Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Not all of us have the luxury of treating life like a party.”
The words snapped out of me harsher than I intended. When I glanced at Emily, her expression had changed again.
This time it was soft, inquisitive — like I’d just let my mask slip for a second and she’d seen the man beneath it.
Before she could sass me again, we were both startled by a girl from my team plopping down hard on the bench we were standing next to. She grunted when her body hit against the metal, and then she ripped her soft-shell helmet off and threw it to the ground before raking her hands through her hair and hanging her head.
Her name was Zara. She was one of our offensive linemen in today’s game, and I looked up to find my offense staring at me with their hands up like they didn’t know what to do next.
I hadn’t even realized we’d switched.
And I knew just who to thank for the distraction.
Hastily, I cued another girl from the sideline to take Zara’s place, gave a few play options to our quarterback, and then carefully approached where Zara was on the bench, squatting in front of her.
“Hey,” I said. “You good?”
“Clearly not. I’m terrible, actually. If you saw that last play, then I know you’re lying if you try to tell me otherwise.”
Emily and I shared a look. I expected her to excuse herself and get back to the dancers, but instead, she lowered down on one knee next to me.
“I saw the play,” she said. “And you’re right — not the best I’ve ever seen.”
My head snapped to Emily. “Hello?!” I whispered, eyes flicking to Zara and back again in an expression I hoped communicated not fucking helping!
Emily just shrugged. “What? She knows it wasn’t her best and I’m not going to lie to her.”
Zara sniffed, dropping her hands to her lap so she could lift her head and look at Emily. “They plowed right through me,” she said. “I let the quarterback get sacked and it was all my fault.”
“It’s not just your fault,” I chimed in. “Offensive line has the most difficult job in this game, in my opinion. And sometimes guys — er,” I checked myself. “Sometimes players on the defense slip through. I’ve been watching you all day, Zara, and you’ve been fighting and playing hard. Don’t sell yourself short after one bad play.”
She sighed, kicking the grass with the toe of her cleat. “I just… I feel like I don’t belong here.”
That stirred something in Emily. I saw the intensity in her eyes when she lowered herself even more, enough that she could sneak in and get face to face with Zara. “What makes you say that?”
“I just don’t fit,” Zara said, frustrated. “I’m too tall and fat to be a quarterback, too slow to be a receiver, but not big enough to be good on either line. And what does any of it matter, anyway? Girls can’t play football. Not for real. Not professionally.”
Emily glanced up at me before looking back to Zara, our eyes meeting in a moment of understanding that shook me more than I expected.
“First of all,” she said, brushing a strand of hair off Zara’s forehead, “you’re wrong about half of that.”
Zara frowned. “I am?”
“Yeah.” Emily nodded toward the field. “You’re not too small for the line. I’ve been watching you. You get lower than the girls across from you, which means you’ve got leverage. That matters way more than size. The only reason they got through on that last play is because your feet stopped moving.”
Zara blinked at her. “My feet?”
“Yep. You planted and they kept driving. Keep your feet churning and suddenly that ‘too small’ thing becomes quick and scrappy.” Emily looked to me for confirmation. “That’s actually a pretty dangerous combo.”
I nodded. “Very much so.”
Zara’s lips twitched a little, like she was trying not to smile.
“And second,” Emily went on, leaning back on her heels, “not fitting in isn’t the insult you think it is.”
Zara huffed a quiet laugh. “Easy for you to say.”
Emily gestured broadly toward the stadium, where the Seahawks Dancers scattered around. “Look at them for a second.”
Zara
“Now look at me.” Emily spread her arms.
Zara studied her — the tattoos peeking out from beneath the uniform, the tiny hoop in her nose, the edge of a piercing glinting along her ear.
“Do I look like I fit in with them?” Emily asked.
Zara shook her head slowly. “…No.”
Emily grinned. “No, I don’t. But I’m still one hell of a dancer.”
That made Zara’s mouth lift for real this time.
“My body doesn’t change that fact,” Emily continued. “Not my tattoos, not my piercings, not my age, not the fact that I’m built different than half the girls out there. And you—” she reached out and tapped Zara lightly on the chest pad, “—are a damn good player and teammate. You don’t have to look like everyone else for that to be true.”