“SO, HOW’S detention going? Are you guys done with the equipment shed yet?”
Connor looked up from his lunch tray as Marc settled in across from him. “Huh? Oh yeah, it’s going okay. We’re making progress, but that place is a mess.”
“I think Baxter was looking for a reason to make someone clean out that hole.” Marc pulled the top of the bun off the burger and squirted the contents of a ketchup packet on top of the beef. “That’s why he took advantage of such a flimsy excuse to give you guys detention. Like you’d get into a fight.”
Connor shrugged. “We get this weekend off, though. Graham has a tournament.”
“Cool. You want to do something Saturday when you get off work? We could hang at my place, play a little Halo and maybe get a pizza. You should stay the night, get away from the siblings.”
Indecision warred inside him. Connor would kill to get away from his family for a while. The twins’ constant bickering, his parents’ discussions over finances. Yeah, a night hanging out with Marc was exactly what he needed. On the other hand, he’d sort of half developed a plan to drive over to Terre Haute to watch the soccer tournament.
He must have paused too long. “What, do you have plans with Allyson?” Marc asked.
He should have plans with his girlfriend, but things had been a little strained between them over the last few weeks. “No, nothing like that. Actually,” he said after a brief hesitation, “I’ve been thinking I might go watch the soccer tournament.”
Marc looked at him over the top of his soda can. “You want to watch soccer? Why?”
At least he hadn’t laughed at the idea. “Well, being stuck working on the equipment shed the last couple of weeks with Graham, we’ve been talking. It made me realize that I really don’t know anything about it. And, you know, why not? It’s not like we have anything better to do.”
“True.”
“Want to go? My dad gave me the day off because of our morning practice. If we leave after baseball, we can make it to Terre Haute in time for the afternoon matches.”
Marc smiled. “Terre Haute, huh? You know what that means, don’t you?”
“High ground?” Connor suggested.
“Smartass. It means road trip.”
“It’s not far away enough for a road trip.”
“Maybe not, but it does mean a new selection of chicks. Do you think there is such a thing as soccer groupies?”
“Maybe, but you’d be out of luck with them. If they’re soccer groupies, being a baseball player isn’t going to get you very far.”
Marc waved that aside with a broad swipe of his hand. “Ah, but my good looks and biting wit will bring the ladies to me. They’ll forget about those silly soccer players. I mean, what kind of sport is soccer anyway?” He threw his hands in the air and said in a childish voice, “Look ma, no hands!”
“So you in?”
“Absolutely. You should plan on staying at my house anyway. That way it won’t matter what time we get back. If it’s early, we battle Halo style. If it’s late, well, then we won’t worry about waking up a kid.” Marc was an only child, and his mom didn’t hassle them about curfew.
“It’s a plan, then.” Connor dug into the cold and congealing green beans on his tray.
“What’s a plan?” Allyson slid onto the bench next to him, her paper lunch bag in one hand, the light floral scent of her perfume a nice break from the institutional scent of prepared food in bulk.
Marc leered at her comically. “Connor and I are going to Terre Haute this weekend to pick up chicks. Want to join us?”
“What, in picking up chicks?” She looked like she was considering it. He loved the way Allyson played along, even with Marc’s weirdness. “You know, that would be great, ’cause Lord knows the girls here aren’t worth pursuing.” She stuck her tongue out at Marc.
“That’s what I’m sayin’.”
Connor grinned. “What he means is that the girls here have better sense than to go out with him. We have to go all the way to Terre Haute to find someone dumb enough to date him.”
Marc flicked a balled-up piece of napkin at him.
“Are you really planning on going to Terre Haute?” Allyson asked, pulling her sandwich out of her lunch bag.
“I think so. The soccer team has a big tournament on Saturday. I thought we might check it out. I’ve never been to a soccer match before.”
“You should come, Red,” Marc told Allyson. Connor wanted to kick him. It seemed wrong somehow, to put Allyson and Graham in the same place at the same time. Which was ridiculous. And which, he realized, meant that some part of him held Allyson and Graham in the same mental bucket. Marc was in the friend bucket, and Allyson occupied the girlfriend bucket, which should mean that Graham should be in the friend bucket with Marc. That Connor had to mentally pluck Graham out of Allyson’s bucket and plop him into the one with Marc pissed him off.
“It actually sounds like fun, but we’re going to a family reunion this weekend,” Allyson replied.
The relief Connor felt was as absurd as his mental bucket analogy.
CONNOR ADJUSTED the bill of his baseball cap to shield his eyes from the bright spring sun as he and Marc made their way through the crowd toward field three, where the Vikings were up against the Bedford Cougars. Outdoor sporting events always seemed to smell the same. It was a combination of mowed grass, sunscreen, and insect repellant. He also caught a whiff of popcorn from a concessions booth somewhere.
When they passed a group of teenage girls, Marc straightened his shoulders and walked taller. He made eye contact with one and smiled his most charismatic smile. After the girls passed, Connor shook his head and chuckled. “Man, you are such a player.”
