Coach was intense but measured in his words, like always. “No more wasted time, guys. You know what happens when we waste time. It becomes a game not about who’s the better team, but about who gets lucky in the last five minutes. That’s not a great win, and if you lose, it’s a lousy way to end a season. If you want this game, you need to come out and play like you want it.” After that he talked specifically to the offense about how he wanted them to play. “Stop passing to Nuson. Let that kid who’s marking him get lazy, and then Tyler can free himself up.” He clapped a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler flinched as though Coach had struck him. If Coach noticed, he pretended not to. Ben stared at Tyler, willing him to remember his promise not to be an asshole to Coach, but Tyler wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He cast a glance up into the stands to see if Tyler was right about Coach’s boyfriend or whoever he was. He scanned the crowd. His parents caught his eye and waved frantically. Sitting one row below them were Julie and Darcy. Julie was talking to another senior girl, but Darcy was staring right at him. She smiled. Ben looked around him to see who she was smiling at. He looked back. Now she was grinning as though she could read his self-conscious action. He gave a little smile back.
Coach was talking to the defense now. Ben listened as Coach reminded the players about staying calm and feeding the ball forward. There wasn’t that much to say. They were all playing well, just not well enough. No one was taking risks, and it would take risks to win the game. Ben was only half listening. None of this pertained to him. His job was not to take risks but to consider them and guard against them. His job was to be the most conservative player out there. The only time he had to take risks was when a game went to penalty kicks. And then it became a different kind of game entirely. Something bright red jumped out from the sea of black and yellow and caught his eye. It was Coach’s friend in a long red scarf and a tan overcoat leaning against the fence. He was talking to Mrs. Rosetti, his arms crossed in front of his body to ward off the cold or possibly her advances. Ben instinctively tried to find Tyler’s eyes but then realized that was ridiculous. What was his point? Whatever was going on with Tyler, it was about more than just Coach.
“Ben!” Coach was saying loudly now. Ben blushed. Had he missed something? Had Coach been trying to get his attention? “Don’t get flat out there.” Coach looked up at the time clock. Seven minutes left in the halftime break. “Everyone get out and get warm. Josh and Bret, go warm up Ben,” Coach called to the two freshmen riding the bench for playoffs. The boys jumped up, clearly eager to do something besides shivering on the bench.
Both teams were more energized in the second half of the game. Twice the Chelmsford offense penetrated their half of the field. The first time they got a shot off, it was a slow dribbler—probably a pass gone missing—and Ben was able to scoop it up and send it off. The second time resulted in a corner kick: a perfectly placed ball that came down right in the middle of the pack. There weren’t too many situations more dangerous for a goalie. But this time Brandon Rosetti got a head on it, and then the midfielders were able to clear the ball.
Midway through the half, Easton got a break. It was an indirect kick just fifty feet from the goal. The Chelmsford players lined up to make a wall. Ben walked forward as the entire defense marched up to push the play forward. Tyler lined up next to Andy Debias, who was taking the kick. The whistle blew, Andy tapped it, and Tyler blasted it over the wall. Ben’s heart sank as the ball fell straight toward the goalie. But then the goalie did something unexpected. Instead of catching the ball and keeping control of the game, he punched it out. He punched it hard. The ball sailed back toward Tyler, who was running in. He jumped up, impossibly high up, and drove the ball into the back right corner of the net with his head.
The crowd erupted before Tyler’s feet even touched the ground. Ben ran forward to join his team. They were all sprinting toward Tyler, lifting him up with the sheer force of bodies coming together in one place. They were jumping and chanting and shouting until the ref’s whistle brought them back to earth. Ben dashed back to the goal, goading the crowd with his outstretched arms as he ran. The noise swelled again. Was there anything better? Was there any other place in his life where he allowed himself to enjoy this much focused attention?
