Compulsion

by Heidi Ayarbe

  We huddle one last time around Coach, and he says, “Being perfect is about being able to look your friends in the eye and know that you didn’t let them down, because you told them the truth.”

  Luc and I lock eyes.

  What truth? I wonder. Because it seems to me like there are a million truths out there, depending on who tells them.

  “And that truth is that you did everything that you could. There wasn’t one more thing that you could’ve done. Can you live in that moment, as best you can, with clear eyes and love in your heart? If you can do that, gentlemen, then you’re perfect.”

  Luc grabs my fist in his. “Truth!” he shouts.

  The team shouts, “Truth!” after him.

  “Okay, boys,” Coach says, tucking his recycled Hollywood speech in his pocket. “Kick the hell out of that ball!”

  And that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard Coach say—not borrowed from Friday Night Lights or anybody else’s script. So today I play for Coach.

  Today I play for Luc.

  Because this is the day they will always remember—the day we were perfect.

  Ninety-Seven Magic

  Saturday, 5:27 p.m.

  Marty shouts to me over the roar of the crowd.

  Five twenty-seven. Five times two is ten plus seven is seventeen. OK.

  The air tastes like snow—sagebrush and snow. The Sierras are completely covered in clouds, leaving us with a gray-blue late afternoon. Balls of saliva dry in the corners of my mouth, and I gulp down the water Marty tossed me from the sideline. Second overtime.

  Fuck.

  We collapse to the grass. Marty, our manager, and some other guys are pounding on our legs, keeping the blood pumping. Field lights go on with a hum, and we are flooded in light.

  Coach weaves in and out among us, his rosary beads clacking in his hands.

  Magic.

  Magic.

  We’re all looking for it.

  The stands are full. Everybody huddles together, sipping on the watery hot chocolate the snack shack sells. They still wear bonnets, the ones that say *%#@ GORMAN, over earmuffs, hoodies, and heavy hats.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to the pound of the drums and the band playing our fight song. I listen to the beating of my heart, blocking out everything until the only sound I hear is the one that comes from within.

  I turn on my stomach, the grass tickling my chin, and open my eyes. Gorman’s players are huddled together, jumping up and down, an impenetrable wall.

  Coach calls us together, and we limp into our huddle. I look over my shoulder at the Gorman players, jumping, jumping, huffing.

  “I can’t get through,” Kalleres says. “I swear to God there are more of them than us on the field.”

  Luc rubs sweat out of his eyes.

  I readjust my headband. “Move Luc up. They’re just playing defense. Like some kind of pansy-ass stalemate. They want penalties.”

  One, two, three, four, five . . . Our breaths come out in ragged gasps.

  “No penalties. Penalties is like shooting craps. The best team does not win.” Coach’s rosary beads click like marbles. He stares each of us in the eyes. “You are the best out there. You need to win this right here, right now.”

  “That leaves us totally open on the defense,” Keller says, then pauses. “But it’ll work. It can work.”

  Coach nods. “Keller and Grundy, you’re on your own down there. You’ve got to be the whole defense because I’m pulling Camacho up to the front line. Kalleres, Martin, Camacho, and Randolph, you will score. I don’t want the ball to go past the halfway line. It’s all on our end, and we will pound the ball until it goes into the net.”

  “No more waiting,” I say. I hate waiting on somebody else’s terms.

  The ref blows his whistle. Our team huddles up. “CARSON! CARSON! CARSON!” we chant together, then head to our positions. Luc moves up next to me.

  “Let’s end this fucking thing,” I say. “I’m wrecked.”

  “Okay, M&M, time to do our thing.”

  And this time, when we’re on the field, the magic comes. We cast shadows from the bright glow of field lights, and it’s like there are twenty-two of us dancing with the ball. Twenty-two. Two minus two is zero.

  No numbers.

  No time.

  Just the field, the ball, and the magic.

  I run laterally along the line and push between Kalleres and Randolph, back-passing the ball to Luc, who powers it into the goalpost, bouncing back into the mass of Gorman defense. They’re rattled.

