Читать книгу The Field - Tracy Richardson - Страница 13

6

ONE COOL THING about being on the soccer team is that we all wear our jerseys to school before home games. We don’t get the same attention as the football players, but it still feels good to walk the halls and have people know that I’m on the team. The real reason for wearing our jerseys is to drum up attendance from the student body at the games. My clothing selection is pertinent today, as Cole and I are designing a survey for psych class on “What Do You Find Attractive,” or, as Cole calls it, the “Hot or Not” survey. We have to put together a poster with charts and present our findings to the class.

“So, we need to come up with four or five articles of clothing or appearance for both guys and girls as our ‘hot-o-meter’ selection criteria,” Cole says. The class has broken into teams of two, and we’ve pushed our desks close so we can work together.

“OK . . . like shorts and jeans and T-shirts?” I ask since that’s mostly what I wear.

“No, everybody wears shorts and T-shirts. We have to come up with things that are more ambiguous, so we can get a variety of responses for our graph.”

“What about lipstick, bright red lipstick? Some guys like it, but I think it’s overdoing it.”

“That’s a good one.” Cole writes it down on his list. “Uggs are definitely not hot. We should add them to the list.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think any guy would find them hot and we want things that are not so certain.”

“You’re right. Yoga pants, perhaps? They’re only hot if worn by a girl with the right figure.” He makes an hourglass shape in the air.

“Right. What about guys. We need more for guys.” I look at him for ideas.

“How about clean cut versus hipster or jock?”

“Great!” That gives me an idea for another category. “We could do beard or clean shaven.”

“Oh, I like that one. The survey results should be interesting.”

We keep brainstorming and come up with a pretty good list for the survey. The fun part is the data gathering, where we get to ask all the students their opinions. At lunch we ask the guys sitting at our table the questions about girls. The responses are pretty mixed, which is what we’d hoped for, but the general consensus is that yoga pants are hot, and Uggs are not. No real surprises there.

AFTER SCHOOL, WE do light warm-ups to get ready for the game. JV plays at five, and varsity has to watch their game from the stands, so now I’m suited up and sitting with the guys on the top of the bleachers, chilling out until our game. The sun is high in a perfectly blue sky and it feels awesome—not as hot as it has been. There’s pretty good student attendance for JV. It’s Friday night, which helps, and there’s always a core group of soccer fans that comes to the games. More if it’s on a Friday or Saturday, and if it’s a tight game, like tonight. Of course, the parents are out in force. Some of them are pretty rabid fans. Yelling at the players and refs from the sidelines. I like it that my parents come to my games, but I want this to be for me, not them. Fortunately, they don’t yell a lot. I’m trying not to think too much about whether I’m starting or not, but I’m definitely nervous. Brett is sitting with some of the Seniors at the far end of the risers looking unconcerned. Paul’s right in front of me, and I have to comment on the fact that he’s spiked his black hair into a mohawk.

“I didn’t know you have Native American blood,” I say, as I lightly touch my hand to the pointy tops of his hair.

Paul turns to look at me, his almond eyes squinting even more into the sun. “One hundred percent Asian American, man. I just thought the ’hawk looked aggressive. Psych them out, y’know?”

“You definitely look scary,” I say, deadpan.

“Yeah, well imagine how scary you’re gonna look when we make regionals and we shave your head.”

“Sorry, no can do. I’m like Samson with my strength in my hair.” I laugh. I turn my attention to the game. “If their varsity plays as good as their JV is playing, it looks like Coach is right about Northbrook being tough this year.” Our team is holding their own, but its zero–zero at halftime.

“They’re always tough. It’s their All-State striker we’re gonna have to mark. You’ll need to be on your best game.” He says it matter of factly and looks away. I wonder what he knows, but I don’t say anything more.

About halfway through the second half, Coach Vince calls us down from the stands, and we file down the aisles, our cleats ringing loudly on the metal risers. “Go Monroe!” call out some of the spectators when we pass by. As we’re walking around the field, I see my parents, Drew and his two friends from soccer, and Marcie and her friend Sara, arriving. It’s like the whole entourage. No pressure here or anything, but I’m glad they came. They’re here early to watch the warm-ups.

