He frowns and sits back in his seat, crossing one ankle over a knee. “I’m not saying anything we haven’t talked about before, but I think it bears repeating. The clock is ticking.”
He’s saying one thing, but all I hear is that I’m not good enough to play on the college level. I know my left foot needs work. I can’t score from all angles.
Sullenly I shove a bite of noodles into my mouth. They’re okay, a little soft, and they drip sauce, but they’re not awful. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d even recognize if it tasted bad. The taste in my mouth is already sour.
“And Brody?” I ask because it’s my best defense. My brother is a loner, a guy who sometimes likes to go off the grid. He’s not following in Dad’s footsteps, he’s not a protégé. He’s so laid-back he might as well be lying down. He only went to college because my mother made it clear she would kill him if he didn’t go. If I believed in the whole birth-order-determines-personality idea, I’d say God switched us by accident.
My father eyes me with the same shrewd attention he gives a withering grape on an otherwise healthy vine. “What about Brody?”
“He’s the one half-assing his way through college.” Deflect. Always a good strategy when the heat is on me. Plus, Brody’s not here to defend himself. If he were, he’d spout some baloney about how he’s finding himself.
“We’re talking about you. Not Brody.”
I sigh around my next mouthful and lean back in my seat.
“I want you to think about whatcouldbe next for you. Justin case.” He pushes his chair back from the table and uncrosses his ankle from his knee. “My job is to prepare you for outcomes you may not see yourself. Your job is to act surly and certain I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He tries to hide a smile. “You’re excelling right now.”
In another part of the house my mom calls for my dad. He stands and claps me on my back. “Try not to put so much pressure on yourself, Noah. Everything has a way of working itself out.” He walks from the room, calling, “Coming, Johanna.”
I look down at my plate. A majority of the fake noodles are still piled there, soaked in red sauce. All I can see is a spray of red hair, arms circling the air, and the face of a person who knows much more than I do. I can tell by looking at her that she’s not being suffocated by questions with no answers.
If anybody’s drowning, it’s me.
* * *
“Come on, Noah,”Coach Hutchinson yells, his irritation evident. He has a right to be annoyed. I wasn’t paying attention, and I missed the pass.
“You gonna do that in the game?” Coach yells again.
I shake my head, embarrassed. “No, Sir.”
To make up for it, I spend the next forty-five minutes giving this practice my all. I’m not the most accurate shot, but my footwork is better than everybody’s but Tripp’s. The guy has magic feet. Stanford claimed him as soon as they were allowed to.
I follow Tripp to his house after practice. On Wednesday nights his mom makes fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I haven't eaten at home on a Wednesday since I got my driver’s license two years ago.
I stand to help Tripp clear the table. “Thanks for dinner, Mrs. B.”
Tripp mimics me in a high-pitched voice, and I slug him in the arm. We finish the kitchen and are almost to Tripp’s room when he asks where my head was at practice today.
“Nowhere, man.” I take my physics homework from my backpack and set it on his desk. “Just a missed pass, that’s all.”
Tripp falls back on his bed and winds his hands around the back of his head. He looks up at the ceiling, where an almost naked woman spraying herself with a hose stares back at him.Trash, my mother would announce with a curled lip if I ever tried to put a poster like that up in my room.
“You were probably dreaming about the ass you get from Kelsey.” Tripp says it in a lazy way, like if he says it off-handedly, I’ll divulge. Baiting me for details about my sex life is his second-favorite pastime.
I pick up the soccer ball on Tripp’s desk and throw it at him. It catches him in the stomach, and he grunts.
“Relax, man,” he says, setting the ball on the nightstand. It rolls off, bounces twice on the floor, and comes to a stop against my foot. Reflexively, my toes extend toward it.
“You know I don’t talk about Kelsey like that.” He doesn't need the reminder. I’ve never given even a morsel of information, despite his repeated attempts.
It’s not like I don’t have anything to tell him. Six months of dating Kelsey made for more than enough stories. She has a bit of wild in her, hidden behind the cheer uniform and sweet smile.
“One of these days you might.” Tripp laughs.
“Why are you so interested?”
He sits up and grabs his backpack from the floor beside his bed. “If she would’ve seen me first, she’d be dating me.” He takes his homework from his bag and sets it on the bed.
