Coach Wheeler chose me as captain because, above all, I’m a leader. My very first practice, I promised myself I’d work as hard as I could to be seen by Coach. I arrived early to set up, stayed late to break down. I carpooled, led fundraisers, brought snacks to practices, boosted morale. One time I even paid a photographer for a group photo.
My hard work paid off. Following my first year, Coach offered me the position of captain. I’ve held it ever since.
I’m so used to the position that it’s not often I think of what lies beyond it, but some days I can’t help but think I’m a fraud. The fact is, soccer no longer pulls me as it once did. In high school, I was convinced I’d go pro. That was my passion and path. The last two years, however, I’ve started down a different road, and I kinda love it: programming. Initially, it was my backup plan. At the very least, if soccer didn’t work out, I’d be able to get a well-paying job after college. Now, it calls to me. I enjoy the work I do, and I’m fulfilled by it.
Jason, one of our mid-fielders and the equipment manager, carries the bag of balls from the locker room over his shoulder. We’re the only ones here, with the bleachers rising up to encircle the artificial turf. The expectation is for him to set up alone, but you know what? Screw the expectation. We’re a team. On the field, off the field, doesn’t matter. If a teammate needs my help, I’m there for him.
“Any plans this weekend?” I ask Jason as we place cones in various triangle formations—Coach’s orders. Dribbling drills, probably. He and I talk after each practice in order to prepare for the next one, but he was running late yesterday evening and didn’t have a chance.
Jason brushes the longish blond hair that falls in his face and straightens. He’s bulky in the shoulders, with wide, sturdy legs that hold enough power to kick a soccer ball three-quarter lengths of the field. “Aside from cram-writing a research paper? No.”
“I thought the paper was due last week?”
“It was, but my professor gave us an extension. Due Monday. Of course, being me, I saw the extension as time I could takenotto do the work.”
I snort. Typical Jason.
“And now it’s biting you in the ass,” I say, arranging one of the cones so it sits at a right angle with the one on its left. Hands on hips, I study the arrangement. Good enough.
“What about you? George mentioned there’s a big project in his media class. Did you start it yet?”
This is what I get for lying about my major, I think. “Not yet,” I say, hoping like hell Jason doesn’t go any further with the questioning. Time to change the subject. “Didn’t you mention you planned on traveling after graduation?”
“Yep.” He beams. “Already bought my ticket for the first leg of the trip. Leaving in May for Bangkok.” He pumps his fist.
It’s impossible not to feel happy for someone like Jason. Although he’s an incredible player, he decided his sophomore year he didn’t want to go pro. His major is graphic design. Hi goal is to become a digital nomad. Travel the world at his own pace, on his own time. For the past year, he’s been building up a clientele base and already has a decent amount of money saved.
“You remember what I said, right?” I say to him as we head over to the bleachers, where a few of the guys have arrived and begin stretching.
“The street food? I’ll be sure to eat some in your honor.”
“So long as you don’t get a virus, of course.”
He pats his abdomen. “Stomach of steel, this one.”
Sebastian arrives not five minutes later with his boyfriend in tow, fingers entwined. He and Aidan, a graduate student at Notre Dame, can barely look ten seconds elsewhere before their eyes are inevitably drawn back to the other. They look so in love it makes me want to cry. Who doesn’t want that? Who doesn’t want someone to look at you as if you’re their whole world?
They’ve been dating for about three months now. Every practice, Aidan either drops Sebastian off or picks him up when it’s done. He attends many of the games, so long as his anxiety isn’t acting up. I’ve never had that—someone who makes time for me. It’s not for lack of wanting or trying. I guess love isn’t in the cards for me.
Catching my eye, Sebastian gives me a wave before sending Aidan off. Our friendship has come a long way since Sebastian first moved to Indiana. He had a rocky start those first few months on the team, but I now consider him one of my closest friends.
He drops his bag with the rest near the bleachers. “Hey, Max.” He’s grinning from ear to ear.
I quirk an eyebrow, cross my arms, and tamp down the envy. “Someone got laid.”
If possible, his smile broadens. He’s got the straightest, whitest teeth. Maybe not as straight and white as Kellan’s. The entire Dumont family must have paid a fortune on dental care. “I never kiss and tell.”
With a snort, I toss him a ball, which he traps against his inner thigh, bounces it atop his foot, and begins juggling like it’s as easy as breathing. “You don’t have to,” I say.
Sebastian shrugs, bumping me the ball with his knee. I catch it on my chest. We go back and forth in companionable silence.
Five minutes later, Coach Wheeler strides onto the field and looks around. “Where is everyone?” he demands.
I shrug. Practice is the same time every weekday. We’ve been using the indoor facilities since November. Nothing new. But we’re missing at least seven players. Kellan is one of them, which surprises me, as he arrives to the field earlier than most.
Coach clamps the whistle between his teeth in a baring of teeth. There’s no one I respect more than him. He’s made me into the man I am today. Half the reason is because he’s inspiring. The other half is because he makes me fear for my life.
It took me until my second year to learn why. He looks eerily similar to Jack Nicholson inThe Shining.
