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Taking The Penalty 2
Jace
Trainingisintense,as usual, but the hard work we’re putting in is paying off. A couple of the guys on the team are shaping up to be decent defenders and Nick Stanford might make a reasonable striker yet. I mean, he’s not on my level when it comes to scoring goals, but he’s got some talent.
The goalie is also improving with every practice session. In fact, today he deflected a shot I took from just outside the penalty box. I’m quietly optimistic that we can get to the top of the league. These guys may not be up to the standard of my old team back at Hargrove Academy, but they’re learning fast. With Russ Harrington as coach, they’ve no other option. The man played for AC Milan and Team USA before a shattered kneecap put him permanently out of action. He’s determined to put East Bay University on the map.
Tossing my kit into my bag, I head for the showers. A few of the other guys hit the showers too and spend the time bullshitting about their performance out on the pitch. I don’t join in and, once they’re gone, I linger in the shower a bit longer. After an intense workout, I like time alone.
Turning my face up to the stream of water, I let it wash over me, a soothing balm for my restlessness. For reasons I don’t understand. I can’t stop thinking about the girl at the diner. Willow Craig. I’ve seen her around school and at the diner but didn’t think much of her until I saw her earlier. She’s so different from her stepsister. Celeste Harrington might be nice to look at, but she’s vain, superficial, and slow to receive the message that I’m just not interested in her. Willow, by contrast, has some depth to her personality. Okay, so in the thirty seconds I interacted with her, I didn’t really get a sense of who she is, but a blind man could tell she’s not like Celeste and her vacuous friends.
There’s something appealing about Willow. It’s the lack of artifice, I think. She doesn’t hide her natural beauty under layers of make-up, nor does she pretend to be someone she isn’t just so she can hang out with the right people. I’m disappointed she didn’t agree to tutor me in English. Celeste tells me she’s shit hot at it and it’s the one subject I’m struggling with. I just can’t wrap my head around the poetry we’ve been assigned. I can’t untangle all those stupid metaphors. Why can’t poets just say what they mean?
Perhaps getting Celeste to ask Willow to help me wasn’t the best idea. They clearly don’t get along. In fact, I didn’t even know they were stepsisters until earlier today, and we’ve been hanging out in the diner where she works every week since I moved here. I guess I could talk to Willow myself and see what happens.
Grabbing a towel, I get out of the shower. I dry quickly and dress in jeans and a black hoodie. I check my phone and see my mother has texted me eight times. She hates that I chose to move across the pond. Born and raised in a small English village, she thinks the whole of America is like the Wild West. I’m her only child, and I know she misses me. Her need to be in constant touch with me is getting a bit much. I’m nineteen not nine. I’ll have a word with my dad. If anyone can calm her down, it’s him.
As I’m slipping on my Vans, Coach Harrington comes in, the grim expression on his face signaling trouble. He took a phone call during practice and his mood darkened after that.
“Conley, I’ve had Dean Thorpe on my case. Professor Lexington says you’re failing in English.”
Failing? I’m a bit behind, but I didn’t think it was that bad. “I’ve got some catching up to do, that’s all.”
“Well, Dean Thorpe and I have agreed it’s not good enough. I’m benching you until your grades improve.”
“What?” I push to my feet. “We’ve got a match on Saturday.”
“Yeah, and you’ll sit it out.”
Blood boiling, I step closer, getting in his face. He’s a big man, but I’ve got two inches on him and a good twenty pounds of extra muscle. He doesn’t flinch as my lip curls into a snarl. “I’m your star player. You can’t win without me.”
Harrington puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back. “So we’ll lose a game.”
“Lose a game?” How can he throw that out so casually? “Your job is to help the team win.”
“Not at the expense of your education.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What the hell kind of coach are you?”
“One who follows the rules. The university requires its students to maintain passing grades if they want to participate in sports.”
“This is bullshit.”
“It’s not my call. The Dean…”
“Did you even fight for me?” I demand. “Or did you just let Thorpe walk all over you?”
His jaw twitches in irritation. “Dean Thorpe was quite clear that you have to put more effort into your academic work.”
It’s only English I’m having trouble with and I’m not even that far behind. I shake my head in disgust. “So you just bent over and let him fuck you in the arse?”
Harrington’s fists ball up and I will him to take a shot so I can hit him back. “Get out of here, Conley, before I kick you off the team.”
“Kick me off the team? There’d be no team without me.”
“Nobody’s irreplaceable, you arrogant little shit.”
He’s wrong. I can’t be replaced on that team. I’m the best thing that ever happened to East Bay University’s second-rate soccer team. None of his other players comes close to my abilities on the field. I could be playing for a premier league club back home, but I’m here because I want to get my degree at an elite university. If he can’t see he needs me, he’s a fool.
