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Seventeen year old Lindsey Michelle Horan was in awe of her new surroundings. Four of the older girls had promised she would be staying here, with them, in this...mansion was the only word the teen could use to describe it. Her mother had come over to France with her ten days ago and gotten her situated.
But now, less than five hours after her mother had gone back home - back to the US, Lindsey mentally corrected herself - Lindsey's agent had called.
"We've got you a different place to stay."
What ? Lindsey felt like she'd been slapped, as the PSG girls bundled her and her five hastily re-packed suitcases down the mansion steps into a cab. She was taken to an apartment building, where she had to drag the suitcases, by herself, up three flights of stairs and then another, spiral staircase to her new place, which she'd be sharing with another teammate ten years her senior, Annike Krahn.
The German girl hadn't even thought to put sheets or pillows on the bed. There was just a hastily spread out towel.
Lindsey knew there was no way to contact her mother right then; she'd still be traveling home, jet-lagged and exhausted. She collapsed limply onto the towel, curling into a ball and crying herself to sleep.
After Lindsey woke, she went to a cafe with wifi and emailed her mother, who sent her over 200 euros' worth of money as promptly as possible and instructed her to go buy her own bedcovers. Lindsey did her best to follow this instruction, but the only shop she could find was...well, Lindsey was just glad of the amount her mother had wired. She needed nearly all of it. (Looking back, Lindsey wasn't sure the shopkeeper was above taking advantage of a young American teen who clearly didn't know any French.)
If the bedding hadn't been enough, Annike wasn't even there - the older girl had left to play with the German national team. And Lindsey had a mild hamstring injury she'd been meant to be recovering from, which she continued to do, alone, until Annike returned.
The other girls at PSG were all older, and except for Annike, they were all French. They didn't exactly hate Lindsey - they knew once she was well, she'd be an asset - but they didn't make life easy for her, either.
A couple of months passed, and Lindsey started actually playing with PSG, travelling around France for their matches. Some of the French girls warmed to her a little, and finally admitted that they spoke and understood English nearly as well as Lindsey did. The U-20 Women's World Cup came up, the final starring the US showing when Paris Saint-Germain Feminine were in the lobby of their hotel, and her PSG teammates smiled to see the U-20's chanting Lindsey's name.
"What am I doing here?" Lindsey asked no one in particular, tears stinging her eyes as her American friends lifted their gold medals. "I should be there."
Two months later, in December, UNC - who had wanted Lindsey for college - won their championship, and Lindsey felt shattered all over again. Not that she was totally miserable; she was slowly mastering French, and she talked to her mother nearly every day, plus Shirley Cruz of Costa Rica, a new addition and the only other non-French girl besides Annike she saw much of on PSG had begun driving around with her. They practiced their French together, and if she wasn't exactly a close friend, they were at least friendly to each other. There was that.
In January, Lindsey found herself torn between awe and relief. Another American had come to the team.
That American, however, was Tobin Powell Heath, six years her elder and already an established senior player.
"Hi," Lindsey stuttered, shaking the older girl's hand with a nervous blush.
Tobin laughed a little. "Hey there, Horan. They call you "Mushy", do they?"
"In the U-20's," Lindsey mumbled. "I haven't been there since...well, here. They called me Lindsey Michelle, too. When I deserved it." She was babbling. Oh god. She was babbling to Tobin Heath.
Tobin didn't seem to mind, though, just giving her a warm smile. "I'm sure you won't deserve it, Horan. Lindsey?"
"Lindsey's fine," she whispered.
As the two got acquainted, Tobin began to notice things about how the coaches treated them. Not just her and Lindsey, but the other girls too, although they seemed to be focused on Lindsey. One day, at an informal gathering between teams after an away game, an assistant coach literally slapped a chocolate bar out of Lindsey's hands. "Too much fat," he scolded her.
Tobin thought that was rather unfair. Yes, Lindsey had put on a little weight - the 'freshman 15' as they would have called it in college - but she wasn't unfit by any means. And when he pinched Lindsey's side, Tobin saw red.
After that, Lindsey was put on a strict diet. She wasn't the only one, nor was it just foreigners, so Tobin was forced to concede that this was 'just the way things were'. But when Lindsey, and the other girls, were being fined 100 to 200 euros every time they were caught with any sort of sweet - whether it was chocolate, fruit juice or anything else - Tobin got thoroughly annoyed.
It was especially frustrating when the girls who weren't on diets, plus the coaches, blatantly ate forbidden foods in front of them. On Lindsey's first birthday at PSG, her nutritionist allowed her one very small piece of chocolate with a great show of reluctance, and after that made her stick to plain yogurt, no sugar added for desserts, when the non-dieting girls got whatever they liked.
Once, an assistant coach even waved a piece of pie in Lindsey's face, smirking, and Tobin was about ready to go deck her. She controlled herself with great effort.
