Connor shrugged. “We get this weekend off, though. Graham has a tournament.”
“Cool. You want to do something Saturday when you get off work? We could hang at my place, play a little Halo and maybe get a pizza. You should stay the night, get away from the siblings.”
Indecision warred inside him. Connor would kill to get away from his family for a while. The twins’ constant bickering, his parents’ discussions over finances. Yeah, a night hanging out with Marc was exactly what he needed. On the other hand, he’d sort of half developed a plan to drive over to Terre Haute to watch the soccer tournament.
He must have paused too long. “What, do you have plans with Allyson?” Marc asked.
He should have plans with his girlfriend, but things had been a little strained between them over the last few weeks. “No, nothing like that. Actually,” he said after a brief hesitation, “I’ve been thinking I might go watch the soccer tournament.”
Marc looked at him over the top of his soda can. “You want to watch soccer? Why?”
At least he hadn’t laughed at the idea. “Well, being stuck working on the equipment shed the last couple of weeks with Graham, we’ve been talking. It made me realize that I really don’t know anything about it. And, you know, why not? It’s not like we have anything better to do.”
“True.”
“Want to go? My dad gave me the day off because of our morning practice. If we leave after baseball, we can make it to Terre Haute in time for the afternoon matches.”
Marc smiled. “Terre Haute, huh? You know what that means, don’t you?”
“High ground?” Connor suggested.
“Smartass. It means road trip.”
“It’s not far away enough for a road trip.”
“Maybe not, but it does mean a new selection of chicks. Do you think there is such a thing as soccer groupies?”
“Maybe, but you’d be out of luck with them. If they’re soccer groupies, being a baseball player isn’t going to get you very far.”
Marc waved that aside with a broad swipe of his hand. “Ah, but my good looks and biting wit will bring the ladies to me. They’ll forget about those silly soccer players. I mean, what kind of sport is soccer anyway?” He threw his hands in the air and said in a childish voice, “Look ma, no hands!”
“So you in?”
“Absolutely. You should plan on staying at my house anyway. That way it won’t matter what time we get back. If it’s early, we battle Halo style. If it’s late, well, then we won’t worry about waking up a kid.” Marc was an only child, and his mom didn’t hassle them about curfew.
“It’s a plan, then.” Connor dug into the cold and congealing green beans on his tray.
“What’s a plan?” Allyson slid onto the bench next to him, her paper lunch bag in one hand, the light floral scent of her perfume a nice break from the institutional scent of prepared food in bulk.
Marc leered at her comically. “Connor and I are going to Terre Haute this weekend to pick up chicks. Want to join us?”
“What, in picking up chicks?” She looked like she was considering it. He loved the way Allyson played along, even with Marc’s weirdness. “You know, that would be great, ’cause Lord knows the girls here aren’t worth pursuing.” She stuck her tongue out at Marc.
“That’s what I’m sayin’.”
Connor grinned. “What he means is that the girls here have better sense than to go out with him. We have to go all the way to Terre Haute to find someone dumb enough to date him.”
Marc flicked a balled-up piece of napkin at him.
“Are you really planning on going to Terre Haute?” Allyson asked, pulling her sandwich out of her lunch bag.
“I think so. The soccer team has a big tournament on Saturday. I thought we might check it out. I’ve never been to a soccer match before.”
“You should come, Red,” Marc told Allyson. Connor wanted to kick him. It seemed wrong somehow, to put Allyson and Graham in the same place at the same time. Which was ridiculous. And which, he realized, meant that some part of him held Allyson and Graham in the same mental bucket. Marc was in the friend bucket, and Allyson occupied the girlfriend bucket, which should mean that Graham should be in the friend bucket with Marc. That Connor had to mentally pluck Graham out of Allyson’s bucket and plop him into the one with Marc pissed him off.
“It actually sounds like fun, but we’re going to a family reunion this weekend,” Allyson replied.
The relief Connor felt was as absurd as his mental bucket analogy.
CONNOR ADJUSTED the bill of his baseball cap to shield his eyes from the bright spring sun as he and Marc made their way through the crowd toward field three, where the Vikings were up against the Bedford Cougars. Outdoor sporting events always seemed to smell the same. It was a combination of mowed grass, sunscreen, and insect repellant. He also caught a whiff of popcorn from a concessions booth somewhere.
When they passed a group of teenage girls, Marc straightened his shoulders and walked taller. He made eye contact with one and smiled his most charismatic smile. After the girls passed, Connor shook his head and chuckled. “Man, you are such a player.”
“What can I say? The ladies love me and I love them.” Marc’s gaze lingered on another small group of girls standing nearby. “Connor, we have been playing the wrong sport. Who knew soccer attracted so many hotties?”
“You do know Green Valley has girls, right? And some of them are actually hot.”
“Yeah, but they’re all the same. Besides, you’ve got the only one worth having, so I’ve got to go farther afield to find a good one.”
There was something in Marc’s voice. “What? Holy shit, Marc, do you have a thing for Allyson?”
Marc came to an abrupt halt. “What? Dude, I don’t poach.”
