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In total, Eight had probably watched one period’s worth of soccer in his life—and that accidentally, when it happened to be on a television somewhere and he glanced up. All the rest of what he knew of the sport came from ESPN highlight reels.
But it was vaguely enough like football that he could basically tell what was going on. And it quickly became apparent that Ajax was really good. He had the ball a lot, and it wasn’t because he was a ball hog but because his teammates kept getting it to him. He was quick and fast—two different skills—and it looked like he knew how to control the ball and keep his awareness up for what was going on around him. Three times, he owned opposing players with some fancy footwork, and by the half, he’d scored the only two goals on the board.
Well before the half, Eight was off his seat and shouting every time the kid got the ball.
He watched the team in their Day-Glo green shirts gathering on the sidelines around their coach and felt Marcella sidling up to him. She’d stood off a bit while they’d played, cheering on her own. Eight had respected the distance—and been glad for it. She was the human equivalent of a spool of barbed wire, and he didn’t want to get tangled up in something with her in front of Ajax.
Hazarding a glance at her, he found her looking at him, her expression not blank but unreadable. “You okay?”
One slow dip of her head. “Yeah. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. He’s good.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Eight tried out a smirk, testing Marcella’s mood. “I guess he gets that from me.”
She smirked back. Whoa. That was the first smile she’d directed at him in eleven years. Not exactly friendly, but not deadly, either. “Or me. I played basketball all through school.”
What he knew about Marcella Lewis could fit in a doll’s thimble, but it still felt strange to learn this. He’d been feeling a little bit cocky, or proud, or something, seeing the boy run rings around the other kids on that field. Likehe’ddone something good, had at least one good gene to contribute, and she’d just taken that away. It hurt, oddly. Not that he should give a shit.
“Yeah?” he said, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.
“Yup. He got a double dose of athleticism.” She sighed. “Sadly, he’s not that into basketball. He prefers football.”
Just like that, she gave it back to him. Eight couldn’t help the grin that stretched his cheeks. “Well, it’s a superior sport.”
She laughed. “Don’t get cocky, Eight. He prefers soccer to them both.”
Something was warming between them. Suddenly, the vibe almost felt the way it had back in the day, when they’d had fun together. Marcella seemed to notice the same thing; she gave a subtle little shake and moved away, sitting on the bench that lined this side of the field.
Eight followed and sat beside her. The cardboard tube with Ajax’s top-ten list sat there, next to her bag. He pulled it out again and unrolled it. It was a piece of white construction paper. The kid had drawn little pictures like a border all around, and done the numbers in the list in an artistic kind of style. He was good at art, too.
That, he most definitely had not gotten from Eight.
“What’s Fullmetal Alchemist?”
“It’s manga. You know what that is?”
“The Japanese comics, right? Some of the kids in the club are into those.” He’d never been into comics. Or reading at all. Or anything that meant he had to sit still too long.
“Yeah. He likes American comics, too, but the Fullmetal Alchemist books, he’s read over and over.”
“What are they about?”
She laughed again. “I have no idea. Not my cup of tea.”
Eight laughed, too. Looking over the list. “He’s a good artist.”
“He’s good at pretty much everything. If he’s interested in something, he practices until he’s good at it. I’ve seen him lose interest in a few things, but I’ve never seen him give up because something’s hard.”
“What’s that thing you said he says? About practice?”
“’Mistakes are masterpieces in the making’.”
That was great thinking. The kid was smart, mature, talented. He seemed nice, too. Not spoiled.
Eight looked up, across the field, to where Ajax and his team were preparing to go back out and play. He looked happy, in his element. Eight remembered how good it felt to be on a team, to be good at your part in that team.
