𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

          It's a bead of sweat upon her brow. It's another player knocking against her shoulder to pop the ball in her net free. It's the force of a hard throw reeling through her entire body, her knuckles white around her racquet.

          Daisy notices the smaller things now, more than ever before. She used to see the game as a whole, watch the players move like pieces on a board from above, find the right path through.

          Now, she's ducking into corners she didn't think she'd fit through, darting under the outstretched arm of her backliner to catch an impossible ball. Forethought is out of the window. She lives for every moment; every second on the court matters more than the one before. While she'd never admit it, she knows this is Kevin's doing. His harsh words cut deep into her psyche, his tricks and drills coming in useful in situations she'd never think to apply them.

          It's happening right now. He's got the ball and needs somewhere to throw to get closer to goal. Daisy's backliner is a fucking asshole, blocking her from every side and every angle she needs to get to. But he, like her defender last week, doesn't remember that his position is her stomping ground. She can outsmart defence, because she is defence. With an easy manoeuvre, she falls back and then darts ahead, leaving her defender in her wake. Her racquet stings her hands with the strength of Kevin's throw, and she pelts it back towards him when he's in a good position. She won't make shots on goal; her aim simply isn't good enough. But she can pass to the other strikers when they're in position, and that's all they need to make up points.

          The ball is about to leave Kevin's net when another racquet comes flying out of nowhere, connecting with his and twisting downward. Daisy sees the agony on his face before his racquet even leaves his hand, his wrist twisted at such an angle from the backliner's dirty move that she can almost feel the searing pain in her own hands. The referee blows his whistle and play comes to a stop: even though it's a full contact game, there are still a considerable amount of illegal moves. Hooking your net in with your opponent's and physically wrenching it from their grip is one of them.

          She's upon Kevin and the backliner before the whistle has finished blowing. Kevin is on his knees, cradling his hand to his chest. Daisy squats to his height, uses the grates of his helmet to tilt his eyes upwards.

          "Get off the court," she says to him. His breath is laboured as he stares at her. "I'm not kidding. Sub for the new kid."

          "You can't play the rest of the half," he says to her. They stand at the same time. "I'll come back on in ten minutes."

          "I'll be fine," she says, even though her body is trembling almost as much as his is. She can barely stand, there are black spots in her vision. But she couldn't give less of a shit. "Get to Abby. I'll take care of this fucking asshole Johnson..."

          His eyes widen as he's led off court by the team nurse, his spot filled by the new kid.

          "You take care of the goal," Daisy says to him. The new kid nods. "I'm here to support you."

          And she does. The other team seem to think that because they took Kevin out by his hand, they can take Daisy out by her ankle. The first time a backliner makes a swipe at her feet with his racquet, she excuses it. She can't get taken off court, no matter how much she wants to bury her racquet in his skull. They earn two goals in the next five minutes of the match, but the other team makes two as well. It's a tie for the last ten minutes of the game, which is when Daisy's backliner decides to trip her over.