Chapter Text
They were losing.
They were fucking losing.
And Natalie shouldn't have cared, because they technically couldn't lose against their own team, and it was just another srimmage on a sunny September afternoon, and the girls were so worn out no one even cared who won anymore.
But Lottie Matthews kept wiggling her eyebrows at her every time they got a point —Lottie never scored herself, but she always managed to run across midfield and kick the ball over to whoever scored— and it was driving Nat insane.
She was trying as hard as she was willing to try at anything. Nat liked soccer, sweating and heaving until her lungs were close to bursting. Her mom, her dad, school; everything went away for as long as practice lasted.
What she didn't like were the seniors.
The girl's soccer team had more freshmen than necessary, so they had a separate practice. They would get split in half for friendly matches, eleven on each side, and that would still leave out around five girls. Seven, if the queen bees of the swarm decided to show up. Girls who were there so the soccer boys would think they were "cool" and "different".
Jackie wasn't like that, though. She was the only one from that bunch who seemed to care about the game. On their first practice, she would run across the field to pick up whoever got knocked to the ground —which happened every three minutes. Nat thought that was nice in a very idiotic but charming way.
Even though their training was done for the day, the seniors would sit on the bleachers and watch. If they messed up, they'd cackle and shout stuff like, "Come on, six, pick up the pace!", "Fuck's sake, get up, get up!", "Too slow!", "Sloppy!", "Swear, it's like watching babies tryna walk!", "Oh my god, was that even aimed at the box?!"
So, losing? Yeah, it sucked.
They booed them all the way into the locker rooms. Nat tried to hold in her anger. It made her jaw quiver, and she didn't want to look like she was about to cry, so she dug her nails into her palms and walked faster.
If she kept playing for the losing half, varsity would spot her, and then it was really over. During the first few practices, there was this girl, Claire, who was sweet but had horrible foot coordination, and the seniors clocked her fast. Long story short, Claire was gone by the second week and most girls were saying the seniors had run her over with a car.
She was shoving her cleats into her locker when Lottie — fucking— Matthews rolled up with a paper flower in hand.
"Hey." Lottie smiled like she wanted to, but also like she was holding back because of the bloodthirsty staredown Nat had just given her. "Sorry they're being assholes. You were great today."
Then she handed her the flower and left. It had French words scribbled across one side and pink highlighter on the other, and the tip was ripped like the girl had just torn her class notes in half to make the stupid thing.
She smiled to herself. Lottie fucking Matthews.
***
"Okay, uhm, if you could only listen to music from a different decade for the rest of your life, which one would you choose?"
"Seventies, obviously."
"What?!"
"I like it!"
"Such a fucking hippie."
"Which would you choose, then?"
"Eighties."
"Oh, so like, five years ago? That's as far as your range goes?"
"Not my fault everything else sucked."
"Sure," Lottie giggled. Her laugh sounded different when she was laying down, legs up against the wall.
Training was long over, but they were both still in their boots and jerseys, sprawled on the locker room floor.
Four months into their freshman year, you could say they were friends. Lottie and Nat were an odd pair but a sturdy one, though they shared an unspoken rule that their bond was a secret. They had the habit of staying hours after all their teammates left the changing rooms to talk about anything and everything.
Well, almost everything, because neither of them mentioned why they were so willing to delay the return to their homes.
"Your turn."
"If you…could be any famous musician, which—"
"D'arcy Wretzky."
Lottie rolled her eyes. "You didn't even let me finish the question."
"Whatever. I knew the answer." Resting on the girl's stomach, Nat's head sunk to Lottie's sigh. "You?"
"Don't know. Maybe Tori Amos."
"Who the fuck is that?"
Lottie sat up so abruptly that Nat's head bounced on the floor.
"Be serious."
"I am," Nat groaned, rubbing her scalp.
"You actually don't know who Tori Amos is?"
She shrugged. Lottie's eyes kept getting impossibly wider, Nat feared they might pop out. Without another word, she rushed and dug through her backpack. It was exactly how Nat imagined being possessed would look.
As she managed to sit properly, Lottie knelt in front of her. Piano keys rang through her ears before she noticed the headphones on her head. Lottie's hands held them into place. She wanted the sound to seep into Nat's brain.
Melodic shit wasn't her style, but she put up with five whole minutes of it because Lottie was looking at her with such intensity. It was sweet, and it also freaked Nat the fuck out.
Lottie didn't put her hands down until the song was over.
"Wow, that…sucked more than I thought it would."
"Oh, fuck you." Nat laughed as Lottie ripped the headphones off her ears and pushed her Discman away. "She's better than all your emo shit."
"Dream on."
Lottie smiled and kicked her shoes, so Nat did it back.
"Shit, what time is it?"
Nat checked the clock behind her. "Six. Why?"
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Lottie's face had turned crazy once more. She grabbed her things quickly and threw them inside her backpack. "I have a doctor's appointment."
"Oh. What for?"
Lottie paused her frantic gathering to answer, "My…skin," then shot to her feet.
That was another thing they didn't talk about: Lottie's suspiciously frequent visits to the doctor.
"Come on!" She pulled Nat off the floor. "Race you to the parking lot!"
***
Another couple of months had gone by when her dad’s accident happened, and Nat became a mix of guilt, hate, and black hair dye. Occasionally black eyeliner as well.
"You know, you're not supposed to use that much." Jackie had that smile on, the one she always wore before she said, "Here. I can fix it for you."
She meant well, Nat knew, but there was this bitterness inside her. Like a dark grime that ate away at her. It made the skin under her eyes purple and her bones feel heavy and rotten.
Nat slapped the eyeliner off Jackie's hands. "Bite me."
On Thursday, Lottie slipped behind her in line during drills. "I like it," she told her over her shoulder. "All the black. It looks good with your eyes."
Nat didn't thank her, didn't even turn around. She hadn't talked to Lottie since it happened, two weeks prior. But she still smiles when she thinks about what she said.
They were reaching summer break, putting up with the last of the seniors' bullshit, clawing at the sweetness of sophomore life.
Coach Bill wasn't allowed to cut girls off the team, so, starting sophomore year, training got divided into two groups: varsity and the benched.
Most of the varsity players were seniors, for obvious reasons, and most of the benched were sophomores and some juniors. For obvious reasons.
But if a freshman were good enough, they'd get assigned to the main group and learn to work with the seniors the following year. That girl would still get benched, but she was the first to get picked as a replacement at the big games if anything happened to someone on the team.
Every freshman wanted to be that girl.
And Lottie got it.
Nat didn't hug or congratulate her as the rest of the team did. She stood still, trying not to look too disappointed or think too hard about it.
It was fine. She just wasn't any good at the one thing she enjoyed about being alive. Great. Fucking awesome. Everything sucked. But it was fine.
What was she gonna do? Kill herself? That was lame, and it would've proved her dad's point about her. Fuck him. Fuck soccer.
She barely noticed the box inside her locker or the note stuck to it in the midst of her internal storm.
Mom was gonna bleach her hair but she changed her mind. Thought blonde would look good on you.
Lottie <3
Nat shoved the box aside. Fuck Lottie Matthews.