AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’d squashed me down until there was no room for me to succeed at U of B. I’d reckon I was mere days from quitting before ULA called. I think that was what astrologers refer to as kismet, or what my childhood mates might deem ‘great bloody luck.’
I was going to do great at ULA, I had to. I’d prove Carson wrong, and all the boys back home who said moving to America would be wretched and I’d return, tail between my legs, an even bigger arse than before. In short, I had unfinished business with America, and we were going to square it up right here, on the ULA field, with the whole country watching. Okay, maybe not the whole country, but definitely a whole school.
The pay raise at ULA didn’t hurt, either. It was a good chunk of change, enough that I could squirrel some away for a rainy day, and have a little left over to send to my mum. Not enough, it would never be enough, but a little. I pictured myself buying… well, I wasn’t sure really. I’d never had money as the U of B job paid the bills, but it didn’t leave a lot of extra room for pleasure pursuits. Which, to be clear, I didn’t mind. I was used to having zilch. In fact, having money made me nervous, agitated, like someone might come steal it. Is this what billionaires feel like? I wondered.
Maybe I’d get a nicer beer the next time I went down to the pub. Or the bar. Whatever. Both, neither, take your pick. Hey, maybe it was time to invest in a motorcycle, a slick old girl from the ‘70s, with wild flame decals on the side with silver finishing and fringe hand grips. No, wait, the motorcycle wouldn’t fit in an overhead bag. Never mind, I’d stick with the nicer beer.
I’d made it up the length of the field, walked across, and begun my journey down the other side. Treading the boards, as it were, learning the lay of the land. I’ve mixed up my metaphors, haven’t I? No matter, not like I was at ULA to teach English — though thus far, three different employees at Boston’s airport asked me if that was why I was moving. It was astonishing how thick people were when you got up close.
In fairness, though it is hard for me to muster any respect for that question, they asked because of my immigration status. Blah blah blah, I won’t bore you with the details, but with the heightened, er, atmosphere around immigration in the US, the folks at the airport were a bit more rigorous than before. I thought they only did this for international travel, but apparently the employees who checked over my work permit paperwork were very suspicious of my motives, and believed it prudent to grill me.
Were Americans always this rude?
I suppose it could’ve been worse. I mean, I could’ve been a person of color or someone from a country that is not an ally of the US, without this fancy accent. Then the workers would’ve really flipped their gourds.
Anyhow, the permit was squared. Now all I had to do was, was… uh, do great, I guessed. Because there was a ton riding on this job — the money, the prestige, the career advancement. And, concerning my immigration status, if I got fired, I’d lose my work permit, presumably fairly fast. I wasn’t ready for deportation, not yet. Were I to get kicked out of the US, I’d want it to be for something awesome.
There was plenty on the line — namely, the white chalk lines of the field. I tilted my chin to look back up at the sky. It gleamed with promise.
Chapter 3
Catya
Bio class couldn’t finish fast enough. I stared at the clock, willing it to move those hands at non-earth speeds. I’m not sure what we covered. The nuclei, maybe? Or perhaps it was something about syphilis.
Much to my own dismay and mild embarrassment, I spent the whole class thinking about the prospect of a new coach. Alan had been the only coach I’d known at ULA, and the man responsible for acclimating me to the school. I shied away from having an opinion on his possible affair with Melanie, but I was certain that I felt betrayal at his sudden departure. It was like he had left me, specifically, in the lurch, a captain without a coach.
Who was this guy? And what would he want?
To make us a better team, obviously, I chided myself. Why was I already getting all sniffy about him? He was probably nice, normal, fine. Bland. He’d be skillful, at the very least. Enough to help me take the team to championships. As long as he wasn’t actively bad, I didn’t give a fuck.
