As Kyle worked for the next few hours, his mind began to drift back to Marshall. Kyle wondered why Marshall had run away so suddenly the day before when he had seemed so into Kyle, when there was something real developing between them. Kyle knew that it was wrong to invade Marshall’s private moment on top of the rooftop, but he couldn’t help feeling drawn to Marshall. He just hoped that Marshall hadn’t changed his mind already.
Suddenly, a brainwave came to Kyle. He could try to ask Paul for the answer to a really complex question, something that would impress Marshall and maybe score Kyle a few points. He would ask Paul what the outcome to the rugby championship would be, and see if he could offer Marshall any tips on winning. If Paul could predict the way that the UCT boys would play during the match, and incorporate the strategies that the Ridgemont team had been practicing, he might be able to get a good model of how the game would turn out.
Kyle started to input some data and asked Paul how many tries Marshall would score during the match the following week. Kyle assumed that it would take Paul a few hours at least to calculate the responses, but Paul only took a few seconds before responding: 0.
Kyle was perplexed. He sat staring at the screen for a few seconds. Surely, something was wrong. Hardly a game went by that Marshall didn’t score a try. He was always on the front page of the sports section of the Ridgemont Weekly News after a successful match, being hailed as the player who took the team to victory. It seemed very unlikely that Marshall wouldn’t score a single try during the entire game.
“How confident are you of that, Paul?” Kyle asked into the microphone on his desk. Paul responded immediately: 85% confidence.
Kyle tried another question, worried that Paul was malfunctioning: “Who will win the intervarsity final between Ridgemont and UCT next Saturday?”
Once again, it didn’t take Paul long to return an answer to Kyle’s question, but this time Paul’s answer was even more confusing: Invalid question. No victory predicted.
No victory? Surely, someone would have to win the final match and be given the title of intervarsity cup champions, right? Would there be some kind of problem? Would the match be canceled, or not finished for some reason?
Kyle tried to formulate another question that would make things a bit clearer. He was really starting to suspect that he was asking too much of Paul. It was probably very difficult to predict the outcome of something like a rugby match, so maybe Paul just couldn’t do it yet. But the 85% confidence seemed to be quite high for a question that Paul couldn’t predict.
“Okay, Paul, let’s think about this another way. Will the rugby match take place next Saturday?”
Paul responded: Yes.
“Will it be completed?” Kyle asked, pulling his lip in annoyance at not knowing how to communicate clearly with Paul.
Paul responded: No.
At that point, Kyle was becoming concerned. Something was clearly wrong. He had to try a more direct question.
“Why will the match be incomplete?”
A second later, Paul returned a message that made Kyle’s blood run cold: Serious injury prevents the match from being completed. One player will be left unconscious. 92.3% confidence.
Kyle tried to stop his hands from shaking as he spoke the final question into the microphone on his desk. Even as the words left his mouth, Kyle felt that he already knew the answer: “Which player will be injured, Paul?”
Paul displayed only the name: Marshall de Villiers.
Immediately, Kyle was on his feet, his heart feeling like it would jump out of his chest. He had to get to Marshall immediately, explain everything, and make sure that he dropped out of the match. Paul had been right about everything so far, and Kyle had no reason not to trust him. Even though it seemed strange that Paul could predict an injury during the match – there must’ve been millions of variables – Kyle had to take it seriously. He didn’t even bother turning off the lights in his lab as he ran into the main hall of the Academy.
As Kyle rushed out of the building, he saw a guy who looked familiar walking through the main entryway. It was one of the rugby players, a stout, sharp-nosed guy. Kyle vaguely remembered his name; he was the vice-captain of the rugby team, and appeared in the Ridgemont Weekly sometimes too. Kyle called out the name when it came back to him: “Quinton!” He ran over to the guy, who looked annoyed to be approached by Kyle.
“Listen, I don’t have time to sign anything right now,” Quinton said. “I’m in a rush.”
