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His head snaps up to look in the direction of the voice calling his name, ending the tense exchange and abruptly snapping the connection between us.
It feels like my body physically sags in relief as he takes a step back.
An argument with Rhys is like going ten rounds in the ring and the fight being called a draw at the end. There’s adrenaline and exhilaration rushing through me from going toe to toe with him, followed by the inevitable crash and mental play-by-play where I rewind every word spoken, every physical movement as I dissect what just happened.
“Stop distracting my player and get to practice.” Coach Faulkner yells at him, pointing behind her at the field he should be on.
“Yes, Coach.” Is his shouted reply, before he turns back towards me and says, “I’m going to enjoy making you regret every lie you’ve ever told me.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“Keep digging your heels in, it’ll make my victory even sweeter.”
???
I let myself fall to the ground next to my sports bag and roll onto my back, completely spent.
Practice was grueling. Coach is focusing September training on team conditioning to ensure we’re competitive the full ninety minutes we’re on the field. That means running.
Lots of running.
Forwards. Backwards. Up the bleachers. Down the bleachers.
Over and over again until I thought I’d faceplant my way down that entire last set of bleacher runs.
I’m in great shape but I’m not used to this level of skill. Sports in the public school system are a bit of a joke, so it was easy to be one of the best in my divisions with some discipline.
I’m learning that soccer in private schools — especially European private schools where soccer is borderline a religion — is a whole different ball game. Pun intended.
Where I’m used to being a star in the States, I know I’m going to have to work hard to keep up with the talent here. Lucky for me I have the competitiveness of Michael Jordan inThe Last Danceand the work ethic of Oprah during the holiday season.
I know I can and will be a star here. And that hard work starts with showing my passion and dedication to Coach Faulkner so she nominates me as captain.
I’m still lying on my back, eyes closed and trying to catch my breath when a shadow falls over me.
“You alright?”
That voice again.
“Go away.” I tell him. Refusing to open my eyes, I blindly reach for my airpods and press play on my cool down playlist.
Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.
I pull a knee against my chest and stretch, humming along to the song as I do so.
After what feels like a couple minutes, I open one eye to see if he’s still there and find him standing over me, looking down at me.
I groan, letting my leg fall to the ground and grabbing the other in the same stretch.
“You’re like a venereal disease,” I tell him, “You just keep coming back.”
“Got a lot of experience with those, have you?”
“Yes. In fact, I’m riddled with diseases. Chlamydia, gonorrhea, herpes. You name it, I’ve got it.”
“Is this supposed to make me not want to fuck you?”
“Is it working?”