“Hey,” I say casually and stop to see them.

“Hey, bud,” my dad says. “Just do your best and have fun tonight.” He cuffs me lightly on the shoulder.

“Have a good game, honey,” says my mom.

“Are you starting tonight?” Drew just comes right out with it.

“We’ll see. Let’s hope so.”

“I know you’re starting. You’re the best.” It’s good to be loved.

“Thanks, buddy. Cheer us on, OK? I gotta go.”

I’m by myself as I walk the rest of the way toward the bench. Even though I’m trying not to think about it, I want to start so badly. I feel like my whole soccer career has been leading up to this. When I reach the bench, Coach Swenson calls me over to where he’s standing with Brett. This is it.

“OK, guys. Eric is starting in goal tonight, but I want you to understand that the position is still wide open. It’s either of yours to win. Got it?” He looks first at me and then at Brett. We nod. “Brett, you warm him up.” He tosses Brett a ball, turns, and walks away.

Whoa—I’m starting. Suddenly, I have a big knot in my gut. I mean, I’m totally psyched that I’m starting and I feel like the top of my head is going to pop off from excitement, but I’m also kind of freaked out. The way Coach Swenson just sprang it on me that I’m starting right before the game and that I still have to fight for the spot doesn’t give me much time to get my head around it. I’m also not really sure what to say to Brett. He can’t be feeling too hot right now, so I can’t really celebrate and I can’t say I’m sorry, since I’m not sorry, and that would sound stupid anyway, so I don’t say anything. And it’s clear that my starting isn’t set in stone. I have to prove myself in the game, so I know Brett will be breathing down my back. We put on our gloves and walk together over to the goal in silence. I get positioned in the goal, and Brett starts lobbing some easy shots my way. One of the ball boys collects the balls and sends them back to Brett. After a few minutes, he smiles and says, “Are you feeling warmed up now Horton? ’Cause you better be set for what comes next. We want you to be ready for Northbrook,” and then he sends a screamer right at my head. I manage to block the shot, but it’s too fast to catch, so the ball drops to the ground at my feet. I pick it up and punt it back to him.

“Hell yeah!” I say, as he sends one into the lower left corner and I dive for it.

THE STANDS HAVE filled up while we were warming up, and the crowd is jamming to the music blasting out of the loudspeakers. It’s almost game time. I line up with the other starters, and we jog across the center of the field toward the stands. I keep my expression serious, which isn’t too hard, since I’m trying to focus, but I have to admit that it feels amazing to be starting. The crowd cheers for us, and I scan their faces for someone I know. I see Cole sitting near Will’s girlfriend Bonnie and her group of friends and then I look again and see that he’s sitting next to Renee. Why am I not surprised?

My family is sitting at the top of the bleachers, and my dad is standing up and shaking hands with Will’s dad. I don’t see Will’s mom, which is weird since she comes to all his games, but I tell myself that it doesn’t mean anything.

The music stops and the announcer calls out the names and positions of the starters. When he calls out, “Number one, Eric Horton, goalkeeper,” I step forward and wave. Drew and his friends are yelling and jumping around. I sneak a look at Renee. She’s clapping, and, next to her, Cole is whooping and pumping his fist in the air. Then we turn and jog back. Now comes the real stuff. Game time.

Monroe wins the toss, so we have the kickoff. I orient myself in the goal, hoping my routine will help settle my pre-game nerves. Will’s also starting. He’s in position at center back, so it’s our defensive unit, just like we wanted. The ref blows his whistle, and the game begins. Our forwards take the ball downfield, making quick, short passes, maneuvering toward Northbrook’s goal. The action stays at the other end of the field for a while and then Paul takes a shot . . . but it’s wide left of the goal.

