July 31st, Tuesday, Carnegie women's dorms
7:50 am
"Fausta Nazario readies for match point. Never have we seen
such a powerful woman dominate her opponents here today. The fluid grace
of her strokes has given a new meaning to 'deadly beauty'. She's
readying her serve, the ball is up..."
"Oh my god! Fausta is down! I don't know what is going on
down there, but the state champion is on her knees. Officials are coming
on the court and checking her out. I don't like the looks of this. If
she cannot recover, Fausta may have to forfeit the nationals."
What a profound memory that was--one that would haunt her
for the rest of her life. Fausta had been an ace tennis player during
the golden years of her youth, starting out as a determined toddler
practicing her swings in the garden, followed quickly by the fierce,
steel-eyed queen of the court--a woman who had no real friends, only
rivals, and one who measured her worth by actions, how well she
performed, and the expectations set by last year's records. She wasn't
just going to be a star, she was going to be a legend, a household name,
like Agassi and Kournikova. But the impermanence of life and the
capricious nature of circumstance strove to crush her dreams, and during
her final championship match--which she would have won and set a world
record for if she had played all the way through--her rotator cuff tore
right in the middle of the game, a freak accident that left her scarred
to this very day, two hellish years later.
Thirty percent of her body's strength was robbed in that
agonizing moment, as well as her professional career and any chance she
had of realizing her dreams. A wounded animal will lash out in madness
and frustration as it bleeds and hobbles away to safety; Fausta actually
wept and gnashed her teeth, but her willpower refused to bend, and she
sought out other ways to preserve her name in the annals of sports. She
could barely lift a dictionary without straining herself, so she focused
on her legs, turning to swimming, running, cycling--anything to keep
hold of her slippery focus. But nothing worked; nothing could bring
back the thrill of victory she had once called her own.
Nothing, that is, except for the very sport that Carnegie's
board of directors had voted for. Perfect.
"You can do this, Fausta," she whispered to herself as she
headed out the door. "This is the moment you've been suffering for.
You're ready."
You complete my fate
The world unwinds inside of me
You complete my fate
The halo crawls away
You repeat my fate
Rewinding all we can
You refill my place
You refill my place
Come and save me
Come and save me
You complete my fate
The heavens stroll inside of me
You repeat my fate
Revealing who we are
You refill my place
You refill my place
Come and save me
Believe in me
Drink the wine
Take my hand
Fill me up
Believe in me
Drink the wine
Take my hand
Let me follow
"Life Change"
With her first semester of college fast approaching, Fausta
was busy organizing her life. She had finally finished moving into her
new dorm, and was expecting to see her class schedule in the mail by
next week, if not sooner. She took her time exploring the campus
whenever she wasn't moving in or slaving away at her job (that wasn't
fair; it was easily the most leisurely time of her day), and she even
scoped out the soccer field--which was empty, of course, since it would
not be officially used until tomorrow. There had been very little pomp
surrounding the ribbon-cutting ceremonies, mostly because Rosewood felt
her ideas would attract people on their own merit, but also because
"Evil Lord Gary" was struggling to stifle interest. The only real
problem Fausta had to face was her work schedule. She intended to sign
up for the sports program, and didn't want to sacrifice her training for
a paycheck.
Parody had impressed her when she wandered into it for the
first time. It wasn't a very spacious building, but it had an
enchanting aroma about it, and the manager knew her way around really
great music. There were, of course, shelves full of rare books, but
there was also an inviting basement, and even an "erotica" section
cloistered in a secret corner in the basement, wisely hidden from casual
eyes. The manager was a woman about eight years Fausta's senior, and
was as well-versed in her profession as one would expect. Nazario
figured this would be a good place to unwind and earn a few bucks on the
side, so she applied for a job and scored a part-time shift in the
mornings.
Fausta promised herself that this week would be the last
where she would work so many hours, so she wrote her thoughts down as
she snuck into the basement, its walls atmospheric with murals, and
picked out a beanbag chair to crash in. A stack of Yigal Azrouel
fashion magazines were waiting for her on a coffee table, and she picked
one at random to scout for new trends. Fausta was barely past the table
of contents when her manager came downstairs, carrying a sheet of paper.
She didn't think anything of it--Robin usually came down here to rest
her feet and chat--until the older woman waved the page in her face,
drawing her out of her world.
"Your friend dropped by earlier to give me a present," she
said. Fausta calmly marked her place and glanced up.
"Which friend? I have a lot."
