Linksshifter II

A Path Between The Waves - ~~

Coach Emsile'd shook her head. "No, it's no that simple – it's no about you, an I'm no sure that even if you knew who had it out for you, that you'd be able to dae whit." She'd nodded out ahead, towards the darkening car park.

"When your da came around, he didn't come alone. He was trailing along another old boy in traditional dress – said he was from the temple association. He wanted to make damn sure that we understood that he wis pulling you out for community reasons."

"I'm sorry," Sonali'd said, guiding her bike alongside her former coach, "but I don't know what that means – we don't live in no Little India, we barely go to the temple, and if he wants people to think Asians don't let girls play football, he's about ten years too late. I don't –"

"Aye, you don't," the coach'd put in, digging a key out of her trackie bottoms as they reached her car, "but it's no your opinion that matters. What matters is what happens when we let you back in: thon temple-association wanker goes to the papers, stirs shit on Twitter: Labour and Nat papers get a sob story about these football neds disrespecting values of minority communities; the Mail and the Whitehouse folks get a line about a bunch of bloody lesbians going against paternal authority. The bloody men's team would barely get to keep a non-pro if they had to put up with a shitstorm like that; the hell the board's going to let the women's team put them through that." She'd scowled as she shook her head, like she was aware of the stupidity and injustice of it all, but nothing in her body language looked like she was budging.

"I – I – if I can fix it up at home – if I can –"

Coach Emslie'd interrupted Sonali, unlocking her door with a clunk. "It's the only way you're coming back. Even at that I widny be sure of the admin side, but if you wis to come back in wi your da, an give it in writing that he's letting you play, I'd call it more likely they'd have you back than no."

Sonali'd taken a deep breath, trying to hold her composure. "Right. Right, aye. Right; when I've got it sorted, I'll see you back here again."

Her coach had nodded slowly, like she understood what Sonali hadn't said – that something like that wasn't happening, couldn't happen, and she'd never be back under those terms. "Right. See that you do." She'd ducked into her car and drove off with a cough of mis-tuned diesel, and left Sonali alone with her thoughts, the weight of her shattered dreams on her shoulders, as the sun drifted down towards the western horizon, in the gap between the stadium and the cemetery.

After that, the ride down home through the city that was always a pain, even on the best days, was even worse – and it was even worse because this was the last time. If Sonali ever went up to Pittodrie again, she'd just go by bus like anyone else instead of having to cycle up from school with a gym bag on her back. This was the last time she'd come home from school with a gym bag slung up like this – the last time for the boots in her bag, that would end up in the bottom of her closet, the plastic split and rotten by the time she got to uni and could try to get herself somehow back into a team. This was it – and it was ending the worst way possible, not hitting a wall and getting cut while other people got better and moved on into the first team, not doing a knee and spending three weeks on crutches, looking at surgery and a year of rehab, not rowing with coaches about minutes or getting played out of position and quitting in a huff. All of those would be awful, but even worse was something like this, just getting punted off the back end because it was less work for someone behind a desk who she'd never met: not so much like a footballer as a football. And sometimes the ball went up on the slates, and there wasn't nowt you could do but shrug and go get another.

Sonali didn't hear the kids yelling at her from the park, feeling sorry for herself and trying to make sure she didn't hit a grate or something as she pedaled uphill into the dark; it was all instinct, seeing the ball that was headed for her at the corners of her vision, moving before she even realized she was moving. She spun up and off the bike, dropping her bag as she jumped, and nodded the ball down to her feet, half-trapping it and catching it on an instep, balancing.