The Season (19 page)

Nineteen

In Which Megan Enjoys a Brief Respite from the Madness

WITH NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH BETWEEN US NOW, H
ank and I were closer than ever. Our intimacy reached a new level, if you know what I mean, and it turned out he was good for my game. I scored goals in seven consecutive matches, a stretch in which we qualified for the AAC tourney in mid-November. I had made it through two deb balls and three more deportment classes without incident. Ann nearly smiled at me at Sydney's classic Black and White Ball, and I was relieved to know that no matter how sucky our party, it would have to be better than Ashley Two's disastrous Arabian Nights, a party so over-the-top even Lauren looked pained to be there—the ginormous blow-up rubber Moroccan tent and imported belly dancers were the good parts. Julia and Zach were a sizzling, delicious thing. I approved and he practically lived at our place.

Best of all, Hank's “drawings” of the Aberdeen turned out to be full-blown plans, gorgeous renderings that, if
carried out, meant the Aberdeen's future would be ranching houses, not cattle—very big houses, on massive lots, with a greenbelt, a central barn and arena, and riding trails for horses. Hank was so proud he showed them to his boss, who said he had a buyer for something like this.

“I don't know how I could do any better than this,” Dad said. The plans were spread out on the kitchen table in front of us.

“Angus, are you serious about this?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, I am. I know this is what you want. They're not offering oil and gas money, but it's enough.”

“It's not about the money,” Mom said. “It's never been about the money. It's about
us
. It's about the next thirty years of our life together. I'm scared that if we don't sell, we don't have a life together. You will work yourself to death, and I will become old and bitter.”

“That's what's been bothering you?” Dad asked.

“Yes. We both know you're eventually going to sell the ranch, but your waiting till the very end, until you can't work anymore, feels like you're choosing the ranch over me. But I don't want you to do it if you're going to resent me.”

“I'm not gonna resent you. I would never resent you. I've known for a long time I was the last McKnight that was gonna ranch cattle, but it's hard for my old cowboy brain to let go.”

“I know,” Mom said tenderly.

“I understand, honey,” Dad said. “It's been a long, tough ride, but we've raised our girls, and I don't want to spend the
rest of our marriage struggling for survival. I want to enjoy it with you.”

“That's what I want,” Mom said. “I want to enjoy it.”

“I love you, Lucy.”

Mom gurgled like our creeks in spring but finally managed to choke out “I love you too.”

Julia and I had been holding our breath, not wanting to break the magic moment we had just witnessed.

“Are you girls okay with this?” Dad asked.

“Yeah.” Julia and I nodded.

“It means something for you too,” Dad continued. “Trusts will be set up, and you'll have a pretty good start on life.”

On Friday, November 17, I attended my graduation from Young Ladies' Etiquette & Decorum in a ceremony back in the good old Bordeaux Room at the Crescent Hotel. Ann played “Pomp and Circumstance” and the girls and I all walked in slowly and carefully. Everyone dressed up, and many of the girls' parents stood in the back filming the ceremony.

“You have all accomplished so much in these past weeks.” Ann spoke from a small podium while we sat ramrod straight in our chairs, hands in laps and ankles crossed. “You are transitioning from little girls and becoming young ladies—some of you later than others.”

Several of the parents laughed. But the jab wasn't mean
or cruel—it came off as playful, and I wondered for the first time,
Is it possible Ann likes me?
After all, you only tease people you like.

“Of course today is not a destination, but the first steps on a lifelong journey. But I feel supremely confident that all of you now possess the skills and poise to handle whatever is thrown your way. It is a distinct milestone, and in recognition of your achievement, I want each of you to come up and receive a certificate of merit.”

Parents stood again, phones poised to capture the moment.

“Carli Amber Johannson.” Carli stood and walked up. Ann held out her certificate, and they posed for a picture. Hannah, Isabelle, Jayla, and Paige all went up.

“Megan Lucille McKnight.” I stood and went up, feeling strangely grown-up. Ann and I shook hands, and she handed me my certificate. My name was written in a lovely, thick calligraphy, no doubt another of Ann's talents. We stood side by side smiling, and Carli's mom took our picture.

Afterward we posed for a group picture, drank pink lemonade, and ate cake.

I opened my purse, brought out a stack of cards, and handed one to each girl.

“I just want you all to know how much I've enjoyed these past six weeks,” I told them. “It's something I will never forget, so I brought you a little something.” They tore them open. Inside each was a handwritten note and two tickets. “The tickets are for next Wednesday's game. It's the first in
our big tournament, and I was hoping you could all come a little early so I could give you a tour of the locker room.”

