Solo by Hope Solo (best books to read for women .txt) 📗

setting the defense without Rachel. Boxxy was going to move back, taking on more defensive responsibilities. I was still in shock over the bad call. As I went back to my line, I raised my hand again in disbelief. The crowd took it as a cue and began to chant “USA! USA!” Brazil had tied the score but lost the home field advantage.

Regulation ended in a tie: we would play two fifteen-minute overtime periods, shorthanded.

Two minutes into overtime, Marta got her left foot on a cross that I thought had come from a player who was offside. Boxxy raised her hand to signal offside but no call was made. Marta lofted the ball toward the far post and into the net. Brazil was ahead 2–1 and had a man advantage. I didn’t lose hope, but as the minutes passed and our shots flew wide or high, things were looking grim. I started to worry. As the seconds ticked down, Brazil was stalling, which further incited the crowd. Erika faked an injury and was carried off on a stretcher and then—as soon as she was off the field—she jumped up, suddenly fine. She was given a yellow card for stalling, and two minutes of extra time was added on. The crowd was angry at Brazil’s tactics and applauding our gutsy effort. It felt like Rocky IV, when everyone came to the fight hostile to the United States but ended up cheering for Rocky by the end. But a happy ending today seemed less and less likely. We were in the 122nd minute of the game. At my end of the field, Pearcie passed the ball to Ali Krieger. Krieger passed to Carli in the defensive end, who then beat two players and passed wide to Megan Rapinoe. She brought the ball down toward Brazil’s goal and sent a hopeful thirty-yard cross off her left foot, perfectly placed toward the net. Abby launched herself toward the ball, hit it squarely with her forehead and sent it screaming into the back of the net.

We all went crazy. Abby ran toward the sideline and then slid on her knees; she was instantly dog-piled by our teammates. The fans exploded in a roar of amazement, and I was jumping up and down and wheeling my arms around, alone on my side of the field. I looked into the stands and spotted Adrian beaming with pride.

The whistle blew. We were going to penalty kicks.

IV.

My team was amped up at midfield, full of energy and adrenaline and pulsing with confidence. I walked away from them to compose myself; I didn’t need amping up. I needed to be calm and clear-minded, fully focused. I walked over to the corner flag on the side of the field where my loved ones were sitting. They were so close I could almost reach out and touch them. I sat on the grass and took deep breaths and looked up at Marcus. I could see how nervous he was—he looked as though he might faint. My mom and Adrian gave me nods of assurance—I could see the love and confidence in their eyes. I looked at Amy and Lesle in the front row, my soccer believers.

“It just takes one,” Amy said. I could see her mouth the words and hold up one finger. I was having my own private moment with the people who meant the most to me, in the midst of a global audience of millions.

“It just takes one,” Amy said again.

“OK,” I thought to myself. “I’ve got this.”

We had practiced penalty kicks the day before. I had a good feeling.

Boxxy went first for us. Andréia, Brazil’s goalkeeper, came so far off her line to block the shot that even Melksham couldn’t screw up the call. Boxxy retook the kick, went the same way—to her right—and made it easily.

U.S. 1, Brazil 0.

I stood up and windmilled my arms as I walked to the line. Cristiane was waiting. I didn’t get a good read on the ball—she went to her left and made the shot. U.S. 1, Brazil 1.

Carli was up next. She hammered the ball into the left-side netting past a diving Andréia. U.S. 2, Brazil 1.

Marta walked up next as the crowd booed and whistled. The greatest player in the world had turned into the villain. I’ve always liked Marta—she’s a little dirty, but she plays with so much passion and soul. I was a bit surprised to see her shooting second: Brazil was using their best two shooters in the first two spots, putting pressure on the players who would shoot after them. I guessed left, she went to my right.

U.S. 2, Brazil 2.

Abby was next. She never even looked at Andréia. She kept her head down and put the ball in the right corner of the net. U.S. 3, Brazil 2.

Daiane walked up. I watched her line up to shoot. I felt confident.

I got a good read on the ball. I extended completely to my right and extended my hand, pushing the ball safely away. I was already celebrating as I landed; I rolled over and jumped up, my arms extended in the air in triumph. It just takes one. And I had one. U.S. 3, Brazil 2.

Rapinoe was next. She shot under a diving Andréia. I liked seeing the calm confidence from our players, many of whom had never been on such a big stage. U.S. 4, Brazil 2.

Franciela was up. She put a shot past my right hand. U.S. 4, Brazil 3.

One more converted kick and we would win, completing the amazing comeback. I went back to my corner to watch.

Ali Krieger stepped up. She kept her head down and didn’t look at Andréia, who stood on the line like the Cristo statue in Rio, arms outstretched. Andréia jumped off her line well before Ali shot, but it didn’t matter. Ali tapped her shot into the left corner of the net. U.S. 5, Brazil 3.

Ali sprinted toward our bench, where the reserve players and