Early praise for The Field:
“Readers will appreciate the fast-paced, compelling drama. A good choice for people who hope there’s more to space than space.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Tracy Richardson is a worthy heir to Madeleine L’Engle. Richardson’s characters intellectually travel beyond ordinary consciousness to delve into concepts of dark energy, collective [un]consciousness and universal energy fields.”
—Rita Kohn, NUVO Newsweekly
“The Field is a brilliant blend of soccer, science and fiction. True-to-life characters, contemporary environmental issues, and engaging metaphysical principles skirt the edges of science fiction and magical realism in this modern coming-of-age novel.”
—Laurie Gray, award-winning author of Maybe I Will and Summer Sanctuary
“The Field plunges the reader into the realistic world of high school soccer and the mystical world of the Universal Energy Field—an intriguing combination.”
—Judith L. Roth, author of Serendipity and Me
© 2019 Tracy Richardson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The Field
Brown Books Publishing Group
16250 Knoll Trail Drive, Suite 205
Dallas, Texas 75248
www.BrownBooks.com (972) 381-0009
A New Era in Publishing®
Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data
Names: Richardson, Tracy, author.
Title: The field / Tracy Richardson.
Description: Dallas, Texas : Brown Books Publishing Group, [2019]
Identifiers: ISBN 9781612543017
Subjects: LCSH: Extrasensory perception--Fiction. | College students--Psychology--Fiction. | Soccer players--Psychology--Fiction. | LCGFT: Paranormal fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3618.I3454 F54 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23
eISBN 978-1-61254-447-2
LCCN 2018957195
Printed in the United States
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For more information or to contact the author, please go to TracyRichardsonAuthor.com.
For my children, Alex and Katie, and all of their friends who hung out at our house and provided endless inspiration for my characters. Of course, the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Reid, you know who you are.
Also to the memory of Brett Finbloom, who left us too young. His spirit lives on.
“What we call empty space contains an immense background of energy. This vast sea of energy may play a key part in the understanding of the cosmos as a whole. Space, which has so much energy, is full rather than empty. What we perceive through the senses as empty space is actually the plenum, which is the ground for the existence of everything, including ourselves.”
—David Bohm, physicist
1
A CAR HORN sounds outside. I grab my gym bag and water bottle off the kitchen chair.
“Bye, Mom. Will’s here.”
“Bye, Eric. Good luck!” Her disembodied voice floats down the stairs.
On the way out the side door, I pick up my soccer ball and dribble it with my feet down the driveway to Will’s waiting Taurus. No small feat in flip-flops. The car’s windows are down and the stereo is up—loud. The AC doesn’t work, but we would still have the windows down to show off our good taste in music. I lob the ball through the back window, toss my gear in behind it and climb into the front. “The new system’s totally tight,” I say as I fasten my seatbelt.
“It’s cool. Kind of makes up for driving a ‘mom-mobile’.” Will grins as he backs down the driveway.
“What do you mean? You’ve got your own wheels and it’s a sedan. I have to drive the real ‘mom-mobile’—the minivan. So, you ready for tonight?” I ask as I beat on the dashboard in time to the music.
“Yeah, two-a-day practices are brutal in ninety degree heat. I’m glad they’re picking the teams tonight. What do you think our chances are?” Will glances over at me.
“Pretty good for Varsity. You’re definitely the best defender and I don’t think the other keepers are any better than me. We’ve been playing together so long, they can’t break up our defensive unit,” I say and give him a friendly punch on the shoulder. I do feel confident about our chances, but still. It’s nerve-wracking to have three days of killer tryouts and not know for sure if you’re on the team.
“I hate when they’re calling out the names. Makes me sick to my stomach until my name’s called.” Will pushes his straight blond hair back from where it hangs over his eyes as he pulls into a parking spot at the field. “Well, good luck.”
We walk over to the field trying to look calm and confident, and sit down to put on our cleats and shin guards before joining the rest of the guys for warm-ups. The coaches have been running us all week and tonight is no different. Even after running all summer to stay in shape, I was still gasping and sweating after the first day of tryouts. But I was in better shape than most of the guys—at least I didn’t throw up. It’s one way the coaches use to weed out players.
After doing a few wind sprints and running drills, they split everyone up into teams—freshmen, JV, and varsity. Will and I are both in the varsity group—so far so good. We all get one last opportunity to show our stuff before the cuts are made. I’m with the goalkeepers who are all grouped together and will be subbed in so we each get a chance to play.
As a group, the keepers are bigger than the field players. Taller and bulkier. At six foot two, I’m one of the taller ones. Tall and lean, though. More rangy than bulky. The field players need to be strong and fast and have incredible endurance to last the whole game. A keeper needs to be quick and explosive to move the instant a ball is shot, tall and strong to cover the whole goal and stop rocket shots, and fearless enough to dive into the air or at an opponent’s moving feet without hesitation. I move away from the other keepers to begin focusing my thoughts. I always get a rush of adrenaline before a game or scrimmage and I want to channel it into performance instead of letting it turn into nervousness. I put on my gloves, fastening the Velcro at each wrist, and turn to watch the game.
Will is coming off the field when I get subbed in. We bump fists as he jogs past. He’s jacked up and loose—he played great. “Nothing goes in, big guy!” he says. I just nod.
I position myself in the goal. I touch the left side of the goal, then walk to the right side, touch it, and then move to the center and touch the crossbar to orient myself. It’s my ritual. I crouch in the center with my knees bent and arms in position to catch a ball. I feel confident, strong—ready. The coach starts the play.
The other team immediately takes control of the ball, and the play moves onto my side of the field. Good. More action for me.
The opposing team’s striker sends the ball out to his right, and his midfielder runs onto it. I move to that side of the goal,