"Elisa, bambina. Here, take one, and give the poor girl
some gratitude when you see her."
"Why should I?" Fausta muttered as she took the paper and
read it. So it was official at last: Carnegie had a soccer team.
Fausta already knew where the field was, and would have no trouble
finding it; she would also be completely freed from obligations by 2:30,
so everything worked out fine for her. Well, maybe not--Robin was still
staring impatiently. "I don't take her services for granted," she
argued. "I'm not cruel. I don't bully her. We respect each other.
You make it sound like she's a martyr."
"Just thank her when you see her, okay? Your shift begins
in twenty minutes." Fausta didn't need to be reminded; Robin just liked
to be bossy every now and then, especially towards Parody's infamous
prima donna. But since she was down here...
"I'll need to talk to you about a schedule change," she
called as Robin walked back upstairs.
"Only if you thank her! I'll talk to her later to see if
you did." The door closed and Fausta rolled her eyes.
"What's her problem? I didn't do anything wrong." She quit
her magazine after five more minutes and picked up her cell phone.
Knowing Elisa's schedule, there was no way she would be able to see her
before Robin did, so it was best to call her. Berkeley was prompt as
ever, and answered her phone after just two rings.
"Hello, Fausta!" she chirped, sounding breathless. "Did
Robin give you that flier?"
"Yeah, thanks for handing them out. I mean, I could've
gotten them myself... Um, you didn't have to go through that much
trouble, is what I'm saying."
"It's no trouble for me. I knew you'd be interested. Has
your shift started yet?"
"No, almost. Do me a favor: if Robin comes by later to ask
if I thanked you, give her a piece of my mind, okay? She's being
unnecessarily bitchy."
"She's always nice when I'm there," she answered, her voice
merry.
"Because you're her customer. Anyway, I'd better clock in
before she comes back down here and starts harping. Take care,
Berkeley."
"I will, thank you, and you behave yourself, too!"
"No guarantees," she grinned. Fifteen minutes after being
chewed out by the exasperated little bird, Fausta pulled herself out of
her chair and climbed the stairs, wincing as her arm pushed the door
open. She just spotted her manager ducking into the backroom with
another woman, most likely her lover and best friend, and knowing those
two, they would not return for some time. Fausta snorted in disbelief,
clocked in, and secluded herself in a dark corner, waiting for the two
shameless women to conclude their "emergency meeting".
"She owes me for this one," she grumbled. After a few
minutes idly organizing the shelves, Fausta heard the door's chime go
off, indicating another customer had arrived. Her sour mood turned
sweet as she grinned, wondering if this visitor--a man, no less--would
discover Robin's dirty deeds.
"Hello? Is there anybody here? I need some help finding
something by Dostoyevsky."
"Coming!" came Robin's voice. Fausta smirked.
"I bet you are." Both women emerged after a moment,
somewhat more disheveled than before, but they also seemed more
satisfied. Fausta may have accused her boss of being irresponsible, but
she would probably be in a better mood now. Fausta recognized Gardenia
as she strolled through the store, and gave her a hidden smile of thanks
as she left.
"I'd better get going, Robs," she called. "All that power
will go to Lau's head if I don't intervene. I'll catch you later."
"All right, take care! Um, okay, I think I can help you,
sir." Fausta waited until the man left with his book before she emerged
from hiding, pretending to work. Robin's back was turned, so she didn't
see her come out; Fausta had to wave. The older woman did indeed carry
a new glow with her, and there was a bounce in her step as well.
"Do you need something? Oh yes, you wanted to talk about a
schedule change."
"Si. I called Elisa and thanked her, so you can stop
worrying." Robin shot her a doubtful expression, but let the matter
slide. "My schedule's going to conflict with this football training, so
do you think I could just take the Sunday morning shift?"
"The weekends are where we need the most people," Robin
murmured. "Could you work nine to five on Sundays, and eleven to three
on Saturdays? That would really help out a lot." Fausta judged the
decision carefully before making any commitments.
"That seems fair. I suppose you'd have to hire somebody
else to fill in for my current shift."
"I've been meaning to hire someone anyway," Robin nodded.
"Tell you what: if you make it into the team, and if I manage to find
someone before next Wednesday, I'll change your shift. That's the best
I can give you, Fausta."
"I appreciate it." She smiled tightly and resumed her work,
feeling lighthearted as if she had been sexually relieved as well.
