Sidelines, page 21
During drills, her feet are clumsy and everyone moves too fast and she can’t keep up. She looks to Dominik for encouragement, but she’s invisible to him. When she botches a pass, he yells at her to get her act together. It makes her feel horrible. She catches Audrey staring at her with a knowing look in her eyes. Embarrassment smoulders inside her.
At drinks break, she says hi to Audrey to show she’s trying to make amends, but it’s no use. Audrey stares daggers at her and goes on talking to Griffin.
‘What’s up with you?’ Viktor says, nudging her with an elbow. ‘Don’t be such a sook.’
‘I’m not,’ she snaps. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Are you on your period?’ he asks, smirking.
She shoves him hard, and he scowls at her. But she doesn’t care. She feels like killing him. ‘Why did you tell on me?’
His neck turns red. ‘I had to. Dom was really mad. He turned into a monster.’
‘Now I have to go to a meeting on Friday.’
‘That sucks.’
‘Yeah. Dominik hates me.’
At the end of training, she grabs her bag and stomps off to the car park. She wants to go straight home, but her mother’s being smiley and nice to all the parents, laughing at everything they say. Usually, she only talks to people if she has to. If other parents have nothing to offer, she can’t be bothered with them. So why is she trying to be friends with them now? Is she embarrassed by what’s happened?
Katerina’s heart hammers.
On the way home, her mother is quiet. It’s as if she’s closed herself inside a box and nailed it shut.
Katerina wills Friday not to come, because if it never happens, she can pretend everything’s normal. But Friday arrives and she trudges off to school with a sick feeling in her stomach. The hours drag by. Maths then French then science then English. She watches the clock instead of listening to her teachers. She doesn’t even write down her homework. She won’t be doing it tonight. Beyond the meeting at four thirty, everything’s a blank. She can’t imagine being alive after it.
When school’s over, she buys a block of dairy-milk chocolate at the supermarket and gobbles it down on the bus. By the time she stuffs the last jagged square in her mouth, she feels miserable and ill, her guts swirling.
At home, she changes into her team tracksuit because her mother says it looks professional. Mama is in the team tracksuit too. Katerina sees a sheen of sweat on her mother’s face. She looks shaky.
The trip to the club is quiet. No talk, no music. Mama keeps touching her crucifix. Katerina feels all sweaty and her heart bumps in her chest.
In the club foyer, the smell of beer and disinfectant lodges in her throat. While her mother signs in, she detours to the bathroom and throws up a river of chocolate into the toilet, tries to rinse the sour taste from her mouth at the sink. Sees herself in the mirror, a ghost person with hollow eyes.
Mama is waiting in the foyer, strain creasing her forehead.
‘What’s wrong?’ Katerina asks.
‘Your baba might not get here. There’s been an accident on the M4 and he’s only moved a hundred metres in the past twenty minutes.’
Katerina’s chest tightens. Why does everything have to go wrong?
Her mother grasps her arm and guides her to the meeting room—the same place where they had the team briefing at the start of the season. Matteo and Dominik are sitting at a table down the front, stern faces like judges.
Katerina falters. She’s scared of Matteo. His eyes land on her, hard as stones.
He beckons. ‘Come, take a seat.’
She crosses the room as if walking on the moon. If her mother wasn’t holding her up, she wouldn’t be able to move. She tries to smile but neither of the men smile back at her.
‘Ilya is stuck in traffic,’ Mama says. ‘Can we wait for him?’
‘I’ve got another meeting in half an hour. Katerina can tell him what we’ve discussed,’ Matteo says, coldly.
He points to a chair. Katerina glances at her mother’s drawn face and worried frown, then sits on the hard plastic seat. Her palms are damp so she wipes them on her tracksuit pants. Tries to smile again.
On the table in front of her is an open copy of the club rule book. At the top of the page, the word ‘bullying’ is written in capital letters.
Matteo folds his arms and leans back and regards her with those hard eyes. ‘Thanks for coming, Katerina. I’m sure we all want to get this over with quickly. How about you tell us what’s been going on?’