“I don’t need you to sign anything,” Kyle said. “I just want to know if you’ve seen Marshall. I need to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“I haven’t seen him,” Quinton said bluntly, and walked away without another word. Kyle furrowed his brow as he watched Quinton walk away. What was he doing in the Academy anyway?
Kyle decided that he didn’t have time to worry about Quinton. He had to get to Marshall as soon as possible and tell him what was happening. He had to make sure that Marshall dropped out of the finals. Kyle just hoped that Marshall would believe him and trust the prediction that Paul had made.
Chapter 11
Marshall sat on his bed, staring at the poster he held in his hands. It had been a long day of rugby practice and the muscles of his legs were sore and tired. He had taken a long bath when he had gotten home, trying to relax the tired limbs and to clear his mind, but the poster that he had kept in the bottom drawer of his bedside table was nagging on his mind. It was an announcement for an open mic night at JJ’s bistro on campus. The poster read: Come and show Ridgemont your talent! Marshall pictured himself on the small stage in JJ’s bistro, with his guitar, singing one of his own songs. The thought of it made his stomach flutter. He wanted to do it, but he knew that it would be something that no one expected of him. Would any of his friends even come to support him? Would the guys, like Quinton, just make fun of him? It wasn’t who Marshall was supposed to be, and not what he was supposed to be thinking of with the finals so close. But no matter how much he tried to push it out of his mind, he wanted to do it. He wanted to do something brave and something different. Something he had always dreamed of doing.
Marshall thought of that moment on the rooftop with Kyle, how they had reminisced about the day they had spent together in high school, how they had kissed as the sun was setting. All of a sudden, Marshall had felt overwhelmed by fear, and he had to escape. Kissing Kyle, telling Kyle how he really felt, had been something Marshall had thought about since high school. It was strange to finally have those thoughts come true, to be there with the guy that he had felt so close to and had felt like he could be totally himself around. It was strange to think that someone like Kyle, someone who intimidated Marshall so much with his superhuman intelligence and his ability to really not care what anyone thought of him, could actually be interested in someone who was as much of a coward as Marshall was. That was how he thought of himself – a coward. He couldn’t even sign up for the open mic night because he was so scared of what people would say about him. Marshall lay back on his bed and closed his eyes in the low light of his room, holding the poster to his chest.
Practice had been especially brutal and Marshall was still nursing the slight knee injury from his fall at the pep rally, but he couldn’t let on that he was in pain. The team would be going on a trip to a resort about an hour outside of Ridgemont to practice all weekend. They would leave first thing in the morning, and Marshall would have to take on the role of steadfast captain to the team again, trying to keep everyone else motivated when he was feeling so conflicted himself. It was his duty.
Marshall jumped when he heard a knock at the door. “Can I come in, Marshall?” his father’s voice called out from the other side of the door.
“Sure,” Marshall said, sitting up and folding the poster before putting it behind his back.
Lionel, entered the room with a tray of milk and some high-protein cookies. “I thought you could do with a snack. You took quite a beating at practice today. It looked
like you were struggling on that knee a bit at your last try. Are you sure you’re doing okay?”
Lionel had come to watch Marshall’s practice after work that evening, saying that he wanted to give Marshall some final pointers before the big match. But Marshall’s sunken demeanor must’ve been enough to dissuade Lionel from his usual criticism, because he had been quiet on their drive home from the rugby stadium.
“I was just a bit tired today, but I’ll be right as rain for the final. Don’t worry about me, dad. Thanks for the snack,” Marshall said as he took the tray from his father.
Lionel stood looking over his son, his face heavy with concern. He scratched at his grey hair as he asked: “Are you sure you’re okay? Something’s been a bit off about you the past few weeks. You don’t seem like yourself anymore. You hardly seem excited to go to practice, and we haven’t had a proper talk in a long time.”
Marshall faked a smile and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the finals. My first final as captain. It’s a bit stressful. That’s all.”
