The Not-So-Perfect Plan

The crack of my field hockey stick sends the ball up the length of the pitch. I sprint to join the action and yell, “Square left.” Without needing to look up, my right wing knows exactly where I am-we are in sync. I receive her pass, step into the shooting circle, the D, and prepare my shot. I lunge low as I flip my stick over and execute a perfect reverse hit of the ball. It thumps against the backboard and the trill of the umpire’s whistle signals my goal. My heart soars. The mix of high fives and pats on the back I get from fellow Tai Tam Prep players signals that I belong in this new school and new city.
A few minutes later, I’m in the shooting circle again, dribbling around a defender from the British International School. She tries to sweep the ball away, but I force a foul and it hits her foot, earning us a penalty corner-in field hockey, the ball can never ever touch your foot, unless you’re the goalie. Just like hands in soccer. I look up at Mr. Chapman, aka Coach Chappie, and he gives me the signal for play number 1, indicating a push out from me to the top of the shooting circle, where Saskia Okoh, our star striker, will take a simple shot. Our team huddles, I tell the team the plan, and everyone nods. I plant my feet and give a strong, solid push out to Saskia, and like every penalty shot she takes, she scores. As cheering erupts, the half-time whistle
blows. “Great goal,” I say to Saskia as we run back to the sidelines for our mid-game chat. She smiles and thanks me. We gather around Coach Chappie, who wields his whiteboard and marker like the conductor of an orchestra. We watch, mesmerized by the flying Xs and Os as he directs the plan to defend our lead and seal our win.
“Nice goal on the reverse stick, Holly-Mei,” Coach says. I smile proudly. Being center-midfield, I don’t score that often, and I even got to use a fancy shot.
“And textbook goal, Saskia. That’s surely the Golden Stick award for you,” he says, referring to the prize awarded to each division’s top scorer of the season.
I’m happy for Saskia. I only wish there could be a prize for people who assist with the goals, too, like when I earned us that penalty corner she scored on. As if reading my mind, Coach says to the rest of us, “MVP for the season is still up for grabs, so give it your all for the last half of the game.” I smile and nod. I guess things I do count after all. Maybe that’s the prize I should be thinking about, MVP, Most Valuable Player. I wonder if I even have a chance.
The whole of the second half, the other team tries to get close to our goal, but our midfield and defensive lines are just too strong. We press forward relentlessly into their D. With one minute left on the clock, the umpire awards us a penalty corner for dangerous play. This is going to be our last short corner of the season and it would be amazing to end with another goal. I look to Coach and he signals play number 1, just like before. I’m annoyed that he wants me to pass it to Saskia again. We’re going to win anyway, so shouldn’t someone else have a turn to shine? But I do as he says and of course she scores.
A few of the parents come over to the team bench to help us celebrate the end of the field hockey season. Millie, my younger sister, opens a large rectangular box to reveal a cake she baked shaped like crossed field hockey sticks. Millie is a fantastic cook and I love trying all her kitchen experiments.
“I was going to write City Champions on the sticks but then I remembered you’re only in second place,” she says.
“Now, now. You girls had a great season and second place in the league is quite the accomplishment,” Dad says.
Mom nods and says, “That’s absolutely right.” Saskia’s parents are there too. Mrs. Okoh opens a bottle of sparkling apple juice. “Here are some celebratory bubbles for Saskia’s Golden Stick award,” she says as she pours us each a cup. She looks at her daughter’s confused face and says, “I calculated and you’ve secured it by eight goals. That’s my little champion.”
Saskia’s brown cheeks flush red. I pass her a piece of cake and roll my eyes, trying to show her I understand how embarrassing parents can be. “Eleanor, is it true you used to play field hockey internationally?” Mom asks
Saskia’s mother.
“Yes, for Great Britain.” She pops her sunglasses on top of her blond hair. “No wonder Saskia is so skilled,” Dad says in admiration.
“Did you ever play in the Olympics?” I ask.
Her smile freezes and she pushes her sunglasses back over her eyes and sighs. “I was a reserve but didn’t get to go to Atlanta in the end.”
Mr. Okoh chimes in with a big smile, “But if Holly-Mei teaches Saskia how to do a reverse stick goal, our daughter might have her own chance at the Olympics.”
“Dad” Saskia starts to say, shaking her head. “I’m just joking, pumpkin,” he says with a wink.
Players start to leave slowly and it’s just our two families left. Millie is taking selfies in the stands; Dad and Saskia’s mom are chatting about London, where they’re both from; Mom and Saskia’s dad talk about work since they’re at the same big company, Lo Holdings International, and both have a fancy title that tells me nothing about what they actually do.
“You girls should get together over the holidays,” Dad says. “We’re staying
in town, too.”
The parents turn to us expectantly. Saskia and I look at each other and shrug. “I guess so,” we say in unison. It’s not that I don’t like Saskia, but I don’t really know her that well. We’re not in any of the same classes so we’re only together when we play and practice with the Tai Tam Prep junior field hockey team. She seems to live and breathe the sport, even training and playing with a team at a top local club, so we haven’t met up at Stanley Plaza or Repulse Bay Beach, where all the students hang out. I wonder if she has other interests. I wouldn’t mind becoming friends with her. I feel like we have an unspoken connection because she’s mixed-race like me. Her parents are both British; her mom is white and her dad is Black. She’s beautiful-like a teen Zendaya but with curlier hair and a smattering of golden freckles.
I gather my stick bag and our family heads to the van where Ah-Lok, our driver, is waiting at the side of the King’s Park stadium to take us back to Hong Kong Island from the Kowloon side. I am still surprised about the fact that we have a driver. Our life has changed so much since we moved to Hong Kong from Toronto five months ago. Not least of which, I’m wearing a hockey skirt and short sleeves outside in the December sunshine. I’m sure my friends back home are already in woolen tuques and mitts.
“Wait, I forgot my mouth guard.” I jump out of the van and race back through the stadium gates. Saskia is leaning on the fence and it looks like she and her parents are in the middle of a serious discussion. I keep my eyes on
the ground as I pass but I can’t help but hear what they’re saying. “We need to get you extra sessions with your private coach over the Christmas holidays,” her father says.
“But you said I could take a break from hockey. That I could do that online
animation camp,” Saskia says.
“If you want to be an elite player and make the Olympics, you need to prioritize training and sacrifice hobbies,” her mother says.
My eyes flick upward at them. Saskia’s shoulders are stooped and she’s staring at her feet. I feel bad for her. I thought my mom had high expectations for me, but this is next-level.