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didn’t. And maybe he was right, because despite loudly accusing him
of being a jerk during recess, Lacey had quickly accepted his offer to go
rollerblading after school.
    My
fast legs and quick footwork on the soccer pitch that summer had convinced my
father to bend the rules slightly, convincing the board of directors that
because there was no girls’ league within our district, it was only fair I join
the closest team. The team he just happened to coach. Although their consent
had hardly mattered to me at first, the light in my father’s eyes when I scored
my first goal immediately increased my investment in the team and I had
resolved to prove him right. The other parents hadn’t seemed to mind at all,
but there were boys on my team – like Greg – who were less than
thrilled. Every time I stepped on the field, I felt like I was on trial and
every mistake I made, like evidence presented to the jury that I didn’t belong.
    We
were down 3-2 as Greg and I raced neck-and-neck towards the ball, despite the
fact that we were on the same team, despite the fact that my father’s frenzied
shouts to ‘forward pass’ could be heard faintly behind us. With a burst of
speed powered mostly by desperation, I overtook him in two strides and sensing
the moment was mine, wound up and walloped the ball. Shading my eyes, my heart
lifted…and then sank as I watched it sail clear over the goal posts before landing in the dense cluster of trees
behind the soccer park.
    “Nice
work.” Greg smirked and shook his head before heading back down the field.
    Scowling,
I pelted after the ball, already dreading the lecture-disguised-as-advice from
my father on the merits of teamwork and camaraderie.
    The
mass of murky clouds overhead were thick with unshed rain as I jogged into the
tree-darkened shadows. Deep in thought, I was building the argument I would
present to my father when the smell of sulphur hit me like a punch in the gut;
the crack that followed so excruciatingly loud that I thought my eardrums had
burst. Limbs tingling, my skin blazed as if hot water had replaced the blood in
my veins. With an enormous grunt I tumbled forward, palms splayed out in front
of me, breath sucked from my lungs.
    Something
was burning.
    Hammered
into the dirt, I heard my wrist snap with a sickening crunch as I skidded along
the hard-packed earth between the trees. The moment before I hollered in pain,
I knew. I felt it.
    He
was there.
    Looking
up silently from a face full of leafy underbrush, I saw him striding urgently
towards me, his eyes wide with concern. With only a few long strides he
gathered me into his arms to cradle me effortlessly, one hand smoothing the
hair back from my face.  
    Frowning,
he placed my wrist carefully against my chest. “Hold your arm steady, Rachel,”
he murmured and then looked at me with the same reassuring expression that I
knew I’d seen before. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
    Mutely,
I stared up at him. His eyes, warm and steadfast, were infinitely sad and I
wondered what had happened to make him so unhappy. Walking swiftly towards the
soccer field, we emerged from the trees just as the ambush began. My father was
the first to reach me. Looking panicked, he stretched himself towards me, and
like a baby, I passed gently into his arms.
    “Her
wrist is injured,” the man said softly. My father glanced at him briefly, as if
hating to tear his eyes away from me. “The lightning did not strike her
directly – it struck the tree first and she fell from the impact.”
    “Rachel,
Rabbit, you okay?” My father hugged me tightly against his chest and turned to
the crowd of adults who had now reached the far edge of the soccer field.
Amidst the chorus of concerned voices and suggested advice, I was hustled back
down the field towards the first aid kit. Peering from my father’s chest at the
ring of anxious faces, I closed my eyes. I only looked back once as my father
jogged towards his car.
    He
wasn’t