That lasted about until the next practice, where Lindsey - who'd put in a great deal of effort herself to lose the weight Benstiti demanded - was told she couldn't play in the next game, because she hadn't done enough yet.
Lindsey turned to Tobin and broke down. "I want to go home."
Oh, precious girl. Tobin took a breath. "Get through this practice. Don't worry about it, we'll talk after."
"I want to go home, Tobin, I don't want to do this anymore. Soccer's not worth this."
Tobin shook her head and gave Lindsey a comforting squeeze. "After practice," she repeated.
All through practice, Benstiti yelled himself hoarse at Lindsey, finding something to criticize with everything she did. He called her into his office when practice ended, and Tobin was there.
The two girls had been rooming together for a bit now, and Benstiti turned his ire on Tobin. "Horan, she is not doing right. Make sure she is eating right. No sweets, no treats, no fatty foods, no sugar," he demanded.
"With all due respect, M'sieur, you're wrong," Tobin replied evenly, folding Lindsey into her arms.
When Lindsey and Tobin arrived home from the game where Benstiti hadn't had a kind word for Lindsey - home to their two-bedroom apartment, as comfortably furnished as the two girls could make it - Lindsey whirled around and kicked the doorpost. "That utter fucking _bastard!"
She burst into tears, and Tobin pulled the younger girl close, holding her as she sobbed. She sat down on the couch and rocked Lindsey in her lap, cuddling her and making soothing noises until the teen cried herself out.
Tobin held her that way until there was a knock on the door. Lindsey's head came up.
"Were we expecting someone?" she asked Tobin warily.
"Yes," Tobin replied. "I called her before we headed out on the field."
So someone it would have taken five hours to arrive then, Lindsey surmised. She frowned, trying to figure it out. A flight from America would have been a lot longer than that.
"Go get it, kiddo," Tobin prompted.
Lindsey gave her an are-you-serious-ME? look, but obeyed, and pulled the door open, gaping as she stared across at Abby Wambach.
"You must be Horan," she said mildly. "Tobin never stops talking about you."
Squeaking at that, Lindsey nodded and stepped back to let Abby inside. She watched with a pang of envy as Tobin flew to the older woman's arms for a warm embrace.
"I'm so glad you're here," Tobin whispered. "Things have been awful for Lindsey."
"It's a good thing I was in Zurich for the presentation then, wasn't it?" Abby asked rhetorically. "Tell me all about it."
Exchanging looks with Lindsey, Tobin did - about the rudeness of their French teammates and the assistant coach's pie thing and the team dietitian who had forced Lindsey to come down to fourteen percent body fat before those men considered Lindsey pretty enough to play. And, Tobin added, chest heaving, Lindsey had practically stopped eating in order to get there.
"Excuse me, ma petite? Delannoy is your Captain, isn't she? Where is she in all this?" Abby demanded.
"She's one of the girls Benstiti said didn't have to diet, so we're not her problem," Tobin replied with a scowl.
Abby sighed and shook her head. "Okay, Lindsey, look at me, little one."
Lindsey raised her eyes to meet Abby's. "M'sorry m'bad," she mumbled. "Benstiti said. Am not a good girl, not good enough, not..."
"Oh, sweetheart, no," Abby whispered. She sat down on the couch with Tobin beside her, and drew Lindsey into her lap for a hug. "No, little one. You are such a good girl. They shouldn't have been cruel to you and we'll handle them."
Lindsey glowered. "He won't listen. He never does 'cause he thinks he's right He just wants us girls to look pretty."
Abby rubbed Lindsey's back soothingly. "No more starving yourself, ma petite. You want to be healthy, but Benstiti's idea of what that means is troubling." She rocked Lindsey gently. "I'll help you and the other girls draw up a plan that will keep you healthy without starving you. And I think I'll stay in Paris for a while, make sure that nothing's going wrong with my girls."
My girls. The way Abby said it made Lindsey feel...happy, protected.
Abby stayed until the girls were brought up to the senior USWNT camp in preparation for the Algarve.
Both girls. Lindsey Michelle Horan had earned her first senior call-up, still only eighteen.
Abby was there too, of course. But it was her two-years-younger friend Carli Lloyd who felt immediately drawn to Lindsey.
"Be gentle with her, Car," Abby murmured. "She's gone through a lot in France, and I bet I haven't even heard the half of it."
"I will," Carli promised. She hugged Lindsey close, whispering reassurances. "It's alright Lindsey, little one, we're so glad you're here. Welcome home."
And that's when Lindsey really knew she was home. Tobin had Abby, her Maman. Lindsey had her too, but she also had Carli, who kept her close, kept her safe.
"Mummy," she whispered, and Carli smiled, kissing her forehead lightly.
"Mummy has you, sweetheart. It's all going to be alright."