Marc didn’t deny it. How interesting. More interesting, Connor wasn’t even upset about it. Sure, Marc wouldn’t chase after Allyson while she dated Connor. He might act like a player sometimes, but Marc understood loyalty.
“I think that’s them.” Marc pointed to a field where green-clad players faced off against athletes in red.
“Yeah, there’s Coach Mullin. And I see some guys from school.” Connor returned the wave sent to him from a classmate. There were no benches or bleachers. Most of the spectators brought their own lawn chairs or spread out blankets to watch the match. Connor hadn’t planned that far ahead, so he and Marc settled on the grass near the other Vikings’ fans. Connor, as usual, immediately sought out Graham.
Graham stood ready between the posts of the goal box, a look of concentration etched into his face. He followed the movement of the soccer ball as it traveled the length of the field. Graham’s jersey was different than the other players’. His had long sleeves—what was it with him and the long sleeves?—and a geometric pattern in eye-searing green across the torso. Thick gloves protected his hands and, Connor was amused to note, his cleats were the same color green as the jersey.
After watching the match for a couple of minutes, Marc turned to him. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Connor laughed. “Not a clue.”
“I’m going to go to the concessions area and grab a soda. Want something?” Marc stood and rotated his shoulders. It had been a tough practice that morning and his throwing arm was probably stiff.
Connor shifted to reach his wallet. He pulled out a few bills. “A bottle of water would be great.”
“I’ll be back.” Marc’s dark eyes tracked another group of girls wandering down the edge of the field. “But don’t hold your breath. I may be delayed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Connor laughed and waved him off.
The swelling cheers brought Connor’s attention back to the game. A red-shirted player broke away from the others and drove the ball down the field. Two of the Vikings charged forward to meet him, but the Cougar did some kind of fancy twist that had him darting left as they angled right.
“Come on, Parker!”
; Connor jumped to his feet with the rest of the Vikings’ fans. The Cougar shuffled to the right and shot the ball toward the upper left corner of the net. As though there were springs attached to his cleats, Graham launched up and over and managed to grab the ball with the tips of his fingers. Graham had so much momentum when he hit the ground he slid a few feet before he could stand and toss the ball back into the field. Connor jumped and shouted with his neighbors. He may not know much about soccer, but even he could recognize a great save.
An older man next to Connor settled into his lawn chair, making a notation on a piece of paper. He must have noticed Connor watching him because he turned and looked at him. “Nice move, wasn’t it?”
“It looked pretty cool to me,” Connor agreed. “Do you know what the score is? I just got here so I don’t know where things stand.”
“Score’s two to zero, Vikings.” The older man gestured to Connor’s Vikings Baseball hat. “Your boys are on a roll.”
“Where does that place us in the tournament?”
“This is the second game. Winner of this match will face the winner of that one”—he pointed toward the next field over—“for the championship. Smart money’s on the Vikings.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“The Vikings have a good, solid forward line and their defense is top-notch. But the goalie—Parker—doesn’t let anything through. No one has scored against him since he started. The other teams don’t stand a chance if they can’t score.”
Pride swelled in Connor’s chest. School pride, he assured himself. That was all. “Cool.”
It took about twenty minutes—during which Marc still hadn’t returned—for Connor to finally figure out how soccer worked. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he could at least follow what was going on. It helped that the guy next to him answered Connor’s questions when he had them. He developed a whole new respect for the players. They never stopped running. They dashed from one end of the field to the other and back again.
No matter how often the other team got past the Vikings defense, Graham stopped the point. Once Graham deflected the goal with a head shot, and Connor grew warm with the memory of Graham teaching him the technique.
It didn’t take long for him to figure out the Vikings were a good team. It really seemed like they played in a whole different league than the other team. Travis—one of the Vikings’ forwards, as he’d learned the position was called—handled the ball with a speed and precision that completely outclassed his opponents. By the time the match ended, the Vikings had beaten the Cougars six to zero.
As the team left the field, Connor stood and stretched. The guy next to him stood at the same time, trying to slip his papers into a folder. The wind picked up, and the top pages in his hand blew away.
“Oh hey.” Connor squatted and slapped his hand down on the runaway sheets before the wind took them all the way across the field. When he went to smooth the creases his quick grab created, he saw that the page contained a headshot of Graham, a short bio, and a list of stats. Lines of tiny handwritten notes filled the margins.
Shit! This guy was a scout, and he was watching Graham.
“Thanks.” The guy reached out for the sheets.
“No problem.” Connor took one last look at the papers before releasing his hold. “Thanks for answering my questions.”
The man nodded and shuffled the pages into his bag.
Chapter 11
“CONNOR!”
Connor turned to see Marc coming his way, not surprised to see him with a trio of pretty girls. There was no bottle of water in sight.
“Did you get lost?” Connor regarded Marc with arched brows.
Marc didn’t even look ashamed when he replied, “I had something more important to take care of. Let me introduce you to Cindy, Amanda, and Kayla. These poor girls have the misfortune to attend school in Jasper. Can you imagine? I’m trying to convince them that they really have to give Green Valley a try. I mean, come on, it’s Green Valley.”