The Northbrook keeper retrieves the ball and takes the goal kick, sending it across the center line into my side of the field. I keep my eyes on the play, ready to move, but Will is right there and passes it to one of our midfielders, who takes it down to the other end again. Then, one of the Northbrook players intercepts a pass, gets possession, and starts running toward me with the ball. It’s their star striker and he’s fast. Really fast. He beats our defenders. Will is running with him, trying to force him wide, to cut the angle, but he’s losing ground. It’s all on me. Quick! Think! Come out or hold the line? I start to come out and then question myself and stop. Hesitate. Now I’m in no-man’s land. Shit! He’s too far away for me to dive at his feet, and I’m too far out of the goal to block a shot. He chips the ball over my head. I turn and see it bounce into the goal. Damn!

I can’t believe it. That was mine to save and I totally blew it. The worst thing about being a keeper is that one mistake can mean a goal. You have to act on instinct, without hesitation. The field players make mistakes all the time, but they don’t always lead to a goal.

Will is walking toward me. I don’t even want to talk to him, I’m so mad. Getting scored on this early in the game is really bad. It sucks the energy from the team. Now we’re down one. We have to score twice to win.

“Hey, man, shake it off.” Will catches up to me as I walk back to the goal. “We can do this. You just need to get your head in the game.”

“Yeah. I totally overthought that one. What a shitty goal.” Even though I did it in practice, I don’t like to act mad or upset on the field, because it makes me look weak, so I try to look confident and walk tall back into position.

I get back in the goal and go through my routine. Then I close my eyes for a minute, relax my shoulders, let out my breath and try to empty my head. I visualize making saves like the sports psychology stuff I’ve been reading. The whistle blows. I’m ready.

Northbrook takes the ball, and, high on adrenaline from scoring, they come out charging. Our defenders fight them off, but the ball stays on our side of the field. Now the play is moving closer . . . a shot is coming, I know it. I see the ball zooming toward me, over my head. I jump and reach and just tip the ball up, but instead of going up and over the top of the net, it hits the crossbar and bounces out in front of the goal. Another shot! I dive right and block the second shot with my body. It ricochets off me right at the feet of the Northbrook striker. He settles it and shoots . . . but I’m up on my knees and I lunge left and grab the ball, pulling it in close. My heart is hammering in my chest. My teammates are yelling. The crowd is screaming. Three saves!

“Way to go, big guy!” Will yells.

“Awesome save, Eric!” someone else calls out.

I walk slowly to the edge of the penalty box, savoring the moment. I bounce the ball three times and punt it so it arcs high in the sky across the center line to the other end of the field.

We end up winning two to one. Making those three saves in a row really helped pump up our team and deflate Northbrook. I didn’t let them score on me again.

Coach Swenson talks to us for a few minutes after the game, and then we grab our gear and walk toward the locker room entrance, where the fans are waiting to congratulate us. I texted Renee that I would meet her here after the game and then we would figure out what we wanted to do, so I’m scoping out the crowd looking for her. She’s standing over to one side with Cole and Bonnie. As I walk over to them, some of the fans congratulate me on my saves, and I stop and say goodbye to my family. Will has gone over to talk to his dad, and I can see that they’re arguing.

“Hey,” I say to Renee when I reach them. “Do you mind waiting here a few minutes while I take a quick shower? I thought we could get something to eat in town.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling. My heart does a flip.

“We’ll wait here with her,” Cole volunteers. “Then we can all go together.”

“OK. Maybe.” I really want to be alone with Renee for our first “date.” “What’s up with Will and his dad?” I nod in their direction. I have a bad feeling about it.

“There’s something going on with them, but I don’t know what,” Bonnie says, frowning and shaking her head, which makes her blond curls jump. “Will’s really pissed at him.”

Maybe I know. “I’ll be right back.” The locker room isn’t my first choice for personal hygiene since it’s pretty gross, but it’s all there is, so I shower and change and am back out again within ten minutes. The crowd has thinned out by now and it’s getting dark. Renee, Cole, and Bonnie are sitting in the grass.

“We were thinking we’d all go to Bub’s Burgers,” Cole says.

“OK, but maybe Renee and I could meet you there.” I look at Renee. “Do you want to walk over? It’s not too far.”

“Yes, I’d love to,” she says, getting up and brushing the grass off her shorts.

