The day I showed up to my first ever lacrosse practice, I knew I wanted to take the draw. Even at age 6 with braided pigtails, I sought out the most competitive position on the field. I knew with absolute confidence that I needed to stand in that center circle with all eyes on me. The lacrosse field was a stage and I thrived in the spotlight.
I didn't recall having to initially work hard at the draw. I was a perfect natural, and anyone who coached me said as much. If I could win the draw, I could control the direction of the game. That was what I was about to demonstrate tonight at our team's season opener against Winsor Prep.
"Starting at midfield for the Cannondale Blue Wave is #16, Chandler England, #18, Gianna Lash, and #25, Shay Logan!"
The student announcer proceeded to name our four attackers as I jogged down the line of my teammates, tapping the shaft of my lacrosse stick against theirs before heading onto the field. Having already been announced, Delaney and the starting defensive unit stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their sticks in hand.
The evening sun sat low in the sky, ensuring that the early March air still held a biting chill, and I absentmindedly adjusted the waistband of my spandex to align with my skirt. I wore a fitted white Nike thermal beneath my jersey but opted to forgo tights. Once the game started and I was running up and down the field, I'd be perfectly fine.
While the announcer transitioned into naming Winsor's players, I focused on forcing all thoughts regarding Macallan Blake's absence in Cannondale's starting line-up out of my mind. As much as I wished it wasn't the case, Macallan's head wasn't in the game, and it had shown during our first week of practice. She'd missed passes sent to her dominant hand and fumbled on enough ground-balls for it to become noticeable. Meanwhile, Shay Logan was a senior who had started on the circle with me last year, and Gianna Lash earned that final starting spot. I couldn't deny that.
I wanted the absolute best for Macallan, but I was a competitor. The best eleven players belonged on the field, and right now, she wasn't one of them. It wasn't enough to have one spectacular shot or one great day. It was all about consistency, performing day in and day out.
My gaze coasted over to the bleachers packed tight with parents and students. Friday night home games always drew a respectable crowd, but I really didn't care how many people showed up as long as Dad did. A small smile tugged at my lips when I located him in his preferred spot in the front row of the middle section, flanked by the Blakes and the Jackmans. They had attended countless Cannondale lacrosse games and tournaments for our Boston Elite club team together, turning them into a rather formidable clique.
The leader of said clique was easily Kelsey's dad. Mr. Jackman was loud but not in an obnoxious way that some parents were at lacrosse games. His deep and booming voice consistently bellowed out positive commentary throughout every game we played. He also enjoyed throwing in an occasional comedic line for Kelsey, Macallan, and me just because he could.
Following the final announcements, Coach Mayer brought the team into a huddle to review our strategy and go-to offensive plays. She would be calling Comet early on to set Kelsey up for a drive from behind the crease or to feed to a cutter from the top right side of the 8 meter arc.
"Alright, Blue Wave, bring it to them," Coach Mayer finished, clapping her hands together.
"Best of luck out there, ladies," Chris Vale chimed in, looming just outside of our huddle in a heavy black sports jacket with Cannondale's royal blue crest emblazoned on the left chest.
I side-eyed Kelsey, and her lips twitched in a ghost of a grin. It was really too bad that the athletic director's beloved boys' varsity lacrosse team had an away game this evening. I'd much rather have him lurking on their sideline rather than ours.
"Blue Wave on three," Delaney instructed, holding her goalie stick up like it was a sword. "1-2-3!"
"Blue Wave!"
Before Kelsey and I could take to the field, Macallan set a hand on each of our shoulders. "Go tear it up out there," she told us with a smile. "I'm expecting double hat-tricks from both of you."
"Scoring six goals is Kelsey's specialty," I said, running my fingertips along the smooth tape on the shaft of my stick. I'd just replaced my old tape last week, and secretly missed the worn edges.
Kelsey laughed, slipping her navy mouthguard out from under the front strap of her sports bra. "I'm going to take it one goal at a time."
Macallan shook her head and shooed us away, still smiling. Kelsey and I tapped our sticks together before we moved to our respective starting positions.
The referee stood waiting in the center circle, a yellow ball in her hand. Soon, it would be in my pocket.
Winsor's #20 met me in the middle. She stood a full head taller than me and had long, thin legs like a gazelle, but I swore I saw her shrink at the sight of me standing in front of her. My reputation as one of the best high school draw specialists in the state of Massachuttes preceded me.
We positioned ourselves as the referee set the ball between our two pockets, then backed away with an arm lifted and a whistle at her mouth. I kept my gaze trained on her, determined to achieve near-instantaneous reaction time.
