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I wanted to see more of him. Watching him play might even help me to beat him on the field the next time we practice together.
For almost an hour, I watched videos of his best plays, his leadership at the FIFA cup, and his interviews from years past. There was a lot I had already known about him, such as his older brother being a football coach in Atlanta, and the fact that he’d played for Seattle before signing with Miami. He had been in Miami a while now, making it his home, and making it clear he had no desire to leave for another team.
The only new information the videos gave me was that he smiled a lot, was carefree, and seemed to draw people to him wherever he went. But the more recent videos showed him surly and grumpy, almost sad. I wondered what had changed, or if it was just a coincidence. Rhys showed me glimpses of both sides of himself, so maybe that was just who he was. We all had a grumpy side, his just seemed to be shining more than normal in the more recent interviews.
Right before I was going to click off for the night, I saw one more video labeled ‘Rhys Peyton–Precision.’ I clicked the link and saw what seemed to be an amateur video taken from a phone. Whoever was filming was laughing, and Rhys was shaking his head at him, with his hands on his waist. The smile Rhys sported showed no signs of being annoyed, but he was refusing to do whatever had prompted the cameraman to start recording.
“Come on, one more time for the camera.”
“No,” Rhys laughed. “Put that shit down.”
“Not until you do your party trick for me.”
Rhys blushed a little, making me glance down at the date the video was posted–one year ago. Back when he’d seemed to be more carefree.
“One more time,” Rhys agreed. “Then you are buying me a drink.”
“Deal,” the cameraman said before losing focus and showing mostly grass. They were doing something, setting something up, as they said things like,“Right there, over to the side, and perfect.”
When the camera showed Rhys again, he was angled away from it. I could see ahead of him and realized they were in a park somewhere in Miami. The camera zoomed in on a water bottle that sat on top of a sign pole before panning out to show Rhys again. The bottle seemed to be fifty yards away, and Rhys had started tilting his head back and forth looking at it. There was a ball at his feet, and he took a stance like he was going to strike.
After the cameraman counted to three, Rhys pulled back and kicked, hitting the water bottle with precision I had never seen from a soccer ball. My eyes widened and I watched as Rhys walked away like it was just another day in his world. The other guy was laughing and running with the camera, wanting to show everyone that Rhys hit the bottle.
“What the…,” I mumbled to myself. Soccer players had impeccable aim, no doubt about that, but the shot Rhys had done, with the distance and the small target, was incredible. It was either a camera trick, or luck.
Luck?
“Not luck.”
I closed my laptop and started looking around my room, as if someone was watching me. A replay of Rhys’ words to me on the field flashed back into my mind. He said it wasn’t luck. That he meant to kick the ball into my stomach, and apparently he wasn’t joking.
That bastard did it on purpose.
* * *
“How was practice with Rhys?” Erin asked as we made our way to the only class we shared.
Confusing?
Awkward?
Fun?
Crazy?
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Just scrimmaged.”
“Just fine?” She sighed. “Ash, at the risk of sounding like Rachel, that was Rhys Peyton you were hanging with, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, squeezing the book I was carrying to my chest. “But all I care about is him helping me stay on the field until this season is over and I fulfill my scholarship obligation.”
“You’re almost there,” Erin nudged my shoulder in encouragement. She was the only one that knew who I was, and why I did the things I did. She supported my goals and never tried to persuade me to try going pro with her when we graduated. She knew I needed something stable, even if it wasn’t millions of dollars in MLS contracts.
Her life was soccer, my life was anything that freed me from the chains I felt tethered to my ankles since my grandparents passed away. They had raised me, nurtured me, andgiven me more love than most kids got from their parents.
But they passed away, one right after the other, during my senior year in high school. They lived a meager life, providing for me with what little they had.
I loved them more than anything.