--Felicity Velur, 19, Botany major, striker or center-forward position--
When you looked at her, you got the impression she belonged
anywhere other than the office of a respectable Dean, or even a college
soccer team. Her hair was like a fire engine, loud and violent as it
slashed through the air, and her eyes were like a wild husky's, calm and
studious, ready to lead the pack through snowy woods. She was dedicated
to punk rock and heavy metal, and her choice of clothes reflected this:
she had ten earrings, a tattoo on the back of her neck, white shoes
spray-painted green, jeans full of holes--some self-afflicted, others
created by accidents--a hemp necklace with a penguin hanging around her
neck, and just because today was so damned special, she wore her
favorite shirt, which had been defaced with a marker, picturing a
ferocious unicorn glaring triumphantly as it bathed underneath its
bloody horn.
She didn't know what she was doing here, in this tiny hamlet
of a campus, or for what reason she had been summoned, except perhaps to
conclude her education and get that Clinical Psychology degree she had
been working towards. She certainly didn't look like she belonged in
that small-town university, or even the city, in all its cultural
sluggishness and worldly innocence, and yet here she was, strongly
recommended by her old psych department, a charismatic leader who one
couldn't help but warm up to, regardless of what she chose to flaunt.
She had been one of the few people both Rosewood and Fitzgerald agreed
upon when they distributed scholarships. They both recognized her
talent and jealously wanted her for Carnegie, although Rosewood had
other things in mind for her...
She is the center of her own world, and it keeps her going.
A charismatic, capable leader, drawing followers through her confidence.
A woman who will break if her hard work yields no fruit.
Lauren Ofdensen
"Listen Ms. Rosewood, I'm flattered, I really am. The thing
is, I still don't understand why you'd want me to join your
little...'club'...thing." Lauren finished, willfully ignoring how
inelegant her sentence had suddenly turned. Despite the seemingly
exasperated look in the Dean's eyes, this was perhaps one of the few
times where Lauren was not making a concentrated effort to be difficult
and was, indeed, slightly confused at the sudden turn of events.
"I'm not interested in your abilities, or lack thereof," the
Dean replied, setting up to repeat the same lines that she had been
feeding the girl for the better of the past hour. "What I am interested
in are your athletic abilities and your leadership skills. Those things
cannot be taught, soccer can."
"Okay, I get that: all that 'athleticism' stuff, I've heard
it before, I understand what you're saying," Lauren replied, leaning
forward in her chair almost as if she were trying to talk to a
particularly dense individual who required hand motions to understand
what was being said. "But I don't think you realize that you're asking
me to join your soccer team...despite the fact that I've never played
soccer before...ever." Now it was Dean Rosewood's turn to lean forward,
folding her hands together as she did so.
"So you mean to tell me that you've never kicked around a
soccer ball before? Ever?" The girl in front of her narrowed her eyes
slightly before running a hand through her slowly falling bright red
faux-hawk.
"Well..." she said carefully, as if deciding carefully upon
what she was about to say, "sure I've kicked a ball around in the quad a
couple of times but that's hardly..."
"That's enough" the Dean interrupted, making sure to flash
the girl a slight smile. "Miss Ofdensen, your conditioning alone makes
you more qualified than some of the other girls that we're inviting onto
the team. Your level of soccer proficiency is, perhaps, the least of our
worries right now. Besides, why wouldn't you make a top-notch goalie?
I've heard that you're a fantastic catch."
"Baseballs..." Lauren said softly, as if addressing the
comment to herself and not the Dean, "I catch baseballs, not soccer
balls."
"Well that's excellent. You probably have a pretty good arm
too." Now it was the Dean's turn to smile for real at her own little
joke before setting up for the final pitch. "Now listen, Miss Ofdensen,
I cannot force you to join the soccer team, nor would I ever attempt to
do so. I was simply making the offer considering your past athletic
accomplishments, despite the fact that these accomplishments may have
occurred in different...fields, let's say. However, the offer is on the
table: we'd love to have you as part of the team."
Oddly enough, the Dean had not even realized that she had
been taking a stroll around her office throughout the course of her
little speech. Snapping back to full consciousness, she was able to
discern that she had turned a full 180 degrees away from the red-haired
girl, almost as if subliminally indicated that the girl was completely
replaceable were she not to accept the Dean's generous offer. Slowly
turning around, Stacie gradually came to see that Lauren Ofdensen was
hunched over in her chair, silent tremors wracking her body as her
folded hands acted as a kind of rest for her forehead.