The next few minutes were the most dangerous time in the game. The other team would expect them to relax with their one-goal lead, relax, and get lazy. Chelmsford took the kickoff and booted it past their midfield. They charged the ball. Their winger reached it before Brandon could get there. With a light touch, he slid past Brandon, and suddenly there was just Ben between him and the goal. Ben felt the adrenaline surge through his arms and fingers. He could see Brandon thundering just behind the Chelmsford winger, but he wasn’t going to be fast enough. Ben came out of goal to cut off the angle. He bounced back and forth on his feet and watched the muscles in the other boy’s chest. Was he going to pass? He glanced up, but his nearest teammate was behind him more than five yards. No, he was going to shoot. Ben came forward another foot. He watched the footwork, waiting for an indication of which way the ball would go. Then the kid dribbled just a tiny bit too hard. It was an opening. Ben dove, scooping the ball into his chest and tucking his head so that the kid and the teeth of his cleats sailed over Ben’s head. He could hear the crowd explode before he even opened his eyes.
He jumped up, shaking off the clods of dirt, and sent a huge dropkick up the left side of the field. It dropped right in front of Tyler, who gave a little push off his defender and settled the ball neatly at his feet. He dribbled just a few feet and shot the ball neatly past the goalie into the bottom corner of the net.
After that, it was all over. The defense was flawless, and Ben didn’t touch the ball for the rest of the game. In the last three minutes Andy Debias scored, making the final score three to nothing. When the whistle blew, Ben was walking on air as he watched his team run down to scoop him up and celebrate in the goal. It wasn’t really his win, even though he did have that one save, but the team always celebrated in their own goal.
After they rolled around on the field, Coach came running out with Peter, who had water bottles and a bag of their warm-ups. Coach kept it quick. He was proud of them. Eastern Mass finals would be played on Saturday. They would have a light practice tomorrow after school. “Go home and get some rest,” he said sternly. But he was smiling. The crowd was clearing out. Ben’s parents gave him a little wave and pointed in the general direction of home. Julie was gone.
Ben fell in with Tyler as they began to jog their victory lap around the field, first toward the parking lot and then back to the main building. Ben glanced sideways at Tyler. His face was light, untroubled, almost gleeful, and Ben realized how long it had been since he’d seen Tyler this way. “Good game,” he said.
“Great game,” Tyler agreed. He had just run for eighty minutes, but he jogged as though it were nothing. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Eastern finals,” Ben said.
“Yup,” Tyler said. “Might even get the old man out of his study for that one.” Ben glanced up at the stands, but if anyone had been there for Tyler they were gone now. Tyler caught his glance. “My mom was here. And Jer, of course. He’s the only reason she’s here.”
Ben knew better than to argue with this. Jeremiah was Tyler’s little brother and his biggest fan. Six years was just enough for Tyler to appear like some half-god half-man to the sixth grader. But Jeremiah’s adulation aside, sports just didn’t matter very much in the Nuson household. Except for cricket, which the professor had developed an affinity for when he studied at Oxford. Sometimes he watched it on some obscure sports channel in their living room. It was embarrassingly pretentious.
“They’ll come if we make it to States,” Ben said.
“Does it matter?”
Yes, it does. Or it should. “Is everything cool there? With your parents?”
“Oh no,” Tyler said, his face clouding over. “Not you too. It’s fine. It’s the sam
e.”
Ben thought about what that meant. About how little time Tyler spent at home and how often he was alone or hanging out with Jeremiah, the two of them making microwave pizza or spaghetti for dinner. When his mom was around, she was constantly checking her phone, and his dad seemed to reside permanently in the den or his study. Their dysfunction was in the complete absence of anything resembling a family, at least in a social sense. But Tyler was right; it had always been that way. It was not new, the way this cold, easily snappish, pissy version of Tyler was.
Chapter 7
If the soccer playoffs weren’t on everyone’s mind before, they certainly were the next day in school. Kids Ben didn’t even know were slapping him on the back in the halls and talking about the “amazing save” he’d made. He didn’t know whether to correct them or just accept the praise. Tyler laughed when he saw Ben’s confusion apparently written all over his face. “You’re overthinking it, bro,” he said. There was even going to be a pep rally eighth period on Friday and a fan bus to take kids to Wentworth Community College, where the Eastern Mass final would be played on neutral turf.
