The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit
Sunset found herself out in front of an Asian Fusion buffet. If she was going to eat something before the game, this was the worst possible choice.
She imagined the trays of food, shook her head and continued on to a pub, one that none of the students ever visited. It had been a retreat in the past, a quiet refuge, and would serve again.
A booth in the back, a glass of soda, a burger and fries—she didn’t really feel like eating at all, and when the waitress finally provided her a bill, two hours later, the burger had one bite out of it and the soda was still nearly full. Nearly as much of its decrease in volume could be attributed to the ice melting as in Sunset actually drinking any.
And then it was time to go back to school, time to get ready for the game, but before she did, Sunset took one detour, just a couple of blocks out of her way.
The intersection was unremarkable in every aspect, just like any other intersection, but she was drawn to it. Why here? Why her?
There were a few places along the road that had little memorials, and there were ghost bikes, but the intersection didn’t have anything to mark what had happened. That didn’t seem right to her, it felt like there should be something here to mark the spot.
What did Kerfuffle think when she passed it? Did the hairs on the back of her neck stand up? Did sadness wash over her? Did she avoid it? Or did she not think about it at all?
Was she really that brave? It seemed so at school; she mostly acted like nothing had happened. She’d even tried to keep up their relationship, but of course it was gone, just like Kerfuffle’s leg.
Sunset didn’t wait for the light, she just walked across the intersection. If a car came flying around the corner and hit her, so be it. Maybe that would be deserved karma coming for her.
•••••
Getting dressed, warming up, and then the first set passed in a blur; Sunset had no memory of it whatsoever. She was completely on autopilot, her mind a thousand miles away. If the ball came near her, she hit it–her body still knew what to do when it was out on the volleyball court–but none of her plays could be considered anything more than reflexive.
Unsurprisingly, they lost.
During the short break between sets, Sunset joined all the rest of the girls on the sidelines and grabbed a drink. It was only after her first sip, only after she was twisting the cap back on the bottle that she noticed Kerfuffle next to her.
“What’s going on?” Kerfuffle asked. “You, well, pardon me for just saying it, but you suck tonight.”
“I—”
“Be nice to finish the season like we started it, or else I’m going to feel guilty about the whole team relying on me to win the game.”
“You’re our best spiker.”
“Was.” Kerfuffle tapped her prosthetic leg. “Doc says if I keep up with my PT maybe I can play next year, although I don’t think I’ll be jumping . . . anyway, I’ve got an excuse. What about you? You’re letting too many things get by you.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“You must; you’ve been in a bad mood ever since I came back, haven’t even stopped to chat at all.” Kerfuffle sighed. “Cloudy says that she’s heard that you’re blaming yourself for what happened, it’s not your fault.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Kerfuffle snorted. “Easy? It’s—”
Both girls jerked in surprise as the whistle blew, then Kerfuffle turned back to Sunset. “Come on, go out there and play like you mean it, or do the team a favor and ask the coach to bench you. If you stay in, you gotta play to win this game for me.”
Sunset took the field in a daze. What was Kerfuffle trying to say? It was her fault, even if Kerfuffle denied it. Just because it was ‘an accident’ didn’t mean that there was nobody to blame: accidents didn’t just happen, as Sunset well knew.
As Sunset had thought about every single day since the last game against Crystal Prep.
She barely registered the ref’s whistle as it blew, signaling the beginning of the second set. Her body took over, while her brain continued to struggle with its inner demons. The crowd cheering—bigger than most games, since it was a rivalry and the outcome of this game was all that stood between them and the finals.
She felt like she was playing in molasses, like all her moves were on a time-delay. A few girls waited on the bench—she could call a time-out, have herself pulled.
Kerfuffle was right, she shouldn’t be playing. She was normally good, yes, but not now. It would be better for the team if she were on the bench. She didn’t deserve to play.
Up at the net, Cloudy Kicks blocked a return and the ball came to their side; the team shuffled positions, leaving Sunset as the server. She bounced the ball in her hand, marveling at its weight. It was heavier than it should be, wasn’t it?