Thinking she had caused the normally calm girl to have some sort of
breakdown, the Dean suddenly felt guilty at the thought of her sales
pitch being too pressuring. Attempting to temper the situation, she
tried to make her voice as gentle as possible as she addressed the girl
one last time.
"But like I said, this is in no way mandatory. You're more
than welcome to say 'no' if..."
She didn't get the chance to finish her soothing addition.
As soon as she had started speaking, Lauren had lifted her head, giving
the Dean a full view of a wide-smile plastered across a tightly clenched
jaw, and quiet, yet audible chuckles emanating from said mouth.
Laughing? She was laughing?
Stacie Rosewood was silent for a moment before choosing her
next words. "Excuse me Miss Ofdensen but...what..."
"Sure," Lauren Ofdensen interrupted in-between laughs, "sure
Ms. Rosewood. I'll join your...'team.' Why not?"
After her meeting with the Dean had ended with a tense
handshake and a foreboding feeling that she had just made a grievous
error, Lauren Ofdensen made her way to the first place that she thought
of when she thought of soccer: the storage room.
Fortunately, her friend Gus was working the day shift and, after the
purchase and presentation of a Mountain Dew in exchange for his
assistance, Lauren was left standing in a doorway in front of every type
of ball known to man. Grabbing a soccer ball, she closed the door,
thanked Gus with a friendly punch to the shoulder and good-humored jab
about his thinning hair, and made her way outside. Feeling the summer
air hit her as she opened the door, she dropped the soccer ball in front
of her and gave it a practice kick.
Unsurprisingly, the kick went wide, leaving Lauren to chase
after it. Not a good start. Throughout the course of her ten minute
walk from the gymnasium to her dorm room, nine rogue soccer kicks had
caused her to delay her trip in lieu of chasing the stupid little black
and white ball. By the time she had made it to her room she had decided,
with an angry throw paired with a few choice profanities, that she did
not want to see, hear, or talk about soccer anytime in the near
future...which was going to be hard considering that she had just joined
the soccer team.
Glancing at the clock, she suddenly noticed that she only
had half an hour to get ready before her friends picked her up for the
Horrorpops concert, causing a sudden change in her mentality. But this
mentality change was welcomed and not at all worrisome. In truth,
during her unnecessarily long and sidetracked walk back from the
gymnasium, Lauren Ofdensen had come to terms with her decision to join
her school's soccer team, justifying it in such a way as to carry her
throughout the rest of the year without stress.
Soccer was a joke, so she would treat it as such.
--Nadia Khovansky, 19, Writing major, defensive midfielder position--
Felicity and Nadia's shifts ended at the same time, so Nadia
was usually the one who asked if Felicity wanted a ride. Tonight,
though, things would be different. About two hours before they clocked
out for the evening, Gardenia poked her head into the kitchen, catching
the two coworkers as they assembled drinks and food on their trays
(bantering as always). She thought it was cute the way Nadia flirted so
recklessly, and hoped that one day, Felicity would get a clue and open
herself up. But first things first.
"Hey you two, Robin and I are taking everyone over to Out
and About after work. Are you in?"
"We are in ze Out?" Nadia chirped. Gardenia laughed and
tried to clarify.
"I mean do you two wanna come with the rest of us? There'll
be dancing, a few drinks, music, lots of sexy women..."
"Kitty cats and I are alwayz up for the sexiez!" Nadia
cheered. Felicity turned green, even though Gardenia could see in her
eyes that she wanted to come.
"Uh, I don't really think this is my thing, Miss Kemper. I
mean, I've never actually been to...uh, that sort of place."
"All the more reason to go," she argued. "And for the last
time, Felicity, just call me Gardenia. 'Miss Kemper' is my mother."
"Uh, I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with that. I mean, I
barely even know you..."
"All the more reason to go!" Nadia parroted, giving
Felicity's shoulders a rub. "So you will be saying Yes, da? We will be
seeing kitty cats in the sexy In Out place?"
"I...don't think so," Felicity grumbled. "My father,
he...he probably wants me to call him and tell him I'm going to sign up
for the team. That means he'll probably tell me to go to bed early."
"Aw, to Hell with that shit!" Gardenia bellowed. "You do
whatever Felicity wants to do! Besides, sleep is overrated and you're a
shoe-in for the team. But I'm not going to twist your arm. You've got
to decide what Felicity wants to do, got it? For crying out loud,
you're nineteen years old! Get that butt of yours out of the cradle."
