Over the End Line Read Free Page B

books, but it'd all be the same. Barring a miracle on the soccer field, nothing would make it especially memorable.
    My mom frowned and shook her head. "With an attitude like that..."
    I had nothing else to say. I waited for her last words that in any of our discussions were the closing credits, the pithy epilogue. She walked back into the kitchen. I heard her shoes click on the tiled floor, then stop.
    "You never know how things'll turn out," she said. "They just might surprise you. But you have to at least
try
to enjoy yourself."
    That was it? I didn't expect her to have the definitive answer on how I was going to make it through the year without crashing and burning, but I certainly expected something more, something a bit more tangible.
    I looked back toward the kitchen and heard the spray bottle.
    Then heard it again.

It had been an especially humid morning. I was wiped out; Kyle was, too. In the middle of the Christ Church field, he took ten paces in one direction, then another ten perpendicular to that. We used our shirts, water bottles, and whatever else we could find to mark the boundaries. Kyle brushed the sweat from his forehead and stood on one edge of the square, the soccer ball at his feet. I stood on the opposite edge, facing him.
    "Ready?" Kyle said. "You first."
    He flicked the ball to me.
    I caught it with my instep and brought it down to the ground. Kyle charged at me. I shielded him with my body. My cleats danced on and around the ball, pushing it forward, drawing it back, nudging it left, then right. I imagined myself a player much greater, and I saw the two of us battling on a field infinitely grander—like Wembley or Estadio Azteca. Kyle was with me every step, trying to knock me off balance with his shoulders and hips. Still, the ball remained in my control.
    "Not bad, Jonny," Kyle said.
    Sometimes he could be so damn patronizing.
    "I'll let ya touch the ball when I'm done," I said. Kyle pushed into me, but I held my ground. "Shoulda eaten your Wheaties, Saint-Claire."
    That was all Kyle was going to take. He stepped on my cleat, then elbowed past me to steal the ball.
    "So that's how we're playin'?" I said.
    He gave me a wry smile. "Get used to it."
    I bent down, tied my laces, then stood again. It was his turn. I charged at Kyle, leaning my body against his, darting my cleats at the ball. To his surprise (and mine), I quickly made the steal.
    "Gee, that wasn't
too
easy," I said.
    "A stroke of luck, wiseass," Kyle said.
    We took turns, playing keep-away for another half hour. It had been a good training session for me. Great, really. My passes had been crisp, my shots on target, and earlier, when the two of us ran laps, the end lines and sidelines seemed shorter than usual.
    "Last one," Kyle said.
    I moved toward him. He stepped over the ball, faked one way, then pulled it backwards. I closed the distance between the two of us, then bumped him. He held me off. I bumped him again, feeling the intensity in his body—he was
not
going to give up the ball. But I pushed forward, trapping him in a corner.
    I lunged at Kyle, shooting my leg between his, my cleat catching his shin. Kyle stood strong, controlling the ball with one foot. But I was relentless. I knocked him off balance; he recovered. I pressed further. For a moment, as the ball moved close to the edge of the square, Kyle seemed frustrated. I relished the thought and moved in for the—
    Bang!
    I was on the ground looking up. "What was that?" I said, wiping my lip where his elbow had hit me.
    "An accident."
    "An accident?"
    "Yeah."
    "Bull."
    Kyle stood above me. "You wanna play with the big boys? You gotta get tougher."
    "You just don't like me beating you."
    "Never happened," he said. "So I wouldn't know."
    "Did today."
    "Jonny," Kyle said, scooping the ball off the ground with his cleat, then juggling it with his knees to his head, "you're dreamin'."
    No, I think I pissed off the mighty Saint-Claire." I stood up and grabbed my shirt.