“What can I say? The ladies love me and I love them.” Marc’s gaze lingered on another small group of girls standing nearby. “Connor, we have been playing the wrong sport. Who knew soccer attracted so many hotties?”
“You do know Green Valley has girls, right? And some of them are actually hot.”
“Yeah, but they’re all the same. Besides, you’ve got the only one worth having, so I’ve got to go farther afield to find a good one.”
There was something in Marc’s voice. “What? Holy shit, Marc, do you have a thing for Allyson?”
Marc came to an abrupt halt. “What? Dude, I don’t poach.”
Marc didn’t deny it. How interesting. More interesting, Connor wasn’t even upset about it. Sure, Marc wouldn’t chase after Allyson while she dated Connor. He might act like a player sometimes, but Marc understood loyalty.
“I think that’s them.” Marc pointed to a field where green-clad players faced off against athletes in red.
“Yeah, there’s Coach Mullin. And I see some guys from school.” Connor returned the wave sent to him from a classmate. There were no benches or bleachers. Most of the spectators brought their own lawn chairs or spread out blankets to watch the match. Connor hadn’t planned that far ahead, so he and Marc settled on the grass near the other Vikings’ fans. Connor, as usual, immediately sought out Graham.
Graham stood ready between the posts of the goal box, a look of concentration etched into his face. He followed the movement of the soccer ball as it traveled the length of the field. Graham’s jersey was different than the other players’. His had long sleeves—what was it with him and the long sleeves?—and a geometric pattern in eye-searing green across the torso. Thick gloves protected his hands and, Connor was amused to note, his cleats were the same color green as the jersey.
After watching the match for a couple of minutes, Marc turned to him. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Connor laughed. “Not a clue.”
“I’m going to go to the concessions area and grab a soda. Want something?” Marc stood and rotated his shoulders. It had been a tough practice that morning and his throwing arm was probably stiff.
Connor shifted to reach his wallet. He pulled out a few bills. “A bottle of water would be great.”
“I’ll be back.” Marc’s dark eyes tracked another group of girls wandering down the edge of the field. “But don’t hold your breath. I may be delayed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Connor laughed and waved him off.
The swelling cheers brought Connor’s attention back to the game. A red-shirted player broke away from the others and drove the ball down the field. Two of the Vikings charged forward to meet him, but the Cougar did some kind of fancy twist that had him darting left as they angled right.
“Come on, Parker!”
Connor jumped to his feet with the rest of the Vikings’ fans. The Cougar shuffled to the right and shot the ball toward the upper left corner of the net. As though there were springs attached to his cleats, Graham launched up and over and managed to grab the ball with the tips of his fingers. Graham had so much momentum when he hit the ground he slid a few feet before he could stand and toss the ball back into the field. Connor jumped and shouted with his neighbors. He may not know much about soccer, but even he could recognize a great save.
An older man next to Connor settled into his lawn chair, making a notation on a piece of paper. He must have noticed Connor watching him because he turned and looked at him. “Nice move, wasn’t it?”
“It looked pretty cool to me,” Connor agreed. “Do you know what the score is? I just got here so I don’t know where things stand.”
“Score’s two to zero, Vikings.” The older man gestured to Connor’s Vikings Baseball hat. “Your boys are on a roll.”
“Where does that place us in the tournament?”
“This is the second game. Winner of this match will face the winner of that one”—he pointed toward the next field over—“for the championship. Smart money’s on the Vikings.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“The Vikings have a good, solid forward line and their defense is top-notch. But the goalie—Parker—doesn’t let anything through. No one has scored against him since he started. The other teams don’t stand a chance if they can’t score.”
Pride swelled in Connor’s chest. School pride, he assured himself. That was all. “Cool.”
It took about twenty minutes—during which Marc still hadn’t returned—for Connor to finally figure out how soccer worked. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he could at least follow what was going on. It helped that the guy next to him answered Connor’s questions when he had them. He developed a whole new respect for the players. They never stopped running. They dashed from one end of the field to the other and back again.
No matter how often the other team got past the Vikings defense, Graham stopped the point. Once Graham deflected the goal with a head shot, and Connor grew warm with the memory of Graham teaching him the technique.
It didn’t take long for him to figure out the Vikings were a good team. It really seemed like they played in a whole different league than the other team. Travis—one of the Vikings’ forwards, as he’d learned the position was called—handled the ball with a speed and precision that completely outclassed his opponents. By the time the match ended, the Vikings had beaten the Cougars six to zero.
As the team left the field, Connor stood and stretched. The guy next to him stood at the same time, trying to slip his papers into a folder. The wind picked up, and the top pages in his hand blew away.
“Oh hey.” Connor squatted and slapped his hand down on the runaway sheets before the wind took them all the way across the field. When he went to smooth the creases his quick grab created, he saw that the page contained a headshot of Graham, a short bio, and a list of stats. Lines of tiny handwritten notes filled the margins.
Shit! This guy was a scout, and he was watching Graham.
“Thanks.” The guy reached out for the sheets.
“No problem.” Connor took one last look at the papers before releasing his hold. “Thanks for answering my questions.”
The man nodded and shuffled the pages into his bag.