“Oh my God, thank you!” Hannah said. And then to her mom, “We can go, right?” Her mom nodded. There were fist bumps and high fives. The parents looked on approvingly, as did Ann.

“What a lovely gesture,” Ann said a few moments later. She had found me alone as the girls and their parents were packing up.

“I have one for you too.” I pulled out one last card from my purse and handed it to her.

“May I open it?”

“Please.” She carefully opened the envelope and read the note, then smiled.

“I took your advice about not saying
everything
I think,” I said, giving her a quick smile.

“It's perfect—very much appreciated,” she said. She held up the ticket from her envelope.

“About that,” I said, gesturing toward the ticket. “It would have been rude
not
to invite you, but it's going to be crowded, and I doubt you're a soccer fan. Seriously, you don't have to come.”

Ann examined the ticket—the date, the teams, the time—then looked at me very directly.

“One of my students has graciously invited me to an important event in her life, and you think I wouldn't attend?” She tilted her head and gave me just the slightest smirk. “Megan, you should know by now: that's not the way I roll.”

The old lady was growing on me
.
It felt like she was trying to show me a way to be a smartass in society and get away with it. You had to be a ninja, not a clown in the WWE.

All the girls and Ann arrived early Wednesday and I took them out onto the field. Hannah and Jayla and Isabelle were wearing SMU soccer jerseys and ran up and down the pitch. Each of them scored a goal, and Jayla even did a sliding goal celebration. I passed a ball to Ann and she attempted to kick it back, but it squirted off her foot. To be fair, she was wearing pumps. I gave her credit for trying.

When I showed them through the locker room, they went around peeking inside the lockers, running their fingers along the jerseys, trying on shin guards, and marveling at the long metal studs on the cleats. Ann hung back, but she looked proud. We took tons of selfies and assorted pictures, and they went to their seats while I got dressed with the team.

We were playing UConn, a team we had beaten in the regular season. Both teams showed nerves early, but I scored a goal just after halftime. Leading 1–0 late, on the verge of moving on in the tournament, we let in two quick goals during the last ten minutes. We fought hard for the equalizer, hoping for extra time, but the clock ran out. Abruptly, my soccer season was over.

Afterward, stunned at how sudden and final it all was, I accepted hugs from the girls and from Ann. When they left
I couldn't muster the anger to kick over chairs and Gatorade, and I didn't really think it would make me feel better. Instead, I stood in the center circle for a few minutes, feeling the joy and privilege of playing in such a beautiful stadium. I went into the locker room and found Cat, angry and crying.

“Hey,” I said. “We had a great season.”

“So?” she replied.

“It's just not all bad—and we still have another year.”

She glared at me.

“
You're
offering
me
lessons in sportsmanship.”

“I'm not—”

“Is that something they teach
debutantes
?”

“Where'd that come from?” I asked, hurt.

“Reality. Friends call each other, friends hang out. You've been completely unavailable. All you care about is your stupid society thing!”

“That is totally unfair! You know my mom forced me to do it—”

“I know, poor little rich girl. You're so right. I can't imagine how hard all this must be for you.” She grabbed her stuff and stormed out.

“Cat!” I called. But she was gone. I felt blindsided by our fight, angry enough now to kick over chairs, but I knew she was right—I hadn't been a friend to Cat this season. I sat down.

Coach Nash came in and pulled over a chair.

“Hey,” she said. “You showed a lot this year, Megan. Twelve goals in twenty games is impressive in any league.”

“Thanks.”

“I've also never seen a player grow so much in one year. You're becoming the kind of player, and leader, I always imagined you could be.”

“Really?” I asked. She nodded.

“It's night and day, from where you were in August to now.” She paused. “I know you went to the Under 20s last year and it didn't work out, and they're not much for second chances. But I'm gonna call the coach for the Under 23s and tell him he'd be crazy not to take another look.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You've earned it.”

She gave me a squeeze on the shoulder and left. Alone, I sat by my locker, unlaced my cleats, removed my socks and shinguards, and examined my legs. They were a mess, a mix of scars and scrapes and bruises. I sighed. My season was over, my best friend hated me, but Coach Nash had held out a ray of hope for the national team.

Failing at the Under 20s had been the biggest disappointment of my life. But the truth is, I wasn't ready then and I thought that door was closed forever. I felt ready now, and if they ever brought me back, I'd kick that door down.