Brandon glances at Hannah, like it’s some secret.Some club I’m not smart enough to belong to.Just when I’m about to walk away, Brandon says, "That I can kick a ball further than the kicker for the Patriots.Bring him over.We should do this.Get Chris Todd, and let’s have a kickoff contest.I’ve got time before the game."
The dude’s balls are the size of boulders, I swear.I bet he’s never had an insecure moment in his life.
Callaghan Entay, always mindful of his duty as team captain, squashes this before it can go anywhere."Sounds like it’d be worth watching, but not on a match day.Save your leg for the game, especially in this heat."
He’s not wrong.Like most of August was, today’s a soupy, humid, upper-80s day.The weather doesn’t seem to realize it’s supposed to be fall, and it can start cooling down now.I can practically feel the dehydration cramps starting now.We’re all going to be mainlining the electrolyte gels by game time.
Brandon crosses his arms over his chest and pouts like a petulant toddler."Cally Entay is always spoiling the fun."I’m of course getting all of this on video.Callaghanhatesbeing called that, and Brandon is a grade A button pusher.
IthinkBrandon’s trying to be funny.I also don’t think Callaghan appreciates it, though his parents should have thought twice about his name.I have to say, over the past few months, Brandon’s seemed a little more relaxed.
Definitely less aggressive and irritable.
Almost likable.
Usually, this kind of chill only happens when a guy is getting it regularly.Brandon’s never brought anyone around.Hell, there’s not even any rumors of him dating a supermodel or anything currently.The only thing I’ve seen on social media is mentions of him and Andi Nichols, the referee.Like that would ever happen.The way she tossed his ass out of the last game she officiated for us—yeah, no.It’s clear she hates Brandon.
She’s here, working this event too.I look around quickly.She’s on the other side of the field house and hasn’t even as much as glanced in Brandon’s direction.Yeah, I don’t think there’s anything to that one.
There’s got to be some other explanation for Brandon’s good mood.
There’s no more time for analysis, as it’s time to report to our stations.There’s a line of kids and parents in the doorway.Everyone’s wearing the same turquoise T-shirts emblazoned with the logo for the JustSibs organization.Landon and I head to the midfield zone to teach some agility skills, including dribbling and passing.Brandon’s teaching how to do penalty kicks at one end of the field, while Callaghan is, of course, in goal, teaching goalkeeping.Andi Nichols, the referee, is at the other end, with frequent whistle sounds coming from that direction.
That’s not at all annoying.
There are six to eight kids in each group, with their parents standing back, phones obscuring almost every single adult face.It only takes a minute or two to tell which adult belongs to which child, so I try to make sure angles work for the best pictures and videos.The groups are mostly made up of boys between the ages of eight and twelve.There are only a few girls in each cohort.
I wonder if we had partnered with the New England Crush, our USSL women’s affiliate, if we’d have had a more balanced turnout?Maybe I should mention that for next year.
A buzzer sounds, signaling the end of this rotation.There’s a little girl in this group, probably about five or six, who reminds me of my niece Cami.Her mom is standing right next to her, instead of stepping back like the rest of the parents.
"I’ll keep an eye on her," I say, jogging up."You can go stand over there.She’s in good hands with me."I squat down in front of the little girl."What’s your name?"
"Alivia," she says, her eyes bright behind her glasses."Watch what I can do."She proceeds to drop to her stomach, put her hands down, and roll her legs up over her head until her toes touch the ground, effectively bending her in half.
"Jesus," I say, jumping back.I look at her mom, who just stands there.She looks on the young side to be this girl’s mom, which might explain why she stands there staring instead of telling this child not to snap her spine."Does she do this often?"My back hurts just looking at her.
Alivia drops her legs back down and stands before I know it.I watch her mom for a reaction.Any kind of reaction.There is none."Does she always do that?Doesn’t it hurt?"I could seriously do Pilates and yoga every day for the rest of my life and never have a fraction of that flexibility.
The mom doesn’t respond, instead staring at me with big brown eyes that are the exact same color as her hair.It’s as if she’s trying to look right into my soul.I glance down to make sure I’m not inadvertently exposing anything.
Nope, still covered.
But I swear, this woman is looking at me as if she can see me naked.Not in a lustful kind of way.More the soul-baring, knows-all-my-deep-dark-secrets kind of way.Also, she’s pretty, in a woman-out-of-her-element kind of way.Though I probably shouldn’t be thinking about hitting on someone’s mom at a charity event.
A foot flies in the air.It’s the little girl doing a cartwheel.I could picture her on the soccer field, twirling and flipping and doing anything but kicking the ball.I wonder why her mother made her come to this.An event with Simone Biles would be much more appropriate.
The corners of my lips rest in an uneasy smile.I look around, trying to see if I’m being pranked or something.The rest of the event is proceeding as it has been.Why isn’t this mother doing anything to stop her kid and make her pay attention?
"Alivia!"a voice calls.I glance over.It’s coming from where the parents are standing.Seriously, if Alivia’s mom isn’t going to do anything, the least she can do is go stand with the rest of the adults.I see who’s calling Alivia.It’s an older version of Alivia.A mom-sized version.If that’s her mom, who’s this lady standing next to her?What the hell is going on here?
"Are you with her?"I point at Alivia.The woman shakes her head."Then who are you with?"
She’s maybe a few years younger than I am.Totally unprepared for soccer.Bike shorts, canvas sneakers, no cleats, no shin guards.She’s gripping her phone like it’s a lifeline.
"Do you play soccer?"I yell over the din.
She shakes her head.