Win the draw, rule the world, I thought.
The whistle sliced through the air.
I pulled my stick as #20 pushed, and the ball soared up over my shoulder towards Gianna and her mark. But I still got there first. The ball bounced twice on the turf before I controlled it and protected my stick from #20 as I took off down the field to push the fast break.
"Chan!"
Kelsey split away from her defender at the top left of the 12-meter fan, the orange of her stick's head vibrant in the evening light as she cut down diagonally towards the goal.
I didn't hesitate before feeding her the ball, my aim sharp like I knew it would be.
The ball was in Kelsey's pocket for only a handful of seconds before she whipped a leftie shot into the net on the goalie's off-stick low side. Stunning. Cheers erupted around us as our teammates closed in to quickly celebrate our first goal of the season.
"#5, that's my girl!" Mr. Jackman shouted from the bleachers, his voice like a foghorn. "Phenomenal assist, #16!"
"That felt good," Kelsey said, beaming through her mouth guard as I pulled her into a quick hug.
Exhilaration raced through my bloodstream. "Let's do it again."
We asserted our dominance in the next several minutes with a four goal run. I won three of those four draw-controls, and Gianna snatched one up as a ground ball. The ball was transitioning down to our defensive end for the first time after Winsor's goalie blocked Shay's shot and successfully cleared it out to their team's top defender, Anna Caan. She'd picked me up every time I crossed the restraining line, clearly assigned to match-up with me.
I was sprinting over our restraining line, keeping pace with Winsor's #20, when I caught sight of Macallan's blonde ponytail as she emerged from the substitution box. Even though it was occasionally risky, Coach Mayer sometimes switched out midfielder's during transitions. That was what she'd just done with Macallan and Gianna.
Winsor brought the ball behind the crease to ease into their first offensive position of the game. We played a more high-pressure man-to-man defense, calling out the direction of the ball and off-ball movement as Winsor sent the ball around. Good defense was all about controlling the space within the 8 meter, not allowing the offense to dictate what you're going to do, and communication.
When we denied the first few cutters they sent through the 8, I followed #20 as she joined Shay's match-up with the ball at the top of the 12.
"Got ball!" Shay shouted, breaking down her feet as she approached.
"Shay, I'm on your right," I called out, keeping my stick up in the space that her match-up could be driving into.
With Shay applying high pressure, her match-up pulled back a bit and passed to #20. I mirrored her quick footwork, effectively sealing off her first drive, and drove her up beyond the 12. The moment she let her stick hang out a little too much, I went for the check - hard and clean. The ball seemed to be on the ground for less than a second before it was in my pocket. Ideally, my first goal of the season would quickly follow my first caused-turnover.
Cheers sounded from the sidelines as I sped over the restraining line, looking upfield. I had the confidence and speed to weave through the minimal traffic in front of me, but I saw that Macallan had a clear shot up the right side of the field and she called out to me with her stick up. My decision was easy.
The ball was in the air on its way to Macallan as I continued my run upfield and spotted Kelsey already cutting down for what could be a great look. But then the ball popped off the top of the head of Macallan's stick, landing out of bounce in front of the bleachers. A turnover.
The referee's whistle signaled for everyone to stop moving, and I exhaled a hard breath.
"Sorry, Chan," Macallan called as Winsor's #4 went to retrieve the out-of-bounce ball.
"Mac, shake it off," I said, preparing myself to recover back to our defensive end. I wasn't frustrated with her. I just knew that she was better than dropping my perfectly timed throw to her dominant hand.
Macallan nodded, sucking in an unsteady breath before we both took off as the play resumed. Most of us had previously shifted up to occupy the space between the two restraining lines, but now we had to quickly recover back to our defensive end.
Before Winsor's #4 crossed over the restraining line, she launched a long, arching pass down to an attacker at the top of the 12-meter fan, where she beat out Libby Seymour with a split-dodge and fired a shot past Delaney.
I bit down hard on my mouthguard as Winsor celebrated their first goal, making the score 5-1 with a little less than fifteen minutes left in the first half. After returning the ball to the referee, Delaney turned to those of us who had gathered around her.
"Let's keep up our communication," Delaney said, briefly setting a hand on Libby's shoulder. "Call out who you're marking on defensive transitions, and focus on getting back to the 12."
"We got this, D," I assured, tapping my stick against Delaney's as we all broke apart.
