“OK.” I take the stairs two at a time, grab a quick shower and change into a pair of shorts and a MONROE HIGH SCHOOL VARSITY SOCCER T-shirt from my bedroom floor. A little wrinkled, but not smelly—passable. I’m starving, so I snag a bag of pretzels from the pantry to eat on the way, and then stop in the laundry room and shove a load of really rank soccer clothes into the washer. I’m feeling in a helpful mood. Then I start up the minivan, plug my iPhone into the console, and hit the road.
The park is on the other side of town, and I decide to drive through the center of town instead of taking the bypass. It takes a little longer, especially now during rush hour, if you can call it that, but there’ll be a lot of people hanging out and I like the scenic route. Since this is a college town, the downtown has a lot of restaurants and shops and even a few art galleries, along with several bars frequented by the college students. The sidewalks are wide to accommodate pedestrians and bikes and to encourage shopping. A lot of kids from the high school hang out on the main street after school.
I’m stopped at a red light jamming out, rapping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel, and checking out the crowd to see if I know anyone, when I see Will’s dad coming out of a restaurant. I’m about to roll down my window to call out to him when I see that he’s not alone. He’s holding the door open for a young woman, which would be OK, except that it’s not OK. Something about the way they’re acting gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My greeting dies in my throat. She’s very attractive and much younger than Will’s mom, and she’s laughing and leaning into Will’s dad in a flirty kind of way. They turn onto the sidewalk, and Will’s dad puts his hand in the small of her back to guide her around a group of students. Then a car honks behind me, and I look up to see that the light’s changed to green.
I drive the rest of the way to Drew’s practice on autopilot. Did I just see Will’s dad with another woman? I’m pretty freaked, since I’ve known Mr. Asplunth since grade school and spent countless hours at their house hanging out or sleeping over. He’s almost like an uncle to me. And what do I say to Will? Should I say anything to Will? I didn’t really see anything, anyway, right? They were out in broad daylight in the middle of town where anyone could see them. I know I’m trying to convince myself because my clenched gut is telling me it wasn’t right.
Drew’s team is still practicing when I pull into the gravel parking lot, so I park the car and get out to watch the eight-year-olds play. I walk to the front of the van and lean against the hood, still warm from the engine. The boys are scrimmaging; half of them have on orange pinnies over their T-shirts. At this age, they’re still not doing much in the way of plays or strategies, but it’s way better than the five-year-olds, who all go after the ball in a bunch like a swarm of bees.
That thought brings me back to Will’s dad again. He was our coach for a couple years before we started playing travel soccer. We would’ve been just about Drew’s age. I think about Will’s mom . . . and then I don’t want to think about Will’s mom. Shit. I kick at a clod of dirt. It’s so dry that it bursts into a cloud of dust.
A honking noise brings my eyes overhead. A group of Canada geese in V formation flies past, low over the fields and players, honking loudly. The V is a bit ragged; one side is shorter than the other and a few birds straggle behind. It seems too early for them to be practicing flying south, but then I’m not sure if they ever migrate at all, as there always seem to be geese on all the ponds and lakes, even in winter. I start thinking about what makes them fly together like that. I mean, some of it must be instinct, but how do they communicate with each other while they’re flying about who is going to lead and which direction to fly? Is it just by sight or do they sense something more? I remember watching a show on Nova one time that showed how, when large flocks of birds fly together, you can actually see the waves of movement roll across the flock when it changes direction and that the wave moves faster than the birds could react by simply observing their neighbor and then changing course.
The show didn’t really have an explanation for it, just a lot of theories, one of which was that the birds knew what to do from observing the birds farther away in the flock, but I didn’t think that made sense. The wave moved so uniformly across the flock, I just felt like the birds had to be communicating another way.
The coach stops play and calls the boys over. They get drinks from their water bottles and gather their gear while he talks to them, and then they separate into groups of two and three and start walking slowly toward the parking lot and the waiting parents.
“Hey, Drew, over here!” I call out and wave. He sees me and starts running over. There’s enough of an age difference between us that I have a sort of demigod status in his eyes. Even more so now that I’m on the varsity team.
“Eriiiccccc!” he calls out, slamming into me and encircling my waist with his arms. It’s good to be loved.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, and give him a playful wrestle. Two other boys come running over.
“Are you on the varsity soccer team at Monroe?” one of them asks.
“Yup,” I answer.
“That is so cool,” the other boy says.
“He’s the goalkeeper,” Drew says proudly, standing with his arm around me possessively.
“You guys should come to the game tomorrow night. We play Northbrook at seven o’clock.” I slide the doors of the van open with the remote. “Hop in.” They scramble in, chattering about going to the game. I pull out of the parking lot and hear honking coming from behind us. The geese are taking another practice run, and as they come into view and glide past, higher in the sky, I see that this time they form a perfect V.
6
ONE COOL THING about being on the soccer team is that we all wear our jerseys to school before home games. We don’t get the same attention as the football players, but it still feels good to walk the halls and have people know that I’m on the team. The real reason for wearing our jerseys is to drum up attendance from the student body at the games. My clothing selection is pertinent today, as Cole and I are designing a survey for psych class on “What Do You Find Attractive,” or, as Cole calls it, the “Hot or Not” survey. We have to put together a poster with charts and present our findings to the class.
“So, we need to come up with four or five articles of clothing or appearance for both guys and girls as our ‘hot-o-meter’ selection criteria,” Cole says. The class has broken into teams of two, and we’ve pushed our desks close so we can work together.
“OK . . . like shorts and jeans and T-shirts?” I ask since that’s mostly what I wear.
“No, everybody wears shorts and T-shirts. We have to come up with things that are more ambiguous, so we can get a variety of responses for our graph.”
“What about lipstick, bright red lipstick? Some guys like it, but I think it’s overdoing it.”
“That’s a good one.” Cole writes it down on his list. “Uggs are definitely not hot. We should add them to the list.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think any guy would find them hot and we want things that are not so certain.”
“You’re right. Yoga pants, perhaps? They’re only hot if worn by a girl with the right figure.” He makes an hourglass shape in the air.
“Right. What about guys. We need more for guys.” I look at him for ideas.
“How about clean cut versus hipster or jock?”
“Great!” That gives me an idea for another category. “We could do beard or clean shaven.”
“Oh, I like that one. The survey results should be interesting.”
We keep brainstorming and come up with a pretty good list for the survey. The fun part is the data gathering, where we get to ask all the students their opinions. At lunch we ask the guys sitting at our table the questions about girls. The responses are pretty mixed, which is what