one for mouthing off to a ref—in two separate games the year before.

And for some reason, Marcy had never liked me.

Cassie always said she was jealous.

“Of
what
?” I’d asked.

“Of
everything
,” Cassie replied. “That’s just Marcy.”

Never subtle, Marcy stood across the field that first afternoon, glaring at me.

Before, it didn’t make sense, but now she had an actual reason to hate me: Alec. They’d been off and on constantly since freshman year. Off on Alec’s terms—and on on his terms, too. He called the shots. She’d take him back in a heartbeat whenever he said the word. It was truly pathetic. And if a girl so much as flirted with him—and there were plenty who did—that girl was on Marcy’s shit list for
life
. Apparently, I was now in that category.

On my nights off, I made dinner for Will and we’d rent a movie or, if it was hot, go for an evening swim. Sometimes I’d fall asleep in the middle of watching something with him and Will would nudge my arm, wake me up, and tell me I needed to go up to bed.

“You need your rest,” he’d whisper, something he’d heard me say to him a thousand times over the years. He was excited about his big sister getting recruited for an athletic scholarship.

My mother was more pragmatic. “Try for the full scholarship, Katie. Lord knows we’re going to need it to get you through school.”

I knew she had one goal: to get me through college. How I got there didn’t matter. Coach Riley telling her I was exceptionally talented hadn’t gotten her attention—but a scholarship? That was something she could understand.

In the following weeks, I got another call, this one from the coach at the University of New Hampshire, then one from Syracuse, a letter from Holy Cross, and a follow-up letter from Maine. There were times I thought I must be dreaming, that the post office and the phone company had the wrong Katie Martin. How did these people know about me? Coaches from places I’d never been to or seen? I had to look on a map to find out where in New York State Syracuse was. I called Coach Riley and told her what was happening.

“How do they know I’m a good player?” I asked. “Some of them have never even seen me.”

“It’s their job to know,” she said. “I’ll be in my office today before you go to work. Come by if you can. I want to show you something.”

Spread open on her desk when I arrived was a three-ring binder with my name on it, filled with news clippings about me—awards I’d received, all the games I’d played in. Articles from the
Portland Press Herald
, the
Lewiston Sun Journal,
and the
Greater Deerfield Weekly
were all in there, chronologically, going back three years. Every article I’d ever wished my father had seen about me was there.

“I’ve been saving these since I first saw you play.” She looked up and smiled. “I had a feeling we might need them someday.
I made copies this spring and sent them around. I’ve talked to three of the coaches, too. As you know, they’re interested.”

Stunned, I flipped through the articles. I picked up one from the
Portland Press Herald
, written my freshman year right after we lost the state championship.

A freshman, Katie Martin, was Deerfield’s leading scorer in regular season play, and notched the only goal the Eagles scored in today’s tense 2–1 loss in the Class B finals. Martin is one of those rare few who is blessed with the mix of physical and mental skill that makes an exceptional athlete.

Coach Riley had highlighted the passage in yellow.

“Wow. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. It’s been my pleasure.” She grinned. “This is exciting for me, too.”

“Thanks, Coach Riley. You’re the best.”

Alec hadn’t stopped by the beach or called since my camping trip, and I figured he wasn’t interested anymore, which made everything simple. I wrote it off as a summer fling, a fluke that would never have happened during the school year.

Sometimes I caught myself thinking about him, though. Sometimes when swimming lessons ended, I’d sit in the sand and remember how he looked when he walked into the water, his broad shoulders turned brown by the sun, his blond hair falling in his face as he looked back at me, motioning me to follow. I’d miss seeing his truck pull in just as my classes
ended, knowing he was there because he wanted to see
me
.

But those things weren’t enough. I had to focus. I didn’t think he’d show up again, anyway. Whatever it was, it was over.

*     *     *

It was several days later when the phone rang.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was Alec, and he sounded excited.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me
what
? I ran into Megan. I heard you got some big news, that’s what.”