She tries to speak, but words jam in her throat. She glances helplessly at her mother.
‘Thank you, Matteo,’ Mama says, fiddling with her crucifix. ‘Katerina is feeling very anxious about this meeting. It would be helpful if you could explain things so she can then respond. This is very intimidating for her. She’s just a kid.’
‘Just a kid, eh?’ Matteo says, frosty.
Katerina’s stomach twists and everything goes hollow. She feels far away, as if she’s not really here. ‘It was just a joke,’ she manages to stammer, her voice small and high like a child’s. ‘I didn’t mean to upset anybody.’
Matteo seems to grow like a bear. ‘Bullying is not a joke.’
She tucks her hands between her knees and presses them together, waits for the bear to start roaring.
‘It’s come to our attention that you’ve been behaving inappropriately,’ he says, holding her with his penetrating gaze. ‘This club has a policy against bullying … Do you know what bullying is, Katerina?’
She looks at him, mouth dry.
‘No? I thought all kids knew about bullying these days. Don’t they teach it in schools? I’ve also had allegations about you bullying other girls in your team last year. Deliberate rough tackles and inappropriate comments. So we need to take a proper look at this.’
Katerina flashes a look at her mother. Is he talking about when her coach told her to go easier and not knock other girls over at training? That wasn’t bullying, was it?
He reaches for the rule book, picks it up and holds it open with his thick fingers. ‘Let me explain to you. I’ll read directly from the club policy so that it’s very clear. Are you listening?’ He slips on his glasses and reads. ‘“Bullying is a power imbalance where one person has power or strength over another. It’s the use of aggression with the intention of hurting another person, and it results in pain and distress to the victim. It can be carried out by one person, or several, and it can be a one-off incident or repeated incidents. An individual may bully their victim face to face or use technology. In a sports context, bullying can take many forms.”’
He peers at Katerina over his glasses. ‘There’s a long list of examples here, so I’ll just read the bits that apply to you according to the accusations I’ve heard.’ He clears his throat. ‘“Telling another player that they’re incompetent or useless. Several people ganging up on a team member. Being unfriendly. Sending hurtful text messages. Tormenting them by hiding football boots, shin guards etc. Pushing, kicking, etc. Name-calling, sarcasm, spreading rumours and teasing.”’ He spins the book around to face Katerina and lays it on the table in front of her, plants a finger on the page. ‘Does any of this sound familiar?’
She swallows, too scared to speak. She tries to read, but the words blur on the page.
Matteo’s nostrils flare. ‘We understand that you are only a junior and that you’ve been under pressure playing with boys. However, the fact that we’re sitting here now, having this meeting, shows the club takes bullying very seriously. We’re willing to cut you some slack, as long as we see changes in your behaviour. At this club, we support girls playing with boys because we know it helps their game development. But it doesn’t matter what team you’re in—bullying is bullying, and we have to address it. We could ban you from the club, but we don’t want to do that. We appreciate the contribution your family has made over the years, so we want to work this through and find a solution.’
Beside her, Mama sags like a balloon with the air leaking out of it, and Katerina feels deflated too.
‘Do you have anything to say for yourself, Katerina?’ Matteo asks.
She squirms, unable to keep still. ‘I’m really sorry I did it.’
He stares at her as if irritated. ‘Well, that’s a start, I suppose.’
Perhaps she didn’t sound sorry enough. And maybe she wasn’t at first, but she really, really is now. ‘What can I do to make it up to everyone?’ she asks.
‘That’s a very good question, Katerina. In order to go forward, you need to begin by making a proper apology to Audrey, in which you will acknowledge what you’ve done, and that it was wrong, as well as making a solid promise not to do it again. Understand?’
She nods.
‘You will also need to do service for the club. Helping set up fields, giving a hand in the canteen, packing up goal nets. That sort of thing. And there will be game time punishment. You won’t be in the starting line-up—you’ll be on the bench for the next three games.’
She nods again.