As we went to reset, Coach Mayer subbed Macallan back out for Gianna. She'd been on the field for less than five minutes, and maybe she would have benefited from more time on the field, but that wasn't my call. It was Coach Mayer's, and I would never argue with her.
I came up with the next draw, swiping the ball clean out of the air and leading the team into a controlled possession. After we whipped the ball around twice, I took possession at the top of the 12, my gaze locked on the net. I tested Caan as I stayed light on my feet, cradling with controlled ease. The instant Caan started to overcommit on my right, I drove hard down the center of the 8-meter and split-dodged another defender crashing in. I launched a bounce-shot right at the front of the crease and watched the ball find the white space behind the goalie.
Gianna and Kelsey closed in to celebrate with me before the referee could even finish blowing her whistle.
"You make it look so easy," Gianna said as she tugged at the knot of her shooting string.
"Maybe it is," I teased, throwing her a quick grin before I looked out into the bleachers.
Dad stood on his feet clapping beside Mr. Jackman, and even though I couldn't see his expression, I knew there was a proud smile occupying his features. As I jogged back up to the center circle, my thoughts momentarily hurtled back to that night at the Cornell Club with Dallas Gunther. While he never explicitly said it, I assumed a big part of the reason why Dallas had yet to tell his dad that he wasn't attending Cornell had to do with pride. His dad was proud of him, and perhaps Dallas needed him to stay proud of him more than he even knew. While I had no reason to do so, I wondered the lengths I'd go to ensure my dad remained proud of me. Then I wondered if I was like Dallas, unaware of how much I needed him to stay proud.
✘ ✘ ✘
When the final horn sounded at the end of the second half, I turned to face the scoreboard with a wave of satisfaction washing over me. Home: 15. Away: 5. Kelsey and I had scored four goals apiece, while Gianna and Shay added two each. Seven different players found the back of the net.
After Coach Mayer brought the team together for a brief congratulatory speech and we performed the obligatory post-game high-fives with Winsor, I returned to my lacrosse backpack to remove my gear.
"The boys won, too," Kelsey informed me, her phone in her hand. "If the athletic department's Twitter is to be believed, then Trip had a double hat trick."
I smirked as I shook my head. "As he would."
"Anyway, my dad wants to take his classic first-game-of-the-season picture. Are you down?"
"Obviously."
Coach Mayer approached us before we could meet up with Macllan and Gianna.
"Tremendous work tonight, girls. You both have a lot to be proud of." Coach Mayer turned her dark eyes on me. "Chandler, I've got The Russell Report hoping to have a word."
"Yeah, of course," I nodded and turned to Kelsey with a grim smile. "I'll catch up."
"Enjoy chatting with our favorite sports journalist."
"I always do."
I went out of my way to dodge Vale on my way over to where Brett Russell stood with Delaney at the far end of our sideline.
"That was our biggest gameplan, to take it to them from the get-go," Delaney was saying to Russell. "If you let tough teams like Winsor hang around, it can be a hard-fought game. It was great that we came out right away, and our defense caused some key turn-overs. I can't think of a better way for us to start the season."
"Fantastic work out there, Delaney. Yale is getting a real superstar." Russell turned over to me and double-tapped the record button on his phone. "#16, Chandler England, you never fail to disappoint on the circle. You had 10 draw controls, not to mention four goals and two assists. What would you say are some of the Blue Wave's biggest takeaways tonight?"
"We've always been sharp off the first whistle," I said, sending a quick smile to Delaney as she started over to Coach Mayer. "I wanted to come up with the draw and kickstart our momentum with a fast-break goal. I'm super proud of our offense, and the team's excited to work towards our championship title hunt."
"Do you feel like you personally have more to prove this season than your previous two? That yellow card in last season's championship game against Silvermine must've been tough."
I offered Russell a thin-lipped smile as I allowed myself a moment to collect my thoughts. That yellow card might haunt me for the remainder of my high school career.
"I'm always pushing myself to improve my game," I told him. "I know I'm lucky to be a part of such a great, competitive team, and each victory this season will belong to everyone."
"Well it's great to see you and Jackman back calling the shots on offense. There are a lot of players who recognize you two as the most formidable duo in the league. Best of luck with your upcoming games."
"Who needs luck when you have skill?" My tone was light enough to elicit a hardy laugh from Russell. I suspected I was one of the only athletes in the league savvy enough to make a comment like that land well, and a subtle smirk pulled at my lips.
I'd be lying to myself if I pretended that I didn't derive pride from my stellar reputation on the lacrosse field. I knew what was expected of me every time I stepped onto the field, and that wasn't ever daunting. This was my stage.