Kimberley Porter grounded her stick and stopped the white dimpled ball dead in its tracks. She turned around and dribbled the ball past an approaching defender before turning her stick around to Indian dribble past another.
“Square!” she heard a voice to the right of her.
Kimberley pushed the ball towards her teammate and straightened her back. She watched as her friend Cassia Hendricks beat two defenders into the D and took a shot. The ball deflected off the goal post and Cassia tried again, only to push it wide and past the box. Cassia tossed her head back in frustration and ran back to prepare for the sixteen-meter.
Kimberley had positioned herself next to a feisty, freckled red-head known as Truck by her teammates. Kimberley assumed it was because of her aggressive style of play. When the whistle sounded, the game started moving again.
One of Kimberley’s teammates managed to get the ball back into the D and tried to score, but the ball was stopped. The umpire, otherwise known as their coach Mr. Barlow, blew his whistle and signalled the short corner. Tired, Kimberley ran to assume her position next to the goal box to take the “Shorty”.
“Go, Kimmie!” she heard someone say. Judging by the voice, it was probably Zane filming the game. Zane was always filming things; he said he wanted to be a fashion designing director-slash-photographer. Kimberley could see why; Zane had an amazing eye for things and was incredibly artistic. Most of Kim’s wardrobe comprised of T-shirts, jackets and even shoes designed and made by Zane. He called his line Poetry and was more than willing to give his clothes away to his friends for free.
“Kimmie,” a choir of deep voices that Kimberley didn't recognise followed.
Kimberley hadn’t been known by her full name for as long as she could remember. She preferred to go by Kim, but best friends Cassia and Zane and those closest to her called her Kimmie.
“A, Kim, A,” Candice Michaels, the captain, shouted from the top of the D.
A, Kim thought, A. A few deep breaths later, Kim bunted the ball towards the nearest player, Joanie. Joanie passed it past Cassia, who pretended to hit the ball towards the goal as planned, to Candice who took a shot as goal. A loud bang against the back of the goalie signalled a celebration from the St. Catherine’s girls team and their supporters.
“There we go, St. Cats, there we go,” Headmistress Keller said.
“Nice work, Candy,” a gruff, deep voice, most likely Candice’s father, shouted above Headmistress Keller.
Kim and Candice exchanged a high-five as they ran back to their positions.
A few minutes later, Cassia chased an opponent all the way up to the circle, before dispossessing her and running for her own goal.
“Through!” Candice yelled.
Cassia pushed the ball ahead of her and Candice ran for the goal. The umpire blew the final whistle to end the game and the St, Catherine’s girls celebrated. A shake of the hands with the opposition and then into a huddle with Mr. Barlow.
Mr. James Barlow was a tall man. His black hair was cut short and spiked in the front with spiking gel. His legs carried two hundred and fifty pounds worth of muscle from his calves to his chest. He had a small mouth and a cleft chin that revealed a set of half white, half yellow teeth. “A smoker’s smile” is what Zane had called it.
“Well played, ladies. You finally know how to play like a team, I like it. I want to see you all playing like that all the time, understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” the girls chorused.
“We were a little rough around the edges, but we’ll take care of that at Monday’s practice. Okay, go get some rest,” he clapped his hands together.
The girls dispersed and Kim met up with her best friend Cassia. Cassia and Kim had been going to St. Catherine’s School for Girls since grade one and had been friends ever since. With Zane, who went to St. Jude’s, the brother school right next door, the three of them were best of pals.
Kim was the product of interracial parents. Tall with skin the colour of milk chocolate and raven coloured hair, Kim was shy and preferred not to say much. She didn't need to anyway; blond-haired, blue-eyed, spunky and bubbly Cassia said enough for everyone.
They were a perfect match, Kim and Cassia; on the one hand you had Kim who was a shy, quiet writer who’d read Gone With The Wind almost a hundred times. On the other you Cassia, painter and sketcher who’d watched Gone With The Wind almost a hundred times. Cassia liked to illustrate Kim’s stories and Kim liked to put a story to Cassia’s drawings.
You could never forget Zane, though (probably because he was always pushing his camera in your face), with the beautiful pictures he took. Kim and Cassia were more than willing models and when it came to the clothes he designed, they were even more willing.
“There they are; the first Under-Sixteen team to beat those Rosewood High snobs,” Zane said, pushing the camera in Cassia’s face.
A round of applause from a few other boys from St. Jude’s encircled Kim and Cassia before they too went their separate ways.
“Get that camera out of my face, seriously,” Cassia said, raising her fist.
Zane pulled a face at her and turned to Kim. “Ah, our short corner initiator.”
Kim complied and bared her pink razor toothed mouth guard and gave a growl.
“Ooh, scary,” Zane commented.
Kim smiled back at him and pulled out her mouth guard.
“You ready for your close-up?” Zane asked.
“Zane!” Kim moaned, pushing the camera away from her.
Zane put his camera down. “Seriously, you guys are useless.”
Kim shoved her pink hockey stick into its bag and swung it over her shoulders. A good game of hockey always made her feel good.
The trio started walking around the field where a new game had commenced.
“So what are we doing now, ladies?” Zane asked.
“Lunch on you!” Cassia exclaimed.
Zane faked a laugh. “That’s very funny, Cass.”
“It is kind of funny,” Kim commented, “because if Zane was paying for lunch, pigs would probably be flying too.”
Cassia raised her right hand and exchanged a high-five with Kim.
“Oh, I see what’s going on here; the pair of you have formed some kind of secret alliance against me, huh?”
“Don’t worry Zane,” Cassia, patting her friend on the shoulder, “once Poetry gets off the ground, then you’ll be paying for lunch.”
“Once Poetry gets off the ground, you’ll be begging me to pay for lunch.”
Kim paused to pull up her hockey socks. When she looked up a sick feeling suddenly took her over; the site of teenage PDA always did that to her.
It was never that Candice had a boyfriend; it was that Candice had had a new boyfriend every year since they were in grade five. It was also because Kim had never had a boyfriend.
She didn't know why, but Kim suspected that boys didn't like her. They were always giving off what Cassia described as “the vibe”. Boys always gave off the vibe around Kim. She assumed it was because she was shy and quiet and when she did speak, she either sounded too stupid or too smart. She was going to go with too smart because Kim knew too many girls who she considered stupid, but attracted boys fairly quickly.
“That girl,” Cassia said, shaking her head, “she just goes through boys like they’re water.”
Kim tore her eyes away from Candice and her nameless boyfriend.
“I actually feel sorry for him,” Cassia said as they walked towards the bathroom, “he’s gonna be tainted for a long time.”
Kim tried to laugh, but couldn’t bring herself to.
Zane was trailing behind them, most likely getting candid visuals.
In the bathroom, Kim and Cassia changed out of their hockey uniforms. Kim pulled out a pink T-shirt a pair of black shorts. She climbed into the shorts and pulled the T-shirt over her head. She slipped on a pair of sandals and covered herself in Pink Happiness.
Cassia decided to go with a different approach. The white top she put on was a Poetry original; black butterflies with purple shadows floated around the front. The sleeves touched the ends of her shoulders and the word Poetry was written at the back in small, black italics. She pulled on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a pair of red and black fabric ballet flats. She slipped a few black bands on her left arm and let down her hair.
Kim couldn’t help but laugh. Life was always one big fashion show with Cassia.