It’s not totally dark yet, more like dusk, but all the street lights are already on in the parking lot. There’s an older residential neighborhood between the high school and downtown, and I steer us in that direction instead of the taking the main drag so we can walk through the quieter streets. The buzzing of cicadas rises and falls in a wave of sound all around us, and the smell of freshly mown grass scents the warm night air. We pass a group of kids playing kick the can in the dark. I’m very conscious of Renee beside me. Even though we don’t know each other very well, I feel a connection to her.

“So, how do you like living in the States?” I ask.

“I’ve visited before, but living here is different. Everything is so big! The houses and cars are bigger, the streets are wider, and the supermarket is enormous. Even the people are bigger—I mean, taller,” she adds quickly.

“Just admit it, you mean fatter,” I laugh.

“No, really, I didn’t!” She stops and puts a hand on my arm. I think she’s afraid she’s offended me.

“It’s OK,” I say. “We’re pretty well aware of it.”

“Well, some people are fatter, but Americans really are taller. Like you,” she says softly. She’s looking up at me. The top of her head barely comes up to my chin. We’re almost facing each other, stopped on the sidewalk. I look down at her and her eyes meet mine. We stand there for a moment and I get that feeling of knowing, like I know her more than I possibly could already, and then my eyes travel down her face to her slightly parted lips. I can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I take a breath and quickly turn away. It’s too soon for that. I start walking again and she falls in place beside me.

“It helps to be tall in the goal,” I say to break the spell.

“You were great tonight. Those saves you made in the first half changed the game in our favor.”

“Thanks. You seem to know about soccer.”

“It’s extremely popular in Europe, more like a religion. Everyone watches it.”

“Was it hard for you to leave your friends behind to come here?”

“Yes and no. I could have stayed in France and lived with my grandparents, but it’s exciting to come here. An adventure. I also wanted to be with my family.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“A younger sister. What about you?”

“A younger brother and a younger sister.” Even going at a slow pace, we’ve reached the end of the neighborhood. If we cross the street and continue we’ll almost be at the restaurant. I’m not ready to join the others yet, so I ask, “Are you hungry or do you want to keep walking?”

“I ate something earlier, so I’m fine. Let’s keep walking.”

“Good.” I smile at her and turn right at the corner down another residential street.

“So, where was I in my questioning? I know—what is your favorite thing to do?”

“Am I being interrogated?”

“Yes. Do you mind?”

“No, as long as I get equal time. I would say my favorite thing to do right now is painting and drawing. Last year it was sculpting.”

“So you’re an artist. Is that what you’d like to do when you grow up?” I make quotation marks in the air.

“I think so. I’m just not sure what type of art.” We pass under a street lamp and it abruptly goes out.

I surprise myself by saying, “That happens to me a lot.”

“What happens?” she asks.

“You’ll probably think this is weird, but street lights and lights in parking garages often go on or off when I go under them.”

“Really?” She looks at me quizzically.

“I’ve never really told anyone about it because it’s hard to explain. I mean, a light going on or off isn’t really a big deal, but it happens to me so much that I started noticing it. Kind of strange.” I laugh self-consciously.

“It actually reminds me of a scientist my father knows, although for him it’s much worse. My dad says that every time this guy comes into the lab, the instruments start to go haywire and their experiments get messed up.”

“No kidding? That makes what happens to me seem less bizarre. It must make it hard for that guy to do his job.”

“You would think so. My dad says it may have something to do with his energy field. Maybe you have a strong energy field, too.”

“I’ve wondered if it might be something like that because of the electricity. So, do you know anything about the remote viewing studies your dad is doing? Will and I are thinking about signing up.”

“I’ve done some of them myself, but not the paired studies. They’re pretty interesting. He’s found that bonded pairs do better at intuiting what the other partner is thinking or doing than randomly paired subjects, which makes sense. You should come tomorrow. One of his graduate assistants can’t be there, so I’m helping my dad.”

“OK, I’ll talk to Will. That would be great.”

We turn a corner and are right down the street from Bub’s.

“Do you mind if we join the others at Bub’s now? This American boy is starving and I could use a burger!” I pat my hand on my stomach, which, thankfully, is flat.

“Of course. Didn’t you say something about ice cream?”

“They’ve got the best in town.”