One of the girls giggled and tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and made eyes at Marc. She was the epitome of the all-American girl next door with her honey-blonde hair and big blue eyes. He couldn’t swear to it, but Connor thought she was the one Marc had introduced as Cindy. Which would make the petite, elfin-looking girl with the spiky black hair Amanda. So Kayla must be the brunette wearing a blue ball cap.
“I can’t fault his logic,” Connor said. “Green Valley is Green Valley. I don’t know what that means, but there’s no disputing the geography.”
“Hey, we’re on the way to the center field. Their team is playing in the final match.”
“Perfect,” Connor said with a smile. “Our team is also in the finals.”
“Excellent. We can get a rivalry going.” Marc leered comically at the girls. “Maybe a bet is in order.”
“The terms?” the blonde, Cindy, asked with a sly smile.
“Well, if we win….” Marc leaned over and whispered something in her ear that caused her to blush and giggle.
“You’re so bad!”
Connor shook his head. Marc’s flirting style bordered on ridiculous, but once in a while, it worked. From the corner of his eye, Connor saw Kayla roll her eyes. She, at least, wouldn’t fall for Marc’s gimmicks. She caught him watching her and smiled.
The five of them squeezed in as close to the field as they could get. There was a much larger crowd gathered for this match than the others, which made it hard to find a place with a decent view. The Vikings, a mob of green jerseys, huddled around Coach Mullin not too far in front of him. The players looked wrung out. Not surprising after playing two matches already.
A whistle blew in the distance and the team broke apart, most heading to the field, the rest standing near the edges. Connor tried to find Graham. He finally saw him jogging toward the goal box.
“Go Vikings!” Marc shouted, his voice booming out over the spectators.
Graham jerked his head in their direction. When he saw Connor and Marc, a wide grin split his face and he waved. Connor quashed the little bubbles of happiness that came with the knowledge that Graham was pleased to see him. No, not him. Them. Graham was only excited to see some familiar faces, not his in particular.
Connor wished they sat closer to the field. He wanted to see if Graham wore his eyeliner even while playing. Somehow it wouldn’t surprise him.
A couple of minutes later, the two teams faced off at center field and the game was on.
Connor lost track of the surroundings. He focused on the movement of the ball and, more often than he cared to admit, the movements of a certain goalkeeper. No one would guess Graham was probably exhausted. He played with the same focus and energy he showed in the last match. Even from where he sat, Connor heard Graham’s shouts to the other players. Graham bellowed encouragement and, when necessary, warnings about events in different parts of the field. Graham’s role as goalie was a lot like Connor’s role as catcher, he realized. They both had to know what was going on at any part of the field and direct the other players if it came down to it.
By the time the first half ended, the score was one to zero, Vikings leading. Once again, Graham didn’t let any ball past him. The other team was good, though; they didn’t make it easy for the Green Valley players to make progress.
Realizing that he’d been completely caught up in the match and the goalie, Connor turned his attention to Marc and the girls. Marc sat with Cindy and Amanda on either side of him, both vying for his attention. None of them watched the match. Kayla, who sat on Connor’s right, looked like she was actually into the game. He recalled hearing her shout occasionally when the Jasper Bulldogs did something well.
“Wow, your guys are good,” she said when she caught Connor watching her.
“Yeah, I think they are. This is the first time I’ve ever actually seen them in action. I don’t generally pay attention to other sports when baseball is in season. I’m a catcher,” he added, his attention drawn back
to the field. To Graham.
“I’m on the girls’ soccer team.” Kayla paused to watch something on the field. Connor didn’t know what exactly happened, but it caused a chorus of groans and cheers—depending on which team a fan supported—from the audience. “I’ve heard of your goalkeeper, Parker. It’s kind of cool to see him in action. He’s amazing.”
“I think so.” Connor coughed in an attempt to disguise the wishful note that crept into his voice. “I was sitting next to this guy at the earlier match who turned out to be a scout. I think he was here to watch Graham. He had his picture and stats and everything.”
Kayla looked away from the field to stare at Connor. “Really? College scout?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see enough to tell where the guy was from. Do soccer players see a lot of scouts?”
“Players like Parker do. I’m surprised he’s as good as he is, given he had to take the last year off. After everything that happened to him, to see him out there and in top form, it’s completely inspiring.”
“What happened—” Connor started to ask, but a whistle blew and a flag was thrown.
“Penalty kick.” Kayla leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees. “C’mon, Jennings,” she muttered, staring intently at the players.
A strange hush settled over the crowd. The blue-uniformed player and Graham faced each other like duelers in the Old West. Graham did a couple of knee bends and settled into a ready stance between the posts. The Bulldog rubbed his hands down the sides of his shorts. After a long count of ten, the sharp trill of the whistle pierced the air. The Bulldog sprinted forward, shifting at the last second before booting the ball. Connor could barely track the ball it flew so fast. Its trajectory angled low and to the side. Graham dove and slid along the grass. The ball made a loud smacking sound as it slapped against Graham’s gloved hands.
The crowd cheered as the players on the field surged forward to continue play.
Guyliner Page 8
