Everyone knew who Rainbow Dash was.
We'd seen the videos. Of her and her friends, harnessing an incredible energy to save their school from an extradimensional threat. We saw light bursting out of her, the power, be it science or magic or something in between. She was on the news. She was all over forums and social media. She was extraordinary — her and her friends had displayed a might like no one had ever witnessed and revealed a truth that no one had thought possible.
She wasn't doing any of that right now, though. Right now, she had to take a penalty kick.
I felt my hands tapping my sides rapidly as she placed the ball down. For the girl who'd won the district's MVP award before the playoffs had begun for her stellar regular-season play, it was a relatively quiet night for her — she hadn't sent a shot my way, but I felt my stomach drop every time she got near the 18-yard box. I could almost see the power from that night in the way that she moved and the fury with which she dribbled as she carved her way across the pitch, but thankfully, her attempts were always thwarted by our swarming backline.
It was a stalemate on both sides, with our own strikers unable to drum up any offense to capitalize on Canterlot High's struggles. Regulation ended 0-0, I had my clean sheet, and we headed to extra time. I was ready for the pace to pick up as desperation set in for both squads, but neither side budged as fatigue crept its way in and the whistle blew to begin what I had secretly hoped for every night I spent staring up at the ceiling leading to this district championship.
Penalties.
Rainbow's reputation on the pitch had preceded her even before she vanquished a demon. And ever since I saw that video, I wanted to upstage her in the only arena I knew I could.
And now, one on one, I was about to get my chance.
She went fifth in the lineup, of course — she was a glory hound through and through. Penalty kicks were notoriously hard for keepers, given the obvious disadvantage, but I performed admirably against the first four takers I faced. The first shot hit the upper left corner of the net as it went in; I dove low to the ground on the right side of goal to stop the second; I punched the ball upward to thwart the third; and their right back only just nudged the ball past me at the bottom right, bouncing off the post and into the goal.
I didn't know who they were. I never would. The only person that mattered tonight was right in front of me.
I took a deep breath and looked up at the scoreboard looming ominously over the pitch's right sideline. I'd done my job well enough in my first four outings, but the three red Xs under the Shadowbolts' name were a biting reminder that my teammates hadn't done theirs. Three times they'd kicked, and only the second attempt from our left winger had found its way past Canterlot's goalkeeper.
It meant that Rainbow Dash was up next. And it meant that if she slotted this one past me, her Wondercolts would win the district championship.
On the steps of Canterlot High side by side with her friends, Rainbow Dash had been a hero. But she wouldn't be tonight. I wasn't going to let that happen.
While the rest of the players kept their hair back with ties or headbands, Rainbow didn't bother. Her long and flowing prismatic locks were mottled and clumped with sweat and her white kit was stained the color of the grass beneath her, but after 90 minutes plus extra time, I watched her chest move up and down in a slow-burning rhythm. After placing the ball down, she walked back to the line, and she turned to meet me as I rocked back and forth to a beat that wasn't there.
For a brief second, our eyes met. I locked onto her, searching deep into her eyes to look for any sign of stress or nerves, but her glare was ice-cold as she stared right back. Slowly, the edge of her lip curled upward as she stilled her gaze to mine.
I felt my brow furrow as she focused in on me. I didn't dare to blink, because she sure as hell wasn't going to.
Her muscles went slack as she hung her arms down to her side and took her position, leaning forward just so and letting her right foot creep out in front of her. She'd done this before — she'd faced countless other goalkeepers across the season she'd dispatched without a thought, and she'd taken penalties like this one plenty of times already. And everyone she had felled was just another fleeting face, a pair of eyes drawn wide as the ball sailed past them that she'd forget the next morning.
She never remembered them, but I did. And as she stood waiting for her moment to strike, there was one thing in the back of my mind I focused on as I waited for our cue to begin.
Rainbow Dash didn't know who I was.
But she's about to.
The referee blew his whistle — I barely heard it. She took a deep breath, her eyes floating back to the ball and her head remaining empty as the moment arrived. I felt every muscle in my body tense, and as I bent my knees and let my weight shift, she advanced like a predator toward the ball without a wasted step.
She dug her left foot into the ground.
I picked my direction, beginning my lean at just the right time.
She reared her leg back, ready to fire.
I dove, my arms outstretched as far as they'd allow.
And with a thunderous pop, she launched the ball into the air.
Author's Note
This is my first attempt at a thousand-word competition, and there are a lot of themes and concepts I wanted to employ here in a short amount of time. Don't know if I did it as well as I wanted to, but nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy it!