  I zigzag between our shadows and wonder if it’s me or the shadow that brings the magic, because for just a second I feel like my two-dimensional me makes more sense, elongating and compressing, tapping the ball back and forth in this timeless form because shadows show no age.

  The ricochet of the ball against the goalpost brings me back from the shadows to the field. “Martin, where the fuck are you?” Luc is shouting, and I shake my head, counting my steps to prepare for their goalie’s kick.

  And we dance. Gorman and our shadows dance. The ball never goes past the halfway line.

  The time ticks away, and Coach waves his arms up and down on the sidelines shouting, “One minute! One minute!”

  Luc receives a sideways pass from Kalleres and pauses for a second, right outside the penalty box. He has a clear shot, but flicks it back to me, leaving Gorman’s players out of position. I pivot on my right and power the ball with my left, the ball curling around the goalkeeper into the net.

  Magic.

  One Hundred One Freedom

  When the ref whistles, I collapse to the ground, breathing in the earthy sweet smell of grass. It tickles the side of my face, so I turn around on my back and squint in the glare of the lights; the first flurries of snow are beginning to fall.

  The entire team forms a circle around me—a moat to keep things away. I’m protected in this bubble and can feel my entire body fill with warmth.

  Elation.

  That’s what this is: a moment of total freedom, like the Exodus. My brain is spider free.

  I don’t even give a shit about the time.

  It worked. Magic number three worked.

  The bench carries Coach out to the field on their shoulders and the circle is broken. It feels as if the whole school has run out onto the field in a crushing wave.

  I roll away, covering my head with my arms. I squeeze my eyes shut and roll until I clear the crowd, hitting the goalpost, leaving the frenzy in the middle of the field. The cheerleaders carry the water out and with help dump it on the team. I watch and try to see what is, not what I expect.

  Marty looks like he’s personally responsible for our team’s winning the World Cup. He’s soaked in icy water, holding a soggy-Looking clipboard. Coach looks up at the near-empty stands and waves at his wife and girls, who are jumping up and down. Luc looks up to the sky and makes the sign of the cross—smiling for real, like he feels the joy that I feel.

  I feel part of this, like I’m real.

  Diaz and Luc jump up and down, arms clasped around each other with their girlfriends holding on. Kalleres and Grundy do their weird winning jig they made up a couple of years ago; they’re joined by a whole crowd of people who copy it. Keller watches Diaz and Luc and nudges in. Soon the entire team is hugging and jumping in a big circle—kind of like an impromptu chorus line.

  Dad waves at me, a huge smile pasted on his face. He’s wearing the Carson soccer sweatshirt I got for him last Christmas. I’ve never seen him wear it before, and it makes him look much younger. I run over to him, weaving my way through the throng of students.

  Dad wraps his arms around me and I feel so good. “Great game, son. Great game.” I know this is the closest he’ll come to saying I love you.

  But I guess that’s okay, too.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say.

  Nothing can go wrong; everything is perfect right now, in this moment.

  Dad looks at his watch and digs keys out of hi
s pocket. “Celebrate, Jake. Enjoy the moment.”

  “I will.” I try to hold on to that hug, his warmth. I try to ignore the cold feeling that chills my stomach while I watch him head for the parking lot.

  Mera sits in the stands, back straight, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail—so blond that she almost looks bald. She watches the crowd. Always watching. Never joining. And she looks sad. Maybe because she can’t be down there with them; maybe because she has chosen not to. I work my way toward her. Because she can be part of this. Right now.

  I’m almost to Mera when Kasey rushes to me with a gaggle of friends. She jumps into my arms and wraps hers around my neck smelling like Heiress perfume and Altoids. Potent combo. The air tastes minty-fruity.

  “I can’t believe how absolutely intense that was!”

  “So amazing,” her friend Lisa, famous for inappropriately breaking the crush-on-somebody’s-big-brother random rule, says.

  “Hi, ladies,” I say.

  Kasey’s friends all look like bobbleheads, nodding and giggling. Lisa turns purple when I smile her way.