Lionel sat down on the bed next to Marshall, warmth beaming from his eyes, and he put his hand on Marshall’s shoulder. He said, “Marshall, everyone is already so proud of you. I know there’s a lot of pressure on you, but every day I see you out there, doing something that I only dreamed about doing, on a path to building a real career in rugby, it makes me so proud. I can’t tell you how much I admire you. Coach Barker is good at training you all technically, but that team needs you for what you bring to the table. You inspire people. You keep them motivated. That’s the kind of attitude that will make you a rugby legend one day. Trust me. You have nothing to stress about, nothing to be worried about at all. You will go far in rugby, my boy.”
Marshall felt that familiar tightness in his neck and shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, and he knew that if he was ever going to talk to his father, now was the time. If he was ever going to say what he really wanted, he needed to gather the courage right in that moment. He stammered: “What if that’s not the life I want for myself?”
Marshall could see the sudden change in his father’s expression. It hit him like a punch in the gut. Lionel’s eyes wrinkled into a frown and his mouth looked like he was trying to say something but had no idea how to say it. After a few seconds of silence, Lionel managed to say, “What do you mean? You don’t want to play rugby?”
Marshall shook his head slowly, struggling to make sense of what he wanted to say to his father: “I love playing rugby. I’m just not sure that this is all I want to do. There are other things that I love doing too, other paths my life could follow. I want to be able to try and do those things, be that person. I just don’t want to feel like I’m disappointing you.”
Lionel shot back, “You’ll be disappointing yourself if you get distracted at this crucial point in your life. If you finish your studies and you fall out of practice, or you get swept up in something else, you’ll be wishing you could go back. You’ll think about it every day, wondering what could have been. All of us – myself, your coach, your friends – we see your talent and we want to help you and encourage you. You have greatness in you, Marshall. What could possibly be worth wasting that over?”
Marshall felt himself shrink in the presence of his father, but he was determined to say it all in that moment. He couldn’t be afraid anymore. He took the poster from behind him and unfolded it, handing it to his father. “I want to do this, dad. I want to play some of my music at the open mic night.”
Lionel read through the poster, his eyes deathly serious, and suddenly he burst out in laughter. “You’re joking, right? This is a really strange joke, Marshall.”
Marshall felt more hurt than ever, and just stared at his father with a blank expression.
Lionel saw that Marshall was serious about entering the open mic night, and said in a low voice: “This is a few days before the finals. You can’t possibly let yourself get so distracted a few days before one of the biggest matches of your young life. There will be thousands of eyes on you. The match will be broadcast on sports channels, there will be really influential people watching who could make or break your career, and you’re thinking of doing a song and dance routine just a few days before. You can’t be serious, Marshall!”
“I didn’t expect you to understand, but I at least hoped that you would listen to me,” Marshall said, feeling like he was suffering a bruising betrayal.
“How do you expect me to act, Marshall? I’ve spent years paying for your lessons, getting you into one of the best rugby universities in the country, making sure that you have everything you need to be a champion. Now you’re telling me that you’re ready to throw it all away for some silly music?”
Marshall stood up from the bed, grabbing the poster from his father’s hand. His face was locked into a stern expression, his eyes shooting daggers at his father. “This is important to me. Can’t you see that? I need to have my own life too. You’ve been telling me since I was a child that I need to grow up to be a rugby legend. Just because you couldn’t do it yourself, because you missed out on that dream, doesn’t mean that I need to live the life that you wanted to live. I need to be my own person. I need to find my own path.”
Marshall began walking out of the room and grabbing his coat as he went. Lionel blurted out: “Where do you think you’re going? You have to leave for your training weekend at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going to sign up for the open mic night at JJ’s. We’ll see about tomorrow.”