She glanced over at the bench where Kerfuffle was conspicuously present—an injured player on the bench wasn’t unusual, of course. Players who couldn’t take the field, who had to watch from the sidelines while they recovered from their ankle or wrist injury. Games where they’d been without a player, and yet it wasn’t the same. Sprained ankles healed, bruises faded, but Kerfuffle’s leg would never come back.
Maybe if it wasn’t so obvious, maybe if she wasn’t wearing shorts, but every time she looked over it was a blatant accusation. You did this to me.
How could Kerfuffle ever forgive her? Why would Kerfuffle ever forgive her?
She didn’t deserve forgiveness.
Sunset served the ball, skimming it over the net between Sour Sweet and Indigo Zap more by rage than aim. A girl in the second row got it, and she watched it volley between the two teams until Mystery Mint missed a block and it came back towards her. Once again, instinct took over and she dove for the ball, catching it out of bounds and bobbing it up enough for her team to save it, to keep it in play.
Sunset glanced over at Kerfuffle before getting back to her feet and jogging back to her position—the ball was still live.
•••••
A few minutes later, she was up at the net, ninety percent focused on the game. They were up, she thought—she’d lost count and didn’t want to look at the scoreboard. A ball came over, she got under it like she always had, popped it up, and . . . and nobody spiked it over the net, nobody got the easy point.
Sunset and Kerfuffle had been feared at the net; they’d been an unstoppable combo on the court, and now . . . nobody else could spike like Kerfuffle, but anybody could have set her.
It should have been me hit by that car.
She blocked the return, and they got another point and got the ball back. Sunset didn’t turn back; she heard the serve and then watched it fly over the net, her eyes locked on the ball as it passed on its inevitable and predetermined trajectory.
As inevitable and predetermined as a car’s.
The ball returned, she went to knock it back and it grazed off the top of her fingers, spinning off course, over to the sidelines—Kerfuffle rose from her seat, snatched it out of the air, and gracefully lobbed it back towards the ref, who gave it to Crystal Prep.
How many hours had she spent in rehab? Sunset hadn’t wanted to know, but she couldn’t help but wonder, she’d looked up everything she could about the recovery process. Morbid curiosity? Guilt? She didn’t know. It must have been nearly every waking hour since she was able to stand on her one good leg, and once she’d come back to school, nearly every hour she wasn’t in class or doing homework and make-up work.
How much pain, how much agony, how many times had Kerfuffle thought to herself I can’t do this. How many times had she worked her way through it? She’d deserved none of it; besides the injury, besides the loss, every single moment of suffering that came as a result was only one person's fault.
Kerfuffle had fought to be where she was today, and she’d never once complained. Maybe it would be better if she had.
Why can’t we just have had a big fight to settle it? As weird as it was to think, Sunset would welcome a good right hook from Kerfuffle, even just a slap across the face would be something.
Maybe that was coming, once Kerfuffle could stand better. At the rate she was going, that wouldn’t be much longer. Hopefully before winter break, and then Sunset could almost enjoy the holiday.
Sunset cursed under her breath and tried to focus back on the game.
•••••
Canterlot High won the second game, leaving it to the final game to decide the winner. Sunset could take no credit for the victory; everyone else on the team had really stepped up to fill in the empty spot–empty spots on the court. Because the way she was playing, she might as well not be out there . . . this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This should have been the perfect capstone to the season. For the team, for her, for Kerfuffle.
Ask the coach to bench you. She glanced over at the bench, at Kerfuffle sitting out what should have been the greatest game of the year. Sitting on the sidelines is what I deserve . . . no, I don’t even deserve that.
Now was the time to decide. They’d had their little break, and now there were the announcements and Sunset paid no attention to them, they were another wash of noise in the crowded gymnasium.
She was debating between walking over to the coach, asking to be put out of the game–which would lose them the game for sure, even at their best the freshmen that were sidelined weren’t as good as Sunset at her worst oh you’re so full of yourself.
“Coach, I–”
Win this game for me.
“Sunset?”
“Never mind.”