Gardenia knew she wasn't exactly subtle, but she hated beating around
the bush, and preferred talking directly. Of course, that cost her a
lot of friends, but at least she was honest. Nadia gave her friend a
cute little pout, her eyes like a doe's, her mouth soft and sweet. What
they didn't know was that the more she argued against it, the more
Felicity wanted to go. It burned her up so badly that she almost said
yes on the spot.
"Can I think about it?" she sighed. "You said it was two
hours away, right? I just need some time. Nadia, that goes double for
you."
"What doez going double mean?"
"It means I don't want you bugging me about it for the rest
of my shift, okay? I'll find the answer on my own."
But I am flattered you both want me to go. I've never been
so...included before.
The morning of Wednesday, August 1st finally came,
catalyzing the fates of many young men and women. However, in spite of
the efforts of several people, only a handful of people showed up to try
out for the women's division, most of them inexperienced players just
coming here for fun! Lauren Ofdensen certainly fit into that category,
and since she was only doing this for fun--and to prove Dean Rosewood
wrong--she didn't think she'd make Leena's cut. But while she was
there, she had a good opportunity to scope out several attractive women,
including the coach herself, who despite being 35, had the full blossom
of youth and energy radiating out of her. Of course, that sweet young
lady volunteering as a member of the staff looked pretty cool too,
especially that wicked-awesome tattoo she had...
"So what is that?" Lauren asked, pointing to the back of her
neck. Kathlyn smiled timidly and turned around, pulling her collar
down.
"Just a dragon. It goes all the way to my feet. This might
sound strange, but I got it because somebody dared me to."
"That's fucked up," Lauren snorted. She showed Kathlyn her
own masterpiece--a devil on the left, a naked woman in the middle, and
an angel on the right, meant to represent the three states of the mind.
"I didn't get this on a dare," Lauren noted slyly, "I just got it cuz' I
wanted it."
"Oh, cool. Uh, hold on a sec--Leena's calling me over."
"Sure, bye." Lauren smiled casually as she watched the
older woman jog over, admiring her girlish body and the flickering
dragon waving back at her. Of course, not being the discriminating
type, she also settled her eyes on the other players, who were either
taking this game too seriously (losers!), or just having fun and goofing
off (the cool people). One of the biggest losers, in Lauren's opinion,
was a glory hog named Fausta (she learned that name pretty quickly!),
and Fausta didn't know when to quit or let up. Lauren could tell the
younger woman had incredible talent, but she was too aggressive, too
focused, and too rough for her tastes. Leena apparently saw something
in her, for she made a check mark next to Fausta's name, indicating she
was now part of the team.
"Good show, Nazario!" shouted another player--Elisa
Berkeley, if Lauren heard right. Now this was a much more intriguing
woman, someone worth studying once Lauren's tests were over. She
certainly didn't play the game seriously, and it didn't look like she
had any particular talents that stood out, but Elisa seemed engrossed
with the game, like she was slowly beginning to embrace something she
had been uncertain about. This was more than a game but less than a
passion--this was an expression for her. That she could befriend
someone like Fausta was something Lauren hoped she'd get the chance to
figure out.
"You look like you're having fun," Nazario said to Berkeley.
"I'm glad you decided to come out here. Now I don't feel quite so
excluded."
"You wouldn't feel that way if you stopped being such a
selfish ass," Lauren grumbled to herself.
"Well then, it seems my decision had some merit to it after
all!" Elisa answered. Elisa... Now there was an interesting woman.
Beautiful, talented, cultured, humble, but maybe a little doubtful and
shy. If Lauren made the cut, she promised herself she would show this
genteel soul "the way". Yes, if she made the cut...
"So you weren't even going to try?" Leena wondered.
"I know I said I wouldn't," Elisa muttered, "but something
inside of me just pushed me in this direction. In all likelihood, I'll
end up warming benches and fetching water bottles for our more skilled
players...I mean, if you even want me on the team. I want you to know,
Miss Leena, I'm not really here to win any games or prove any points.
I'd just like to put some exercise in my life and meet other people. I
need the, uh, interaction. I wasn't completely awful, was I?"
"No, you did fine," she replied warmly. Lauren looked over
just in time to watch Elisa stumble to the bleachers, giddy with joy,
too stunned to even stand up. A wolfish smile creased on her mouth, and
in spite of her earlier feelings, she hoped she would be accepted as
well, if only to be around such a fascinating, charming person.
"Ofdensen," the coach called, drawing Lauren's stare. She
gave a smile and a thumbs-up, sealing her fate.
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