Marshall stormed out of the front door, grabbing his car keys and rushing outside to where his car was parked. He was fuming with so much anger that he hardly noticed the speeding car coming towards him. The blue Ford hatchback screeched to a halt right next to Marshall, and he almost jumped out of his skin in fright. “What the hell?” he shouted, trying to squint in the darkness to see who was driving the car. Kyle Abrahams jumped out of the driver’s seat, looking shaken. Kyle rushed up to Marshall, barely able to get his words out in a coherent sentence.
“Marshall, I need to… There’s something… Can you come with me? It’s very, very important that we talk right now.” Kyle seemed to be almost shaking.
“Kyle, this is really not a great time. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m just heading to…”
“It needs to be now, Marshall. Please. Trust me, this is important.”
Marshall stared at Kyle with a look of bewilderment. What could possibly be so important? Reluctantly, Marshall agreed to go with Kyle.
Chapter 12
Kyle sat staring at Marshall from across the table as they sipped on their coffee. The Bean Happy Coffee Shop on Villier Street, just off Ridgemont campus, often kept its doors open late during the week of the pep rally since there were so many students out partying, but tonight the coffee shop was almost empty. Marshall looked distracted as he fidgeted with the spoon he used to stir his coffee, the shadows under his eyes seeming even darker in the light of the candle that was placed at the center of the table. Kyle didn’t know how to tell him about Paul’s prediction without sounding crazy, and he thought that it would be better to try and calm down first with some coffee before saying anything to Marshall.
Marshall finally bit his lip and said: “I’m sorry for rushing off yesterday. I know I must seem like I’ve completely lost my mind these days. I’ve just got a lot going on.”
Kyle adjusted in his seat, and asked, “Did I do something wrong? You’ve kissed me twice now, and each time it ended with one of us running away. What you said to me up on the roof… I just need to know what’s going on with you. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all, because I really don’t want to start having feelings for you if you don’t feel that way about me…”
Marshall looked uncomfortable, and sighed. “I wish I could get my head straight. Do you ever feel like you’re just barely keeping it together? Like your whole body is craving for something that you’re not supposed to want?”
Kyle frowned. “You’re not supposed to w
ant me?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Marshall reached into his pocket and pulled out the flyer, showing it to Kyle. “It’s an open mic night. I want to do it. I want to finally have the courage to get out there and perform my own music. But my dad says it’s a distraction – that I should focus on rugby right now. The problem is, it’ll never stop being a distraction in his eyes. I’ll always have to live my life according to what he says and what he wants. It’s no different with my coach and even with my friends. I feel like everyone has this set idea of me and what I should be. Everyone’s already decided exactly what decisions I should make in life, and I don’t get to do anything for myself.”
Kyle reached across the table, considering for a brief moment whether or not he should try to touch Marshall’s hand. He resisted. Marshall had avoided the question of what he felt for Kyle, even after initiating two kisses. Was this just another guy who was leading him on? Marshall had seemed so passionate when he’d kissed Kyle, and he’d told Kyle about how he felt when they were together. But was Kyle just getting his hopes up that it could actually turn into something more? Kyle pulled his hand back.
“Marshall, what use is it living this life that everyone thinks is great if you can’t do what you really want to do? What use is it going along with all of their expectations when you can’t do the things that make you happy? When my dad left, I knew that I had to live my life for myself. I had to make my own way in life. Don’t get me wrong: I love my mom, and she’s very supportive of me. But I knew that if I wanted to have the kind of success I really wanted, I had to make my own path. You don’t need anyone else’s approval to go after what you want.” Kyle’s eyes were animated, but he felt like a fraud saying the words. Even though he had always prided himself on his independence, he knew that he cared deeply about what people thought of him. He had often imagined what it would be like to have the praise and adoration of lots of people the way that Marshall had. Even though Kyle could see how much Marshall loved singing, Kyle knew that if it were up to him, his choice would be to go for the secure path towards success. But he couldn’t say that to Marshall. Not with the sadness in Marshall’s eyes.
Rewriting Destiny Page 7