He closes the rule book with a snap. ‘Good. Hopefully that will satisfy Audrey’s parents. You can go now, Katerina. We will look forward to you making your apology tomorrow. Dominik will supervise it.’
At home, Baba is in the kitchen lacing up lamb kebabs for the barbecue, Zorro stalking around his feet hoping for scraps or titbits. As Katerina and her mother come in, her father looks up, brow crinkling. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get there for the meeting,’ he says. ‘When I knew I was going to be late, I thought it was better to come home and cook dinner. How did it go?’
‘Katerina can tell you,’ Mama says. ‘I need wine.’ She grabs the cask from the top of the fridge and shoots some into a goblet, flops onto a chair at the kitchen bench.
‘Come and help me,’ Baba says, touching Katerina on the shoulder. He picks up the tray of kebabs and carries it out through the back sliding door.
On the deck, curls of smoke rise from the barbecue. Katerina watches her father drizzle olive oil onto the hotplate and lay out the kebabs, wriggling them into position with the tongs. The kebabs hiss and sizzle.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he says. ‘I can see it was difficult for you.’
Katerina can’t meet his eyes. ‘Mama’s ashamed of me.’
He turns the kebabs. ‘Yes. We’re both disappointed.’
She talks, and he nods and listens and fiddles with the kebabs.
Then he contemplates her with serious eyes. ‘You must apologise to Audrey with honesty and integrity. It’s important. You must stand up and take your punishment. Your mother and I will be there with you.’
‘Can you forgive me for what I did?’ she asks, voice wobbling.
‘I can forgive you as long as you have learned something from this. Bullies are weak people. We brought you up to be a good person.’ He exhales slowly through his nose, which is what he always does when he’s tired or disappointed; she knows which one it is tonight. ‘I still don’t understand why you did this,’ he says. ‘Can you tell me more?’
How can she tell him what’s inside when she barely comprehends it herself? Flashes of truth come to her. An aching need for praise and approval—from her mama, from Dominik, from her friends in the team. A need to feel better than Audrey, because she’s not pretty like her, and she doesn’t move like a swan, and she’s not friends with Griffin, the best player. That it was easier to put Audrey down and climb on her back to show that she—Katerina—was the strong one, the one who could fit in with the boys and be mates. Be accepted. But she can’t say this to her baba without him hating her.
She looks down at her feet, feeling very alone.
After dinner, Katerina clears the plates, shoves them in the dishwasher, then goes to her room and texts Ricci. He sends a selfie at a bar with some of his mates. He’s holding up a foaming beer, arm looped over some guy’s shoulder, both of them grinning. How can he be having fun when she feels so awful?
arent you going to ask how it went? she texts.
how did it go?
Terrible. I have to say sorry tomorrow and I’m scared
You’ll be fine
She looks at his photo again. where r u? i wish i could b there.
they won’t let u in, ur too young
come and c me then.
Text me when ur M&D r asleep. I’ll bring vodka.
It’s after midnight when she sneaks down the hall in her nightie and out into the street. Ricci is waiting for her, smile broad and white in the glow of the streetlight. She grabs his hand and they walk along the path to the shadowy park not far from her house where they sit under a gum tree. Ricci pours vodka into a silver shot glass and skols it, then pours some for her. She takes the glass and copies him, liking the way it scalds on the way down, making her knees melt, helping her forget everything.
They take turns skolling shots until she surrenders to the soft feeling in her limbs and lies on her back gazing up at the tree. The trunk blurs against the sky. The stars shift side to side. The branches are arms scratching at the heavens.
‘You’re pissed,’ Ricci says, running a finger down her cheek, a smile in his voice. ‘How are you going to play football in the morning?’
Katerina is loose and floaty. ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to go.’
‘But you love football.’
‘Not anymore.’
He offers her another shot, and she props herself up to drink, legs apart, no knickers—she never wears them at night. Ricci dips his fingers into her wetness. ‘Nice,’ he murmurs.
The world rocks, but it feels good to have his hands on her skin. And it’s dark here. No one will see them. They kiss between shots. Ricci fills his mouth with vodka and tips it into hers. After she swallows, he probes her mouth with his hot tongue.