The restaurant is crowded with families and teens out on the town. I see Will, Bonnie, and Cole sitting in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Will and Bonnie are on one side, and Will has his arm draped across the back of the booth behind her. Renee slides into the seat next to Cole on the other side of the booth, and I sit next to her so she’s sandwiched between us.

“It’s about time you guys got here,” Will says. “We’re already done.”

“I can see that.” Their plates, with the remains of their burgers, fries, and milkshakes, cover the table. “We took the long way. We’re going to order something now if you want to hang out a while longer.”

“No problem,” Cole says. He’s leaning on his elbow looking at Renee. “So, Renee, did Eric tell you about the survey we’re doing for psych class?” The waitress comes and we order our food.

“No, he didn’t mention it.”

“It’s called ‘Hot or Not.’”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She’s smiling warily at him, not sure where this is going.

“We’re asking students whether they think different articles of clothing or characteristics are ‘hot or not’ and then graphing the results. It’s very scientific.”

Bonnie snorts and laughs, making her blond curls bounce. “Ha! They’re really just using it to find out what girls think is hot.”

“Well, of course. We also want to communicate what guys think is not hot.”

“Like what?” asks Renee.

“The survey results show that the number one in the Not Hot category for us are Ugg boots.” Cole says.

“Also, too much make-up. That is definitely not hot,” says Will.

“What about what girls think is not hot?” says Bonnie. She’s leaning forward. “How about BO and ratty clothes? Not attractive.”

“We can add those to the list,” Cole says. “All right, let’s switch gears to what is hot. Renee, what about you? Anything that you find particularly attractive?” he asks with a deceptively nonchalant air. I was waiting for this. I figured he’d been leading up to something like this all along.

“Well, I think someone who has good manners and is confident is attractive,” she says, skirting the question.

“Ah, those are good traits, and I believe that your date, Mr. Horton here, possesses them, but what about appearance? Hair, for instance. What do you think of Eric’s long soccer hair?” He reaches behind her to ruffle my hair, and I bat his hand away.

I feel like I should step in to deflect Cole’s question, but I also want to know what she thinks, so I don’t say anything right away. Renee turns to look directly at me, smiles and says, “Hot. Definitely hot.” Without missing a beat. I smile back and think, Ha! She’s not shy. Will lets out a low whistle. Then I feel the heat start to rise in my face and I’m afraid I’m going to blush, so I say, “OK, let’s move off of that topic.”

Fortunately, the waitress brings my burger and fries and Renee’s milkshake right then. Will says, “I heard there’s a party tonight at Todd Sloan’s. Do you guys want to go?”

“That’s kind of a party crowd, isn’t it?” says Bonnie, a crease forming between her blue eyes.

“Maybe,” says Will, stealing a fry off my plate, “but come on, it’ll be fun and we don’t have to partake. Anyway, one beer never hurt anyone. Hey, we won tonight! I want to enjoy the moment.”

I turn to Renee. “Do you want to go? It’ll be crowded and noisy.”

“I don’t mind either way, really.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d rather skip it. I’m beat and it’ll just be a bunch of people standing around drinking.” To Will, I say, “Renee says that Dr. Auberge is doing the remote viewing study tomorrow and we can go. We have to be there by nine.”

“That’s cool. Don’t worry, I’ll be by to pick you up at 8:30.”

After we finish our food, Will, Cole, and Bonnie leave to go to the party, and Renee and I walk back through the neighborhood to the high school and my car. It’s nice just to be with her and talk. I feel really comfortable around her. A party isn’t a good place to get to know someone, and I really am tired. When I pull up to her driveway to drop her off, I’m trying to decide if I should kiss her goodnight, and what kind of a kiss it should be. As I put the car in park and turn toward her, she lays her hand on my chest and leans into me. She stops with her lips just inches from mine. She can probably feel my heart pounding in my chest. I look into her eyes a moment, then reach my hand to the side of her head and close the distance between our lips. It’s a soft kiss, just a momentary touching of our lips, but it’s unreal. I don’t want to rush things, so I lift my head and then lean my forehead against hers and whisper, “Goodnight, Renee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” she says. “I had a great time.”