Ben had double lunch on Thursday—which meant he had lunch and a study hall—and he and Tyler made plans to go to Colucci’s for steak bombs to celebrate the win. He was waiting in the hallway for the Tyler Nuson fan club to clear out so they could go. He sat down on a bench and glanced at his phone, but he didn’t really mind waiting. It was kind of like watching a National Geographic special on primate primping. Tyler was leaning against his locker. One of the twins was there (who knew which one) as well as a couple other sophomore girls and a junior girl who Tyler was sort of on-again off-again dating—if you could call repeated hookups at parties “dating.” Megan Sewell didn’t hang on Tyler’s every word like the other girls did. In fact, right then she was checking her phone as Tyler recounted the header goal.
Light was coming through the skylight above their heads, and it caught some of the red and golden highlights in Tyler’s hair. His skin really was golden—not yellow like a kung fu comic book character but actually golden like pictures of summer wheat on cereal boxes or beer bottles. When he grinned he got a dimple on his left cheek. Were these things what made girls like him so much? Was it weird that he, Ben, was noticing? Someone sat down on the bench next to Ben. He flinched as though they could read his thoughts and quickly slid over.
“That’s not very friendly.” It was Darcy.
“Oh, hey,” Ben said. “I didn’t realize it was you.” His eyes flicked over, up, and down. She was wearing a tight bluish-green V-neck sweater. A thin silver chain hung around her neck with a tiny silver horseshoe resting just above the dark shadow where her boobs came together. He looked back up to see if Tyler was ready yet.
Darcy followed his gaze. “So you and Tyler are like best friends, huh?”
“Uh huh,” Ben said, although the title made him feel like a kindergartener.
“Since forever?” Darcy asked.
“Fourth grade,” Ben said. He didn’t mean to be short with her. It was just that he knew where this conversation was going. Girls were always being nice to him as a way to get to Tyler. Next she would ask if Tyler had a girlfriend, or if she was subtle she might ask if Tyler’s girlfriend got in the way of their friendship. But it was really the same question.
“So you’re probably used to all this, then,” Darcy said.
“What do you mean?”
“The Tyler show. I mean, it seems like it’s like this a lot. It must get annoying, all the waiting.”
“Hang out with Julie much?”
“Huh?” Darcy said.
“Never mind.” Ben wasn’t sure how to respond. If he agreed with her he sounded like Tyler’s sidekick, but if he disagreed he was obviously lying. But how to explain it to her in a way that didn’t sound like he worshipped at the altar of Tyler Nuson? Tyler really liked people. He liked talking to them and hearing their stories. When they were around town, it was like hanging out with the mayor of Easton. Everyone knew Tyler. Whenever they drove into Cambridge to get a burger at Bartley’s in Harvard Square, Tyler always wanted to stop and hear the street musicians. He wasn’t the guy who stood at the back and shuffled on without leaving a buck after listening to a song. He wasn’t the one who would listen to a whole set and give five dollars. Tyler would stand there for the better part of an hour, throw some money in the guy’s guitar case, and then talk to the guy about where he performed and if he had an album. And it wasn’t just music. Tyler genuinely wanted to know what people were up to.
Sometimes it was tiring. Sometimes Ben did just want to eat his damn burger in peace without hearing all about their waiter’s audition to be a janitor in the latest Matt Damon action movie.
But he wasn’t going to tell Darcy that, so he smiled and shrugged. Just then, Tyler broke away from the pack and sauntered over to where they were sitting.
“Steak bombs!” he hissed the word excitedly. “Who’s this?” he said, turning to smile in Darcy’s direction. “Want a steak bomb?”
“Tyler, Darcy, Darcy, Tyler,” Ben introduced them.
“So, you coming for steak bombs?” Tyler repeated.
Ben felt himself bristle. Why did he care if Tyler invited Darcy? Should he be the one?
“Thanks, but no,” Darcy said. She stood up and shouldered her backpack. “I’ve got class. And, as it so happens, I’m a vegetarian.”
“It’s a really good steak bomb,” Tyler said.
“That really came from a cow,” Darcy replied.