Next thing, he’s shaking her by the shoulders. ‘Katerina,’ he whispers. ‘You have to get up. We’ve been here for ages. You have to go home.’
‘I can’t move,’ she moans. She’s still on her back and the world is whirling.
He hauls her up, but she can’t walk so he has to half-drag, half-carry her across the park to her front doorstep.
She staggers into the house, stumbles down the hallway, and falls into bed while the room spins in circles around her.
In the morning, head throbbing, she bends over the toilet and vomits several times. Zorro comes in to look at her, walks a lap of the bathroom, then stalks out again. She can’t stop retching even though her stomach is empty. Saliva dribbles from her mouth into the toilet. She wishes she was dead.
Her mother looms in the doorway and asks what’s going on.
Katerina wipes her trembling lips with toilet paper. ‘I need to stay in bed.’
‘Not an option. You have to go and apologise to Audrey.’
‘But I’m sick!’
‘Should have thought of that before you snuck out drinking last night. Who were you with?’
‘No one.’
‘Of course not. Just like you were only drinking water, I suppose. We need to have a serious talk about this.’
‘Not now.’ Katerina gags. ‘I want to go back to bed. I can’t go today.’
‘You’re going whether you like it or not. You’re going to make that apology. And if you sneak out drinking again, I’ll ground you for a month. Your baba will be very unhappy when I tell him about this.’
Katerina wishes she could defend herself, but spit wells in her mouth again, and she shudders and bends over the toilet, hoping for sympathy. But her mother is as cold and unfeeling as ice.
‘When you’re done, get dressed and ready,’ Mama says. ‘And don’t forget to bring a water bottle. Maybe two, in case one goes missing.’
At the field, Katerina squints into the harsh light and grips the railing. She’s already thrown up twice since she got here and her stomach is trembling. She sees Audrey and her family arrive and stand under the pine trees, Jonica in a white floaty dress with orange hibiscus flowers that look like flames licking around her body, Ben in moleskins and a checked, open-necked shirt. They look so smart in their fancy rich people’s clothes, whereas her parents only ever come to football in tracksuits.
Katerina watches them walk over to the clubhouse, Ben and Jonica either side of Audrey like bodyguards, Alex limping behind. Dominik meets them near the canteen and they chat for ages, Dominik nodding while Ben talks.
A wave of fear flows over her as if she’s been picked up and dumped on sharp rocks. She’s about to rush to the toilet again when her mother appears from the clubrooms and marches over, hooks her elbow and squeezes her arm.
‘Stand up straight,’ her mother murmurs. ‘Now is the time to do this and really mean it.’
They enter the storeroom behind the canteen where it’s cold and echoing. Katerina’s boots clatter on the concrete floor, and her legs start quivering. Through the side door, she sees her father outside, threading large slabs of lamb onto long skewers for the spit. The chunks of meat drip blood all over his hands. Katerina feels as if she’s being threaded onto a skewer too.
Her father locks eyes with her, then washes his hands and joins her and her mother, drying his fingers on a dirty-looking towel. ‘This is it then,’ he murmurs, eyes dark and intense. ‘We’re here with you.’
Audrey comes in with her parents and Dominik. They stand in a semicircle facing Katerina. Ben looks at her as if he’d like to throw her onto the hot barbecue coals.
When she glances at her father, there’s fire and encouragement in his eyes. He rests a hand in the small of her back and this makes her stronger. She summons courage to look at Audrey, and notices that she’s frightened too—standing there between Jonica and Ben, round-shouldered, with one knee kinked, arms folded across her stomach, eyes fixed on the barbecue.
Katerina holds her breath as Audrey’s eyes flick into hers and they stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime. It seems that Audrey can see right inside her to the bones and muscles and tendons and the thick beat of her black heart.
Baba increases the pressure of his hand on her back and gently pushes her forward. This morning, before they left, her mother made her practise saying sorry. But now she has to say it aloud, the words tangle, and her throat is tight, and she can’t force anything out.