  It’s all about momentum—keeping the joy alive. I see the team gearing up to go to the locker room, clean up, go to dinner, then party, party, party. Everybody’s happy. They make it look so easy.

  It is easy because the spiders are gone.

  Maybe I’ll go to the parties. My head feels good—clear. It looks like everybody is having so much fun. I could do that. Have fun like that.

  I walk forward with Kasey attached to my neck, her skinny legs swinging back and forth, her toes brushing against my shoes. “Kase, I’ll be out late. I’ll call Dad and tell him I’m staying at Luc’s, okay?”

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve spent the night at someone’s house, and I feel my stomach tighten a little. There’s a familiar tingling in my neck. It’s like I’m flipping through mental snapshots of Luc’s room—a total pigsty. I don’t even know where his stupid clock is. The tingling changes to a throb and I try to splatter the spiders inside my brain.

  No.

  But the feeling goes away as quick as it came. Maybe some kind of aftershock. Because they’re gone. Today is perfect.

  Everything’s perfect.

  Everything’s so normal.

  Stop.

  Stop.

  It’s like listening to the click of a hammer being cocked to chamber the round.

  I’m not going to do this.

  But the harder I resist, the more I feel like going home—going back to where I can do what I need to do.

  I don’t need to do anything. Today was magic. The spiders have to go away.

  When I think about Luc’s room, the pain surges. I dart around thoughts, grasping onto one that will keep me in the safe zone.

  I won’t stay at Luc’s. I’ll just stay out and party and get home. That way I start and end the day right. That’s important. It makes sense. It’s how the magic works. I have to finish what I started. If I don’t, the win won’t matter.

  I sigh, relieved I’ll still be like everybody else—just partying, having a good time.

  The pain subsides.

  “Kase,” I say, and pry her fingers loose from my neck. “The team’s waiting. It’s time to celebrate.”

  She lets go and slides down until her feet touch the ground. “That’s great,” she says. “So great.” She clears her throat. “You gonna be out all night tonight?”

  “Awhile. Why?”

  “No reason,” she says. “Just, um, wondering.”

  Marcy butts in. “She’s staying the night at my house.”

  Kase nods.

  “Good,” I say, distracted by all the people walking by, patting me on the back. So far, twenty-four. Twenty-four . . . Two plus four is six. Four minus two is two. OK. Kase keeps talking. “Cool,” I say, and feel like I’ll end up being the asshole brother after Kase takes one of those chick mag quizzes about how well guys listen.

  “You hear me?” Kase asks. Marcy pinches her arm.

  “I hear you,” I say. Thirty-two, thirty-three . . . pats on the back. Kase is staring at me like I’m supposed to say something. I think the social hierarchy is way more complicated in the female gender than in the male. It would probably be a decent conversation topic with Mera.

  Luc waves me over. He, Diaz, and Keller are still doing a cancan kick dance. I laugh. They kick me the game ball. “It’s yours, man. You deserve it!”

  This is so easy. Laughing.

  I pick up the ball and toss it to Kasey. “You deserve it. It’s yours.”

  Her friends sigh together and titter. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod he’s so so dreamy,” Lisa says.

  Kasey elbows her but I can tell she’s beaming.

  I wave. “Call you later?”

  “Yeah. Keep your phone on,” she says. “Got your back,” she says.

  “Always,” I say, and run toward the guys as I catch a last glimpse of Mera. I wave at her, and she smiles and waves back. I hope she’s coming to the party too.

  One Hundred Three Normalcy

  Saturday, 5:43 p.m.

  Five forty-Three.

  I stare at the numbers.

  “Hey, Luc,” I holler after him, jogging to catch up. “It’s five forty-three.” Just a time of day, like any other time of day. Five forty-three.

  Luc waits for me and we walk in the side door together. It’s the last time we’ll be here—like this, anyway. He picks me up and bear-hugs me, his laughter filling the space. When he puts me down, he opens the door, pauses, then closes it again. “I hope this feeling never ends, you know? Like I could feel like this forever.”

  “We can. We will.” Because I am normal.