“Moo,” said Tyler sadly.
Darcy smirked. “See you later, Ben. Interesting to meet you, Tyler,” she added.
“Did she sound a little sarcastic?” Tyler asked as they walked down the hallway toward the main entrance.
“I don’t think she’s as impressed with you as the rest of your public.” For some reason Ben was pleased by this. He turned around to get another look at Darcy heading down the hall in the opposite direction.
“Well, that’s a shame,” Tyler said. “I’ll have to do something about that.” There was that bristly feeling again.
As they walked out to the car, Ben slapped his arms against his sides, questioning the decision to leave his coat in his locker. Tyler tossed his keys in the air, catching them behind his back. “There are going to be some sweet parties on Saturday after the game.”
“If we win,” Ben said.
“If we win,” Tyler said, “the parties will be insane! Unhinged! But either way, there will be parties. Jessica Albright’s parents are going out of town.”
Ben shrugged. “I’m just thinking about the game.”
Tyler turned and bowed deeply, his hands pressed together like some kind of yogi. “You are the better man,” he intoned.
“Open the car, numbnuts. I’m freezing.”
“Your wish is my command,” Tyler said, and he clicked the button.
On the ride over, Ben thought about Tyler’s reaction to Darcy. Tyler was used to getting attention from pretty much every girl who saw him. The story of how he became hot was something Ben called Ty-lore. In sixth and seventh grade they were still both pretty much dweebs. Tyler had some status as a good athlete, but neither of them talked to girls or even really paid much attention to them. They were both into video games, and that, along with endless hours of playing Pig or Horse or Around the World in Ben’s driveway, would keep them occupied for the better part of a weekend.
All that changed the summer after seventh grade. Some of the guys started playing a pickup soccer game at Albermarle Field. They played five-on-five, and usually they had enough guys to get a mini tournament going. This was where Ben first learned one of the few valuable things he knew about girls. If all the boys were somewhere, girls would turn up. This and also, with a few exceptions, girls moved in packs, and although the packs had an internal decision-making process that was a complete mystery to him, the packs could make or break you. And one day, the pack made Tyler.
Th
ey were playing shirts and skins the way they always did. A few of the shirts made a six-foot goal on each side of the field. Ben played goalie because he liked to, and because it had the added advantage of making him the good guy. No one had to be cajoled into standing in net because he was there.
At the far end of the field, a group of girls was sitting. They were braiding each other’s hair and pretending not to pay attention to the game. They had become a regular feature of the games now. None of the boys interacted with them, but their presence was now an accepted part of the scene and gave it an extra charge, something they didn’t really have a name for yet. On this one particular afternoon, Tyler—a skin—booted the ball wide of the goal, right into the center of the girls’ nest. There was some screeching and yelping as the ball bounced around them. Then Joanna Cote grabbed the ball, held it to her side, and planted a hand on her other hip. Tyler beckoned for her to throw the ball, but she shook her head no. Tyler walked closer and then closer. Now everyone on the field was watching the exchange. When he got close enough, they all watched as Joanna Cote reached out her hand and touched him. His back was to the rest of them. What did she touch? Everyone’s mind buzzed with the question. Then it was over. She handed him the ball and sat down with her friends amidst an explosion of whispers and giggles. Tyler turned around and shrugged, but his face was red, and not just from running around.
After the game Joanna and two of her friends walked right up to Tyler, who was pulling his T-shirt back over his head. “See,” Joanna said to her friends. “He’s got a six-pack.” She lifted the bottom of his T-shirt with one of her pink-polished fingernails. Everyone looked, even the boys. It was true. Tyler had a perfectly formed six-pack; the muscles around his hips and stomach rippled with definition. Ben tugged self-consciously at the bottom of his shirt. Were they going to check everyone?
Joanna, who had straight blonde hair and already wore eye makeup, cocked her head to one side and said, “We’re going to the pool tomorrow.” She chewed her gum, and Ben could see her tongue dancing delicately inside her mouth, playing with it like a seal might bounce a balloon on its nose.
Wired Man and Other Freaks of Nature Page 5