  Luc laughs. “Okay, Mr. Time in a Bottle. Whatever you say. You are Magic Martin.”

  We bump knuckles. Luc inhales. I reach for the door, my hand hovering over the handle. I pull my hand back, my fist balled, trembling.

  I am normal now. The spiders are gone.

  My neck itches.

  “After you, man.” Luc holds open the door.

  My chest feels tight, but the feeling disappears as quickly as it came. “Last time.”

  “Last time.”

  I take out my new crew and a pair of jeans. I don’t remember the last time I got new clothes and shove them to my nose, inhaling the smell.

  I exhale.

  They smell like Tide—not that awful plastic new-clothes smell. They’ve been washed a couple of times—the collar isn’t a perfect V shape. Kase definitely is the best kid sister on the planet. While digging in my bag for socks and shoes, I find two notes.

  It’s like opening a Choose Your Own Adventure card. “If you win, open blue envelope with green writing. If you lose, open green envelope with blue writing.” Mom wrote a nice card, real nice. It kind of makes me want to go home and celebrate with them.

  Kase won’t be there.

  Mom won’t be there—not really.

  And Dad will have taken off his sweatshirt and gotten old again.

  I rub my neck. “Join the party!” Luc yanks on my ear and I wince. It’s a good distraction.

  Then Diaz and Keller do some kind of retro-eighties “Celebration!” song.

  How could I have not seen this before?

  Everybody else joins Kalleres and Grundy in their weird victory dance. We’re a pair of legs short of becoming the Rockettes.

  Radio City Music Hall, here we come.

  I look at Diaz and Keller and laugh. Are they in love?

  If I didn’t want to spend the rest of my senior year in traction, I’d consider asking them about it. But I shrug it off and rub my neck, willing the pain to go away. I close my eyes and imagine the after-game feeling. That’s how I need to feel right now. That’s how I’m supposed to feel right now.

  Coach comes in and says, “Gentlemen, it’s time for dinner!”

  That’s a relief. Dinner. A table. One spoon, fork, knife, and food. I must be hungry, that’s all. I follow Coach out of the locker room and s
it next to him. He claps me on the back. “I’m proud. This is the opportunity for you, Jacob. Maybe even play pro. But that doesn’t matter because you get to study. You can be anything.”

  Now, I think, is not the time to tell him I won’t play anymore. We had our three championships. I’m done. I close my eyes and lean my head against the brick wall. I’ll have to call Mera to see if I can join her ultramarathon group.

  I feel the magic fizzling—like I need something to bring it back. I open my eyes and stare at the floor tiles—bright white with flecks of gray. I avert my eyes from the tiles; the temptation to count the thirty-seven to the door, seventy-nine to the end of the hall, is tickling my brain. I scratch my neck and stare straight ahead. In front of me is a trophy case filled with gold trophies, photos, hall of famers, and ribbons. Nothing balanced—nothing to make sense of it all.

  I scan the hallway until I see the clock and wander to it.

  Stop. Just stop.

  I don’t need the time. I’m not supposed to need this anymore. But I’ll just make sure my watch and the clock are synchronized. No big deal.

  6:12

  Six twelve. Six plus one is seven minus two is five. OK. Six plus two is eight minus one is seven. OK. Six divided by two is three minus one is two. OK. Twelve times six is seventy-two plus one is seventy-three. OK.

  The tingling stops and I stare until the second hand hits twelve, turning just in time to follow the guys out to our cars.

  The magic. The guys still have it. It’s like fairy dust that has settled on their shoulders and remains there.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock.

  Fuck.

  It’s okay. It’s just gonna take a little bit for it to stay. I feel a tightening in my throat and burning in my eyes. I’ve done my part. I made the deal. How come it’s not working?

  It’s working. It has to work.

  “Hey! M&M! Are you coming today or what?”

  I pull my eyes from the clock and follow them outside. The flurries have turned into real flakes—thick flakes that stick to our shoulders and on our tongues. There’s already a skiff of snow on the asphalt, making the parking lot look like a photo negative.

  The games are over.